3 Meadowlark (O Happy Bird!)
Jared's in the kitchen, rummaging around in the box marked with a J. It's his little stash of terribly unhealthy, but delicious-and-good-for-the-soul food, muttering to himself, "Cupahnoodles…Pop Tarts...hmm, puddin' cups. Combos? Maybe Bugles?"
He frowns at the box of Bugles and thinks he really should stop being lazy and cook a healthy meal. An omelet maybe, veggies and cheese. He's got a pack of ham somewhere in the fridge and he can cut the slushy bits off the green peppers. He picks one up and peers at it, weighing whether it has any nutritional value left. It's wrinkled and blotchy and dimpled in an ugly way, and reminds him too much of his high school disciplinarian, the bitch. He wings it into the trash. Enh. Today's not an omelet day.
His roommate, Zack, wanders in, yawning and scratching his little belly, furry treasure trail revealed by the sad, baggy, boxer shorts he was wearing. Oh my god, whose grandpa did he steal those boxer shorts from? But Jared has a kind heart, and keeps that thought to himself. No, he'll tease the shit out of Zack later, when he's fully awake.
Zack gives Jared a bleary look-late nights shifts blending into early morning rising to study is beating his roomie's ass. Jared tsks over the purplish circles under the boy's Bambi eyes, dark copper skin doing nothing to hide them. Jared pencils in a mental note to get Zack to chill a bit with him and Chad.
"Yo. You're not working tonight, JP?"
"Actually, I just got in from work, so, good morning, Stickybuns."
Zack giggle-snorts in response. He really is a total sweetheart. He yawns wide and heads for the teapot and his godawful instant coffee.
"Don't know about tonight yet, waiting for a call," Jared says, jerking his chin at the green phone hanging near the fridge.
He really does like Zack; he's a non-judgmental dude with a sweet personality, and despite dressing like his parents were hippies, actually has pretty good taste, which he shows by letting Jared do whatever he wants to their space, decor-wise. Such an improvement over the last roomie-the one whose spine was a broom stick shoved up his ass. God, what a mistake that had been. Creep had acted as if Jared had hid his whorish ways just to get a room. Which is word for word what the asshole had said when Jared tossed him the last month of rent.
Jared scoffs a bit. Yeah, Zack is a fucking dream baby compared to that toad; this place is nicer, he's got an en suite, so Jared doesn't even have to share a bath. For seventy-five a month, he's got peace and privacy and a locking door on his bedroom. Heaven.
Ugh. Screw cooking, he's just gonna go with Frosted Flakes. And skim milk, so he doesn't feel completely guilty. He'd juggling the cereal and a bowl just as the phone rings-twice, then silence. Chad's goofy "secret signal".
Zack snorts again as he grabs the bowl and cereal from Jared's hands, rolls his eyes when the phone rings again. "Why does he do that?" Zack asks, and Jared shrugs and laughs.
"Have you met the boy? Don't you know his life is a movie, starring the famous Chad Skywalker?" Jared asks, eyes wide and hand spread on his chest. Zack shakes his head, snickering as he walks out, and Jared swings around to grab the phone. "Hola," he sings out. "Date night?"
"Yeah. Clark Kent, seven pm at the Overlook. He'll have the room."
"Chad! Stop calling the hotel the Overlook! And stop acting like the phone is bugged." Jared feels a little guilty when Chad mutters a definitely put-out 'sorry', so his tone's a bit sweeter when he says, "Thanks. How's the rest of my week looking?"
"Not bad. Let's meet up at the diner and we'll talk. And by talk, I mean a blowjob."
"What a surprise. Hounddog." It really was, though. Since working together, they hook up less and less. Jared really doesn't mind; with sex out of the equation, Chad's more like a friend now, and Jared needs that more than he needs the cash. Not that he's gonna blow him for free later. A girl has her standards.
Evening rolls around, and Jared gets ready; shower, hot as he can take it, a thorough shave from chin to toes, with a little light trimming in between, a compromise between baldy and fluffy pubes. A little light plucking of the brows-thank the lord he was blessed with good ones-then moisturizer, tinted face cream, the barest dusting of glittery blush, just a whisper, and a tinted gloss, again just a whisper.
He stares at himself in the mirror, looking himself over critically: slightly tilted hazel eyes, greenish, blueish, depending on the light and his mood. He's been told they look fox-like. It wasn't a compliment, but now he likes that they do. He rubs a hand down his nose. He used to hate how it tilted up, 'ski-slope nose', his mom used to call it, 'too pointy.' Just another aspect of his face he's grown to like, like his dimples and his cupid's bow lips. People used to point out all those little parts of his face to make him feel bad about himself, but now, he loves them, moles and all. It all makes him him.
Jared shakes his head, flinging his hair around his face, then pulls fingers through it until it settles the way he wants. He looks, judging, before smiling.
"Bitch, you look good."
Today, he tones down his look slightly, going with jeans, wide-collared shirt, a chest-hugging vest. He tends to do this on a new date; the client will let him know what he wants after.
He's ready for the night now-and kind of upbeat about it. He likes sex, likes having it, and the guys he has it with these days aren't bad. He mostly has control over what happens, when and how, unlike the streets. And now, the difference is he's finally able to work whole-heartedly towards an end goal. Life could be worse.
Tom
Jared's leaning against the room's door, knocking softly. "Come on, angel cakes, it's JJ; let me in," he whispers, and seconds later, the door creaks open and like always only opens enough to show a sliver of eye, cheek, chin, as Tom peeks out the door like the entire vice squad is going to leap out, gasoline and matches in their hands, champing at the bit to roast the queers. Jared has no idea why dear Mr. Welling insists on doing this to himself. It's annoying and Jared gets kind of impatient with the same damn dance week after week. But dough is dough, and Thomas Welling is fucking loaded, so Jared parks his annoyance at the door.
Tom looks him up and down as he struts in the door. It's a look that in a tiger would mean mealtime, but Tom is generally careful not to step over the line; he toes it hard, but never scoots over. If he toes it too much, he makes up for it by being extra nice-the "Clark Kent" Chad describes him as.
"You look really good tonight, JJ," Tom says, and Jared grins, does a campy little turn, ending with a hand on his hip and his package nicely on display in his skin-tight, super low-cut jeans. He does a little shimmy-it's kind of like his signature move-then leans back on his heels. His platform boots he chose this evening makes him ten feet tall. Or at least three inches taller than Thomas. That little shimmy also made sure his meticulously trimmed treasure trail is visible, running like a guideline from under the knotted hem of his T-shirt to point down at the goods.
Tom grits his teeth and, holy shit, Jared thinks, did he just growl? Then Tom balls his hands and breathes deep.
"Yeah, like really fucking good, damn. For me, right?"
"Thank you, Baby, I'm glad you like. And of course this is just for you tonight." Jared grins, sweeping the newsboy cap he's wearing off and across the room. He likes the way he looks too, and the BITCH buckle sits proud right over his dick, of course. Despite what Tom wants to think, Jared's got no problem dressing semi-butch for him, just like he has no problem imitating Bowie, or Johnnie Cash, or who the fuck ever the client wants. If it freaks out the straights, that's just a perk.
Tom circles him like a hungry hyena, trailing his fingers around Jared's waist, just barely skimming the waistband. It tickles, in an irritating way.
"So, I know we usually do dinner and shit, but I'm really kinda horny, JJ, How 'bout you?"
Tom has got the most beautiful blue-green eyes, full lips and a wide jaw that sets them off perfectly. With black hair and those eyes, he's really hot looking, not to mention built like a brick shithouse. It's just his personality got arrested somewhere around grade ten. Whatever he does for a living, it can't possibly involve sparkling conversation. Jared flicks those thoughts away. He's not getting paid to fuck Tom's personality. All in all, he's an easy hundred bucks: a decent fuck, and sometimes they watch TV after, or talk sports or music over pizza. And on those rare occasions that iron control slips, holy shit, he's a monster in the sack, and sometimes, even creative. Jared makes sure he gets a good tip after, because he's usually too sore for the next few days. No biggy.
Before Jared answers him, Tom stalks up and grabs his BITCH belt buckle, shakes it.
"You know what-don't care. Get on the bed."
Oh, you fucker! So it's gonna be one of those nights. Jared pulls his T-shirt over his head, throws it to the floor, then unbuckles BITCH. He plops his ass on the floor, legs spread wide and Tom's eyes zero in on his crotch. Jared smirks, and yanks his platforms off one by one, then flops flat on his back, bucks his hips up and starts to peel off his jeans.
Tom's watching this little bit of theater like a parched man about to dive in a lake. damn, I shoulda been an actor,' Jared thinks as he makes a big production of squirming out of his jeans. He crawls upright, showing off the tiny silk panties he's half-hard in, head of his dick peeking out over the lacy top.
Tom, on the other hand, is iron-rod hard and practically ripping his own clothes off.
"Oh, fuck," he groans. "Red lace? You're fuckin' killing me, JJ."
Jared leers at him.
"Oh, you like, baby?" he asks, running his thumbs under the lacy waistband. It was hard as hell to find a pair of panties in his size. His balls barely had room, but luckily his tiny hips fit in a big girl's pair.
Naked, Tom drops to his knees and licks and sucks the front of them, soaking the red silk and bringing Jared to full hardness.
"Fuck, work that dick," he hisses, because Tom likes some chit-chat while he works. Tom grunts, and his hips punch the air before he dives back in, all sloppy and wet like the greedy little bitch he is.
Tom works the panties down with his mouth and fingers, stopping every few seconds to suck the tip of Jared's dick. It turns Jared on to no end, the way Tom starts out all pinch-faced and reluctant, and ends up absolutely fucking desperate to get in his ass. Tom pulls off with a heartfelt groan, eyes closed, tears leaking at the corners, his mouth soft and open. Looks like a martyred saint-except for the drool dripping off his chin. Jared's hips twitch. One day, he's gonna get this trick to let him come on his face.
Tom leaps up, yanks Jared to the bed and tosses him on it. "Take 'em off, hands and knees."
"Okay, Angel Cakes. But rubber first." As if he'd let this closet queen fuck him raw.
"Yeah, okay," and Tom digs a rubber out of the bedside table drawer, along with a slim tube of lube. Chad's buddy is on his business-it's him that stocks the drawers. Jared knows there's a couple of sets of towels in the bathroom, and sheets to change the bed, a laundry bag to stuff them in. It's Jared's job to fuck 'em and clean up after. And for that, he makes a cool two hundred. One hundred of that gets split with Chad and his buddy, but the rest is his. Some weeks he's taking five hundred clear, what with the occasional extra that he pockets.
Not bad at all. Chad is underpaying himself, but his bud is making more than enough to keep his mouth shut.
"Yew-ouch!" Great, thanks, dude; that felt like getting a tank shaft shoved up my ass. Fucking Tom, so impatient. He does stop for a second to let Jared adjust, then pounds on when Jared gives him the high sign. Just like he thought, it's gonna be one of those nights.
Tom's pretty big, and Jared feels the heat and width of him as he shoves every fucking inch up inside. Tom pulls back until just the crown is hooked inside him, and Jared can't help but groan; his asshole does love that stretch. He's concentrating on nothing but the feeling of big, fat dick punching back inside him, blocking out everything but that, when suddenly his lovely, blank, fuck-me-fuck-me space is invaded by images of Jensen. It's Jensen who's holding him, Jensen's dick spreading him wide. He sees Jensen bending over him, dripping sweat on his shoulders, gasping, digging in deeper and grinding.
Jared yells and curses, gets his hand on his own dick. Tom grunts, digs his nails deep into Jared's hips and twists-
Jared barely squeezes his dick before come floods his hand, shoots up his wrist, drips all over the sheets. He's got a mouthful of pillowcase he nearly bites a hole in. He kind of hates how hot that piercing twist of nails in his skin was.
Tom drops back on his heels, still straddling Jared, his finger and thumb locked around the base of his dick and the rubber. His face is bright red and he's breathing like a bull. Jared groans and Tom's dick jerks. "Ah, fuck, seriously JJ, you're gonna kill me one day."
"Sure, Sugar, so long's you're not in the saddle when it does," Jared laughs. "C'mon baby, let me up now. Gotta shower."
"Okay. Money's in the drawer." Tom rolls off, and lays there, staring at Jared, looking fucked out and slightly confused or something, but hello, not Jared's problem. He has no idea what's going on in that closet of Tom's and doesn't really want to know. He punches Tom's arm softly, and rolls out of bed.
It had been a decent day, truly. But thank the lord, it's finally over, and not only over but the day had ended more or less on time. Any time a Monday ran that smoothly was a miracle. That they were way ahead on the newest promotion was a double miracle, meaning Wednesday would be a breeze and he'd be able to catch up on paperwork. Jensen's step picks up as he counts out the other pluses to a good day-Morgan was happy, Michael was happy, Glover's some emotion that for him passes for happy….
Jensen himself is, well, not unhappy. Even with today's pluses he feels just slightly...blah? Gray? And the thought of going home makes him feel the kind of gray that not even the sun streaking through the buildings can break up. Just the thought of spending another nearly silent, so-very-civil night with Jeanette, sipping Tom Collins and watching PBS, fills him head to toe with a cloudy kind of blankness that's almost like dread. Another night where his only other choice besides PBS and silence is to close himself up in his closet-dash-office.
Or maybe, he thinks, tonight they'll pull out TV trays, and watch Mash during dinner instead. Not really a hardship, he thinks. Mash features his favorite TV character: BJ Hunnicut, who's kind of, well, hot actually. Tall, a nice build, with big hands and a great smile. And he's funny, and he's kind-Jensen thinks he might possibly be his type. And yes, Jensen's brave enough these days to quietly admit, to himself, in the privacy of his mind, that he might not be as ruler-straight as he wants to be.
Jensen walks on a few more steps before letting out a startled laugh.
"Oh my god," he moans out loud. BJ reminds me of Jared, or vice versa. Just a little. Maybe BJ's the hint of an older Jared to come.
"Oh, wow, you do know how to laugh!" he hears from behind. Jensen whirls around and there he is, the architect of Jensen's sexual crisis. Thinking that surprises another laugh out of him and that makes Jared giggle. How the hell can a grown man giggle like that and still be so damn sexy?
"I love it when you laugh," Jared says, his eyes sparkling, his face lit up so sweetly. Jensen's struck by a desire to kiss that grin.
Jared goes on brightly. "So, I'm here and not busy. I'm guessing from your joy your workday's done, and I'll bet you're as hungry as I am. You wanna get dinner? Oh! Or do you have to hurry home?"
It's bright outside, the breeze drifting past them is warm and full of the smell of growing things from the park. He's already gone through his options for the evening and really, this one is preferable to the others by far. "You know what, no, I don't have to rush. I'll call home when we pass a phone."
"Oh good!" Jared tilts his head. The sun gleams off a glitter-dusted cheekbone and Jensen is lost. He'll go anywhere Jared drags him and he'll love it. "I know a place in the park, has the best dogs ever."
Oh my god, anywhere except for a hot dog stand-salmonella on a bun. Jensen rubs the back of his neck. Smiling hopefully, he says, "Uhm, How about we take a walk through the park and then find a place where we can sit down, and order from a menu instead of a chalkboard? My treat."
Jared throws his arms up in the air and does a hilariously awkward shimmy, but looks so damn pleased Jensen can't help smiling too.
"Yes!" he crows, "and I know just the place; a real restaurant that you will love, I promise."
Jensen sneaks looks at Jared as they walk. Jared always dresses so, so boldly, he's unique. Today he's wearing a pair of high-waist pants and leather suspenders-surprisingly sexy as heck. He's also sporting a blue and white oxford shirt, open almost to his waist, with the sleeves rolled up over some impressive forearms. Jensen swallows, and imagines what it would feel like to have one pressed against his throat. Blinking, he drags himself out of his little smutty, weirdly kinky, fantasy, just to end up fixated on the red bandanna tied around Jared's beautiful swan neck. Jensen's dick also takes notice. He's beginning to suspect he might have a yen for tight, constrict-y things and necks.
"Wow," he mutters, meant to be a comment to himself but Jared hears him, and breaks out in a dimple-bracketed smile. God, fuck, this man is going it kill Jensen with sheer sex appeal.
"You like today's look?" Jared asks, swirling around in a tight circle. "I call this my 'Dirk Bogarde At The Beach' look."
Jensen is so distracted by a flash of pretty, pink, nipple he has to rerun what Jared said in his head. Still didn't get it, so, "Your what?" Jensen asks, guessing that it's maybe some kind of gay code-talk for drop-dead sexy.
"An actor who-you know what? Never mind," Jared pouts, and kicks out gently with Converse-clad feet. "Just count yourself dead lucky to be strolling out with a fox like me."
"I do," Jensen says. He's a little embarrassed at how serious he sounds. He wants to make a joke of it, but Jared falters, kind of stumbles to a stop and blushes. He smiles shyly at Jensen, so unlike the sex kitten he was a second ago. In this moment, he's not Jared, the street-wise working boy; he's just a sweet, gorgeous, lovely boy, who actually wants to spend time with Jensen. Jensen smiles back, hiding a sigh. He wishes it could be like this all the time.
They walk down a gravel path that takes them into the park, Jared tugging him cheerfully along the wide pathways lined with benches and strips of frantically blooming spring flowers. Jared stops occasionally to show Jensen things that interest him, which makes them interesting to Jensen as well. Like a small cat sculpture sitting neatly under a tree-a sketch of granite that says cat without being a cat-something he'd never noticed before but Jared happily points out to him.
"I always like to walk here in the daytime," Jared says. "It's like, full of people, but minus the horrible, desperate feeling. I only do night walks during holidays or evening concerts, or an outdoor play. I do like plays but can't afford them much." They walk along quietly. "I saw David Bowie last year," Jared blurts. "A client, I mean my friend, Chad, gave me tickets. Said he didn't want to go, can you imagine?"
Jensen expresses surprise-not really that someone didn't want to go, but because he's seen pictures and read an article or two about Bowie, and can't imagine what it's like, going to a concert like that. Every once in a while, there's a lawn concert in their area and they'll go, but...Jensen frowns, deepening the little vee between his eyebrows. It's actually been a long time since Jeanette and he have attended one. Maybe he should suggest...something, anything, for Jeanette and him to do together.
Jared's enthusiastically recounting what seems like every single second of the concert; how they'd dressed like Bowie, had spent what felt like hours making up his face like Bowie's. How he'd walked blocks in platform boots that made him almost seven feet tall-he was laughing and smiling and fucking beautiful. Jensen desperately orders himself not to notice, without much success.
Their round-about stroll finally takes them to a little Greek restaurant in a neighborhood that is obviously gay-friendly. From behind a big paper menu, Jensen steals glances at the people lingering on the sidewalk outside, flitting and flapping about like half-stoned peacocks. It makes him uneasy, makes him wonder if he could ever fit into that life. Not that he needs to, it's not like he's gay. He's just…curious.
Jensen turns away and settles his entire attention on Jared, who preens under his gaze, and flits and flaps a tiny bit himself. Jensen decides that on Jared, it's kind of cute. He slowly relaxes, a few glasses of wine and Jared's joyful personality working magic. They order with Jared's help, and Jared offers tastes of everything he's ordered, and filches bits of whatever Jensen has ordered. There's a cucumber-yogurt-sauce thing that's actually good, eaten with pita bread.
Jared notices he's a little slow to choose this unfamiliar food, so of course he helps. "Here, try this, it's called dolmades," Jared says, and forks over a few bundles of leaves wrapped around rice, Jensen thinks, and it's not bad, but Jared loves them.
"You can eat the rest of mine," Jensen says, and Jared pretends to pout before scarfing them down. The souvlaki is quite good, though, and he fends off Jared's poaching attempts. Grilled meat on a stick? Hell no, he's not sharing.
Dinner's winding down to an end. Between them, they enjoy a piece of sticky-sweet baklava, and their coffee's nearly gone when Jared yelps," Your wife!"
Jensen quells the impulse to leap to his feet and run, before he gets what Jared means.
"Oh hell, I have to call her," he breathes. Jared points towards the phone on the back wall, and he hurries to make the call. He's damn lucky: he gets the answering machine, and though he briefly wonders where she is, his overriding feeling is relief.
After dinner, Jared walks him back to the train station. When he says goodbye, he kisses Jensen on both cheeks, like Michael's air kisses, but unlike Michael, Jared actually makes contact. His lips are so soft and warm, Jensen can't help but lean into them, just a bit.
"Thanks so much, Jen. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."
"Jen. Ah, you called me Jen…" It felt weird, no one called him Jen. But hearing it from Jared, it felt different.
"Oh, I did! I'm sorry, do you not like that? I'll stop--"
"No, please don't. It sounds…friendly. Yes. I like it And I had a terrific time too," Jensen replied, and meant it with all his heart. "I'd like to do this again. I…" he shrugs and laughs. "I could use a friend. I mean, I have coworkers I talk to but...not too many friends."
"Oh, Jensen!" Jared practically hugs him off his feet. "Of course, we're friends, the best of!"
Jensen makes his way down the stairs to the platform, watching Jared wave good-bye so enthusiastically he imagines he can feel the breeze. His sweet, adorable, goofy friend keeps waving like that until Jensen can't see him anymore.
Jeffery Dean Morgan
Oh my god, 'm fuckin' fried… Jared rolls over onto his face, absolutely exhausted. He's had his two least favorite dates in a row this week-closeted, self-hating Tom, and now Jeff. He usually likes to space those two apart, give himself time to recover, but Jeff had been adamant, and Jeff pays really well, so Jeff gets what he wants.
Jeff. The man's been kind of a mystery since the day they met. He's bi, older than Jared by ten or so years. He gives off strong daddy vibes-he liked it a hell of a lot when Jared had tentatively used "Daddy" on Jeff that first date. Too bad, because Jared fucking hates Daddys.
"On your back" Jeff says, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates in his chest. Like always, it makes Jared's toes want to curl, the faithless bitches. Jared doesn't think he's got one ounce of strength left to give. They've been at it forever. How the fuck is this guy still going? He's old, damn it. Shouldn't he have a shit refractory period?
Jared flops to his back and Jeff grabs his legs, throws them over his shoulders.
"You're a wreck," he growls, thumbing at the tender, swollen hole. Jared's torn between wanting to kick him in the face and wanting to come. Again.
"Jeff…"
Jeff doesn't reply, of course. He's too busy between Jared's legs. The only time he pays attention to something that's not Jared's asshole is when he's making sure Jared's got his knees up over his shoulders. Jared crosses his ankles, holds on for dear life, and sends up a prayer to…whoever listens to whores.
Jeff is not like most of the tricks Jared's had in the game-most of them were sloppy, desperate, and acted like they were playing some secret, dirty game, like what they do is disgusting and shameful. Jeff, though, he leaps into it like he's about to drag Jared to heaven, or maybe drag him to hell. A hell run by a sexy, fucking devil. He hates how Jeff can fucking play him like a fiddle. It's like being tortured, the way Jeff brings him to the edge time and again, without letting him drop over.
It wouldn't even be so bad if Jared could believe even the littlest bit that Jeff sees him as more than a walking, talking, sex doll who's maybe slightly smarter than a golden retriever. He learned early on that Jeff basically didn't give a shit about what Jared had to say unless it was 'fuck me, Daddy, harder, faster', or 'Can I get you a drink?'
Jeff slides two fingers inside him and pulls him wide. The ache and the sting makes Jared moan, not necessarily in a bad way. God, he can't really complain too much about any of the stuff Jeff does, not when he pays double what his other clients do.
Jared jerks when Jeff's tongue slides inside, hot, wet-kind of rough against the overworked, sensitive skin of Jared's hole.
"Oh, please, Daddy, please, swear, killin' me," Jared moans out through gritted teeth. Before Jeff, no one had ever touched his asshole with anything other than fingers or their dicks. First time Jeff had gone down on him, he'd almost flown off the bed-like "ew, what the fuck are you doing down there?"
Now though, Jezuzfuck, it's the hottest thing ever. His dick struggles to stand, but no dice. Jeff, though, he doesn't have a problem. He's rolling a rubber down his shaft and slicking up and punching right inside. Jared feels like he's coming, even if his dick is like, 'no thank you'.
Jeff's a fucking bastard, he's a dick in more ways than one. Jared just lays there, sobbing, while Jeff wrecks the fuck out of him. Doesn't take long before Jeff grunts, "Bitch," and unloads into the rubber.
"Next time, we do this raw," he growls and Jared screams 'Oh yes, yes, Daddy!" Hah. Fuckin' dream on.
Jeff pulls out, strips off the rubber and tosses it somewhere in the room. Great. He'll have to make sure to get that when he cleans up-
Jeff strokes his lip with a huge, calloused thumb, then tilts Jared's jaw down and holds his dick out to let Jared clean the spunk off him. He smiles down at Jared with that, 'you're such a clever golden retriever' look on his face. Jared flutters his lashes, laves his tongue around Jeff's dick and reminds himself of the balance in his savings account.
There's not much chit-chat with Jeff afterward and that suits Jared just fine. He says his lines. "Thank you, Daddy, that was amazing." Not much of a lie, Jeff's an asshole but he knows what to do with his dick-"Thank you for giving me a treat." Jared smiles slow and seductive, licks his lips like he's just had a triple brownie sundae, and almost groans in frustration when Jeff's eyes heat up again and he takes a step closer. Jared just manages to quell a sigh of relief when Jeff shakes his head instead.
"Sorry, Baby-Boy, gotta get back home before the old ball and chain sends bloodhounds after me. You be a good boy til I see you again, y'hear?"
"Yes, Daddy," he says, watching Jeff stroll off to the bathroom, muscle shifting under that furry hide like a panther.
"Fuck you, Daddy," he mutters. "You fuckin' hot-ass creep."
Jeff whisks through a shower; he's dressed and gone in minutes, leaving behind a stack of bills placed neatly on the nightstand. Jared crawls across the bed, grabs the stack to count it. "Fucking sweet," he whispers. Instead of his usual four hundred, Jeff's left six, and damn right he did. Shit, should have left more considering; Jared's chest is still heaving, still working for air, his hole's still clamping and opening around nothing and sore as hell. God, he oughta quit the motherfucker. It's not like he doesn't know Jeff's an asshole, sometimes almost scary, especially when he comes in rolling that fucking wedding ring around his finger, a hard, blank stare in his eyes….
Someday, soon, Jared swears to himself, someday soon, Jeff is going to get the old heave-ho despite the bucks. Jared blows hair out of his face and snarls. It's Chad's fault. Fucking Chad with the god damn Jeff-hate. Like, he's starting to get a little under Jared's skin with his whacked-out paranoia about the guy.
"Oh well." Jared snorts softly as he counts the pile of hundreds again, peels one-fifty off the stack. Today is not that day. He'll give Chad a bill, and fifty as usual to his buddy because somehow it's never quite come up in casual conversation that Jeff always pays more than Jared's price-and yeah, he's so not telling either of them that tonight earned him a cool six bills. After all, it's not like they're the ones going to have to plop their aching asses into an oatmeal bath for the next night or two.
He slaps his feet on the floor, ready to lever himself up and "Holy shit!" It feels like he's got an arrow shoved up his ass. "Oh, fuck me…."
Grabbing an extra twenty-five bills off the stack, Jared tosses it aside and fumbles for the bedside phone. "Chad, man, can--"
"Jared, what? Are you okay?"
Jared rolls his eyes at Chad's barely concealed panic. What the fuck does he think the guy's going to do? He's a raging asshole, yeah, but he's not crazy.
"Chad, I'm fine!! I keep telling you, he's enthusiastic, not dangerous. He's not gonna hurt me, but sweet-cheeks, I'm soooo tii-ired. Can you please call the concierge guy an' tell him we're keeping the room overnight?"
"Winton, and he's gonna want more cash…okay, yeah, take it out of my cut,"he says, and Jared feels a pinprick of guilt.
"No, no, I, I got a tip. I'll take care of it."
"Wow, you sure? Okay. I've got you, girl, go sleep. Rest that asshole up for the rest of the week, we need that money maker in tip-top shape, y'hear?"
"Oh, fuck you, Miss Thing!" Jared goes on to describe just how short and stumpy Chad's family tree is, and he can still hear Chad laughing as he hangs up on him. Jared's giggling too. Sure, Chad's a jerk, but he's Jared's jerk.
He rolls himself in the blankets and heaves the biggest sigh. He's been kind of lonely lately-meaning he hasn't spent any real time with Chad. Or Jensen. God, but he misses Jensen. Sadly, he's stepped back somewhat, calling off on lunches, rarely coming into the city for breakfast anymore. He's been on some kind of kick to "save his marriage". Not that Jared begrudges Jensen his desire to be normal. It's just, what Jensen should be doing is fighting his way out of the closet, not diving deeper into it. But Jared can't tell him that. Jensen has to find that out on his own. People need to find their own truth at their own time.
Jared stretches out on the huge bed, and watches TV for a bit, hoping the mindlessness of infomercials will eventually lull him to sleep. He's halfway through a fish being whirled into soup by a magically proficient blender before he's up again, cursing and punching his pillow.
Okay, alright damn it, the truth is he hates Jensen's wife. Jared has the feeling that she married Jensen with ‘fixing' him in mind. Not because of anything Jensen said, exactly; it's just, Jared's run into those "love of a good woman" bitches before. He knows they're capable of taking everyone down around them in their quest to love the gay out of a good man, and that includes themselves.
Jared mutters, "God help you, Jen, get the fuck out before she eats you alive." He flicks the cable box to another show, the late night movie this time. Hopefully it'll be boring enough to send him to dreamland.
It's the third time Jensen's checked his watch-he smiles when he catches himself doing it. He switches the tiny bouquet he'd grabbed on a whim to his other hand, petals drifting to the ground. His forte is not picking flowers, it seems. With luck, Jared'll be here before the darn thing wilts away entirely.
Jensen breathes out a little sigh; a little exasperated, a little amused, but definitely fond. Jared's always a little late, but he's always so very apologetic. It's kind of sweet really. The man is six foot four, maybe more, and he's a glitter-splashed hurricane. Every time Jensen sees him, it feels like the first time. That spark of excitement, followed by a little wave of warmth, or heat sometimes, depending on how Jared looks back at him. It's been a while since they've had the chance to meet up-Jensen frowns briefly-but finally, he's ready.
Ready. Jensen shakes his head. Will he ever be? He's attracted to Jared, he's...but it's a sexual thing, that's all, nothing more than that. He wants to sleep with Jared because he's...he wants to know what it's like, being with a man. He's kissed a boy, but not more than that. Kissing had made him hard, but that experience is also twisted up in fear and a feeling of desperation. Sleeping with Jared might just chase all that away-his life would be a clean slate again and he could go forward.
But chasing the fear away with Jared will definitely throw a twist into Jensen's carefully arranged life. And that's not even counting the infidelity. Jensen's pretty sure Jared has no problem with that-it's his bread and butter, isn't it? Repressed, closeted old men getting their rocks off. But Jeanette, and the life they've made...does she really deserve something like that? Jensen finds it hard to imagine she does. And ignores the small, dry voice in the back of his head that wonders why a realtor has so many late nights at the office. And why he never checks up about it.
"Jensen!"
Thank god! Those thoughts are blown away when he hears his name being shrieked out, sounding like a four-year-old meeting Elmo for the first time. Jared is running towards him, decked out in pale blue, skin-tight jeans and a pink baby-doll top. He's wearing pink lipstick and a smile a mile wide. He's outrageous and silly, and so fucking adorable at the same time. Jensen wonders if Jared knows how incredible, how amazing he is?
"Oh my god, Jen, I've missed you so much! Oh my stars, are these for me? So sweet! And oh, I am so sorry! I know, I know, I'm always late! But this time I've got a very good reason, I swear, it was absolutely not a hair crisis. Or an eyebrow crisis. So, I have this new client-"
Jensen pretends he wants to hear about some guy who's sleeping with Jared, who's paying to sleep with Jared. What would Jared do if he offered to pay him? Jensen doesn't even finish that line of thought, because Jared would say yes since it's his job, and that would tank their friendship. It would confuse who they are to each other. Jensen doesn't want that. He might be sexually attracted to his friend, but he needs Jared. As a friend. And of course, his marriage…it's got to come first. Ought to come first. He ignores that damn voice that is getting louder lately, the one that's asking, 'but do you want it? Does she want it?'
He glances over at Jared. Jared's chatting away, dragging his fingers through his unruly hair, flipping the ends as he pulls his hands away. He notices Jensen staring and smiles shyly. How? How does he do that, turn into a sweet kid who doesn't make his living sleeping with men? Jensen bites his lip,hard, before smiling back at Jared.
"- forward to getting to know him better, Timothy is really a lovely person, I almost feel bad getting paid for it. Almost. Jensen?" Jared's looking at him like Jensen hasn't heard a word he's said, which to be fair, Jensen actually hasn't heard a word he's said.
"Jenn-sseen," Jared mock-whines, tosses his head and fakes a pout. God, Jensen wishes he didn't find Jared pretending to be prissy as adorable as he does. "Where are you, 'cause you're not here with me. You have to pay attention to me on our date-I mean, oh wow, not date. I didn't mean date. You know what I mean."
Jared's bright pink and mortified now, and Jensen laughs a little before giving him a side-hug. This kid is going to kill him.
"I know, it's okay. Hey, where are we going to lunch today?"
"Well," Jared bites his lip, and his pink cheeks flush even darker. "I was thinking I'd love to make lunch for you, maybe just hang out. If you have time, I mean. I know you and your wife have had some," Jared shrugs and buries his nose in the little bouquet, effectively hiding his face. It bothers Jensen that he does that, makes him feel oddly guilty, but he just nods.
"Jeanette and I have been trying to, to reconnect. I. . . I need to try, Jared, y'know? I need to try before I throw three years away, just like that." Jensen stops and sucks in a shocked breath. He hadn't meant it like that-shit, he hadn't let himself even think of it like that. Leaving her.
Jared takes Jensen's hand in such a gentle hold, and smiles softly, and god, those eyes of his, so full of sadness, of knowing.
"Then come to my place. I'll put these cuties in some water before they finish dying in my hands-"
Jensen laughs. "It was the only small arrangement they had!"
"Oh, I'm so sure. We'll have lunch, and we can talk about you and Jeanette if you want, okay?" And then his attitude shifts; he looks like a giant, mischievous elf. His eyes glitter like he's about to share the best joke. "If you're worried about your virtue, my roommate's going to be there, so you'll be safe. He's not into threesomes."
A woman passing by does an enormous double-take, sneaking looks behind her as she hurries away, and Jensen barks a loud laugh.
"Ah, man, you're crazy, Jared. But I'd love to have lunch at your place, roommate or not."
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