Never Stuck Around Long Enough For a One Night Stand, Part 1

[beckaandzac]

masterpost | part 1 | part 1a | part 2 | epilogue | art post

“Coffee, short stack, side of bacon.” These are the first words Jensen says to Jared.

“Cream?” is the first word Jared says to Jensen.

Next is, “Thanks”; then, “You’re welcome”; “Here’s your check”; “Keep the change”; “Have a good night!”

That’s all for a three and a half weeks. But Jared recognizes him the next time his route takes him through Batesville, Indiana, off interstate 74 between Cincinnati and Indianapolis. “Short stack?” he asks, when Jensen sits down at the empty counter.

“How did you remember that?” Jensen recognizes him too, not knowing his name is Jared, just knowing he’s younger and less worn than most of the short-order cooks Jensen sees in the middle of the night. And he makes more unsettling eye contact.

“It’s a gift,” says Jared. “So, short stack?”

“Yeah. Coffee, side of bacon.”

Last time there were a few other people in the little diner, even at two am, but this time it’s just the two of them. Jared idles at the counter with his spatula, waiting on the grill. “Where you headed?” he asks.

“Indianapolis,” says Jensen.

“This a regular route for you?”

“Could be. It’s pretty new.”

“I’m Jared,” says Jared. He flips Jensen’s pancakes and holds out a big hand to shake.

Jensen smiles. “Jensen. Have you been running this place long?”

“I’m just the night shift. The guy who runs the place doesn’t think working 12 to 8 really agrees with him.”

“It agrees with you better?”

Jared dishes up Jensen’s pancakes with a big grin. “I get to meet a lot of fine folks passing through.” He catches Jensen’s eye, and Jensen’s stomach swoops disturbingly. It’s not like those nights in Dallas or Atlanta, some big anonymous city where he can get a room and go out with his hair gel and his tightest jeans and find someone who’s looking for the same thing he is. He doesn’t flirt while he’s working, and there are a lot of goddamn good reasons for that. Jensen in his grimy cap and his bomber jacket isn’t supposed to attract that kind of attention. But he holds Jared’s gaze for a little, heart racing, because if Jared is fucking with him, he’s going to have to cross this off the list of places he wants to stop in the middle of the night.

“That so?” he asks, drawling it out a little, hoping he’s playing the same game Jared is. Jared’s grin opens up even more. How long has it been, Jensen wonders, since Jared found somebody like him? How many more are out there, not talking about it, getting off where they can?

The bell above the door chimes, and in walks Jim Beaver. Jensen nearly falls off his stool. He feels caught out, and he hopes his cap and his beard hide the red flaming in his cheeks. “Hey, Jen,” says Jim, slapping him on the back. “Sorta thought that was your rig outside. Didn’t know you were up this way much.”

“Haven’t been before now,” Jensen replies. “How you doing, old man? Haven’t seen you since, what, last spring?” They used to pass each other going north-south on 95 pretty often, but in the last couple of years their routes haven’t matched up much. Still, Jim was kind to him when Jensen first started driving and was still figuring out how to hack the long empty stretches. They talked by CB sometimes, not about anything in particular, just shooting the shit in the middle of the night. He doesn’t really want Jim watching him make eyes at some guy in a diner.

They get to talking among themselves instead, and Jared comes quietly through, refilling their coffee until Jim invites him into the conversation. Jared grew up twenty miles away, in a town with a Main Street and not much else. He’s got family a few states away, but he’s hungry for travel in a way Jensen recognizes from his own youth. “There’s plenty of money in driving if you’ve got somebody looking out for you in the beginning,” Jensen tells him.

Jared ducks his head, almost apologetic. “I don’t think I could live on the road like y’all do. But drop me a postcard sometime. I’ll think about it.”

“These are the best pancakes I’ve had in months,” Jim tells him. “Not sure I should encourage you to switch careers when you’re doing so good here.” He winks.

Jared seems younger when he’s talking to Jim, eager and puppyish. Jensen starts to wonder how old he is, if maybe he’s just a kid dreaming to himself. Big for his age, surely, but that doesn’t really mean anything. “How old are you, Jared?” he asks as smoothly as he can, like it’s not a non-sequitur, because even flirting would seem wrong with a kid of nineteen.

“Twenty-three,” says Jared.

“Still plenty of time to make up your mind then,” Jim says stoutly. “Lots you could do with yourself.”

“Guess so,” says Jared. “Y’all need anything else?” He looks right at Jensen for a second, like they’ve got unfinished business to work out. But Jensen’s taken long enough sitting around in the diner, and he’s got to get where he’s going by nine AM. He says good morning to Jim and tips his hat to Jared.

“Don’t forget about that postcard,” Jared calls after him.

Jensen hesitates next to the postcard racks in every rest area he stops at over the next couple of weeks. He doesn’t send a lot of mail, so it’s a new thing for him. He finally picks out a picture postcard down near Miami, a stretch of beach and a sparkling skyline. “Jared, if you have never been to the ocean, you should come dip your toes in. See you soon, Jensen”

It’s another month ‘til he passes through Jared’s part of the world again, and he sees his postcard hanging behind the counter before he even sees Jared dishing out eggs. “See you got some mail,” Jensen says, taking a seat at the counter. It’s just after midnight, and the diner is halfway full with kids laughing and pounding back coffee, and a few other guys just like Jensen sitting quiet by themselves.

Jared lights up when he sees Jensen, grinning wide and bright. “You didn’t leave me any place to write back to.”

“I’ll give you my number,” Jensen says. “It’ll be faster.”

“You don’t get home much, do you?” Jared asks, pouring out coffee, his fingers brushing Jensen’s as Jensen takes the cup.

“My home’s right out front there,” Jensen drawls. He’s got a room in Cincinnati, but it’s just a plain little box where he keeps the stuff he can’t have in the cab of his truck. And he doesn’t want to see the pity on Jared’s face if he says that.

“I bet you’ve got a real nice setup.” Jared laughs.

Jensen would ask if he wants to come out and see it, if he were bolder and there weren’t so many goddamn people in the diner, but as is, he just smiles. “It suits me fine.”

Jared takes his order and teases him for ordering a big plate of steak and eggs this time instead of the usual pancakes, and Jensen watches him make small talk with every single other person in the diner, just as friendly and with a smile just as big. He starts to doubt his first impression, but when Jared drops off his check, he says, “And don’t forget that phone number.”

Jensen doesn’t call, and neither does Jared, and for a few weeks, Jensen’s routes are all up and down 95 and no place near Jared’s diner. He gets head from a guy at a rest stop in Virginia, gives some of his own in return, doesn’t need a lot of human contact to make it through a day or even a month. But when his phone finally rings and Jared’s name comes up on the screen, it’s a sweet little thrill up Jensen’s spine. It’s been a long while since he really knew anyone but truckers and the folks at the depots. He’s on the road, so he has to call the next time he takes a break, stretching his legs on a stretch of grass at a state welcome center.

“Jensen?” says Jared, sounding close and warm and surprised.

“Yeah, man, I saw you called. Good to hear from you.”

“You, too. Where are you today?”

“Heading down to Charlotte for the night, so I’ve got a lot of no place in particular to drive through between here and there.”

“Never been to Charlotte. That’s in North Carolina, right? What’s it like?”

Jensen hums to himself, considering how to describe it. “It’s nice. Lots of big old trees. Very southern and genteel, I guess. I don’t spend a lot of time really looking around. I have to drop my cargo and get out.”

“Don’t you ever just get a break to look around?”

Jensen changes direction in the grass, watching the traffic flow by on the highway, grateful for the solid ground under his boots and his legs holding him up strong and steady, a few minutes out of the cab of his truck. “I’m taking a break right now talking to you.”

“Does your phone have a camera? Take a picture of where you are right now and send it to me. I want to see what it’s like.”

Jensen laughs but obliges, framing a shot of the low brick building where the soda machines and the bathrooms are, some trees waving in the background. Pretty picturesque in its own way, but not exciting, not anything to write home about. “Does it look like you expected?” Jensen asks.

Jared hmms and hesitates. “I’m not sure what I expected,” he says honestly. “Where are you? The trees look different than they do here.”

Jensen doesn’t know whether to feel impressed or confused. There’s no part of any route he’s ever driven that he could identify by the types of the trees, and Jared doesn’t seem to find any part of what he’s said strange. “I-95 in northern Virginia, south of Washington, DC. What are the trees like that’s different?”

“I don’t know. Just different kinds of trees, I guess. When you get used to looking at the same patch of woods every day, any change seems like a pretty big deal.”

Jensen wishes he could take Jared on the road with him for a moment. Jared sounds like a kid in awe of a grownup, like every new turn might make his eyes light up and that big grin spark on his face. Jensen thinks it might be nice to see that, before he shakes himself out of it and remembers that Jared is still basically a stranger.

The next time he finds himself coming along the road past Jared’s diner, Jensen texts to tell him he’s nearby. Im off tonite :( Jared replies. And Jensen’s kind of disappointed, truth to tell, but he doesn’t think too much of it until his phone buzzes again a few minutes later: I could come by anyway :). See u soon, Jensen texts back.

When he pulls up and hops down from the cab of his rig, he doesn’t get more than a few paces before Jared’s right there next to him, so close and sudden Jensen nearly jumps out of his skin. “Hey,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Hey.” Jared steps in even closer, like he’s herding Jensen back towards his rig, and Jensen’s never quite thought about how very tall Jared is before now. “So let me know if I’ve just got the wrong end of things here, but…” He reaches down and cups a hand over Jensen’s crotch.

Jensen gasps and glances wildly around the parking lot. Jared is rubbing at him with his long fingers, and Jensen is definitely getting hard from it. He never would have expected the kid to be this bold, but he can’t say he entirely minds. “That’s what I thought,” Jared says quietly. His fingers rasp along Jensen’s zipper. “Can I blow you?”

Jensen’s backed up all the way into the shadow of the cab now, and he takes a second to reassess his situation. The parking lot is quiet, and the lights at its edge seem far away. It’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing plenty of times before. “Yeah,” he says, quietly in the dark, and Jared’s grin is sly and bright. He scrambles onto his knees on the cold pavement and opens Jensen’s fly.

Jared presses his face into the gap in Jensen’s jeans, and Jensen is glad he had time to shower not so many hours ago, although he wasn’t expecting anything like this out of his evening. Jared’s rucking up his shirt and kissing his belly, mouthing at him through his shorts, teasing like an absolute expert. Jensen smacks one palm across the door of the truck, holding in a moan. Then he gives up and lets his fingers find purchase in Jared’s thick hair.

By the time Jared shoves Jensen’s pants and underwear down his thighs, Jensen’s so hard he’s nearly dizzy, jutting his hips towards Jared’s open mouth, Jared’s breath hot on the crown of his dick. It’s a cool night, but the engine of the rig is still ticking warmly, and Jensen feels sweat beading down his back. He’s fairly sure that he’s never wanted anything before in his life as much as he wants Jared’s mouth on him right fucking now. He licks slow up the length of Jensen’s cock, all the way root to tip, and Jensen shuts his eyes. He’s not all that used to teasing, to anything but sharp focus on the goal at hand, and he’s torn between wanting Jared to hurry up about it already so they can get out of the goddamn parking lot and wanting Jared to keep doing exactly what he’s doing because it feels so damn good. Jensen sighs out a breath, and at that moment, Jared swallows him straight down, taking Jensen all the way into the back of his throat.

Jensen grunts and fists his hands to keep from coiling them in Jared’s thick hair. He wants to press Jared close, keep his cock halfway choking him, but Jared’s working him so deep and right already, pulling halfway off for a deeper breath and then sucking him in again. He grips at Jensen’s thighs, holding him still against the cab of the truck, fingers digging at him through his jeans so that Jensen can’t even arch into him, has to stand there and take whatever Jared gives him. And what Jared is giving him is pretty much fucking perfection. He’s coming before he can even murmur a warning, but Jared just swallows it down in long gulps, keeps sucking him until Jensen can’t stand the overstimulation and has to touch his cheek to urge him back.

Jared’s eyes flutter open, and his lips are swollen dark as he pulls off. Jensen uncurls his fists and touches Jared’s mouth with stiff fingertips, smudging at the softness of it. Jared winks up at him and pushes to his feet. He hesitates, leaning into Jensen, bending his head to duck under the bill of Jensen’s cap, and Jensen flinches sideways a little, covers by saying, “My turn,” and urging Jared around so his back’s against the door, his dick outlined obscenely in his jeans. Jensen doesn’t kiss men, doesn’t see the point in it when you’re just getting each other off like this. But he doesn’t want to spoil the nice post-orgasm buzz he’s got going to talk about it.

He sinks to his knees and unbuttons Jared’s fly. Jared’s got nothing on underneath, and Jensen scoops his dick out and starts stroking it, surprised and turned on all over again by the size of it. Jared’s a big guy, but that doesn’t always mean anything, as Jensen knows from experience. His dick is an amazing surprise, beer-can thick and long enough that Jensen’s got plenty of room to stroke on it. He licks a little at the head, where Jared’s already dripping for it, then opens his mouth to suck in the tip.

He takes Jared’s cock in as far as he can, swallowing around the foreign weight of it, letting Jared’s precome paint salty stripes across his tongue. Jensen’s jaw aches after only a minute, but he doesn’t stop, shifts position a little and keeps sucking, lips grazing farther down Jared’s shaft. Jared groans, soft with anticipation, and puts a hand out, undecided. Jensen covets that hand in his hair, wants Jared to hold him down in position and keep him on his cock, make him take it because Jensen can certainly ask for anything he wants, but he can’t ask to have his face fucked. And right now, that is exactly what he wants.

Jared touches the back of his head, fingers grasping at Jensen’s short hair. But Jared isn’t urging him on; he’s pulling Jensen off, tugging at the collar of his shirt, whispering, “Wait, wait, not like that.” Jensen is baffled and weirdly hurt, like he’s made a mistake, but he has no idea what it is.

Jared’s staring at his mouth, ripe and wet, slashed with spit and precome. He touches Jensen’s lower lip as Jensen pulls off.

“Come up here,” Jared says, and Jensen lifts himself off his knees, Jared’s voice brooking no argument. He grabs for Jensen’s wrist, brings Jensen’s hand down to stroke the hot length of his dick again, a slow back and forth. Jensen gets into the rhythm of it, watching Jared’s expression soften, watching him watch Jensen’s hand. He thumbs the dripping tip of Jared’s dick and Jared meets his eyes, his whole body close and hot. He leans his forehead in towards Jensen’s, and Jensen can practically feel the kiss coming, tightens his grip on Jared’s dick as he imagines dodging. But Jared just presses their faces together as Jensen gets him off, his breath panting out against Jensen’s lips, almost like a kiss but not enough that he has to say no, not enough that he wants to.

Jared groans out hard, and his come splashes Jensen’s belly, the stained stretch of his once-white t-shirt. Jensen doesn’t care; he’s too caught up in watching Jared’s face, the crease of his eyebrows, the way his eyes slide closed with pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” Jared says. “That was good.” He leans back against the cab of the truck, his legs spread, his dick hanging out obscenely. “Thanks.”

Jensen scratches at the back of his head, hides a grin. “Well, yeah, thanks.”

“You wanna get some food?” Jared asks, tucking himself back in and zipping up. “I know this nice little place right across the parking lot.

Jensen chuckles. “Yeah, I could use a bite.”

“I bet you could.” Jared winks, and goddamn but Jensen blushes like a little girl.

Jensen keeps finding that they still have more to talk about, and maybe at some point it should stop being a surprise, but it’s pretty great to be surprised by Jared, who is just full of stories, even if he thinks they’re not very exciting ones. He knows how to make a guy at the diner who came in looking for change into something worth listening to, and Jensen laughs so hard his sides hurt more often than not.

In return he tells Jared about where he’s been and where he’s going. Since Jared’s never traveled, he soaks up everything like a sponge, and Jensen’s not really used to all that much attention from anyone, so he probably fidgets a little the first time Jared tells him: “Describe it to me so I feel like I was there.”

Jensen’s in Wheeling, West Virginia getting dinner at this place he likes right by the river. Not a place that truckers come into all the time, a real restaurant full of families and couples and the kind of folks he feels he has to put on a clean shirt for. He’s standing outside with his phone, rocking on his heels in the parking lot and watching the traffic running steadily over the old bridge. He can’t go on it with his rig - he has to use the newer bridge downstream - but he describes the metal spokes wrapped in tiny white lights and the sun setting over the hills. “The new bridge is just a normal one, but if you get down into the heart of town, you can’t even see it. You see the old bridge and the lights, and these big old brick factory buildings up the hill to the east. It’s real old-fashioned.”

“Anybody work in those old factories?” Jared asks.

“Not that I know of. I think they’re just shells. Urban development hasn’t come through West Virginia much.”

“Yeah, same as here, I guess. What else do you see? What does it smell like?”

“Smell like?” Jensen laughs. “What kind of question is that?”

“If you want to make me feel like I was there, you’ve got to use all of your senses.”

“Okay, I guess. It smells like exhaust and frying seafood, and I don’t know, the river, I guess.”

“What does the river smell like?”

“I don’t know. What does any river smell like? It’s wet. It smells like a river.”

“I guess we’ll have to work on that. What do you hear?”

“The cars going by on the bridge, the bridge sort of hums when there’s traffic, you know, the wires and everything. I hear the wind picking up and rustling the leaves. There are lots of trees up and down the hills, and now that they’re blowing around, I smell new green leaves, too. Does that help?”

Jared laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, it helps a lot. When are you coming back my way? I could tell you about what rivers smell like.”

Jensen hesitates. He’s got to get to Indianapolis by midnight, and it wouldn’t be more than two hours out of his way to visit Jared at the diner on the return trip east, even though it’s not exactly on his route. He could spare the time, but less so the gas, and he’d look pretty silly driving his rig bobtailed into Indiana for no real reason. “I’ll see if I can pick up some job that’ll get me out that way next week,” he says.

“I’ll pencil you in on my social calendar.”

Jensen laughs. Sometimes Jared says things so weird and off the cuff that he can’t do anything else. He likes that Jared’s always a surprise.

He goes to see Jared on his way back east from hauling a load of wholesale furniture to a warehouse near Des Moines. He’s got to be in Columbus by noon, and he’s running out of hours he can legally work in the day, so it makes as much sense as anything to take a break, even though it’s four in the morning, and it’s probably a weird time for a social call.

Jared’s working, though, cleaning out the coffee maker in the empty diner, scrubbing dark sludge out of the machine’s innards. He turns when the bell over the door chimes, and he smiles really wide when he sees Jensen. He splays one hand in the air in a wave, old coffee grounds smearing his skin. “Hey, Jensen. Want some tea? The coffee’s not real great this morning.”

Jensen cocks an eyebrow at him. “I can’t imagine how that could be.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty hard to see. Think Jeff just needs to get a new system here. I’m pretty sure this thing’s older than I am.”

“You’re pretty young still, kiddo.”

Jared elbows onto the counter right across from Jensen. “Yeah, and how old are you? You never did tell me.”

“Twenty-eight. Old enough to know better.”

“Know better than what?”

“You’ll find out with age.”

Jared threatens him with a vile-smelling open palm, and Jensen laughs at the silliness of it. They’re both like kids right now. There’s no one else in the place, and he sees Jared glance at the door and then at his filthy hands, and his dick perks up in his jeans because he can see in Jared’s face the kind of thing he’s considering.

But then Jared turns back to the coffee pot and sets the dismantled pieces in a tub to soak before wiping his hands. “I’m gonna be in trouble if somebody less understanding than you comes by.”

“Yeah, I think you might be. What are Indiana’s concealed firearms laws like?”

Jared shrugs. “You wouldn’t let me get shot, would you?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“Well, you can dive under a table if you like, but the coffee maker isn’t going anywhere yet. So I’m ready to accept whatever comes to me.” Jared spreads his arms wide. “Or send them to the Denny’s up the road.”

“The pancakes wouldn’t be as good.” Jensen sips his tea. It’s been so long since he had any that he’d almost forgotten what it’s like, the edge to it almost floral. “So what do rivers smell like?” he asks, changing the subject.

Jared grins like he’s been preparing for this one. “They smell like running water and cold stone and dirt. And sunshine. Close your eyes and think about it. You’ll see what I mean. You must have smelled some rivers before.”

“Sometimes they just smell like sewage and swamp gas.”

“Not around here, they don’t.”

“You’ve really never been anywhere else much, have you?” Jensen asks thoughtfully.

Jared shakes his head. “Not much. I go up to Indianapolis sometimes, or to Bloomington. Went as far as Dayton with my family, been down to visit Graceland once on a vacation. That was a really long car ride with my bratty sister, let me tell you.”

“And other than that, no place else?”

“Just around here.”

“You’re not that far from Chicago,” Jensen points out, imagining the big old buildings crowding around him, the lake stretching out as wide and blue as an ocean. It would be pretty damn different to this.

“Maybe one day,” Jared says. “But you just try telling my piece of junk old car what is and isn’t too far. It’s got some pretty serious opinions about it.”

“Maybe I could take you up sometime.”

“In your truck?” Jared asks, obviously intrigued.

“Maybe. But I’ve got a car, too, for the days I’m not working. I could come up, and we could take a drive.”

“Just me and you?” says Jared, and Jensen starts to wonder if maybe he’s said the wrong thing. He doesn’t want Jared thinking it’s some kind of date or something; Jared must know he isn’t like that. “That could be pretty fun.”

Jensen grins. Crisis averted. “You ever been up to the dunes? Right up by the Illinois border on the lake?”

“Nope. Sounds like maybe this summer would be good, though. If you’ve got the time.”

“My schedule can be pretty flexible, as long as I get my hours in one way or another.”

“Cool.”

Jared jerks them both off in the tiny dirty diner bathroom, almost like an afterthought, like seeing Jensen was the draw and all the rest of this didn’t matter so much. He crowds close against Jensen and nuzzles the side of his neck, so that Jensen’s breathing in the scent of Jared’s shampoo rather than mud and rank BO. His big hand can’t quite wrap both of their dicks together, but it’s close enough, and the feel of the fat head of Jared’s cock rubbing against his makes him come quicker than he expects. It’s been years since Jensen had any kind of regular sex partner, let alone one who was a friend, but he finds he’s liking this little arrangement, knowing that when they see each other they’ll talk and joke and he’ll get off at least once. It’s a better deal than he’s bothered to hope for, although when he goes weeks without passing through central Indiana, he’s got other people to scratch his itches for him, and hell, Jared probably does too.

When Jensen was a teenager, he helped his dad out in his travel agency outside Dallas. He did a lot of filing, invoices and itineraries for regular clients, brochures and info sheets for new tours. He thinks maybe that’s where his wanderlust came from, why he’s never really wanted to settle down.

He tells Jared this on the phone one day while he’s lying in his berth, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rush of cars going by the rest stop on the turnpike. “Did you get to go on cool vacations and stuff, since your dad was a travel agent?” Jared asks, intrigued. They haven’t talked a lot about their families so far, but like everything else, Jared’s got questions and things he wants to know.

“Sometimes,” admits Jensen. “When my mom could get time off at the hospital. We went to England one time, did a tour through a bunch of castles and stuff like that. They comped it, since they were expanding their tour lines and wanted the publicity. We were there for almost two weeks.”

“What was it like?” Jared’s voice was hushed, eager but pretending that he wasn’t. “In England?”

Jensen takes a deep breath. Jared always wants better answers than what Jensen has to give him, more details, more recollections, everything that had come through his five senses on a trip that happened more than a decade ago. “I was in high school,” he hedges. “So I can’t say I remember a lot of real detail. But everything was really old. Like, when we say a building’s really old, we mean a couple of hundred years, but over there, when you say a building’s really old, you mean like, it was built before anyone had even set foot on this side of the Atlantic. Just hundreds and hundreds of years, and it’s all packed in there, and everyone just takes it for granted. London was pretty cool, too, on its own, being a real big city and all that stuff.”

“I can’t even imagine going on a trip like that. It just seems so big, you know. Like, I just hope I’ll make it to Chicago one of these days. Where else have you been?”

“We went to Disneyland once when my sister was little. I got my picture taken with Chip and Dale and went on Space Mountain ten times in one day.”

“Is that a ride?”

It’s weird that Jared doesn’t even know that, but he guesses if you know you’re never going to make it that far out of your hometown, there’s not a whole lot of point in learning about it. “Yeah, it’s a rollercoaster in the dark. It seemed pretty intense when I was ten, but it’s probably not actually that cool.”

“We went to Six Flags once on a band trip in high school,” Jared says. “They had this big new rollercoaster called the Raging Bull. I would have gone on it ten times if the line weren’t so long. That’s probably the closest I’ve ever been to Chicago.”

“Yeah? What’d you play in the band?”

“Trumpet. I wasn’t all that good. But it was fun. I liked getting out of town every once in a while, and it was where most of my friends were.”

Jensen pictures Jared’s broad, muscled shoulders and his big, friendly smile. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a band geek.”

“Hey, now, don’t knock it. We aren’t all geeky. And there’s nothing wrong with having a hobby like an instrument. What were you like in high school? No, let me guess. I bet you were a jock. Baseball, maybe? I bet you were a power hitter.”

“Good guess. Well, until I tore my rotator cuff junior year. After that, I was just a cripple.”

Jared hisses sympathetically. “That sucks, man.”

“I joined the drama club for a while,” Jensen admits. “I don’t know why. To meet girls, I guess. But I wasn’t really cut out for all of that.”

“Girls?”

Jensen chuckles. “No, dumbass. Drama. Getting up on stage and memorizing lines, and having all those people looking at me.”

“Everybody looks at you when you’re playing baseball too.”

Jensen shrugs his shoulders against the bed, even though Jared can’t see him. “It’s different, though. I was good at baseball.” And no one ever called him a fag for it, he doesn’t say. No one ever doubted he was normal when he was out on the field. He never had to defend himself.

“You beat up on band geeks back then?”

“Nah, I didn’t go in for that stuff. My dad would have whupped my ass if I got into fights. You defend yourself, but you never, ever start it.”

“Sounds like a good way of doing things. I don’t think my dad’s ever laid a hand on anybody in his life.”

“Yeah?” says Jensen. “What’s he like?”

Jared starts talking about his family: his dad, a cheerful guy one generation out from his family farm, who’s managed a John Deere store of interstate 74 most of Jared’s life, and his mom who makes prom and pageant dresses for girls all over the state. He winds down with an apology though, his voice gone sad and low. “They’re not educated, like your family,” Jared tells Jensen. “But they’re good people. Better than I think I deserve sometimes.”

Jensen’s not sure what to make of that. “You deserve plenty,” he says. “I’m sure your parents think so too.”

“Thanks, Jensen,” says Jared, and then he smoothly changes the subject.

“So how’d you become a truck driver?” Jared asks. The diner’s full of people who have all obviously been there a while, draining coffee refills and picking at mostly empty plates. It’s just after midnight, and it’s a Friday, so there are plenty of local kids with no place better to be. Jared’s talking to him anyway, giving Jensen at least 75% of his attention unless someone hollers for him.

“My daddy had an army buddy, Jim, you met him that one time. They were in Vietnam together, and Jim would always come by when he was passing through Dallas, bring us all weird little souvenirs and stuff like that. My momma’s got a whole collection of souvenir teaspoons now, just ‘cause Jim thought she’d like ‘em. After I finished high school, I tried college for a year at UT, but I just didn’t care. I didn’t want to hang around going to classes when I was supposedly an adult already. So Jim offered me a job team driving with him if I could pay to get a commercial license. I haven’t looked back since.”

“Does your family get it?”

Jensen chuckles. “Not really. They figured I’d go into some kind of business like my brother and sister. But I don’t like managing people. I don’t want to be in charge of anybody but myself.”

“Yeah,” says Jared. “I get that.” He rushes off to take the order of a new customer, and by the time he comes back, Jensen’s looking at his watch and counting out money for his check. With the place this crowded, there’s no time to sneak in the back even for a minute, and he figures they’ll just have to see each other next time.

“Talk to you soon, Jensen,” Jared says, handing him back his change so his fingertips skate along Jensen’s palm.

“Yep. Talk to you soon.” He closes his hand in a fist to contain the tingle that gives him.

“Sorry we didn’t get any time alone last time,” Jared says. It’s quiet in the background, no sounds of the diner or a busy street or a rambling TV. He’s always doing more than one thing, always in motion, but right now it’s just his voice, pitched low like he’s focused on Jensen completely.

“Yeah, gotta say I was a little disappointed.”

“I’d been looking forward to it, you know. Getting you out back someplace, or up against your rig, getting you off before anyone came looking.”

Jensen’s breath catches. He sees where this conversation is going now, clear as day, and although he’s never done that sort of thing over the phone before, he’s said plenty of filthy stuff in the heat of the moment, and he finds he’s up for it. He’s already sprawled out in his berth in just his boxers, fan doing little to dispel the heat of the deep south in May. He cups a hand over his dick and says, “Yeah, I’d been thinking about that too. Getting your hot mouth on my dick again.”

Jared bites off a groan. “Yeah, take you out in the parking lot and make you scream. You’re alone, right? This is okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” agrees Jensen. “All alone. Just thinking about your cock is getting me so horny.” He palms at his own dick, rubs at the growing bulge of it.

“Tell me what you’re gonna do about it,” Jared orders, and fuck but Jensen can tell it’s an order, and he shudders down deep with how much he likes that.

“Think I’m gonna wrap my hand around my dick and stroke it ‘til I come while I imagine choking you on my dick. What are you gonna do?”

“I’ve already got a hand on my dick, so I’m way ahead of you. Gets me so hot thinking about getting my hands on you again, my mouth.”

Jensen shoves down his boxers and spits into his hand, the best he can do without moving. He squeezes around his dick, rings it tight in his fist and starts to stroke.

“Oh, fuck, Jensen, I can hear you. I can tell you’re doing it right now. God, that’s so fucking hot. I wanna taste you again, swallow you down deep and suck you until you’re right about to come.”

Jensen grunts, his dick dribbling precome in his hand, slicking the ripe, red head. “Then what are you gonna do?”

“Pull off and suck on your balls for a while, roll them around on my tongue until you’re crazy to come.”

“Already there,” Jensen gasps.

“No, not yet. Wait for me. Stay with me.” There’s something about “stay with me” that hits him differently, starts a flutter of something that isn’t just lust down low in his belly. But he’s too close to think about it. He pulls his hand off his dick with an effort.

“Not yet,” he confirms. “What are you gonna do then?”

Jared groans. “Make you suck on my fingers ‘til they’re good and wet, get your tongue all over them until I’m ready to stick one right up your tight ass.”

Jensen’s hand wanders down, over his tight sac and the smooth skin behind, over the little pucker of his asshole. He rubs his thumb there and wishes his lube wasn’t so far away in the glove compartment. He hasn’t been fucked in so damn long. “You want to fuck me, Jared? Is that what you really want? Wanna stick your fat dick in my ass and make me come on it?”

“Fuck,” moans Jared. “Fuck, yeah. That’s exactly what I want.” His voice goes breathy and desperate, and Jensen can practically hear the rhythm of his strokes in the catches in his voice. “I wanna open you up on my fingers until you’re begging me to get in you, begging me to split you open on my dick. I bet you’re really tight, huh? I bet you’d feel so good around my dick.”

“Shit,” gasps Jensen, tucking his dry thumb tip into his clenched asshole, savoring the burn of it, imagining how much better it’ll be when it’s Jared’s huge dick. “Want you to fuck me hard ‘til you can’t help coming inside my ass.”

Jared groans, pants wordlessly for a minute like he’s about to lose it. “Are you fingering your asshole right now? Jesus, just thinking about you.”

“No lube, but I want to. Shit, Jared, want you.”

“You ready to come for me?”

“Yeah. So fucking ready.” Jensen’s free hand hovers over his dick, not touching, just waiting for Jared to say it’s okay.

“Do it,” Jared grits out. “I’m right there with you.”

Jensen wraps his fingers around his dick and pulls once, twice, and he is just fucking done. He throws his head back and shuts his eyes as he comes, losing track of the phone under his pillow for a moment. “Jared?” he gasps, wrapping his trembling fingers around the phone and dragging it back to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He can hear Jared breathing hard down the line, not even saying anything else, and Jensen breathes with him for a minute, coming back to reality. He rubs at his softening dick, stroking come into his skin.

“Jensen,” Jared says softly, after a while.

“Hey,” Jensen replies. “I’m here.”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Jensen sits up a little in his berth. “Sure thing, man. What’s up?”

“I want to do all that stuff with you. For real. But I’m HIV-positive. So…”

Jensen feels suddenly light-headed, like most of the oxygen’s been sucked out of the close space of his berth. It’s hot already, but Jensen’s skin is suddenly burning, and he has a desperate desire to just get away. Jared is his friend, his friend and someone he keeps having sex with, and fuck, he has no idea what to say or what to do.

“Jensen?” Jared asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He wants to make himself say more, but he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling right now.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you were mad at me for not telling you. There’s just never a time that isn’t awkward, you know.”

“I think…” He pauses, pulls his boxers back on and fumbles around for his jeans. “I think I should go. Right now.”

“Okay,” replies Jared, sounding so fucking disappointed, like he expected better from Jensen. But why the fuck should he? What does he know about Jensen that makes Jared think he’ll know how to react to a confession like that. Shit, who would? “Bye.”

“Talk to you later, Jared,” Jensen says and hangs up the phone, but he doesn’t even know if he means it, and surely Jared knows that, too.

“Goddamn,” he says to the ceiling. He should have a couple more hours in his rest period, but he’ll take a break later. Right now, he can’t handle staying still, and he’s got several tons of cargo to deliver that will take his mind right off this stuff for a little while.

It’s not like Jensen avoids the whole state of Indiana. He doesn’t have that much control over his routes, and anyway, there are plenty of places to stop along the road that don’t involve seeing Jared. He takes jobs that have a quick turnaround, keeping himself busy, telling himself he’s always got someplace to be, something to do that keeps him from thinking about whether or not he should call Jared. He hauls a lot of furniture up the Indiana Turnpike to showrooms in Chicago, takes on a load of small electronics going down to Atlanta, accepts any cargo at all short of livestock and auto trailers. There are some things he’s too nervous to drive with.

Jim calls him up out of the blue in the middle of June, asking if he’ll take on team driving a cross-country run. They’ve only got three days from New York to San Diego, but the money’s great, and Jim’s good company when he’s awake. And it’s one more thing to keep him out of Indiana.

The phrase team driving is a little misleading, since mostly you’re still driving on your own, same as always, just with another driver sleeping in the back, waiting to take over. But there are a few hours overlap, and Jensen likes catching up with Jim. His wife’s a nurse like Jensen’s mom, and she’s got a job at the big new hospital going up in their town in Kansas, lots of new things to learn, lots of excitement working in a place with a thousand beds instead of a rapid care clinic with only one doctor (and him usually drunk). His daughter’s in high school now, playing clarinet in the band (Jensen doesn’t think of Jared and definitely doesn’t feel a little hitch in his chest); she’s got a boyfriend who’s a senior and it’s clear Jim doesn’t like him much.

“He got a motorcycle?” Jensen teases. “You know you always gotta watch out for the ones with motorcycles.” Jim’s had a Harley for as long as Jensen’s known him, and that’s just about his whole life. About once a year he’d come riding down to Dallas, roaring up Jensen’s quiet street and probably scandalizing the neighbors. His momma frowned and shook her head like she didn’t approve, but Jensen’s daddy grinned like a kid on Christmas when he heard the engine revving outside. When Jensen was in high school, he saw his daddy with tears in his eyes, looking at the pictures Jim had sent of his ride through Washington DC on Memorial Day as part of Rolling Thunder. All these gruff old bearded guys with their bikes and their POW-MIA flags, honoring the war Jensen’s dad never talked about.

“Hush now, kid. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He takes one hand off the wheel to wag a warning finger at Jensen. “Just wait until you have one of your own and she starts bringing home these older guys who don’t even have the sense to call me sir.”

Jensen sucks in a breath through his teeth. He can’t imagine being anything but perfectly respectful to his girlfriend’s father. “That’s pretty bad, huh? What else would they call you?”

“My name, like they’re so grown-up because they turned eighteen a week ago and they can grow some little peach fuzz on their chin and call it a beard.”

“This is where you talk about kids these days and how they need to stay off your lawn, right?”

“There’s no need for your sass, Jensen. Just you wait. Someday you’re going to be right where I am now, and you’re going to be just this pissed. Or even worse, you’ll be that boy’s daddy when he comes home with a fat lip because he doesn’t know how to respect his elders.”

Jensen’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t actually hit the kid, did you?”

Jim adjusts his cap and scratches the back of his neck. “Of course not, but just say anyone did.”

“Guess Amanda really likes this guy.”

“She sure seems to. Can’t say I know why, but Loretta says I need to lay off of them. She said she wasn’t going to say one word to me about them while I’m gone this week. She says it’s no good for my blood pressure, worrying too much.”

“Well, she’s a nurse, so if anyone would know…”

Jim chuckles. “You sound just like her.”

“It seems like you’ve been home a lot lately, less long-distance stuff like this.”

“Guess that’s so,” Jim agrees. “I’ve been doing this a long while, and I think I deserve a little time with my family. So I’m taking it while I can. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? And doing the little out and back runs pays just fine. Once you settle down, you’ll understand.”

Jim’s not exactly being subtle, and Jensen picks at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt rather than picking up the conversation. It’s been almost two years since he went on anything resembling a date, and the female pen pal he’d had all through his mid-twenties is now married and living in Seattle. Jensen doesn’t know how to meet women in a life like this, although truth be told, he didn’t fare a whole lot better as a college student.

“You thinking about that?” Jim persists. “Setting up house someplace with someone to come home to in it? I know it’s hard when you’re on the road all the time, but plenty of women’ll keep in good touch when you’re not around, and with all this internet and stuff, it’s not so bad.” He pauses meaningfully. “Plenty of men, too.”

Jensen looks up and frowns. It’s been years since anyone tried to call him a fag to his face. He punched the last person who did it in the mouth. Jensen told Jared he would only fight if someone else threw the first punch, but he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with defending against violence to your reputation. He keeps quiet because even if he’s a grown-up now, Jim is still his daddy’s friend, and he doesn’t want to be disrespectful.

“It’s all right if you’re gay, son,” Jim continues gently. “You don’t have to tell me, but it doesn’t have to be a secret neither.”

“I’m not gay,” says Jensen heavily.

“You still talking to that kid from the diner some?”

Jared. He means Jared, and Jensen is almost too angry to speak. Jared is my friend, he wants to say. He’s my friend and he may have AIDS, but that doesn’t make him queer. He doesn’t say a word though, just shrugs a little and nods into his collar.

“He seemed like a pretty good friend to have,” Jim offers. “I’ve stopped in there a couple of times, and he’s got that postcard you sent him up. And he gives me free coffee when I come in. Any friend of Jensen’s is a friend of mine, he says.”

But Jensen hasn’t been a good friend. He hasn’t been anything like the kind of friend Jared wanted him to be. “I’m gonna try and catch some sleep before dark,” Jensen says. “Wake me when you need to switch.”

He doesn’t sleep, though, just lays in the bunk feeling guilty and sick to his stomach thinking about Jared. It’s been three weeks since they talked, and he misses those conversations, even Jared’s odd, detailed questions about where he is and what he’s seeing and smelling and hearing and feeling.

He wants his friend back.

masterpost | part 1 | part 1a | part 2 | epilogue | art post