J2 Fic. You Can't Always Get What You Want - 1/?
Title: You Can’t Always Get What You Want - 1/?
Authors: Scarlettraven9, Heatherofthenight & Blueeyedliz
Word Count: 2,993 (this part)
Rating: NC/17
Summary: Jared and Jensen are living unfulfilled lives due to family obligations. Will a bet that Jensen makes lead them to true love or heartbreak? ST - this is especially for you, happy birthday.
Disclaimer: We don’t own a thing and no disrespect is intended to any of the very real people used in this story.
Warnings: Some violence, bad language, bottom!Jared.
Blueeyedliz AN: Happy Birthday ST, I have many great friends in fandom and I count you as one of the extra special ones. Hope this story is something along the lines of what you wanted. Thanks so much to Scarlet & Heather for agreeing to write with me again, without them, this wouldn’t have been possible.
Scarlettraven9 AN: Skag Trendy is such a wonderful writer- how could I not want to be part of a birthday fiction for her! A big thanks to Blueeyedliz for asking me to be part of this- it was fun to write with her and Heatherofthenight! :0)
Heatherofthenight AN: I was thrilled to co-write with Blueeyedliz and Scarlettraven9 again because it's always so much fun and it's an honor to write for Skag Trendy whose stories I adore. Happy Birthday ST! And many more :)
You Can't Always Get What You Want - Chapter One
When Jared turns eighteen and graduates high school the only thing he really wants out of life is to take a year off. He wants to travel and see Europe, he’s tired of looking at the pictures, he wants to reach out and touch. The Louvre, St Peter’s Basilica, Stonehenge. There’s something inexplicably extraordinary about the thought of resting his palm against stone which has been around for millennia. Most of all, Jared wants to leave Texas.
But like all of Jared’s dreams for the future, his momma quickly and efficiently squashes this one as well.
Jared’s dad died when he was still only real young. Jared doesn’t actually remember what happened and only knows what he’s been told since. That Gerry drowned in the ocean out by Galveston Island. He’d taken Jared on a fishing trip at the time and simply waded out way too far. Jared can’t recall anything apart from relatives he hadn’t seen in years turning up at the funeral home in their droves coming over to kiss his cheeks and pat his head with tears brimming in their eyes. In truth all Jared really remembers thinking at the time is that his dad used to swim like he had fins for legs.
Something died in the Padalecki house with Gerry. After his funeral, the house became sombre and silent. A library minus all of the books. Jared’s older brother, Jeff, left for University in California as soon as he was able to, fast enough to leave a dust cloud in his wake. And Meggy, Jared’s little sister, met a boy and practically moved in with him and his parents at their farm in the next town over so that just left Jared with his momma. Jared and Momma to the end.
Momma’s been sick for as long as Jared can remember. Her migraines sending her into terrible fits of temper until Jared either manages to calm her down or goes to hide out in the cellar until it’s over.
There’s a cardboard box full of his dad’s things down there in the dark, tucked away in the shadows underneath the rickety stairs. It’s what most people would consider junk. A couple of Johnny Cash LPs, some wood carving tools, a watch with a broken strap and an old battered fishing reel but Jared likes to go through them from time to time. Running his fingers over each object feels a little like he’s been talking to his dad again.
With his graduation cap and gown still hanging in his bedroom, Jared had gone so far as to buy a map and had even planned out a route, a thick line of crisp blue marker pen leading through Italy into Austria and then detouring off down towards the Greek Islands.
He doesn’t have a planned itinerary as such or even much in the way of funds but he figures he can get around by hitchhiking and taking odd jobs, bar work and the like, wherever he can find it. It’s exciting and Jared has something similar to pins and needles making the soles of his feet itch-as though he can’t wait to start walking-whenever he thinks about it.
Momma finds the map the next morning while putting away clean laundry in Jared’s room and everything goes south after that. The fireworks which erupt over supper that same evening are far from pretty, Momma sobs so hard she brings on another migraine and by bedtime the map is a screwed-up ball of paper in the trash bin outside of the house.
~0~
Instead of leaving Texas, Jared takes a job as a bank teller at Ackles & Sons Savings right in the heart of San Antonio, one short twenty minute bus ride away from home. It’s a tall grey stone building, standing proud in amongst all the modern skyscrapers. A community savings and loans bank which provides a service to individuals who run small businesses. Jared’s assigned his own little window from where he spends his days dealing with customers and their savings, deposits and withdrawals.
The hours are long and tedious and if truth be told Jared doesn’t even like money. The feel or the smell of it. Stale, dirty, wrinkled bills which have spent too long in circulation, too long wedged deep in someone’s pocket. He appreciates the things money can buy, the expensive medication his momma needs for instance but he hates being tied to a nine to five position dealing with nothing but the drudgery of monetary figures. More than anything he hates the looks on people’s faces when he has to tell them they don’t have enough funds to make a withdrawal.
His salary is reasonable enough to pay a healthy amount towards the household utilities; the rest is paid for using Momma’s social security because her ill health means she doesn’t work. It’s an existence, they survive and Momma seems happy enough now she has her baby boy to take care of her but Jared can’t shake the feeling that he’s dying inside.
~0~
In the centre of the bank, below an old wall clock, hangs an enormous creepy looking portrait of Bartholomew Ackles who founded the bank in 1889. Sandy, who works in the window next to Jared, calls Bartholomew great-grand-pappy Ackles and despite that sounding rich with fondness, the crinkle-nose expression on her face says she likes the painting about as much as Jared does.
Like most old paintings, Jared’s skin crawls with the way Bartholomew’s eyes peer out from under big white fluffy eyebrows and seem to follow him around. So much so that Jared makes a point of avoiding looking at the portrait whenever possible.
Jared’s been working at Ackles & Sons Savings for just over two months when he finally meets a real, in-the-flesh, living and breathing Ackles. His instant gut reaction is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum to how he feels about old Bartholomew.
~0~
Jensen Ross Ackles turned twenty-two in March, twenty-two years of living on the earth and he’s already immensely sick of his existence. He’s heir to a vast fortune, has everything he wants handed to him and yet he’s one of the loneliest people you could ever meet.
He has acquaintances, not friends, people who like the prospect of his inheritance more than they like him. Everyone-even those who’ve never met him- think of him as a spoiled ungrateful brat who has never had to earn an honest day’s living in his life and Jensen doesn’t see why he should make an effort to disappoint such grand expectations.
He works for his daddy under the impressive title of ‘Control Manager’, which basically means he spends a month or so at each of his dad’s banks, providing a visible physical presence to the Ackles family name before moving on again.
Jensen arrived in San Antonio yesterday and is already ensconced in his usual office in the bank, the one which faces south, overlooking the Central Business District and beyond that the five-level art-deco building which houses one of his favourite places, the IMAX.
In the distance, half-hidden by smog, he can hear more than see, Interstate 35 which stretches for miles and heads right out of Texas across the Red River into Oklahoma. On a clear day, Jensen can watch the busy freeway for hours, imagining himself sitting in one of those cars travelling far away.
“Hey, Jenny.” Jensen’s PA, Mike, hurries into Jensen’s office and immediately plants his backside on the edge of the desk, even though he knows Jensen hates it when he does that. “Have you seen the new guy who works here? He’s like a man mountain.”
Jensen studies Mike for a moment. Mike is almost certainly the closest thing Jensen has to a best friend but seeing as Jensen pays his wages, it doesn’t mean a great deal. Still, Mike makes an effort to be a good buddy as well as a member of Jensen’s staff and sometimes he’ll even agree to go out for a beer or to a basketball game providing Jensen foots the bill so yeah, he’s pretty much irreplaceable.
Mike goes where Jensen goes and even if he is kind of unconventional, a man-child with awful dress sense, Jensen likes him enough to let him get away with murder.
“A mountain man? What, like Grizzly Adams?” Jensen looks up from chewing on the cap of his pen. New guy? What new guy? “Is he in his nineties like all the other old men my dad employs to work in this hole?”
“Man mountain, doofus. He’s like one of those Giant Redwoods only bigger. I’ve got a crick in my neck just from staring up at him and no, he’s not old. He’s a kid. Extremely cute too.” Mike’s face grows life or death serious as he leans over the desk. “Dude, he has dimples. He bumped into me this morning when he was leaving the elevator and I thought he was going to have a panic attack he was that upset he might have broken me.”
Jensen arches his eyebrows. The kid sounds like something he needs to see for himself. Cute? Well, that sounds even more promising. Jensen turns back to the game of Solitaire he’s been playing on his computer but this time, his brain is somewhere else. On, someone else, someone with mile long limbs and dimpled smiles.
~0~
Finding the new guy isn’t an onerous task. Within five minutes of leaving his office Jensen finds Jared in the break room, struggling to free a trapped plastic cup from the water cooler. Turns out, someone who is easily tall enough to come complete with his own paracute is easy to spot in a space otherwise empty of people, who’d have guessed?
“Here, let me.” Jensen says moving forward from his place by the door and holy hell…he’s almost blinded by the beaming smile the kid turns on him.
“Sure, thanks. Damn thing’s wedged right in there. Would help if they actually provided us with some decent drink making facilities but, what can you do?” Jared shrugs his shoulders and his grin grows impossibly wider as Jensen frees the offending cup.
Jensen blinks his vision back into focus as Jared’s fingers brush against his, reaching out to take it. “So you’re new?”
“New-ish.” Jared answers, going back to the task of getting himself some water. “Jared Padalecki.” He says, quickly wiping ink-stained fingertips down the front of his trousers before holding out his hand for Jensen to shake.
“Jensen.” Jensen smiles awkwardly, lost for a moment in the feel of Jared’s warm hand in his. “Jensen Ackles.”
Jared’s smile instantly freezes. “Oh.” Jared scrubs a hand across the back of his neck, face turning beet red. “Sorry about what I said, sir.”
“No, heck, forget about it. The old man doesn’t like parting with his money. It’s cool.”
Jared takes a sip from his water, seemingly desperate for some distraction before nodding politely and shuffling hurriedly out of the room.
Jensen watches him leave, eyes darting over the broad-shouldered back, tapering down into a slim waist and damn fine ass. As far as first impressions go, they’ve not exactly hit it off like a house on fire but Jensen can still feel warmth tingling up his spine and he has Jared on his radar now at least.
~0~
On Friday, Jim Beaver, the long-serving Assistant Manager at the San Antonio branch retires. He has a leaving party in a small bar a few blocks away from the bank.
It might only be a short distance from the refined stately Ackles building but to Jensen it’s like being on a whole other planet. He doesn’t like the bar. It’s cheap, reeks of cigarette smoke, the floor is disturbingly sticky and the fella who claims to be the barman wouldn’t know how to mix a decent martini if he tried. Nevertheless apparently unperturbed by his surroundings, unlike Jensen, Jim seems to be having a great time. The engraved silver mantle clock the company gave him as a retirement gift has been wedged under his armpit all night and he hasn’t stopped laughing, not once. The party atmosphere shifts fluidly into full swing when somebody-Mike-yells out for more booze as he slips a dime into the jukebox.
Jensen relaxes more easily once he’s finished off his four or fifth beer, however he can’t ignore the stiffness which materializes in people’s shoulders whenever he tries to mingle in with the smiling, chatting clusters his employees have formed around the bar. It feels like everyone is waiting for him to bawl them out for actually daring to have a good time. Jensen takes a sip of his beer and tries to pretend his presence at the bash is actually welcomed.
Jensen sees Jared standing by the bar with an attractive petit brunette. His heart sinks, just a touch, when her small hand comes to rest on Jared’s forearm and their heads tilt closer together as though they’re sharing secrets. Mike’s at Jensen’s side watching him, watch Jared. “You know, I’ve heard he’s a total fudge packer.” Mike whispers into Jensen’s ear.
Jensen scowls and bats him away. “Mike, I’m...”
“I know, I know. You’re a sausage jockey too.”
“You’ve really got to stop using ‘Beavis and Butt-head’ to pick up social skills.”
“Yeah, one day I’ll be a real boy.” Mike grins and downs his shot of...something icky looking.
Jensen laughs and when he looks up again, Jared’s staring right at him. Their gazes lock and Jensen could swear the air crackles. Then Jared blushes and looks away, eyes scanning the floor with ‘just lost a contact’ urgency. It’s a shame, Jensen thinks because red looks really good on Jared. Although, right now, Jensen kind of thinks he’d look really good on Jared.
~0~
It’s cutting close to the witching hour when Tom finally arrives. Jensen’s nicely drunk so he’s not got enough composure to be pissed at his ‘friend’ for taking so long. Tom slaps Jensen’s shoulder and orders himself a Gin Sling before sliding into Jensen’s booth. “Sorry, man. I got waylaid.” He murmurs, jiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Jensen scowls and drains his ninth (tenth?) beer. “Thank you for leaving me in shitty dive land, that’s real gentlemanly of you. I hope you get VD.”
“I miss anything?”
“Only Jenny making googly eyes at the new guy.” Mike says, a smile lighting up his face.
“New guy?” Tom’s own face brightens and he nudges Jensen with his elbow. “Do tell?”
“That one.” Mike chirps, pointing at Jared who’s busily shooting a game of pool with a couple of his co-workers. “He’s a fudge packer.” Mike nods his head hard, obvious delighting in making Jensen squirm.
“Hey...” Jensen growls, slamming his bottle down a little too hard.
“Holy shit, you do like him.” Tom tips back his head as deep laughter ripples up from his belly and spills out of his mouth.
“Shut up.” Jensen says.
“You know, we could make this interesting.” Tom slides towards Jensen on the upholstered seat, moving in for the kill. “I’ll bet you...a week at my beach-house on the Algarve that you can’t get the new guy into bed with you before you have to leave San Antonio.”
“What?”
“Okay, two weeks and I’ll even throw in a massage session with my private masseuse.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t get some soon, your dick is going to shrivel up and drop off. Honestly, Jensen, you need some fun in your life. You’re always so serious. Why not fuck the guy? It’s not like I’m suggesting you date him for God’s sake. Lord knows, you wouldn’t want to be stuck with some white-collar twink as a boyfriend. Could you imagine the heart-attacks that would cause at your dad’s Billiard Club?”
“And what are you getting out of this?”
“Besides a buddy who doesn’t have less sex than my grandpa? Well, I’ve always liked your Boxter.”
“Go to hell.”
“So, you don’t think you can win?”
“I know I can win.”
“Well then, maybe you should put your sports car where your mouth is.” Tom smiles.
Jensen licks his tongue across his lips, twisting his neck to watch as Jared leans over the pool table lining up his next shot. “Okay, you’ve got a bet.” Jensen says and he hopes the way he stomach churns is just from all the brewskis he’s drank tonight.
~TBC~
Part Two.
.