(no subject)
Tempus Fugit
CW RPF
Jared/Jensen/Sandy; R
1,200 words
A/N: Written for rps_advent, for the "Superpowers" prompt. Thanks to sevenfists for helping bend it into shape, and to mcee for her endless whip-cracking.
Jared falls asleep in Vancouver and dreams of clocks turning backwards, tock-tick, the tiny metal whir of second hands spinning in the wrong direction.
He wakes up in LA, three days earlier.
*
It's 4:44 in the morning, still mostly dark but creeping towards daybreak, raindrops spattering the glass. The treetops outside shiver in the wind, silhouetted against the paling sky; Sandy, curled up around her pillow, sighs in her sleep. He almost just rolls over and closes his eyes again, but something tickles at the back of his mind, a strange sense of déjà vu.
He's been here before, woken up exactly like this. Monday morning, five minutes before the alarm. His suitcase is in the corner; his taxi to the airport will show up late, they'll get stuck in traffic, and he'll almost miss his flight. He's been here, but he doesn't think he's supposed to be here now. His head aches, throbbing with his heartbeat, too fast and too loud.
Sleep pulls him back in, tugging harder than he can fight to stay awake, and he falls right back into the same dream, almost. This time the clocks move forward.
*
He wakes up hot, in a bed that's familiar but not his. Jensen's, he can tell by the ugly painting above the dresser, and when he turns his head, Jensen's right there, face mashed into the pillow, hair sticking up at odd angles. Jared rolls over, tries to sit up but he's so tired, his neck and shoulders aching, the muscles in his back bunching. The clock reads 4:44; his head pounds, making him dizzy, nauseous.
"Hey." Jensen touches his shoulder and the mattress groans as he shifts closer, slides his arm around Jared's belly and fits himself along Jared's back. His breath tickles the back of Jared's neck, warm against his ear. "It's Saturday, man, we get to sleep in."
"I thought it was Thursday..." Jared says, confused and groggy. He curls his fingers around Jensen's, squeezes them tight against his chest, and then he's asleep again.
*
This time he's inside a giant clock, the gears clicking, hundreds of tiny wheels droning, buzzing. The hands are spinning the wrong way again, but he's looking at the face from the wrong side. He watches the hands spin to four o'clock, four-thirty. They slow, crawl to a shuddering stop at 4:44 that knocks him off his feet.
*
"Hey." Sandy's voice is small and bright, sleepy. He's in his own bed again, their bed, with the striped sheets and the down comforter that rustles, like crumpling paper, when he moves. She's half on top of him, her leg thrown over his, her hand on his chest. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, always has. "Go back to sleep, it's too early."
"Time is it?" he mumbles. His neck and shoulders ache, and a sharp pain pulses between his eyebrows. The sky through the window is pale, colorless. He thinks he already knows.
Her hair tickles his neck, his cheek as she lifts her head. It fans across his chest as she settles back down against him, groaning. "Four forty-four." She yawns. "Make a wish."
He does, and sleep pulls him down again.
*
He's standing in an empty room, cavernous and devoid of furniture, of windows. The walls and floor and ceiling are bright white; he almost can't tell where one ends and the others begin. He checks his watch (on the wrong wrist, and isn't that strange?), and the hands are spinning out of control, too fast for him to even tell which direction they're moving.
*
He drifts awake to the smell of sweat, skin, sex. Sandy's curled up along his side, Jensen sprawled out next to him, his hand thrown carelessly over Jared's stomach. Jared blinks, glances instinctively at the clock on the nightstand. It's 4:44 a.m. again, but there's no headache, no insistent tug back into sleep. Maybe this is where--or more accurately, when--he's supposed to be.
"Hey." His voice is raspy, raw. He clears his throat, rolls onto his side to run his knuckles down Sandy's cheek, and tries again. "Hey."
She smiles, still mostly asleep, and squirms in closer. Behind him, Jensen groans and flexes his fingers on Jared's hip, and Jared reaches for Sandy, cards his fingers through her hair to pull her into a sleepy kiss. He closes his eyes, feels for the pulse under her jaw just to convince himself this is real, but he can taste her, smell her; her cunt smears wetly across his stomach when she straddles him.
"I want you to watch," she whispers against his mouth, and he nods, palming her back as she slides off to wedge between him and Jensen, Jensen's chest curved against her back. Jensen smiles at him over Sandy's shoulder when he pushes in, pushes deep, but Jared's too distracted by the heave of Sandy's tits, the wrinkle between her eyebrows, the way her mouth falls open--all the small, subtle ways she's different for Jensen--to return it.
He jerks himself almost absently while they fuck, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy coiling tight and cold in his chest. For all the times he imagined this, pictured it in full skin flick Technicolor, he never thought about what it would actually feel like to be on the outside of it, to watch and not touch, to hear and see Sandy come and not be part of it.
When they fall asleep, after, Jared turns to face the window, stares at the pink sky until his eyes burn. He closes them, and the clocks turn backwards again.
*
The ring of his mobile jolts him awake, to an indigo sky and the sheets tangled around his feet, the dogs snoring out in the hall. It's 4:44 again. He grabs for the phone, grunts out a greeting.
"Jared. Where the hell are you?" Jensen's voice is clipped, irritated. He hasn't had his coffee yet.
Jared sits up, presses the heel of his hand between his eyes where the headache pounds again, persistent. He knows where he is, but not when. He's almost used to it. But he's at least he's alone and in his own apartment--exactly where he fell asleep, for a change.
"What?"
"We're outside, where are you?"
"What day is it?" he asks.
There's a pause, and then, surprised: "It's Thursday. Hurry up."
"Yeah, I'll be right down." He hangs up and dials Sandy's number, knowing her phone's probably buried in her purse and that she won't even hear it. It doesn't matter. Her voicemail picks up after the fourth ring and he chews his thumbnail, waiting for the beep. "Hey baby, it's me. I just, uh..." He laughs, weakly. "Had some bad dreams, wanted to hear your voice. I think I'm gonna come home this weekend, just overnight. I miss you."
He snaps the phone closed and cradles his head in his hands, trying to shake off the last shreds of the dream. A horn honks, the dogs whine. He pulls on his clothes, grabs the leashes and his keys, and steps outside.
CW RPF
Jared/Jensen/Sandy; R
1,200 words
A/N: Written for rps_advent, for the "Superpowers" prompt. Thanks to sevenfists for helping bend it into shape, and to mcee for her endless whip-cracking.
Jared falls asleep in Vancouver and dreams of clocks turning backwards, tock-tick, the tiny metal whir of second hands spinning in the wrong direction.
He wakes up in LA, three days earlier.
*
It's 4:44 in the morning, still mostly dark but creeping towards daybreak, raindrops spattering the glass. The treetops outside shiver in the wind, silhouetted against the paling sky; Sandy, curled up around her pillow, sighs in her sleep. He almost just rolls over and closes his eyes again, but something tickles at the back of his mind, a strange sense of déjà vu.
He's been here before, woken up exactly like this. Monday morning, five minutes before the alarm. His suitcase is in the corner; his taxi to the airport will show up late, they'll get stuck in traffic, and he'll almost miss his flight. He's been here, but he doesn't think he's supposed to be here now. His head aches, throbbing with his heartbeat, too fast and too loud.
Sleep pulls him back in, tugging harder than he can fight to stay awake, and he falls right back into the same dream, almost. This time the clocks move forward.
*
He wakes up hot, in a bed that's familiar but not his. Jensen's, he can tell by the ugly painting above the dresser, and when he turns his head, Jensen's right there, face mashed into the pillow, hair sticking up at odd angles. Jared rolls over, tries to sit up but he's so tired, his neck and shoulders aching, the muscles in his back bunching. The clock reads 4:44; his head pounds, making him dizzy, nauseous.
"Hey." Jensen touches his shoulder and the mattress groans as he shifts closer, slides his arm around Jared's belly and fits himself along Jared's back. His breath tickles the back of Jared's neck, warm against his ear. "It's Saturday, man, we get to sleep in."
"I thought it was Thursday..." Jared says, confused and groggy. He curls his fingers around Jensen's, squeezes them tight against his chest, and then he's asleep again.
*
This time he's inside a giant clock, the gears clicking, hundreds of tiny wheels droning, buzzing. The hands are spinning the wrong way again, but he's looking at the face from the wrong side. He watches the hands spin to four o'clock, four-thirty. They slow, crawl to a shuddering stop at 4:44 that knocks him off his feet.
*
"Hey." Sandy's voice is small and bright, sleepy. He's in his own bed again, their bed, with the striped sheets and the down comforter that rustles, like crumpling paper, when he moves. She's half on top of him, her leg thrown over his, her hand on his chest. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, always has. "Go back to sleep, it's too early."
"Time is it?" he mumbles. His neck and shoulders ache, and a sharp pain pulses between his eyebrows. The sky through the window is pale, colorless. He thinks he already knows.
Her hair tickles his neck, his cheek as she lifts her head. It fans across his chest as she settles back down against him, groaning. "Four forty-four." She yawns. "Make a wish."
He does, and sleep pulls him down again.
*
He's standing in an empty room, cavernous and devoid of furniture, of windows. The walls and floor and ceiling are bright white; he almost can't tell where one ends and the others begin. He checks his watch (on the wrong wrist, and isn't that strange?), and the hands are spinning out of control, too fast for him to even tell which direction they're moving.
*
He drifts awake to the smell of sweat, skin, sex. Sandy's curled up along his side, Jensen sprawled out next to him, his hand thrown carelessly over Jared's stomach. Jared blinks, glances instinctively at the clock on the nightstand. It's 4:44 a.m. again, but there's no headache, no insistent tug back into sleep. Maybe this is where--or more accurately, when--he's supposed to be.
"Hey." His voice is raspy, raw. He clears his throat, rolls onto his side to run his knuckles down Sandy's cheek, and tries again. "Hey."
She smiles, still mostly asleep, and squirms in closer. Behind him, Jensen groans and flexes his fingers on Jared's hip, and Jared reaches for Sandy, cards his fingers through her hair to pull her into a sleepy kiss. He closes his eyes, feels for the pulse under her jaw just to convince himself this is real, but he can taste her, smell her; her cunt smears wetly across his stomach when she straddles him.
"I want you to watch," she whispers against his mouth, and he nods, palming her back as she slides off to wedge between him and Jensen, Jensen's chest curved against her back. Jensen smiles at him over Sandy's shoulder when he pushes in, pushes deep, but Jared's too distracted by the heave of Sandy's tits, the wrinkle between her eyebrows, the way her mouth falls open--all the small, subtle ways she's different for Jensen--to return it.
He jerks himself almost absently while they fuck, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy coiling tight and cold in his chest. For all the times he imagined this, pictured it in full skin flick Technicolor, he never thought about what it would actually feel like to be on the outside of it, to watch and not touch, to hear and see Sandy come and not be part of it.
When they fall asleep, after, Jared turns to face the window, stares at the pink sky until his eyes burn. He closes them, and the clocks turn backwards again.
*
The ring of his mobile jolts him awake, to an indigo sky and the sheets tangled around his feet, the dogs snoring out in the hall. It's 4:44 again. He grabs for the phone, grunts out a greeting.
"Jared. Where the hell are you?" Jensen's voice is clipped, irritated. He hasn't had his coffee yet.
Jared sits up, presses the heel of his hand between his eyes where the headache pounds again, persistent. He knows where he is, but not when. He's almost used to it. But he's at least he's alone and in his own apartment--exactly where he fell asleep, for a change.
"What?"
"We're outside, where are you?"
"What day is it?" he asks.
There's a pause, and then, surprised: "It's Thursday. Hurry up."
"Yeah, I'll be right down." He hangs up and dials Sandy's number, knowing her phone's probably buried in her purse and that she won't even hear it. It doesn't matter. Her voicemail picks up after the fourth ring and he chews his thumbnail, waiting for the beep. "Hey baby, it's me. I just, uh..." He laughs, weakly. "Had some bad dreams, wanted to hear your voice. I think I'm gonna come home this weekend, just overnight. I miss you."
He snaps the phone closed and cradles his head in his hands, trying to shake off the last shreds of the dream. A horn honks, the dogs whine. He pulls on his clothes, grabs the leashes and his keys, and steps outside.