NC-17 | Seashells and Tidal Waves | J2
Title: Seashells and Tidal Waves
Words: 3,700
Rating/Warning: NC-17/sex, butchering of the English language
Pairing: J2 and hinting at Jensen/Mark WTF?
Summary: The unneeded, shameful sequel to Boats 'n Hoes. J-Boozie and Jens don't seem to be 4-Evs, especially when Jensen meets the next great thing, singer-songwriter Pellegrino. But everything's relative and Jensen has to decide if moving to the other end of the spectrum is really such a great idea.
Notes: FML. This is for aubergineautumn for her lovely donation through help_haiti. I didn't QUITE go in the direction you asked but tried to work with the verse and make another great travesty of J-Boozie's language. Apologies for that and the super long wait.
Despite his intentions, Jensen stuck it out with J-Boozie through his downtime, which was really just a two-month break between touring and the next album. To Jensen, it was the worst-fucking-time, because all J-Boozie did was invite him over to the house he shared with Chazzizle, Misha Mic, and Tom Tom. And a dozen or so groupies.
Every time Jensen came into the house, J-Boozie announced “My ho away from home!” And every time, Jensen rolled his eyes.
Sometimes he found the whole gang in the game room, girls swinging on stripper poles, Gangsta Lean hits (and some unknown songs) on permanent loop on the handful of big screen TVs, and forties of beer at varying levels of consumption littering every surface. “Jens! Baby-boy, comes sit hee-yah,” J-Boozie would command with anxious hands. Ones that got more anxious and touchy when Jensen was within range.
His patience was short and he bitched at Chris at an extraordinary rate, instead of just once in a while. It got so bad that he was actually excited when J-Boozie started writing new material because it meant he was busy. Jensen did his damnedest to ignore the worry that every song would be about them.
Four months later, Lips So Thick, Open Wide dropped and Jensen wished J-Boozie were still on hiatus.
He didn’t make the release party, but he did manage to show face at the after party, which prompted an extremely inebriated J-Boozie to announce on the mic, “Ma boo, Jens, is here! Come grind wit me, bay-bay-bee!”
It was enough. More than enough. Way past enough. And Jensen told him so when there was a quiet moment in the corner. “J, seriously, we gotta talk.”
J-Boozie wouldn’t relinquish Jensen’s throat and kept sucking marks across the skin. And he kept humping him in the round booth. “Talk wit yo lips, baby.”
Jensen grabbed J-Boozie’s head and pulled him away, staring at his inebriated eyes. “J, you can’t … you can’t do this anymore.”
“Aww, baby, c’mon, jus’ warmin’ up,” and then he pushed his hand between Jensen’s legs.
With a quick shuffle away, he huffed. “You can’t … I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do’s what?”
“Can we talk serious for a minute?”
Jared’s eyes were wide and he yelled, “I’s always serious, boo!”
Rubbing at his eyebrow, Jensen shot up and headed for the hallway to get as far from the hotel lounge as possible. J-Boozie was on his heels, calling for him, but Jensen spun round to stop him. “No, look, I just. Seriously, J, I can’t do this anymore.”
J-Boozie stared for a long while, long enough that Jensen wasn’t sure he understood. Until J-Boozie pulled his hat off to release rumpled, wavy hair that fell into his face. He slowly pushed it out of the way and showed off wide, drooped eyes.
God damnit Jensen cursed himself. J-Boozie like that, like a helpless little puppy, was tugging on his heart and gut because he was unearthly cute.
“Hold up … You, you breakin’ up wit me?”
Jensen laughed uncomfortably, mostly embarrassed that he felt so bad doing it, but knowing he had to. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Really?” The way his voice dropped shot right to Jensen’s heart and he was about to apologize more, or even offer some sort of compromise or issue a challenge for J-Boozie to be … less J-Boozie. But then he said, “I ain’t go no ho no mo?”
He laughed again, more in disbelief that he even stuck around this long then shook his head. “Take care,” he offered with a wave over his shoulder as he walked away.
He didn’t feel bad. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. J-Boozie was a fungus that was only infiltrating his life and clouding so much of his reputation. Jensen was a reputable music blogger. He had a huge following and was getting better advertising - both in quantity and quality. He was making good money. There was no reason he had to stick around with J-Boozie and open himself up to that kind of humiliation.
Okay, he felt a little bad, because the very next appearance J-Boozie made on MTV, his face was stoic and he didn’t talk much. Chazzizle took care of words, though.
“Yo, mah boy J-Boozie’s got his heart breakin’ from his boo, so we’s takin’ a break. Hi-a-tus. But we’s be back real soons-like. Keep yo eye out fo’ us, yeah?”
Jensen shook his head then thumped it into the back of his couch.
*
There was a strange murmur through the industry. J-Boozie was back on the market but off the radio with his self-imposed hiatus. There was a tiny bit of guilt racking Jensen’s brain, but on the other hand, Jensen felt comfortable to roam through every event he was invited to and not worry about being called a ho at every turn.
Jensen was knee deep in reputable entertainment reporters, discussing the relevance of reunions like Poison (worth a small ticket price) or Creed (none whatsoever), when he felt a presence just over his shoulder. He looked round and spotted a guy, an average looking guy with dusty blonde hair across his head and chin and a dingy graphic tee beneath an ancient looking blazer. With a short smile and nod, he briefly acknowledged him then turned back to give input on the chance of Britney Spears using all nine lives.
“Hey,” the guy said in a mellow voice.
“Hey,” Jensen said in return, short and with the barest of glances. Jensen tried to focus on the conversation, but the guy slid a little closer.
“Hey,” he said again, small smile on his face.
Jensen nodded with a tight smile. “Hey.”
“You’re RamshAckles, right?”
Jensen stared for a moment then said on an awkward laugh. “Uh, yeah, Jensen Ackles.”
The guy pushed a hand out, affable smile and kind eyes. “Hi. Pellegrino.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Pellegrino,” he repeatedly slowly. “You said I had an honest sound with workable lyrics.”
Jensen thought on it, then remembered a post from two weeks ago that racked up and coming indie acts. He chuckled, “Right, Pellegrino, yeah, I remember.” He finally shook the hand then looked around. “Where’s the rest of the group?”
“It’s just me.”
“Oh, they couldn’t make it?”
“No,” he said easily, shaking his hand and scratching at the edge of his barely-there beard. “I mean, it’s just me. I’m Pellegrino.”
He took a few moments to think on that and eyed him strangely. “Like, that’s just your name?”
With a small smile, he explained, “Well, it’s Mark Pellegrino. But I just go by Pellegrino.”
“Why?”
Mark shrugged and seemed to consider an answer. “It’s artistic.”
Jensen laughed and smirked with a sliver of attitude. “It’s pretentious.”
“Lotsa people do it.”
“Name one.”
“Madonna.”
His eyebrows dropped in confusion. “She doesn’t count. No way does she count for anything in this world. She’s an enigma.”
“Okay, Dashboard Confessional.”
Jensen fully turned and argued, “And he’s a douchebag. Try again.”
Mark smiled easily, and answered just as easily, “Citizen Cope.”
He frowned and downed the rest of his gin and tonic. Then he took a deep breath, feeling the bitter taste of defeat taint his drink. He caught Mark’s still-easy smile and settled a little, about to say more, uncomfortable in the silence
But Mark motioned to the bar. “You want another?”
Jensen looked at the bar, at Mark, at the people and conversation he’d just abandoned, and then decided more liquor could be a good thing. And maybe a stealth interview with Pellegrino wouldn’t hurt his career.
Except it didn’t quite go that way. Mark effortlessly prompted Jensen to talk about himself, giving a soft smile the entire time. That was new. He’d stayed away from anything or anyone that wasn’t work involved since breaking up with J-Boozie, and while Mark Pellegrino wasn’t exactly his type, he could make the conversation move and Jensen appreciated actually talking about himself for once.
“Is it true you dated J-Boozie?” Mark suddenly asked.
Jensen swallowed hard and looked away. There was no world in which he wanted to admit it, but there was something in Mark’s intense gaze that just dragged it right out of him. “For a bit, yeah.”
“What’s he like?”
He watched Mark and had to squint at how honest Mark really seemed right there. “Really? You wanna talk about him?”
“He seems like a real voice of the generation, you know? I’m always curious how artists operate.”
Jensen cracked up at that, downing his drink. “I wouldn’t call him an artist.”
“Hmm, really? Stuffin’ Yo Trunk is my favorite song right now.”
He stared, gulped, and immediately ordered another drink, knowing that was specifically about him. Well, really, all of J-Boozie’s lyrics were. But that one in particular was written shortly after their relationship had become public, so it was more than obvious it was about him.
“I really dig his style, you know? He just runs with what he has working for him. Every genre needs a hero, and J-Boozie’s got rap tied up perfectly.”
“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me, right?” Jensen looked around for Chris. “You’re totally fucking me.”
Mark’s hand skated down Jensen’s back and he twitched away from it. Then Mark raised his hand in defense. “I thought maybe you were suggesting it.” Jensen glared, and Mark laughed lightly with embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. Should be a gentleman about this.” He turned slightly then motioned towards the balcony off to the far corner. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
Later, Jensen would blame the alcohol for following. But he wasn’t sure what it was that convinced him that Mark’s words about protecting all of God’s creatures, including cockroaches and earthworms, were really all that important.
“God, I love the ocean,” Mark raved. “I live right on the water in Santa Monica, and I stare at the water every night.”
Jensen sipped his new drink and looked between Mark and the ocean, noting how the guy seemed to be fascinated with the scene. Okay, so Mark was thoughtful and into the earth and water, that was so not bad. It was a step up from J-Boozie, for sure, definitely, huge step up.
“And when the waves break, I always smile, and I wave right back.” Then Mark raised a hand and shook it, twiddling fingers and grinning at the water. “Hey, there,” he murmured. “You having a good night?”
He looked around them and they were alone. Which meant Mark was surfing on his own tidal wave of crazy.
Mark laughed, and Jensen realized he’d said that aloud. “That’s awesome man, I like that. Surfing my own tidal wave, it’s a lyric, I can hear it.” Then he cupped his ear and bobbed his head while humming some song he was writing in his head at that very moment. Suddenly, he stopped and pushed a hand into his stomach. “You hungry? I got the munchies real crazylike.”
“No, I’m good,” he said tightly then turned and hurried back inside.
*
A week passed before he was reminded of that evening. An invitation came in the mail to see Pellegrino down at the Santa Monica Pier. Jensen fought every rational thought, but then figured he could get more information to write up another blog, get the inside track on the guy.
He walked up and down the pier, trying to find any space for music when a tinny guitar drew him past a Jamaican selling ponchos and a man in a wheelchair whittling feet. Jensen tried to look away, but was oddly fascinated by it all.
Then there was feedback blaring from a short amplifier and Jensen recognized Mark’s voice.
“This is for a new friend who helped me see the beauty in the sea …”
The guitar went on in slow, lazy strokes, chords purposely sloppy as his voice drawled on.
We floated on the ocean
You stood beside me
Your heat was my guide
As I floated out on the sea
The blue of waves
Goes with the green of your eyes
I wanna ride your waves
Just hoping I don’t capsize
Jensen stared, horror filling his stomach, lungs, and catching in his throat. Oh, it was not … no, it wasn’t what he really wanted or needed or could handle. Mark was cross-legged on the floor with his guitar. His shirt was ratty, threadbare beyond what was normally acceptable, as were his jeans, holes everywhere. His feet were bare and incense burned around him, at least five different sticks of warring scents. And he was singing about Jensen. He needed another crappy artist writing him music like he needed a hole in the head.
Let’s float on this tidal wave
Let’s float on together
As I glide right into you
Light as a feather
It was so much worse than he’d ever anticipated. He wasn’t sure that he should have ever cursed J-Boozie’s vulgarities, how filthy and sexual all the lyrics were. Because right there, Mark was gazing up at him, eyes intent and warm and his mouth kept opening wider to the mic. Jensen was pretty sure in another chorus, Mark would make out with the thing.
When I look in your eyes
I see the great big ocean
All its algae and weeds
Let’s float on together again
The song drifted off and Mark randomly said thanks to someone who dropped a quarter into his coffee tin.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jensen groaned and turned away. He really wanted to run away, but Mark knew he was there and was finishing the song with a light strum, still staring up at him. Jensen couldn’t even look at Mark anymore, facing another direction and pushing the heel of both hands into his eyes.
“So happy you made it.” Mark softly touched his shoulder and Jensen flinched away. Mark was smiling, but there was something strange in his eyes. Not quite wild, but something more than dazed. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jensen lied, already attuned to faking interest in someone’s lyrics. He’d lied to J-Boozie plenty of times, he could do it once more
“It was for you. About you, really.”
He nodded, “Yeah. Got that. Thank you. So much.”
Mark shifted his guitar to his back then pointed down the walkway. “I don’t go on again until four. Want to get a drink? My place is right down this way.”
Jensen looked down at the tie-dyed mat Mark had been sitting on then up. “Go on again?”
“Right,” he nodded. “Next set’s at four. Think I’ll sneak in some songs off my first album.”
“You only have one album,” Jensen pointed out.
Mark’s hands flew out as they walked forward and his voice rose, too, all excitement. “Oh, but I’m writing the next one! That was the first single.”
“Oh, no, no,” Jensen laughed. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I do,” he nodded with a wide smile. “You inspirate me.”
“Inspire,” Jensen corrected.
“Yes, that, too.” Mark then stepped off the boardwalk and through the sand, leading Jensen down under the walkway. “All I have is beer or apple juice.” He grabbed a container, shook and sniffed it then winced. “Oh, wait, no, wrong bottle.”
Jensen dry heaved, covering his mouth.
Mark handed a can of Schlitz with a smile. “Beer it is.”
He looked around, refusing to grab it. A sheet spread over the sand with a pillow at one end and a dozen or so rocks holding it down on the other. Surrounding the area were random bottles and cans dug into the sand, likely to keep them all as cool as possible, and then a three-foot tall bong. Jensen nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh, my God, you live on the beach.”
Mark smiled, tipping his head to one side. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”
Jensen scrubbed a hand over his face with a high sigh as he tried to control his laughter, and then cursed himself for even going this far with the exercise. “Alright, well this is fantastic. You have a lovely home, but I’d really hate to keep you from scuttling along with lobsters or digging for gold, hoarding crabs, whatever it is you do.”
“Who told you about my crabs?” Mark asked while not so subtly rubbing his crotch.
“Oh, God,” Jensen whimpered and immediately ran away.
*
Little over a month later, Jensen was cursed when he covered the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame concert. Not only was Pellegrino appearing as a featured, up-and-coming artist, but J-Boozie was introduced as the next presenter.
J-Boozie moved across stage with a well-defined strut, surprisingly dressed in a slick suit, tailored a bit loose but much better fitting than anything else he’d ever been caught in. His hair was even styled suitable for the occasion, and his voice only broke a few times into his rap dialect while speaking on the microphone.
However, it was all crashing together when it was obvious what he’d been selected to do. “With a style smooth like buttah, a voice that cuts sharper than a jizz-agged knife, and a janky ol’ guitar, Pellegrino hits tha charts with his effortless California breeze, ded-o-catin’ his newest album to his newest love. Da ocean ‘n starfish ‘n all dose li’l creatures. Here he be with his newest cut, yo, Pellegrino with Crabs and Seashells.”
He sat through most of the song, even as fear curled up, fighting to rise out of Jensen’s stomach with nausea. The refrain were more than enough and he had to flee. As he hurried from his seat, up the walkway, and out of the auditorium, he couldn’t ignore the words.
I love your body like a clam
You’re juicy, sweet, sharp to taste
We’ll play it safe, stay away from crabs
Keep away from their sting and burrow in this place
Jensen stumbled through the doors and rushed down the hallway, not even watching himself and running right into …
“Jens,” J-Boozie said with a level voice.
He grabbed onto J-Boozie’s arms, squeezing tight to pull himself upright. And then he whimpered, because, shit, he forgot about how big those muscles were, and a flash of excitement ran down his spine. “Hey … J … How are you?”
“I’s been good,” he said gently. “How’s you?”
“I, uh, I’m okay. Just, you know,” and he pointed beyond J-Boozie to the men’s room.
“You don’ wanna hear yo boyfriend play?”
Jensen laughed with embarrassment. “Oh, my God, J, no, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“I heards you was with him at a party. And then a gig. And went back to his place.”
He laughed again then pushed at J-Boozie’s shoulder. “No, shut up. Seriously, we’re not, you know ...”
J-Boozie looked confused then watched Jensen carefully, it was kind of disturbing. “So, you’re not doin’ him?”
Jensen looked at him like he was crazy. “His gig was sitting on a sheet on the boardwalk.”
“Tha’s kinda cool,” J-Boozie said in a fluster, suddenly looking self conscious.
“Dude, he lives on the beach, and he pisses in a bottle.”
“You seem to know lots abouts him,” he mumbled.
But Jensen rambled right on, blurting out in defense, “And he has crabs.” He instantly winced. “Okay, I shouldn’t know that much, but he is way too forward with the personal info and he openly told me that. I didn’t see it. It’s not like I got crabs from him.” J-Boozie looked away with a strange face and Jensen immediately laughed at himself. “I have no idea why I’m saying all this.”
J-Boozie sarcastically said, “Maybe you’s too much on the personal info … and maybe you’s too much with da judgementals. And maybes you should gives peoples a chance to be reals with you.”
Jensen gulped. “Oh, God, you’re giving me the talk. The ‘I’m better than you’ talk, aren’t you?”
“What ifs I am?”
“It’d probably be more effective if you spoke English, just sayin’.”
J-Boozie huffed and walked off, but then he turned right back and pushed at Jensen’s shoulder. “Ya know, you’re just an asshole a good deal of tha time and you ain’t giving no one a chance to be someone wit you.”
Jensen stared, realizing that while there were still some missteps in his talk, J-Boozie was trying, and well, honestly, it’d been a while, and he looked pretty hot in a suit, so Jensen just said, “fuck it” and yanked on J-Boozie’s lapel, dragging him into the bathroom and locking the door. He pushed him into the wall and kissed him hard, groaning with satisfaction when J-Boozie’s tongue pushed right back.
They moved together to pull down zippers and grab dicks, stroking and getting messy. But then a stall door slammed open and someone yelled, “My God! Do you have any shame?”
The guy rushed beyond them, yanking on the door but it wouldn’t open, and he started whining and trying so hard to not look back at them.
Jensen just pushed closer to J-Boozie to shield their hands and dicks and waited for the guy to leave. But he just kept tugging on the door and messing with the lock, which he couldn’t manage with his frantic ramblings about decency in public washrooms and gloryholes and … horses?
“Do you want - ” Jensen started as he reached for the lock.
The guy shrieked, “Not with that hand!”
“Can’t you jus’ work tha fuckin’ lock and let us finish our bidness?” J-Boozie complained, finally reaching forward, unlocking the door, and yanking it open for the guy to run out.
“Oh, thank you,” Jensen moaned then moved back in to kiss, shoving his tongue in, reeling at the perfect way that he and J-Boozie always worked together. That no matter how atrocious his character was, the sex fucking blew his mind every time.
“Jens, you mah boo, always been, I ain’t gots any other hoes since yous left, couldn’t touch a single ho, I swears to Gods,” he rambled on while kissing and licking and basically doing everything physically right but everything vocally wrong.
“J,” Jensen groaned, pulling his head away from his neck and into view. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything fo’ you, bay-bee.”
“Shut the fuck up and blow me.”
“Thought you’ds nevah ask, boo.”
Jensen rolled his eyes, exasperated at having J-Boozie talking that way again. But then his tongue curled right over his dick and his lips wrapped tight around the head, and Jensen was rolling his eyes for a completely different reason. Okay, maybe it was worth it, maybe he could deal. Then J-Boozie slipped a finger inside and deepthroated Jensen, all wet and warm and so far back he hit his throat, and Jensen moaned. Yeah, he could deal.
BONUS ARTZ!
Words: 3,700
Rating/Warning: NC-17/sex, butchering of the English language
Pairing: J2 and hinting at Jensen/Mark WTF?
Summary: The unneeded, shameful sequel to Boats 'n Hoes. J-Boozie and Jens don't seem to be 4-Evs, especially when Jensen meets the next great thing, singer-songwriter Pellegrino. But everything's relative and Jensen has to decide if moving to the other end of the spectrum is really such a great idea.
Notes: FML. This is for aubergineautumn for her lovely donation through help_haiti. I didn't QUITE go in the direction you asked but tried to work with the verse and make another great travesty of J-Boozie's language. Apologies for that and the super long wait.
Despite his intentions, Jensen stuck it out with J-Boozie through his downtime, which was really just a two-month break between touring and the next album. To Jensen, it was the worst-fucking-time, because all J-Boozie did was invite him over to the house he shared with Chazzizle, Misha Mic, and Tom Tom. And a dozen or so groupies.
Every time Jensen came into the house, J-Boozie announced “My ho away from home!” And every time, Jensen rolled his eyes.
Sometimes he found the whole gang in the game room, girls swinging on stripper poles, Gangsta Lean hits (and some unknown songs) on permanent loop on the handful of big screen TVs, and forties of beer at varying levels of consumption littering every surface. “Jens! Baby-boy, comes sit hee-yah,” J-Boozie would command with anxious hands. Ones that got more anxious and touchy when Jensen was within range.
His patience was short and he bitched at Chris at an extraordinary rate, instead of just once in a while. It got so bad that he was actually excited when J-Boozie started writing new material because it meant he was busy. Jensen did his damnedest to ignore the worry that every song would be about them.
Four months later, Lips So Thick, Open Wide dropped and Jensen wished J-Boozie were still on hiatus.
He didn’t make the release party, but he did manage to show face at the after party, which prompted an extremely inebriated J-Boozie to announce on the mic, “Ma boo, Jens, is here! Come grind wit me, bay-bay-bee!”
It was enough. More than enough. Way past enough. And Jensen told him so when there was a quiet moment in the corner. “J, seriously, we gotta talk.”
J-Boozie wouldn’t relinquish Jensen’s throat and kept sucking marks across the skin. And he kept humping him in the round booth. “Talk wit yo lips, baby.”
Jensen grabbed J-Boozie’s head and pulled him away, staring at his inebriated eyes. “J, you can’t … you can’t do this anymore.”
“Aww, baby, c’mon, jus’ warmin’ up,” and then he pushed his hand between Jensen’s legs.
With a quick shuffle away, he huffed. “You can’t … I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do’s what?”
“Can we talk serious for a minute?”
Jared’s eyes were wide and he yelled, “I’s always serious, boo!”
Rubbing at his eyebrow, Jensen shot up and headed for the hallway to get as far from the hotel lounge as possible. J-Boozie was on his heels, calling for him, but Jensen spun round to stop him. “No, look, I just. Seriously, J, I can’t do this anymore.”
J-Boozie stared for a long while, long enough that Jensen wasn’t sure he understood. Until J-Boozie pulled his hat off to release rumpled, wavy hair that fell into his face. He slowly pushed it out of the way and showed off wide, drooped eyes.
God damnit Jensen cursed himself. J-Boozie like that, like a helpless little puppy, was tugging on his heart and gut because he was unearthly cute.
“Hold up … You, you breakin’ up wit me?”
Jensen laughed uncomfortably, mostly embarrassed that he felt so bad doing it, but knowing he had to. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Really?” The way his voice dropped shot right to Jensen’s heart and he was about to apologize more, or even offer some sort of compromise or issue a challenge for J-Boozie to be … less J-Boozie. But then he said, “I ain’t go no ho no mo?”
He laughed again, more in disbelief that he even stuck around this long then shook his head. “Take care,” he offered with a wave over his shoulder as he walked away.
He didn’t feel bad. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. J-Boozie was a fungus that was only infiltrating his life and clouding so much of his reputation. Jensen was a reputable music blogger. He had a huge following and was getting better advertising - both in quantity and quality. He was making good money. There was no reason he had to stick around with J-Boozie and open himself up to that kind of humiliation.
Okay, he felt a little bad, because the very next appearance J-Boozie made on MTV, his face was stoic and he didn’t talk much. Chazzizle took care of words, though.
“Yo, mah boy J-Boozie’s got his heart breakin’ from his boo, so we’s takin’ a break. Hi-a-tus. But we’s be back real soons-like. Keep yo eye out fo’ us, yeah?”
Jensen shook his head then thumped it into the back of his couch.
*
There was a strange murmur through the industry. J-Boozie was back on the market but off the radio with his self-imposed hiatus. There was a tiny bit of guilt racking Jensen’s brain, but on the other hand, Jensen felt comfortable to roam through every event he was invited to and not worry about being called a ho at every turn.
Jensen was knee deep in reputable entertainment reporters, discussing the relevance of reunions like Poison (worth a small ticket price) or Creed (none whatsoever), when he felt a presence just over his shoulder. He looked round and spotted a guy, an average looking guy with dusty blonde hair across his head and chin and a dingy graphic tee beneath an ancient looking blazer. With a short smile and nod, he briefly acknowledged him then turned back to give input on the chance of Britney Spears using all nine lives.
“Hey,” the guy said in a mellow voice.
“Hey,” Jensen said in return, short and with the barest of glances. Jensen tried to focus on the conversation, but the guy slid a little closer.
“Hey,” he said again, small smile on his face.
Jensen nodded with a tight smile. “Hey.”
“You’re RamshAckles, right?”
Jensen stared for a moment then said on an awkward laugh. “Uh, yeah, Jensen Ackles.”
The guy pushed a hand out, affable smile and kind eyes. “Hi. Pellegrino.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Pellegrino,” he repeatedly slowly. “You said I had an honest sound with workable lyrics.”
Jensen thought on it, then remembered a post from two weeks ago that racked up and coming indie acts. He chuckled, “Right, Pellegrino, yeah, I remember.” He finally shook the hand then looked around. “Where’s the rest of the group?”
“It’s just me.”
“Oh, they couldn’t make it?”
“No,” he said easily, shaking his hand and scratching at the edge of his barely-there beard. “I mean, it’s just me. I’m Pellegrino.”
He took a few moments to think on that and eyed him strangely. “Like, that’s just your name?”
With a small smile, he explained, “Well, it’s Mark Pellegrino. But I just go by Pellegrino.”
“Why?”
Mark shrugged and seemed to consider an answer. “It’s artistic.”
Jensen laughed and smirked with a sliver of attitude. “It’s pretentious.”
“Lotsa people do it.”
“Name one.”
“Madonna.”
His eyebrows dropped in confusion. “She doesn’t count. No way does she count for anything in this world. She’s an enigma.”
“Okay, Dashboard Confessional.”
Jensen fully turned and argued, “And he’s a douchebag. Try again.”
Mark smiled easily, and answered just as easily, “Citizen Cope.”
He frowned and downed the rest of his gin and tonic. Then he took a deep breath, feeling the bitter taste of defeat taint his drink. He caught Mark’s still-easy smile and settled a little, about to say more, uncomfortable in the silence
But Mark motioned to the bar. “You want another?”
Jensen looked at the bar, at Mark, at the people and conversation he’d just abandoned, and then decided more liquor could be a good thing. And maybe a stealth interview with Pellegrino wouldn’t hurt his career.
Except it didn’t quite go that way. Mark effortlessly prompted Jensen to talk about himself, giving a soft smile the entire time. That was new. He’d stayed away from anything or anyone that wasn’t work involved since breaking up with J-Boozie, and while Mark Pellegrino wasn’t exactly his type, he could make the conversation move and Jensen appreciated actually talking about himself for once.
“Is it true you dated J-Boozie?” Mark suddenly asked.
Jensen swallowed hard and looked away. There was no world in which he wanted to admit it, but there was something in Mark’s intense gaze that just dragged it right out of him. “For a bit, yeah.”
“What’s he like?”
He watched Mark and had to squint at how honest Mark really seemed right there. “Really? You wanna talk about him?”
“He seems like a real voice of the generation, you know? I’m always curious how artists operate.”
Jensen cracked up at that, downing his drink. “I wouldn’t call him an artist.”
“Hmm, really? Stuffin’ Yo Trunk is my favorite song right now.”
He stared, gulped, and immediately ordered another drink, knowing that was specifically about him. Well, really, all of J-Boozie’s lyrics were. But that one in particular was written shortly after their relationship had become public, so it was more than obvious it was about him.
“I really dig his style, you know? He just runs with what he has working for him. Every genre needs a hero, and J-Boozie’s got rap tied up perfectly.”
“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me, right?” Jensen looked around for Chris. “You’re totally fucking me.”
Mark’s hand skated down Jensen’s back and he twitched away from it. Then Mark raised his hand in defense. “I thought maybe you were suggesting it.” Jensen glared, and Mark laughed lightly with embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. Should be a gentleman about this.” He turned slightly then motioned towards the balcony off to the far corner. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
Later, Jensen would blame the alcohol for following. But he wasn’t sure what it was that convinced him that Mark’s words about protecting all of God’s creatures, including cockroaches and earthworms, were really all that important.
“God, I love the ocean,” Mark raved. “I live right on the water in Santa Monica, and I stare at the water every night.”
Jensen sipped his new drink and looked between Mark and the ocean, noting how the guy seemed to be fascinated with the scene. Okay, so Mark was thoughtful and into the earth and water, that was so not bad. It was a step up from J-Boozie, for sure, definitely, huge step up.
“And when the waves break, I always smile, and I wave right back.” Then Mark raised a hand and shook it, twiddling fingers and grinning at the water. “Hey, there,” he murmured. “You having a good night?”
He looked around them and they were alone. Which meant Mark was surfing on his own tidal wave of crazy.
Mark laughed, and Jensen realized he’d said that aloud. “That’s awesome man, I like that. Surfing my own tidal wave, it’s a lyric, I can hear it.” Then he cupped his ear and bobbed his head while humming some song he was writing in his head at that very moment. Suddenly, he stopped and pushed a hand into his stomach. “You hungry? I got the munchies real crazylike.”
“No, I’m good,” he said tightly then turned and hurried back inside.
*
A week passed before he was reminded of that evening. An invitation came in the mail to see Pellegrino down at the Santa Monica Pier. Jensen fought every rational thought, but then figured he could get more information to write up another blog, get the inside track on the guy.
He walked up and down the pier, trying to find any space for music when a tinny guitar drew him past a Jamaican selling ponchos and a man in a wheelchair whittling feet. Jensen tried to look away, but was oddly fascinated by it all.
Then there was feedback blaring from a short amplifier and Jensen recognized Mark’s voice.
“This is for a new friend who helped me see the beauty in the sea …”
The guitar went on in slow, lazy strokes, chords purposely sloppy as his voice drawled on.
We floated on the ocean
You stood beside me
Your heat was my guide
As I floated out on the sea
The blue of waves
Goes with the green of your eyes
I wanna ride your waves
Just hoping I don’t capsize
Jensen stared, horror filling his stomach, lungs, and catching in his throat. Oh, it was not … no, it wasn’t what he really wanted or needed or could handle. Mark was cross-legged on the floor with his guitar. His shirt was ratty, threadbare beyond what was normally acceptable, as were his jeans, holes everywhere. His feet were bare and incense burned around him, at least five different sticks of warring scents. And he was singing about Jensen. He needed another crappy artist writing him music like he needed a hole in the head.
Let’s float on this tidal wave
Let’s float on together
As I glide right into you
Light as a feather
It was so much worse than he’d ever anticipated. He wasn’t sure that he should have ever cursed J-Boozie’s vulgarities, how filthy and sexual all the lyrics were. Because right there, Mark was gazing up at him, eyes intent and warm and his mouth kept opening wider to the mic. Jensen was pretty sure in another chorus, Mark would make out with the thing.
When I look in your eyes
I see the great big ocean
All its algae and weeds
Let’s float on together again
The song drifted off and Mark randomly said thanks to someone who dropped a quarter into his coffee tin.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jensen groaned and turned away. He really wanted to run away, but Mark knew he was there and was finishing the song with a light strum, still staring up at him. Jensen couldn’t even look at Mark anymore, facing another direction and pushing the heel of both hands into his eyes.
“So happy you made it.” Mark softly touched his shoulder and Jensen flinched away. Mark was smiling, but there was something strange in his eyes. Not quite wild, but something more than dazed. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jensen lied, already attuned to faking interest in someone’s lyrics. He’d lied to J-Boozie plenty of times, he could do it once more
“It was for you. About you, really.”
He nodded, “Yeah. Got that. Thank you. So much.”
Mark shifted his guitar to his back then pointed down the walkway. “I don’t go on again until four. Want to get a drink? My place is right down this way.”
Jensen looked down at the tie-dyed mat Mark had been sitting on then up. “Go on again?”
“Right,” he nodded. “Next set’s at four. Think I’ll sneak in some songs off my first album.”
“You only have one album,” Jensen pointed out.
Mark’s hands flew out as they walked forward and his voice rose, too, all excitement. “Oh, but I’m writing the next one! That was the first single.”
“Oh, no, no,” Jensen laughed. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I do,” he nodded with a wide smile. “You inspirate me.”
“Inspire,” Jensen corrected.
“Yes, that, too.” Mark then stepped off the boardwalk and through the sand, leading Jensen down under the walkway. “All I have is beer or apple juice.” He grabbed a container, shook and sniffed it then winced. “Oh, wait, no, wrong bottle.”
Jensen dry heaved, covering his mouth.
Mark handed a can of Schlitz with a smile. “Beer it is.”
He looked around, refusing to grab it. A sheet spread over the sand with a pillow at one end and a dozen or so rocks holding it down on the other. Surrounding the area were random bottles and cans dug into the sand, likely to keep them all as cool as possible, and then a three-foot tall bong. Jensen nearly choked on his laughter. “Oh, my God, you live on the beach.”
Mark smiled, tipping his head to one side. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”
Jensen scrubbed a hand over his face with a high sigh as he tried to control his laughter, and then cursed himself for even going this far with the exercise. “Alright, well this is fantastic. You have a lovely home, but I’d really hate to keep you from scuttling along with lobsters or digging for gold, hoarding crabs, whatever it is you do.”
“Who told you about my crabs?” Mark asked while not so subtly rubbing his crotch.
“Oh, God,” Jensen whimpered and immediately ran away.
*
Little over a month later, Jensen was cursed when he covered the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame concert. Not only was Pellegrino appearing as a featured, up-and-coming artist, but J-Boozie was introduced as the next presenter.
J-Boozie moved across stage with a well-defined strut, surprisingly dressed in a slick suit, tailored a bit loose but much better fitting than anything else he’d ever been caught in. His hair was even styled suitable for the occasion, and his voice only broke a few times into his rap dialect while speaking on the microphone.
However, it was all crashing together when it was obvious what he’d been selected to do. “With a style smooth like buttah, a voice that cuts sharper than a jizz-agged knife, and a janky ol’ guitar, Pellegrino hits tha charts with his effortless California breeze, ded-o-catin’ his newest album to his newest love. Da ocean ‘n starfish ‘n all dose li’l creatures. Here he be with his newest cut, yo, Pellegrino with Crabs and Seashells.”
He sat through most of the song, even as fear curled up, fighting to rise out of Jensen’s stomach with nausea. The refrain were more than enough and he had to flee. As he hurried from his seat, up the walkway, and out of the auditorium, he couldn’t ignore the words.
I love your body like a clam
You’re juicy, sweet, sharp to taste
We’ll play it safe, stay away from crabs
Keep away from their sting and burrow in this place
Jensen stumbled through the doors and rushed down the hallway, not even watching himself and running right into …
“Jens,” J-Boozie said with a level voice.
He grabbed onto J-Boozie’s arms, squeezing tight to pull himself upright. And then he whimpered, because, shit, he forgot about how big those muscles were, and a flash of excitement ran down his spine. “Hey … J … How are you?”
“I’s been good,” he said gently. “How’s you?”
“I, uh, I’m okay. Just, you know,” and he pointed beyond J-Boozie to the men’s room.
“You don’ wanna hear yo boyfriend play?”
Jensen laughed with embarrassment. “Oh, my God, J, no, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“I heards you was with him at a party. And then a gig. And went back to his place.”
He laughed again then pushed at J-Boozie’s shoulder. “No, shut up. Seriously, we’re not, you know ...”
J-Boozie looked confused then watched Jensen carefully, it was kind of disturbing. “So, you’re not doin’ him?”
Jensen looked at him like he was crazy. “His gig was sitting on a sheet on the boardwalk.”
“Tha’s kinda cool,” J-Boozie said in a fluster, suddenly looking self conscious.
“Dude, he lives on the beach, and he pisses in a bottle.”
“You seem to know lots abouts him,” he mumbled.
But Jensen rambled right on, blurting out in defense, “And he has crabs.” He instantly winced. “Okay, I shouldn’t know that much, but he is way too forward with the personal info and he openly told me that. I didn’t see it. It’s not like I got crabs from him.” J-Boozie looked away with a strange face and Jensen immediately laughed at himself. “I have no idea why I’m saying all this.”
J-Boozie sarcastically said, “Maybe you’s too much on the personal info … and maybe you’s too much with da judgementals. And maybes you should gives peoples a chance to be reals with you.”
Jensen gulped. “Oh, God, you’re giving me the talk. The ‘I’m better than you’ talk, aren’t you?”
“What ifs I am?”
“It’d probably be more effective if you spoke English, just sayin’.”
J-Boozie huffed and walked off, but then he turned right back and pushed at Jensen’s shoulder. “Ya know, you’re just an asshole a good deal of tha time and you ain’t giving no one a chance to be someone wit you.”
Jensen stared, realizing that while there were still some missteps in his talk, J-Boozie was trying, and well, honestly, it’d been a while, and he looked pretty hot in a suit, so Jensen just said, “fuck it” and yanked on J-Boozie’s lapel, dragging him into the bathroom and locking the door. He pushed him into the wall and kissed him hard, groaning with satisfaction when J-Boozie’s tongue pushed right back.
They moved together to pull down zippers and grab dicks, stroking and getting messy. But then a stall door slammed open and someone yelled, “My God! Do you have any shame?”
The guy rushed beyond them, yanking on the door but it wouldn’t open, and he started whining and trying so hard to not look back at them.
Jensen just pushed closer to J-Boozie to shield their hands and dicks and waited for the guy to leave. But he just kept tugging on the door and messing with the lock, which he couldn’t manage with his frantic ramblings about decency in public washrooms and gloryholes and … horses?
“Do you want - ” Jensen started as he reached for the lock.
The guy shrieked, “Not with that hand!”
“Can’t you jus’ work tha fuckin’ lock and let us finish our bidness?” J-Boozie complained, finally reaching forward, unlocking the door, and yanking it open for the guy to run out.
“Oh, thank you,” Jensen moaned then moved back in to kiss, shoving his tongue in, reeling at the perfect way that he and J-Boozie always worked together. That no matter how atrocious his character was, the sex fucking blew his mind every time.
“Jens, you mah boo, always been, I ain’t gots any other hoes since yous left, couldn’t touch a single ho, I swears to Gods,” he rambled on while kissing and licking and basically doing everything physically right but everything vocally wrong.
“J,” Jensen groaned, pulling his head away from his neck and into view. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything fo’ you, bay-bee.”
“Shut the fuck up and blow me.”
“Thought you’ds nevah ask, boo.”
Jensen rolled his eyes, exasperated at having J-Boozie talking that way again. But then his tongue curled right over his dick and his lips wrapped tight around the head, and Jensen was rolling his eyes for a completely different reason. Okay, maybe it was worth it, maybe he could deal. Then J-Boozie slipped a finger inside and deepthroated Jensen, all wet and warm and so far back he hit his throat, and Jensen moaned. Yeah, he could deal.
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