Fic: With Abandon or Not At All - 3/4
Fandom: J2
Parings: Jared/Jensen, very brief Jared/Misha
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 24,150
Warnings: chef!AU, angst, schmoop, barebacking, punk!Jared, serious!Jensen, horrible!Danneel
Notes: written for the 2011 spn_j2_bigbang with thanks to voxmyriad for her fabulous art as well as candygramme and gedry for being my betas and cheering me on when I thought this thing would kill me. (See masterpost for more author's notes and links to the art post!)
Summary: Jensen's life was complicated enough when his biggest worry was what crazy color his best friend/roommate/ex-boyfriend/co-executive chef, Jared, was going to dye his hair this week. Then his dreams came true and, somehow, his life started falling apart. Now he's got an insane client to please, a career-making meal to cook, a hodge-podge kitchen staff to corral, embarrassing, half-naked pictures plastered all over the internet and maybe, somewhere in there, a love of his life to win back.
Back to Part Two
“Jensen!”
If you make me change the menu again I’m going to throw myself off the roof.
“Hi Danneel.”
“So, listen, I was thinking.”
That always turns out well.
“What about?”
“About Jared actually. I was a little, shall we say surprised when I came into the restaurant last night. I thought we’d talked about this.”
Things I would rather do than having this conversation: stick my hand in a blender, superglue my face to the side of a moving bus, clean the greasetraps with my tongue…
“He’s going to tone it down a little for the event.” Probably, not that I’ve brought it up him again, yet.
“Well, I should hope so. Still, I couldn’t help but notice you have a lot of other staff around, there’s no reason it has to be Jared that comes out with you. That other guy seemed cute enough, needs a haircut, but at least he doesn’t look homeless. Or the tiny little girl, she’s adorable, plus very PC to have a female sous with you-“
“Jared’s my partner.” Bitch.
“Yes, I know sweetheart, but he does himself up like a reject from a Dave Navarro video or something and if you’re not going to do anything about it-“
“What he looks like doesn’t affect the way he cooks. He’s a genius.”
“So was Einstein, but I wouldn’t want to think about him touching my food either. Look, honey pot, I’m not saying don’t cook with him or don’t have him there, I’m just saying don’t flaunt him around in front of everybody. You’re trying to be Eric Ripert here, Jensen, and all he’s doing is making us both look bad. Clean him up or he’s not talking to my guests, understand?”
“Danneel-“
“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Take care, sugar.”
What the hell am I going to do?
***
The first time Jensen realizes that this thing between them really works, he’s two weeks shy of his twenty-sixth birthday, lying in bed with his boyfriend, and the ticklish patterns Jared’s sketching all over his sweat-sticky back with a fingertip are the only thing keeping him from falling back into another nap.
“We should get a dog,” Jared whispers, maybe hoping Jensen won’t hear it.
“No,” is his immediate answer, all mixed up in a grunt as he shifts his legs into a more comfortable position.
They’ve been dating for a couple of months now - officially dating, not just everybody assuming they’re dating - which means that Jared’s made it about six weeks longer than Jensen had been betting he would before pushing the issue. He’ll give Jared credit for that, but the last thing that they need right now is another responsibility - especially a responsibility that would be hanging around the house, watching with sad, confused eyes every time Jensen wants to bang his boyfriend.
Jared’s whine of, “But Jensen…” vibrates against his skin, a precursor to the line of dirty little kisses Jared paints up the nape of his neck. No one ever accused Jared of playing fair.
“No.” He stands firm, despite the riot of goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. Damn Jared for knowing all of his hot spots.
“But it’ll be like our baby.” Jared nips along his jaw, up the curve of his ear to breathe out soft and hot. It sends a shiver rolling down Jensen’s spine and he may have just gotten off a few minutes ago, but his dick is giving some serious thought to getting interested again. Traitor.
“Who needs a baby when I’ve got you around?” Jensen counters, voice only slightly shaky from the way Jared flat out refuses to leave his ears alone. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass being so sensitive.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jared scoots over a little farther so he’s straddling Jensen’s hips, wet trails smearing over the outside of Jensen’s thighs where his come is still leaking out of Jared, hot and obscene. The quiet groan Jensen loses at the possessive warmth low in his belly mostly gets swallowed by the pillow.
“It means that most days I’m surprised that you manage to tie your own shoes,” he fires back after too long a pause, mildly impressed that he remembered what they were talking about with Jared rubbing up against him like he’s going into heat. He earns himself a sharp bite to the shoulder for his trouble.
“What, you’re afraid of committing to me?” Jared pouts. The way his fingers lace automatically with Jensen’s contradicts the frown Jensen can feel against his skin.
“Dude, we’ve been attached at the hip for like ten years” - he takes a moment to admire the complete appropriateness of the metaphor as Jared’s hips roll against the swell of his ass - “I live with you, I own a business with you, welcome to commitment. Still doesn’t mean we’re getting a dog.”
“But why?” Jared’s lips capturing his own prevents Jensen from answering - he has no delusions about that being a coincidence, but it also feels really good, so he elects to let his boyfriend get away with it for now.
“Because I said so,” he slurs around Jared’s tongue, sucking it into his mouth so that Jared’s “You’re not the boss of me,” gets all chopped to pieces.
“How about this,” he argues, tugging Jared down and around until they’re facing one another, “Six month anniversary, we’ll talk about it, ok? Then we’ll have all the summer rush out of the way, and we can really devote some time to it - if we get a dog, which I’m not saying we will.”
Jared grins like he just won the point anyway, and in the privacy of his own mind, Jensen can admit that he probably did. On the plus side, semi-losing means that they can quit talking and get back to those lazy touches and that languid making out under the muted warmth of the afternoon sun streaming in the window. It always makes Jensen feel decadent and luxurious, like he’s getting away with something. He could spend pretty much the rest of forever just like this.
***
It’s amazing, epic, and Jensen’s not sure whether it would be more discreet to faint from hyperventilation or just pee his pants. Jared’s hand is a firm, steady weight on his shoulder, beaming grin a constant source of attention from the people passing by. The notice might also have something to do with the fact that he’s a head taller than almost everyone else and has a tiny rainbow layered onto the tips of his hair all the way around.
So much for subtle.
The ‘Polite As Fuck’ shirt probably isn’t going to do him any favors either, but that’ll be covered by the whites anyway. As long as he can get Jared to put on a bandana and ditch the jewelry when they go out to talk to the guests after service, that should be enough for Danneel, right? Sure, she’s got this weird obsession with how Jared looks, but honestly, looking around at all of the mingling people, Jared really doesn’t look out of place. Hell, there’s a girl over there from Blue Hill with enough piercings to lose half of her face if she ever walked in front of a magnet. There’s no way Danneel can possibly single Jared out after seeing everybody else here. And with his hair covered and his whites on, everything should be fine. It’s all going to be fine. So why the hell can’t Jensen breathe?
They’re not rookies, objectively he knows this; they’ve had their place longer than some of the big names around here. But it’s still the first big rodeo, and if they screw it up, they might never get invited back.
“Ok,” he claps his hands together, turning to the crew, who all have the same indelible excitement written across their faces as Jared does. Good. Maybe Jensen’s the only one whose insides have developed a sudden yearning to become his outsides. “Go have fun; do your thing, but be at the venue in two hours, got it? Everybody knows how to get there? Should I go over the directions one more time?”
“Relax, mom, we got it,” Sandy winks.
“And if you try to write the address on my hand again, I’ll deck you,” Chris adds, tipping his Stetson forward against the early morning sun. Jensen has absolutely no doubt about his sincerity.
Jared holds up his palm with step by step directions written on it in permanent ink - bless that man for always having a Sharpie - and Misha… is already chatting up the guy from Dickson’s Farmstand Meats. Of course, because he works with meat, and who’s Misha to ignore a good pun?
Jensen lets his hands fall to his sides with a sigh that the rest of the group seems to take as permission to disperse. Chris and Sandy disappear into the throng as Jared slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulders and starts dragging him into the fray as well.
“So, we’ve got a couple of hours to kill,” Jared’s beaming, positively beaming, and Jensen would really like to ignore the fact that that makes some of the knots in his gut untie themselves, but he can’t, “What’s your pleasure, Jen?”
“Um, well,” Jensen digs the file folder with the events schedule out of his messenger bag, “There’s a panel discussion starting soon about defining what local really means in locavore cuisine.”
Jared stares blankly at him, maneuvering them seamlessly through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. There’s a hitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to keep from smiling, one dimple flirting with the idea of showing itself.
“Ok, your vote has been revoked. Ming Tsai is doing a demo and there’s going to be samples. We go!”
He laces his fingers with Jensen’s and starts tugging him through the crowd, smiling and waving along the way at people Jensen’s not even sure Jared knows. He looks like a kid in a candy store - or hell, a Jared in a candy store, for that matter - grinning and pointing things out and, yes, actually skipping once, even if he swears up and down that he just tripped.
It’s so much better than the times he’s come here before, because this time, they’re actually hosting a dinner; they’re on the radar, and regardless of how Jared’s tried to brush it off before, Jensen can tell by the look in his eyes that his partner feels the difference too.
Out of the blue, halfway through a cross walk, Jared stops and drags Jensen in for one quick, light press of lips. And for that second, with a cab honking at them and people muttering curses as they pass, Jensen’s got Jared, and the Festival, and his whole career right on the edge of truly blossoming. For that second, Jensen owns the damn world.
***
That warm fuzzy feeling lasts about as long as it takes for Danneel Harris to blow in like an ill wind.
They’re getting acquainted with the kitchen they’ll be using for the event, checking out the set-up, looking around the walk in, double checking they’ve got all the product they need even though Jensen has already gone through it all personally, twice. The equipment is nice, all gleaming steel and gas ranges, plenty of room to do what they need to get done. With the upgrades they’ve made over the years, it’s not especially nicer than their kitchen, but it’s a lot roomier, obviously designed for at least twice the staff they’ve brought with them.
That strikes a chord for Jensen. Maybe they don’t have enough staff to pull this off, maybe he should have brought in a couple of pinch hitters just in case. He’s running down the list of everybody he could possibly call in for a favor like this - is it a worse risk to have somebody making the components who’s never done it before or to chance not getting them done on time? - when Jared gathers him into a bone-crushing hug.
“Shh,” he shushes against Jensen’s forehead, “I can hear the crazy happening, now stop. We’re good, we can do this, so whatever you’re thinking that’s making you freak out, knock it off.” He hangs onto Jensen for a minute longer, until Jensen finally relents and forces his muscles to relax. Then Jared lets him go, tapping him on the nose twice, the same way he does when he scolds Sadie. Jensen glares at him but he actually does feel a little better. No need to let Jared know that though.
Everybody’s unpacking, Sandy testing out the sharpness of her knives on the back of a thumbnail, even though she had them professionally honed just for this occasion. It really is nice to have someone on the team who gets it. Misha’s separating eggs, and Chris is pulling out veg for the mise en place and then the service door - the wrong side of it, almost slamming right into Chris’s face - swings open.
Regardless of how Jensen may have felt a couple of hours ago, Danneel Harris looks like she owns the world. Auburn hair, flawless makeup, a blue dress that has to have come right off of some designer rack and a look on her face that might have been a smile if the purpose of a smile was to make your balls try and escape into the relative safety of your intestines. She’s so much less scary over the phone.
“Hi Jensen!” she says, sugar-sweet enough to make his teeth ache. She also manages to completely ignore everyone else in the room, particularly impressive since Jared’s big as a house anyway, and right now he has one of his giant hands on Jensen’s hip. “Can I steal you for one quick second, dumplin’?”
It’s not really a question, especially with the way she doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on her four-inch heels and walks back out of the kitchen.
Jensen hesitates for a moment, feet physically incapable of moving with the lead weight of his stomach settled down in them. The crew is utterly silent, staring, eyes only flittering away from Jensen to shoot each other meaningful looks. Jared’s hand tightens on his hip briefly, and finally Jensen makes himself move, refusing to look over his shoulder for whatever expression is written on his partner’s face.
The room where the tables are set up is grand; sleek and modern, with one whole wall of windows looking out onto a spectacular view of the skyline. It’s exactly the sort of place Jensen’s always imagined having a restaurant in, but now it seems too big and open, impersonal, just like the woman awaiting him, pumps tapping out a manic rhythm on the hardwood floor.
“Something you’d like to tell me, Jensen?” He’s never actually hated the sound of his own name before. It’s disconcerting.
He has more than an inkling what this is about, the back of his throat thick with bitter regret that he hadn’t pushed the issue with Jared after that first big blow up. Kept putting it off and putting it off, thinking it would be ok when he knew it couldn’t be. Time to face the music.
“I know that you’re upset, but Jared’s Jared. He’s going to do what he wants to do and I can’t change tha-“
“So what you’re saying is you can’t control your staff?”
“What I’m saying is-“
“Look, Jensen,” she menaces, manicured nails dragging across the bare linen tablecloths with a shrrrrik like Jensen’s life being shredded, “I don’t know what part I’ve been unclear on, but I am not pleased. You really expect me to let that go out there and represent my name? To tell people that that’s the kind of person I think is fit to be preparing my meals. I don’t care if he gives the world’s best blow job, when I’m footing the bill I expect my people to look like professionals, not some felony-waiting-to-happen freaks. Bring the other guy, bring the girl, bring the pastry chef, I don’t give a damn, but if I see his face again, Jensen, we’re going to have a problem.”
He’ll give her this, the woman can turn on a dime, face suddenly bright with a smile that shrinks away from her eyes. She waves at something behind Jensen, who turns just in time to catch a rainbow glimpse of hair disappearing behind the window in the service door. He only keeps from hurling by a show of willpower he didn’t know he had, and the thought that if he pukes out here, some poor server would probably end up having to clean it up.
“Fix it, Jensen,” Danneel snaps, dragging Jensen’s attention back, “I don’t care how, just fix it.”
The clack-clack-clack of her heels follows her out, barely audible over the thundering, panicked beat of Jensen’s own heart.
***
“You can’t take it personally,” Jensen’s saying before he’s even all the way into the kitchen. He’s breathing like he ran a marathon instead of the thirty feet from the dining room to the back. Everyone’s staring at him again - Jensen’s officially over this trend - no one with as much intensity as Jared. It’s mildly miraculous that the metal all around them isn’t melting under the heat in those hazel eyes. “She just says stuff like that, you can’t let it get to you.”
He’s seen Jared shrug off far worse insults than that, from far better people; he can’t begin to imagine why this one seems to be getting to him so much.
"You think I give a shit about what she said?" Jared yells back, the sound echoing off the blank walls.
"Then what the fuck is the problem?" Jensen raises his own voice in answer.
"You! You're the problem! You're supposed to be my fucking friend and you just...” Jared’s fingers slide into his own hair, gripping like he’s tempted to pull it out, “Just nevermind."
Jensen’s almost sure he hears Sandy whisper his name quietly, like a warning, but he talks right over it. "It's just one day! Can't you just pretend for one day? For me?"
“Pretend what?” Jared scoffs, “That there’s nothing wrong with me? Is that what I’m supposed to pretend, Jen?”
“There isn’t anything wrong with you!”
“Then why the fuck didn’t you say that to her?” Jared’s hands slam into his chest hard, knocking him back a handful of steps before Chris grabs onto his shoulders and sets him right. He’s too stunned to react any more than it takes to get both feet under him again. They don’t fight like this, not ever. They’ve hurled harsh, razor-edged words at each other plenty; things hastily said in anger and later forgiven, sometimes more grudgingly than others. They’ve wrestled around and played at fighting, but they’ve never laid a hand on each other in malice and he hasn’t got a clue what to do with even a simple shove from Jared, no prescribed retaliation in the handbook.
For what it’s worth, Jared looks just as stunned by it as Jensen feels. He’s flashing a look from his hands to Jensen and back, like his body acted without his permission. Fish out of water, his mouth forms words, no sound coming out, before his face crumples into this angry, confused rictus that Jensen vaguely remembers from Jared’s teenage years.
Hastily he’s grabbing for his knives, tucking them back into his case, slap-dash, and zipping it up, gaze staying far away from Jensen.
"Where are you going?" Jensen finally manages to croak out as Jared’s heading for the back door.
"Away from here."
"We have a service to put up!"
"Do it without me!” Jared fires back, voice cracking a little at the end so that the rest comes out a mumble of, “Like the whole rest of this cluster fuck."
The door sways closed behind him with a soft squeal, and Jensen finds himself floundering in a world without gravity. He’s going to come back; any second now, he’s going to come back because Jared would never just leave him. Not over this - this stupid, pointless thing.
The door slowly comes to a stop under its own weight. It doesn’t move again.
“Jensen,” Chris says, something in his tone suggesting this isn’t his first attempt at getting Jensen’s attention. The warm spot on Jensen’s arm is a hand, he realizes after a moment; a really small hand, way too small to be Chris’.
“Jensen?” the next call of his name is more tentative, higher pitched, and Jensen at last succeeds in ungluing his eyes from the door to look at Sandy standing beside him. Sandy, of course; Sandy has tiny hands.
Misha’s next to Chris, biting his lip as the three of them exchange glances. For some reason, it hits him exactly then, square on the jaw - Jared’s not coming back.
“What the hell are you all looking at?” he barks because it’s the only way he can be sure he’s not about to choke on his own tongue, “We’ve got people to feed. Now let’s move!”
He pulls away from Sandy’s comforting touch; if he stops right now, even for a second, it’s all going to come unglued and there’s no way he’ll be able to put himself together in time to do the dinner. At the very least, he has to do the dinner, he’s not going to have fucked this all up for nothing.
If it takes him another minute or two to figure out why his cheeks are wet, well, that’s his own fucking business.
***
The first time Jensen realizes that maybe love isn't always enough, he's twenty-six and slumped as deep into Jared's couch as he can get. Jensen takes a hard swig straight from the whiskey bottle. They really need to invest in a higher quality liquor.
"And then he says 'I'm sorry I'll never be the Stepford boy you want,' like all I care about is having this perfect, prissy boyfriend to show off at parties!" he rails swinging the bottle wildly out to the side.
Jared wisely takes it from him - luckily there’s not enough in there to have sloshed out - knocks back a slug of his own and coughs out, "Fucker."
"I'm not like that," Jensen insists, prodding at the couch cushion fervently, "I mean, sure, I like things to be nice, I expect people to act with a certain level of class, but I'm not some pretentious snob."
"Of course you're not. Fuck him!" Jared palms Jensen's shoulder reassuringly, gives him a little shake that makes the whole room try to do a loop-de-loop. "Trust me I get it. My guy was all, 'Jared, you can't wear those jeans again,' and, 'Jared, I'm not taking you out with your hair like that,' and, 'Jared, why can't you just act like a normal person for a change,' and I'm like, hey, man, this is part of the package; you knew what you were signing up for. I seriously thought he was going to throw a plate at me!" He slams back another mouthful, head falling against the back of the sofa. It's like the couch is sucking all of the energy right out of him before Jensen's eyes, his body going progressively more lax, the tightness in his face fading as he stares at the ceiling. There's no resistance when Jensen takes the bottle back and washes away the bitter taste of regret lingering at the back of his throat.
"I wasn't going to throw a plate at you," he says quietly to the fray-edged label on the glass. He can hear the breath slowly fill Jared's lungs, the way it swooshes back out and then in again even more slowly.
"I know," Jared whispers, voice slightly choked, "I'm sorry about the Stepford thing. That was outta line."
Jensen huffs a laugh that turns to sand in his throat. "The truth hurts, right?"
"You're not that bad," Jared argues, a little more energy now that he's defending Jensen and he really would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all if he could manage to do more than struggle to suck in his next drag of air. "I was just pissed."
His chest aches with the admission, "I am that bad, sometimes. I know it." Suddenly there doesn't seem to be nearly enough whiskey left to get through this. Like, in the world.
"Still shouldn't have said it." Jared's hair rasps against the pleather of the couch, the rhythmic shuff of it suggesting that he's shaking his head. Jensen still hasn't been able to make himself look up.
His eyes are stinging, contacts trying to swim around on the surface as he shrugs and wryly chokes out, "If you can't be honest with your boyfriend, then what's the point?"
Jared gently extricates the bottle from the deathgrip Jensen didn't realize he had on it, fingers catch-lingering for a moment. Hesitantly he says in a boyish voice, "I could probably stand to clean up my act a little."
Jensen's protective instincts spring into action before he even has a chance to approve the tirade that slips past his lips.
"Like hell!" he says vehemently, poking at Jared's chest this time instead of the sofa. "I am not about to let you go change who you are to be with some dipshit guy, even if he happens to be me. Like you said, it's all part of the package, and the package is awesome."
Jared's hand claps over where Jensen's finger is trying to bore into his sternum, gentling it and holding it in place all at once.
He swallows heavily, eyes locked somewhere around Jensen's knees. "Just not awesome enough."
It's like the knot that's been trying to close off his airway all this time just bursts, exploding into sharp, hot little shards that flow through his veins like so much broken glass. There's no denying that there are tears welling up when he finally manages to make his voice croak out, "It's not like that and you know it."
Apparently, that's some sort of last straw because Jared grips his hand all the harder, presses it flat against his own chest where he can feel the tempo of Jared's heartbeat. Somehow it seems like it should be irregular or stilted or something, but it's steady as ever, solid and soothing beneath his tee.
"It's supposed to work," Jared says brokenly, the sound seemingly ripped from him, "We're supposed to work."
"I know," is the only answer Jensen's got. "I know."
And he does, God help him, he completely understands. It had seemed inevitable somehow when he and Jared got together, made it official. It was like the most natural thing in the world the way they fell into one another's lives, none of the awkwardness about meeting the family, or going over for holidays, or anything like that because they'd been doing it for years. Belonged together. He's reasonably sure that their mothers have already planned their big gay wedding, and now it's just... it's not supposed to end like this.
Jared curls in on himself, falling forward until his head is resting against Jensen's chest, noisy tears soaking through his shirt. This was supposed to be his forever, his happily ever after. If he can't make it work with Jared, then what the hell hope is he supposed to have with anybody else? How's he even supposed to want anybody else?
He cradles Jared's head against him and rubs a hand up and down his back, tears falling into the silky disarray of Jared's hair. Maybe when they tell everybody else they'll be manly about it, show everyone that it's not the end of the world, that they can still be friends. Nobody needs to know about this, that not being friends wasn't even an option because they don't know how to live without one another, even if they can't make it right. Nobody would understand anyway.
It goes on like that for what seems like hours. Jensen's head is pounding, eyes hot and sore when it's over and one of his contacts is missing. Maybe later he'll work up the energy to look for it - sometime when he hasn't got a Jared blanket covering him from head to toe, both of them laid out on the floor because they don't really fit on the couch like this.
"This is the most fucked up thing we've ever done," Jay whispers after a while, lips ghosting against Jensen's cheek. He's not sure whether Jared means the dating, or the break-up, or the fact that neither of them felt right turning to anyone else for comfort about it. Any which way, it's probably true.
"In a long and storied history of fucked up things," Jensen agrees. He presses a kiss to Jared's temple, gets a hard squeeze around his middle in return.
Jared's "I still love you," is barely audible. Jensen can't tell whether that feeling blooming in his chest is pain or pleasure.
"Like the post office, Jay," he murmurs back, "rain or sleet or really shitty break-ups. Always love you. No matter what."
His friend sobs one more time and finally grumbles, "I need more booze."
"Amen to that, brother."
On to Part Four
Parings: Jared/Jensen, very brief Jared/Misha
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 24,150
Warnings: chef!AU, angst, schmoop, barebacking, punk!Jared, serious!Jensen, horrible!Danneel
Notes: written for the 2011 spn_j2_bigbang with thanks to voxmyriad for her fabulous art as well as candygramme and gedry for being my betas and cheering me on when I thought this thing would kill me. (See masterpost for more author's notes and links to the art post!)
Summary: Jensen's life was complicated enough when his biggest worry was what crazy color his best friend/roommate/ex-boyfriend/co-executive chef, Jared, was going to dye his hair this week. Then his dreams came true and, somehow, his life started falling apart. Now he's got an insane client to please, a career-making meal to cook, a hodge-podge kitchen staff to corral, embarrassing, half-naked pictures plastered all over the internet and maybe, somewhere in there, a love of his life to win back.
Back to Part Two
“Jensen!”
If you make me change the menu again I’m going to throw myself off the roof.
“Hi Danneel.”
“So, listen, I was thinking.”
That always turns out well.
“What about?”
“About Jared actually. I was a little, shall we say surprised when I came into the restaurant last night. I thought we’d talked about this.”
Things I would rather do than having this conversation: stick my hand in a blender, superglue my face to the side of a moving bus, clean the greasetraps with my tongue…
“He’s going to tone it down a little for the event.” Probably, not that I’ve brought it up him again, yet.
“Well, I should hope so. Still, I couldn’t help but notice you have a lot of other staff around, there’s no reason it has to be Jared that comes out with you. That other guy seemed cute enough, needs a haircut, but at least he doesn’t look homeless. Or the tiny little girl, she’s adorable, plus very PC to have a female sous with you-“
“Jared’s my partner.” Bitch.
“Yes, I know sweetheart, but he does himself up like a reject from a Dave Navarro video or something and if you’re not going to do anything about it-“
“What he looks like doesn’t affect the way he cooks. He’s a genius.”
“So was Einstein, but I wouldn’t want to think about him touching my food either. Look, honey pot, I’m not saying don’t cook with him or don’t have him there, I’m just saying don’t flaunt him around in front of everybody. You’re trying to be Eric Ripert here, Jensen, and all he’s doing is making us both look bad. Clean him up or he’s not talking to my guests, understand?”
“Danneel-“
“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Take care, sugar.”
What the hell am I going to do?
***
The first time Jensen realizes that this thing between them really works, he’s two weeks shy of his twenty-sixth birthday, lying in bed with his boyfriend, and the ticklish patterns Jared’s sketching all over his sweat-sticky back with a fingertip are the only thing keeping him from falling back into another nap.
“We should get a dog,” Jared whispers, maybe hoping Jensen won’t hear it.
“No,” is his immediate answer, all mixed up in a grunt as he shifts his legs into a more comfortable position.
They’ve been dating for a couple of months now - officially dating, not just everybody assuming they’re dating - which means that Jared’s made it about six weeks longer than Jensen had been betting he would before pushing the issue. He’ll give Jared credit for that, but the last thing that they need right now is another responsibility - especially a responsibility that would be hanging around the house, watching with sad, confused eyes every time Jensen wants to bang his boyfriend.
Jared’s whine of, “But Jensen…” vibrates against his skin, a precursor to the line of dirty little kisses Jared paints up the nape of his neck. No one ever accused Jared of playing fair.
“No.” He stands firm, despite the riot of goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. Damn Jared for knowing all of his hot spots.
“But it’ll be like our baby.” Jared nips along his jaw, up the curve of his ear to breathe out soft and hot. It sends a shiver rolling down Jensen’s spine and he may have just gotten off a few minutes ago, but his dick is giving some serious thought to getting interested again. Traitor.
“Who needs a baby when I’ve got you around?” Jensen counters, voice only slightly shaky from the way Jared flat out refuses to leave his ears alone. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass being so sensitive.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jared scoots over a little farther so he’s straddling Jensen’s hips, wet trails smearing over the outside of Jensen’s thighs where his come is still leaking out of Jared, hot and obscene. The quiet groan Jensen loses at the possessive warmth low in his belly mostly gets swallowed by the pillow.
“It means that most days I’m surprised that you manage to tie your own shoes,” he fires back after too long a pause, mildly impressed that he remembered what they were talking about with Jared rubbing up against him like he’s going into heat. He earns himself a sharp bite to the shoulder for his trouble.
“What, you’re afraid of committing to me?” Jared pouts. The way his fingers lace automatically with Jensen’s contradicts the frown Jensen can feel against his skin.
“Dude, we’ve been attached at the hip for like ten years” - he takes a moment to admire the complete appropriateness of the metaphor as Jared’s hips roll against the swell of his ass - “I live with you, I own a business with you, welcome to commitment. Still doesn’t mean we’re getting a dog.”
“But why?” Jared’s lips capturing his own prevents Jensen from answering - he has no delusions about that being a coincidence, but it also feels really good, so he elects to let his boyfriend get away with it for now.
“Because I said so,” he slurs around Jared’s tongue, sucking it into his mouth so that Jared’s “You’re not the boss of me,” gets all chopped to pieces.
“How about this,” he argues, tugging Jared down and around until they’re facing one another, “Six month anniversary, we’ll talk about it, ok? Then we’ll have all the summer rush out of the way, and we can really devote some time to it - if we get a dog, which I’m not saying we will.”
Jared grins like he just won the point anyway, and in the privacy of his own mind, Jensen can admit that he probably did. On the plus side, semi-losing means that they can quit talking and get back to those lazy touches and that languid making out under the muted warmth of the afternoon sun streaming in the window. It always makes Jensen feel decadent and luxurious, like he’s getting away with something. He could spend pretty much the rest of forever just like this.
***
It’s amazing, epic, and Jensen’s not sure whether it would be more discreet to faint from hyperventilation or just pee his pants. Jared’s hand is a firm, steady weight on his shoulder, beaming grin a constant source of attention from the people passing by. The notice might also have something to do with the fact that he’s a head taller than almost everyone else and has a tiny rainbow layered onto the tips of his hair all the way around.
So much for subtle.
The ‘Polite As Fuck’ shirt probably isn’t going to do him any favors either, but that’ll be covered by the whites anyway. As long as he can get Jared to put on a bandana and ditch the jewelry when they go out to talk to the guests after service, that should be enough for Danneel, right? Sure, she’s got this weird obsession with how Jared looks, but honestly, looking around at all of the mingling people, Jared really doesn’t look out of place. Hell, there’s a girl over there from Blue Hill with enough piercings to lose half of her face if she ever walked in front of a magnet. There’s no way Danneel can possibly single Jared out after seeing everybody else here. And with his hair covered and his whites on, everything should be fine. It’s all going to be fine. So why the hell can’t Jensen breathe?
They’re not rookies, objectively he knows this; they’ve had their place longer than some of the big names around here. But it’s still the first big rodeo, and if they screw it up, they might never get invited back.
“Ok,” he claps his hands together, turning to the crew, who all have the same indelible excitement written across their faces as Jared does. Good. Maybe Jensen’s the only one whose insides have developed a sudden yearning to become his outsides. “Go have fun; do your thing, but be at the venue in two hours, got it? Everybody knows how to get there? Should I go over the directions one more time?”
“Relax, mom, we got it,” Sandy winks.
“And if you try to write the address on my hand again, I’ll deck you,” Chris adds, tipping his Stetson forward against the early morning sun. Jensen has absolutely no doubt about his sincerity.
Jared holds up his palm with step by step directions written on it in permanent ink - bless that man for always having a Sharpie - and Misha… is already chatting up the guy from Dickson’s Farmstand Meats. Of course, because he works with meat, and who’s Misha to ignore a good pun?
Jensen lets his hands fall to his sides with a sigh that the rest of the group seems to take as permission to disperse. Chris and Sandy disappear into the throng as Jared slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulders and starts dragging him into the fray as well.
“So, we’ve got a couple of hours to kill,” Jared’s beaming, positively beaming, and Jensen would really like to ignore the fact that that makes some of the knots in his gut untie themselves, but he can’t, “What’s your pleasure, Jen?”
“Um, well,” Jensen digs the file folder with the events schedule out of his messenger bag, “There’s a panel discussion starting soon about defining what local really means in locavore cuisine.”
Jared stares blankly at him, maneuvering them seamlessly through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. There’s a hitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to keep from smiling, one dimple flirting with the idea of showing itself.
“Ok, your vote has been revoked. Ming Tsai is doing a demo and there’s going to be samples. We go!”
He laces his fingers with Jensen’s and starts tugging him through the crowd, smiling and waving along the way at people Jensen’s not even sure Jared knows. He looks like a kid in a candy store - or hell, a Jared in a candy store, for that matter - grinning and pointing things out and, yes, actually skipping once, even if he swears up and down that he just tripped.
It’s so much better than the times he’s come here before, because this time, they’re actually hosting a dinner; they’re on the radar, and regardless of how Jared’s tried to brush it off before, Jensen can tell by the look in his eyes that his partner feels the difference too.
Out of the blue, halfway through a cross walk, Jared stops and drags Jensen in for one quick, light press of lips. And for that second, with a cab honking at them and people muttering curses as they pass, Jensen’s got Jared, and the Festival, and his whole career right on the edge of truly blossoming. For that second, Jensen owns the damn world.
***
That warm fuzzy feeling lasts about as long as it takes for Danneel Harris to blow in like an ill wind.
They’re getting acquainted with the kitchen they’ll be using for the event, checking out the set-up, looking around the walk in, double checking they’ve got all the product they need even though Jensen has already gone through it all personally, twice. The equipment is nice, all gleaming steel and gas ranges, plenty of room to do what they need to get done. With the upgrades they’ve made over the years, it’s not especially nicer than their kitchen, but it’s a lot roomier, obviously designed for at least twice the staff they’ve brought with them.
That strikes a chord for Jensen. Maybe they don’t have enough staff to pull this off, maybe he should have brought in a couple of pinch hitters just in case. He’s running down the list of everybody he could possibly call in for a favor like this - is it a worse risk to have somebody making the components who’s never done it before or to chance not getting them done on time? - when Jared gathers him into a bone-crushing hug.
“Shh,” he shushes against Jensen’s forehead, “I can hear the crazy happening, now stop. We’re good, we can do this, so whatever you’re thinking that’s making you freak out, knock it off.” He hangs onto Jensen for a minute longer, until Jensen finally relents and forces his muscles to relax. Then Jared lets him go, tapping him on the nose twice, the same way he does when he scolds Sadie. Jensen glares at him but he actually does feel a little better. No need to let Jared know that though.
Everybody’s unpacking, Sandy testing out the sharpness of her knives on the back of a thumbnail, even though she had them professionally honed just for this occasion. It really is nice to have someone on the team who gets it. Misha’s separating eggs, and Chris is pulling out veg for the mise en place and then the service door - the wrong side of it, almost slamming right into Chris’s face - swings open.
Regardless of how Jensen may have felt a couple of hours ago, Danneel Harris looks like she owns the world. Auburn hair, flawless makeup, a blue dress that has to have come right off of some designer rack and a look on her face that might have been a smile if the purpose of a smile was to make your balls try and escape into the relative safety of your intestines. She’s so much less scary over the phone.
“Hi Jensen!” she says, sugar-sweet enough to make his teeth ache. She also manages to completely ignore everyone else in the room, particularly impressive since Jared’s big as a house anyway, and right now he has one of his giant hands on Jensen’s hip. “Can I steal you for one quick second, dumplin’?”
It’s not really a question, especially with the way she doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on her four-inch heels and walks back out of the kitchen.
Jensen hesitates for a moment, feet physically incapable of moving with the lead weight of his stomach settled down in them. The crew is utterly silent, staring, eyes only flittering away from Jensen to shoot each other meaningful looks. Jared’s hand tightens on his hip briefly, and finally Jensen makes himself move, refusing to look over his shoulder for whatever expression is written on his partner’s face.
The room where the tables are set up is grand; sleek and modern, with one whole wall of windows looking out onto a spectacular view of the skyline. It’s exactly the sort of place Jensen’s always imagined having a restaurant in, but now it seems too big and open, impersonal, just like the woman awaiting him, pumps tapping out a manic rhythm on the hardwood floor.
“Something you’d like to tell me, Jensen?” He’s never actually hated the sound of his own name before. It’s disconcerting.
He has more than an inkling what this is about, the back of his throat thick with bitter regret that he hadn’t pushed the issue with Jared after that first big blow up. Kept putting it off and putting it off, thinking it would be ok when he knew it couldn’t be. Time to face the music.
“I know that you’re upset, but Jared’s Jared. He’s going to do what he wants to do and I can’t change tha-“
“So what you’re saying is you can’t control your staff?”
“What I’m saying is-“
“Look, Jensen,” she menaces, manicured nails dragging across the bare linen tablecloths with a shrrrrik like Jensen’s life being shredded, “I don’t know what part I’ve been unclear on, but I am not pleased. You really expect me to let that go out there and represent my name? To tell people that that’s the kind of person I think is fit to be preparing my meals. I don’t care if he gives the world’s best blow job, when I’m footing the bill I expect my people to look like professionals, not some felony-waiting-to-happen freaks. Bring the other guy, bring the girl, bring the pastry chef, I don’t give a damn, but if I see his face again, Jensen, we’re going to have a problem.”
He’ll give her this, the woman can turn on a dime, face suddenly bright with a smile that shrinks away from her eyes. She waves at something behind Jensen, who turns just in time to catch a rainbow glimpse of hair disappearing behind the window in the service door. He only keeps from hurling by a show of willpower he didn’t know he had, and the thought that if he pukes out here, some poor server would probably end up having to clean it up.
“Fix it, Jensen,” Danneel snaps, dragging Jensen’s attention back, “I don’t care how, just fix it.”
The clack-clack-clack of her heels follows her out, barely audible over the thundering, panicked beat of Jensen’s own heart.
***
“You can’t take it personally,” Jensen’s saying before he’s even all the way into the kitchen. He’s breathing like he ran a marathon instead of the thirty feet from the dining room to the back. Everyone’s staring at him again - Jensen’s officially over this trend - no one with as much intensity as Jared. It’s mildly miraculous that the metal all around them isn’t melting under the heat in those hazel eyes. “She just says stuff like that, you can’t let it get to you.”
He’s seen Jared shrug off far worse insults than that, from far better people; he can’t begin to imagine why this one seems to be getting to him so much.
"You think I give a shit about what she said?" Jared yells back, the sound echoing off the blank walls.
"Then what the fuck is the problem?" Jensen raises his own voice in answer.
"You! You're the problem! You're supposed to be my fucking friend and you just...” Jared’s fingers slide into his own hair, gripping like he’s tempted to pull it out, “Just nevermind."
Jensen’s almost sure he hears Sandy whisper his name quietly, like a warning, but he talks right over it. "It's just one day! Can't you just pretend for one day? For me?"
“Pretend what?” Jared scoffs, “That there’s nothing wrong with me? Is that what I’m supposed to pretend, Jen?”
“There isn’t anything wrong with you!”
“Then why the fuck didn’t you say that to her?” Jared’s hands slam into his chest hard, knocking him back a handful of steps before Chris grabs onto his shoulders and sets him right. He’s too stunned to react any more than it takes to get both feet under him again. They don’t fight like this, not ever. They’ve hurled harsh, razor-edged words at each other plenty; things hastily said in anger and later forgiven, sometimes more grudgingly than others. They’ve wrestled around and played at fighting, but they’ve never laid a hand on each other in malice and he hasn’t got a clue what to do with even a simple shove from Jared, no prescribed retaliation in the handbook.
For what it’s worth, Jared looks just as stunned by it as Jensen feels. He’s flashing a look from his hands to Jensen and back, like his body acted without his permission. Fish out of water, his mouth forms words, no sound coming out, before his face crumples into this angry, confused rictus that Jensen vaguely remembers from Jared’s teenage years.
Hastily he’s grabbing for his knives, tucking them back into his case, slap-dash, and zipping it up, gaze staying far away from Jensen.
"Where are you going?" Jensen finally manages to croak out as Jared’s heading for the back door.
"Away from here."
"We have a service to put up!"
"Do it without me!” Jared fires back, voice cracking a little at the end so that the rest comes out a mumble of, “Like the whole rest of this cluster fuck."
The door sways closed behind him with a soft squeal, and Jensen finds himself floundering in a world without gravity. He’s going to come back; any second now, he’s going to come back because Jared would never just leave him. Not over this - this stupid, pointless thing.
The door slowly comes to a stop under its own weight. It doesn’t move again.
“Jensen,” Chris says, something in his tone suggesting this isn’t his first attempt at getting Jensen’s attention. The warm spot on Jensen’s arm is a hand, he realizes after a moment; a really small hand, way too small to be Chris’.
“Jensen?” the next call of his name is more tentative, higher pitched, and Jensen at last succeeds in ungluing his eyes from the door to look at Sandy standing beside him. Sandy, of course; Sandy has tiny hands.
Misha’s next to Chris, biting his lip as the three of them exchange glances. For some reason, it hits him exactly then, square on the jaw - Jared’s not coming back.
“What the hell are you all looking at?” he barks because it’s the only way he can be sure he’s not about to choke on his own tongue, “We’ve got people to feed. Now let’s move!”
He pulls away from Sandy’s comforting touch; if he stops right now, even for a second, it’s all going to come unglued and there’s no way he’ll be able to put himself together in time to do the dinner. At the very least, he has to do the dinner, he’s not going to have fucked this all up for nothing.
If it takes him another minute or two to figure out why his cheeks are wet, well, that’s his own fucking business.
***
The first time Jensen realizes that maybe love isn't always enough, he's twenty-six and slumped as deep into Jared's couch as he can get. Jensen takes a hard swig straight from the whiskey bottle. They really need to invest in a higher quality liquor.
"And then he says 'I'm sorry I'll never be the Stepford boy you want,' like all I care about is having this perfect, prissy boyfriend to show off at parties!" he rails swinging the bottle wildly out to the side.
Jared wisely takes it from him - luckily there’s not enough in there to have sloshed out - knocks back a slug of his own and coughs out, "Fucker."
"I'm not like that," Jensen insists, prodding at the couch cushion fervently, "I mean, sure, I like things to be nice, I expect people to act with a certain level of class, but I'm not some pretentious snob."
"Of course you're not. Fuck him!" Jared palms Jensen's shoulder reassuringly, gives him a little shake that makes the whole room try to do a loop-de-loop. "Trust me I get it. My guy was all, 'Jared, you can't wear those jeans again,' and, 'Jared, I'm not taking you out with your hair like that,' and, 'Jared, why can't you just act like a normal person for a change,' and I'm like, hey, man, this is part of the package; you knew what you were signing up for. I seriously thought he was going to throw a plate at me!" He slams back another mouthful, head falling against the back of the sofa. It's like the couch is sucking all of the energy right out of him before Jensen's eyes, his body going progressively more lax, the tightness in his face fading as he stares at the ceiling. There's no resistance when Jensen takes the bottle back and washes away the bitter taste of regret lingering at the back of his throat.
"I wasn't going to throw a plate at you," he says quietly to the fray-edged label on the glass. He can hear the breath slowly fill Jared's lungs, the way it swooshes back out and then in again even more slowly.
"I know," Jared whispers, voice slightly choked, "I'm sorry about the Stepford thing. That was outta line."
Jensen huffs a laugh that turns to sand in his throat. "The truth hurts, right?"
"You're not that bad," Jared argues, a little more energy now that he's defending Jensen and he really would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all if he could manage to do more than struggle to suck in his next drag of air. "I was just pissed."
His chest aches with the admission, "I am that bad, sometimes. I know it." Suddenly there doesn't seem to be nearly enough whiskey left to get through this. Like, in the world.
"Still shouldn't have said it." Jared's hair rasps against the pleather of the couch, the rhythmic shuff of it suggesting that he's shaking his head. Jensen still hasn't been able to make himself look up.
His eyes are stinging, contacts trying to swim around on the surface as he shrugs and wryly chokes out, "If you can't be honest with your boyfriend, then what's the point?"
Jared gently extricates the bottle from the deathgrip Jensen didn't realize he had on it, fingers catch-lingering for a moment. Hesitantly he says in a boyish voice, "I could probably stand to clean up my act a little."
Jensen's protective instincts spring into action before he even has a chance to approve the tirade that slips past his lips.
"Like hell!" he says vehemently, poking at Jared's chest this time instead of the sofa. "I am not about to let you go change who you are to be with some dipshit guy, even if he happens to be me. Like you said, it's all part of the package, and the package is awesome."
Jared's hand claps over where Jensen's finger is trying to bore into his sternum, gentling it and holding it in place all at once.
He swallows heavily, eyes locked somewhere around Jensen's knees. "Just not awesome enough."
It's like the knot that's been trying to close off his airway all this time just bursts, exploding into sharp, hot little shards that flow through his veins like so much broken glass. There's no denying that there are tears welling up when he finally manages to make his voice croak out, "It's not like that and you know it."
Apparently, that's some sort of last straw because Jared grips his hand all the harder, presses it flat against his own chest where he can feel the tempo of Jared's heartbeat. Somehow it seems like it should be irregular or stilted or something, but it's steady as ever, solid and soothing beneath his tee.
"It's supposed to work," Jared says brokenly, the sound seemingly ripped from him, "We're supposed to work."
"I know," is the only answer Jensen's got. "I know."
And he does, God help him, he completely understands. It had seemed inevitable somehow when he and Jared got together, made it official. It was like the most natural thing in the world the way they fell into one another's lives, none of the awkwardness about meeting the family, or going over for holidays, or anything like that because they'd been doing it for years. Belonged together. He's reasonably sure that their mothers have already planned their big gay wedding, and now it's just... it's not supposed to end like this.
Jared curls in on himself, falling forward until his head is resting against Jensen's chest, noisy tears soaking through his shirt. This was supposed to be his forever, his happily ever after. If he can't make it work with Jared, then what the hell hope is he supposed to have with anybody else? How's he even supposed to want anybody else?
He cradles Jared's head against him and rubs a hand up and down his back, tears falling into the silky disarray of Jared's hair. Maybe when they tell everybody else they'll be manly about it, show everyone that it's not the end of the world, that they can still be friends. Nobody needs to know about this, that not being friends wasn't even an option because they don't know how to live without one another, even if they can't make it right. Nobody would understand anyway.
It goes on like that for what seems like hours. Jensen's head is pounding, eyes hot and sore when it's over and one of his contacts is missing. Maybe later he'll work up the energy to look for it - sometime when he hasn't got a Jared blanket covering him from head to toe, both of them laid out on the floor because they don't really fit on the couch like this.
"This is the most fucked up thing we've ever done," Jay whispers after a while, lips ghosting against Jensen's cheek. He's not sure whether Jared means the dating, or the break-up, or the fact that neither of them felt right turning to anyone else for comfort about it. Any which way, it's probably true.
"In a long and storied history of fucked up things," Jensen agrees. He presses a kiss to Jared's temple, gets a hard squeeze around his middle in return.
Jared's "I still love you," is barely audible. Jensen can't tell whether that feeling blooming in his chest is pain or pleasure.
"Like the post office, Jay," he murmurs back, "rain or sleet or really shitty break-ups. Always love you. No matter what."
His friend sobs one more time and finally grumbles, "I need more booze."
"Amen to that, brother."
On to Part Four