Cloudy (Jen) With A Chance of Misha, 3/4
Continued from here
The lights were on at Misha’s house. It was a small coral colored duplex snuggled between two similar structures on either side. A rainbow flag flew proudly over the doorway of the house to the left of Misha’s, and a black flag with a purple triangle flew over the doorway of the house to the right.
Jensen sat in his car across the street and watched as Misha walked in front of the living room window, giving him an unfettered view. He seemed to be tidying up, moving stacks of books from one side of the room to the other, all the while moving his lips-singing, Jensen guessed. He looked happy-excited.
If he walked into that house, Jensen would be starting something with Misha. They would move forward into something that had the potential to kill Jensen dead. There was no way, he thought, that he could survive another heartache like the one after Jared left. He didn’t care if it made him a coward-he was scared. Scared of trusting, of loving, of Misha. He pulled out his phone.
Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.
Jensen watched from the car as Misha read the text in front of his window. His shoulders drooped and his eyes closed and stayed that way for several seconds. When he opened them again, he tapped out a text that did not match his physical reaction.
No problem. I'm grading papers anyway. Rain check?
Jensen watched Misha stare at his phone, waiting for a reply. After three minutes, his lips formed a swear (fuck) and put his phone to his ear. He started gesticulating as he paced and talked. There were a few steps to the left of the window that stole Misha away from Jensen, but he always reappeared just as Jensen reached for the ignition. He had to be talking to Vicki, Jensen figured, which made him blush. He would have to face Vicki everyday of Imogen’s third grade year, and now she knew he’d stood up her best friend. Wonderful.
He started the car without further hesitation. He needed whiskey and a blowjob. Being in Capitol Hill, there was no shortage of bars that would yield him both in short order. He pulled up to the first one he saw-Madison Pub-and hurried inside. It was surprisingly low-key, with a traditional pub feel to it. A quick scan of the room told him that yes, Madison’s would get him what he needed.
He shed his heavy jacket; happy he’d chosen a fitted tee shirt for his failed date with Misha. He’d almost worn his favorite, knobby fisherman’s sweater, which would have done him no favors in his pursuit of sex. A tall blond eyed him from across the room. With a quirk of his brow, Jensen gave him the all clear to make his approach.
“Hey,” the man said when he got close enough for Jensen to smell his Aqua Gio cologne. “What are you drinking?”
“Jameson, straight up,” Jensen said, leaning his back against the tall bar ledge. The guy was attractive in the most traditional sense; big muscles, broad shoulders, tapered waist, artfully mussed hair. He could have been a catalog model, so yeah, he’d do.
“You look familiar,” the guy was saying when Jensen bothered to pay attention. “What’s your name?”
“Ross,” he said automatically giving his middle name. He and Jared had been Out cover boys several times and were revered in the gay community-until, of course, the community had turned on Jared for going straight. The last thing Jensen wanted was to be a trophy fuck or worse, have his trolling in the tabloids the next morning.
“I’m Chad,” the blond said, although Jensen didn’t care.
The bartender put a glass of Jameson in front of Jensen, which he greedily drank down. After a second, he finally turned to Chad, letting his eyes fall half-closed.
“I’m not looking for anything outside of tonight,” he said, not bothering to use his best flirty voice. If Chad wasn’t interested, he’d just move on to the next contender. It wasn’t his usual M.O., but Jensen was desperate to forget. “So, you wanna?”
Chad’s blond eyebrows-so different than Jared or Misha’s-lifted in shock. His laugh came out as a stutter. “Well all right then,” he said. “Your place or mine?”
“Neither,” Jensen said, reaching out and trailing a finger down Chad’s toned arm.
“Yeah, okay,” Chad drained his own drink and stood. He moved toward the bathroom behind the kitchen, throwing a come hither look over his shoulder that, under different circumstances, would have made Jensen roll his eyes.
It didn’t take long for Chad to pull Jensen into a stall and slam him against the graffiti-covered wall. Jensen avoided the kiss Chad aimed at his mouth, letting the man lick and bite at his neck instead.
“No marks,” Jensen snapped at a particularly sharp bite. He settled his palms on Chad’s shoulders and applied pressure, ready to skip the foreplay and get to business. Guilt was already seeping into Jensen’s chest, but he batted it away and concentrated on Chad’s smirk as he sank to his knees.
His head jerked back and hit the flimsy wall behind him as Chad swallowed him down. Months, he thought as Chad worked. It’s been months. Jared had always loved sucking his cock, and looking back, he should have known the last time was The Last Time. Jared had used every trick he’d known-including some Jensen couldn’t remember him using before; He’d damn near worshipped his cock, taking his time and ultimately crying when Jensen had finally come.
Jensen thrust hard into Chad’s mouth, punishing him for sins of Jared’s past. He looked down to remind himself that the blond gagging around him was not his ex.
“Sorry,” he had the decency to mumble. He planted his hands on Chad’s head to prevent the other man from pulling away. It felt good, but he had no desire to draw the experience out. The whiskey was working its magic, warming and relaxing his muscles. He kept his movements shallow, and when he felt his orgasm rushing up on him, he pushed Chad away and stroked himself once, twice, and came with a relieved grunt.
His head hit the wall again and he briefly considered repaying the man’s favor, but Chad was already working it out on his own. Jensen tucked himself back into his jeans and politely waited while Chad finished. He widened his stance to avoid getting a shot of come on his shoes.
“Thanks,” Jensen said, his hand on the door before Chad was finished moaning through his release. “I needed that.”
**
~Misha~
It didn’t take long for Vicki to convince Misha to meet her at Madison’s for a round of post blow-off drinks. School night or not, being stood up for the first time in a decade warrants at least three shots. He waved to Vicki as he made his way from the front door to the bar, but before he made it five steps, he was ambushed from the side, knocking him off balance.
“Watch it,” he snapped, shoving at the body using his as a support beam. “Drunk assho-Jen?”
“Heeeey, handsome,” Jensen pressed back into Misha and smacked a kiss on the side of his neck.
Misha’s mouth worked, opening and closing, but no sound came out. Jensen was standing next to him, not curled up around Seth at home, but in the middle of a gay bar in his own neighborhood. He’d been stood up, but he’d apparently misjudged the reasons behind it.
“Are you drunk?” Misha finally managed to get out.
“Definitely,” Jensen said unrepentantly as he started pushing Misha towards the bar. “You need to catch up.”
Misha didn’t resist as they approached the bar, where Vicki watched with wide-eyed surprise. The bartender lit up like the Griswold’s house at Christmas when he saw Jensen.
“Back so soon?” The bartender asked with an audacious wink. Misha thunked against the bar, Jensen’s weight pressing against him from behind.
“Misha needs a drink,” he declared before asking: “What do you want, Mish?”
“Two Cowboy Cocksuckers,” Vicki suggested, staring openly at the man she’d only ever seen inside the hallowed halls of Seattle Waldorf, looking stuffy and staid in his collared shirts and casual blazers.
“Make it three,” Jensen slurred. “I need another one of those.”
“I don’t think Chad qualifies as a cowboy,” the bartender laughed as he poured the shots into three glasses. He’d yet to acknowledge Misha or Vicki’s presence, even though they stood between Jensen and the bar. “But he’s one a hell of a cocksucker, huh?”
Misha whipped his head around to gape at Jensen, who’d thrown his head back and laughed loudly. He played the words again in his head, and he was fairly certain that Beefy McBiceps was insinuating that Jensen had gotten a blowjob from some plebe named Chad.
“He was all right,” Jensen said and pulled a face Misha had never seen before. “The Russian Judge gives him a five for technique and a three for creativity.”
Beefy slammed his fist on the top of the bar and roared with laughter. “Damn, Jensen,” he said once he settled into a chuckle. “This round is on me.”
“What the hell?” Vicki asked, poking Misha in the side to get his attention. “He stood you up so he could score a backroom blowjob? Let’s get out of here.”
He listened to Jensen and the bartender trade a few more lines of innuendo and outright flirting before he admitted Vicki had a point. He downed his shot, licked his lips and gently pushed Jensen’s weight away so he could free his body. He twisted slightly and followed Vicki away from the bar.
“Hey, wait,” Jensen grabbed him by both arms and jerked him back. His feet stumbled over themselves, but before he could fall, he hit Jensen’s chest. “You just got here. Don’t leave.”
“You didn’t want to see me earlier,” Misha said before he could stop himself. Damn, his words sounded as pouty as his voice. He coughed once and forced himself to regain control. “You stay here and continue the destruction of your liver. Fun, wooo!”
“I want to go with you,” Jensen wrapped his arm around Misha’s middle and bent him slightly forward. He nuzzled into the back of the other man’s neck, using his teeth to nip at the tender skin not covered by Misha’s dark hair or his blue shirt. “It’s about time we screw, don’t you think?”
“What the hell?” Vicki’s concerned voice broke through the sudden hazy fog of impending bad decisions banging around in Misha’s head. He couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t engage in some extracurricular activities with the man he’d wanted since first laying eyes on him.
“I-I don’t think I should leave him like this,” Misha said on a gasp as Jensen licked the skin he’d just bit. “I can’t let him drive home. It would be irr-irresponsible to leave him on his own.”
Vicki snorted, unimpressed by his weak good Samaritan act. She patted his chest and said something that sounded like ‘baseline tortellini signals bare’, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. It was difficult to focus on anything that wasn’t Jensen’s mouth. She left him on his own, just like a good best friend should when a pretty ass presented itself for the taking. God, he loved the woman.
Jensen manhandled him around, bringing them chest to chest. There was no hesitation when the kiss finally came; both mouths met, open and ready to play. If he’d stopped to search his memory, Misha would not have been capable of finding a dirtier kiss than that one. Standing in the middle of the moderately crowded Madison Pub, with Rufus Wainwright warbling through the speakers, they moaned and gasped and grabbed and twisted. When loud catcalls and applause broke through their bubble of sexual tension, it was Misha that pulled away.
“Jen, wait,” he stepped away when Jensen moved to kiss him again. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen staggered forward and slung an arm over Misha’s shoulders, leaning heavily into his side. He pressed his lips to whatever skin he could find and let Misha steer them from the bar. “Your place or mine?”
Misha chuckled, gripping Jensen’s waist tight. The thought of fucking Jensen in the same house as Jared held a certain appeal, but Imogen… Christ. He paused with his key in the door of his car.
Jensen pushed against him, angling their faces to kiss again, but Misha held tight to the thought of Imogen and pushed him away.
“No, wait,” he said with a beleaguered sigh. “This is a bad idea. We have to stop.”
“What?” Jensen let his hands drop to his side. His eyebrows tilted down in confusion. “Why?”
“You’re drunk,” Misha said, waving a hand in the air to encompass Jensen generally. “Really drunk. You’ll regret this when you sober up. I don’t want you like this.”
“You don’t want me?”
“Jesus, Jensen,” Misha said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t go all Bella Swan on me now. I said I don’t want you like this. You know damn well I want you. But I want you when you’ve decided that you want me-when you’re sober.”
“You’re an idiot,” Jensen said fervently.
“Yeah,” Misha agreed. He opened the passenger side door and carefully lowered Jensen into the seat, who grumbled about fairness and cock teases. “What’s your address?
“I don’t even fucking know,” Jensen laughed.
“Right,” Misha said, feeling justified in his decision to put a kibosh on the drunken sex. He ignored his dick’s angry throb of protest. “Give me your phone.”
The familiar phone was thrown at Misha with little regard. He fumbled in the air a few seconds before settling the phone in his palm. He slid his finger across the screen to unlock it, tried valiantly to ignore the smiling picture of Imogen missing her two front teeth, and went to Jensen’s contacts. He found the name he wanted and pressed dial.
“Hey man,” Jared said in greeting. The familiarity of those words jabbed Misha in the gut.
“Uh,” Misha started and then cleared his throat. “Jared?”
There was a pause. “Who’s this?”
“This is,” he rubbed his fingers over his forehead and screwed his courage to its sticking point. It was official. He was in Hell-the level reserved for horny teachers who lusted after damaged single fathers, where the punishment was awkward phone calls from bar parking lots. “This is Misha Collins. Imogen’s teacher? Jen’s, uh, Jensen’s friend?”
“Ah.”
“You called Jared?” Jensen sputtered from inside the car, reaching out to snatch the phone away, but Misha simply stepped away.
“Jensen is a little drunk,” he said into the phone. “I need your address so I can get him home.”
“He doesn’t handle alcohol well,” Jared said with a laugh. “Did he drink whiskey?”
“I’m not sure,” Misha prevaricated. He eyed Jensen, who was lolling his head on the back of the seat, moaning. “I found him like this. Why?”
“Whiskey is his fuck or fight.”
“Then, yes,” Misha said, thinking back to Cowboy Chad, and the way Jensen had used his tongue to count and catalog every single one of Misha’s teeth. “I think he’s had whiskey. A lot of it.”
“Did he punch…?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
Misha leaned his forehead against the top of his little sedan and sighed. This was the most inappropriate conversation he’d ever had with a parent-outside of damn near everything he’d ever said to Jensen.
After a few more beats of silence, Jared gave him the address in Queen Anne. He closed the passenger side door and made his way to the driver’s seat. By time he buckled his seat belt, Jensen was asleep.
**
Misha gave himself a minute to admire the beautiful Victorian house before opening his door. He wasn’t surprised by its size, given how Jensen openly complained about the hulking and largely unnecessary space. He reckoned he could fit his little house inside it five times over.
Before the engine stopped clicking, Jared was in the driveway, hands out and ready to assist. “Hey,” he said when Misha got out. “He’s asleep, huh?”
“Yeah, passed out before we ever left the parking lot,” Misha confirmed. “His car is still there.”
“I’ll send someone over to get it,” Jared said, opening the door and reaching in to unbuckle Jensen. “Thanks for getting him home safely.”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” Jensen snarled at Jared and tried to bat his ex’s hands away. “Why couldn’t you just stay away? You already have everything. Let me have this.”
“Jen,” Jared huffed and bent low to snag an arm around his waist. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, without the whiskey.”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” Jensen said, renewing his struggle to get free. “Only Misha can call me that.”
“Hey, hey,” Misha hurried around the other side of the car and snuck a hand between Jensen and Jared, the latter of whom was staring at Misha with narrowed eyes. “Jen, hey, come on. He’s just trying to help me get you inside.”
“I don’t need his fucking help,” Jensen said. He gestured widely at the house and the driveway, where his Range Rover was probably always parked. “He’s got me set up like a god damn kept woman. I don’t need any of it!”
Misha spared a glance at Jared, who had stepped away with pinched features.
“Why are you wearing the ring?” Jensen yelled, holding onto the open car door to keep his balance. “What the fuck is that about? You left us. Take it off!”
The situation was rapidly deteriorating. The fuck seemed to have fled the scene, leaving only the fight. There was no reasoning with the whiskey flowing through his system. Given a choice between the two, there really was no choice. Misha inhaled through his blush, steadfastly refused to acknowledge Jared’s presence-except of course Jared as a witness to what he was about to do was the reason for the blush-and moved closer to Jensen.
“Come on, Jen,” Misha whispered, pressing his cheek in order to Jensen’s to speak directly into his ear. He could smell the alcohol just under his skin, and wafting off his breath. “Let’s get you inside, get you undressed…put you to bed.”
Jensen made a sound that Misha categorized as a whimper and then twisted to press their lips together. Misha allowed the kiss, letting him lick and suck and drive for a handful of delicious seconds.
“There it is,” Misha breathed, running a hand up the other man’s side. He could almost pretend it was just the two of them, standing in the chilly Washington air, lazily kissing the evening away at the end of a perfect first date.
“Please,” Jensen begged, which needed no further description. He said the word the way people moan for water after crossing an unforgiving desert, and damn if Misha wasn’t the one with the frosty cold canteen.
All Jensen wanted, Misha reasoned, was a little relief; a little closeness, a little sex. What was the harm in giving in to such a pretty plea? There was nothing left for Misha to do but start for the front door. As he helped Jensen brush past Jared, he ducked his head.
The foyer lights were down low when Misha pushed the front door open. He cast a quick look around, surprised by the simplistic theme of the décor. Before he could make a courteous comment, Jensen had him pushed into the corner, crushing the ficus tree living there. Thirty seconds, Misha thought as he opened his mouth once again to Jensen’s tongue. Thirty more seconds and I’ll put an end to this.
Jared shut the door and stood just inside Misha’s field of vision, reminding him of things he didn’t want to remember. Namely? That Jensen did not belong to him.
He used his grip on Jensen’s hips-how did they get there?-to steer Jensen toward the stairs. Jared slipped under one of Jensen’s arms and peeled him away from Misha. When Jensen made loud protest, Misha moved closer and drew Jensen’s other arm over his shoulder. As the unlikely trio made their way up the stairs as the drunken man continued to pepper Misha’s face and neck with mouthing little kisses. It was the longest trip of Misha’s life; he was exhausted by time their bizarre threesome shouldered their way into Jensen’s bedroom.
“There you go,” Misha said as Jensen sank into his cushy bed. With a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach and hiked one leg up almost to his chest. All thoughts of sex seemed to be forgotten in favor of sleep. “Sleep well, Jen.”
It was anticlimactic to say the least. Fuck my life, Misha thought as he turned to leave the room.
“Thanks for bringing him home,” Jared said, following him out. He clicked the light off, but left the door open. Misha hoped Jensen wouldn’t choke on his own vomit in the middle of the night.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Misha said as they descended the stairs. “It’s just… you said it was fuck or fight. I figured, you know, one was better than the other.”
“I get that,” Jared said with a grin. They stood in the foyer, awkward and shifting. “Good thinking. Sorry if it was a hardship.”
“No, no,” Misha shook his head and hedged his way to the door. “Anything for a friend, you know?”
“So you’re Imogen’s teacher,” Jared said unnecessarily. He propped one of his stupidly muscular Hollywood pin-up boy shoulders against the front door, barring Misha’s escape. “How’s she doing in your class?”
Misha blinked as he tried to shift mental gears. Jared wanted to talk about his little girl’s progress in second grade just minutes after Misha’s tongue had been in his ex-husband’s mouth. Yeah, he needed a minute before he could turn on the Mr. Collins Teacher Routine. He could normally rely on his desk to keep a discernible divide between him and the parents. He could shuffle his papers and flip through his grade book in order to maintain his position of authority.
He didn’t have any of those tools at his disposal for his parent-teacher conference with Jared Padalecki, who was towering over him like some ridiculously hot Big Foot. He made an indignant sound. He was tired of these men unbalancing his world.
“Perhaps it would be best to discuss Imogen’s studies at the school?” He finally suggested, pointedly putting a hand on the doorknob. “It’s getting late…”
“Right, sorry,” Jared offered him a smile that crooked the sides of his mouth, but didn’t move away from the door. “Did you want to stay over? There’s a guest room.”
“Aren’t you staying in there?” Misha asked and then had to fight to keep from punching himself in the face. “I mean…”
“There’s room for two,” Jared said, sliding his shoulder across the door to lean over Misha. “If we get close.”
“Jesus,” Misha jerked away, nearly falling over the ficus tree again. Leaves fell to the floor at his feet in a little ficus tree temper tantrum that Misha could totally relate to. “I really do have to go.”
Finally-finally-Jared pushed himself upright and opened the door for Misha. He wasted no time in speed walking down the driveway and practically throwing himself into his car. He barely checked the traffic on the quiet street before roaring away-well, as much roaring as a Toyota Corolla could muster.
Jared Padalecki had hit on him. Even after seeing Jensen clinging to him, Jared had made a very blatant move. Jensen had always been vague about what had happened between he and Jared, but Misha had been able to secure some of the details through Google (he was not proud). The infamous Jared Padalecki-the only out gay actor who could carry a mainstream movie to the top of the lists-had announced his engagement to a woman named Genevieve Cortese, as well as the expected arrival of his first biological child, a little over a year prior. He’d found dozens of rumors that pointed to Genevieve as the live-in nanny to Jared and Jensen’s adopted daughter, Imogen. There, of course, had been a scandal; but Misha had never cared enough to pay attention-until he’d met Jensen.
“That dick,” Misha said into the silence of his car.
He scraped his fingers through his hair and slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Part of him wanted to close himself off, to walk away from whatever had been developing between him and Jensen.
“He’s not worth it,” Misha muttered, but as soon as the words were out, he scoffed at the sentiment. “He is worth it.”
There was no way he would let himself be chased away by a pretentious actor so bored by his life that he had to cultivate misery and drama in the lives of others. He would not allow Jared to infect his friendship with Jensen. If Jared was looking for a fight-a competition-then Misha was happy to oblige. To the winner went the spoils: Jensen. Game fucking on.
**
~Jensen~
The incessant beeping of his alarm clock was slow to pull Jensen from his comatose-like sleep. He didn’t open his eyes when he groped his night table to slap the snooze button. The damage was done, he was awake, but he instinctively kept his eyes tightly shut. He could feel-oh god, he could feel-the throbbing in his temples that reminded him of his time in the whiskey bottle.
His memory was full of blurry images that made very little sense. He had cancelled his plans with Misha and had gone to a bar in Capitol Hill. He recalled the early rounds of Jameson with unerring clarity, but it got fuzzy somewhere around the time Misha had shown up. There was something about a phone call… and a ficus? Oh. And the blowjob from that guy… what was his name?
“Daddy?” Imogen whispered from his bedside as she pulled back the covers and slipped in for their traditional morning snuggle. Jensen jerked in surprise and blushed a guilty red as he violently shoved the image of a blond man on his knees to the recesses of his mind. Imogen’s tiny feet rubbed against his jean-clad legs, seeking warmth for her cold toes. “Why did you sleep in your clothes?”
“I was really tired,” he whispered back, causing his head to give an additional stab of pain. He swallowed and determinedly continued their morning routine. “Did you sleep well?”
“I dreamed that I lived in Barbie’s Dream House,” she giggled and pushed her head into the crook of his arm. He curled his forearm around her, pulling her closer. “I was a ballerina. Ken was there.”
“Of course he was,” Jensen said. “How about Skipper? Was she there, too?”
“Oh yes,” Imogen nodded. “We had a fancy party and I had to wear my Easter dress and gloves. It was pretty cool.”
“Sounds it,” he agreed and tentatively opened his eyes. He didn’t have the luxury of nursing his hangover; his daughter needed breakfast and a ride to school. She did not need to see him sick after a night of indulgence. “What do you want for breakfast this morning? Cereal?”
“Waffles,” she corrected him. “I’m starving.”
Gah, he thought as his stomach flopped over itself.
“I’m going to wake Papa up,” she said, pulling away from Jensen quickly, as if she’d just remembered her other father’s presence. Shit. Shitshitshit… he had forgotten. That meant that the half-formed memory of his arm slung around Jared’s shoulder…was Misha there?… was more than likely real.
“I’ll lay your clothes out on your bed,” Jensen called after her. She turned back to roll her eyes to let him know that she knew how it worked.
He sat up slowly, more willing to baby his traitorous body with his daughter out of the room. Cupping his head in both hands, he stood and staggered to his bathroom. He downed several aspirin and so much water that it sloshed dangerously in his stomach. After brushing his teeth and a hot shower, he felt more human and headed down to make breakfast.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jared greeted him as soon as he crossed the threshold to the kitchen. “How you feeling?”
“Fantastic,” he mumbled as he pulled out the ingredients for waffles. He felt the muscles of his back tensing and disagreeing with his proclamation, but he pretended not to notice.
“So, about last night…” Jared started, but trailed off when Imogen skipped in, her Tinker Bell shoes shooting red lasers into Jensen’s sore eyes. “Uh, the Book Fair is today?”
“Crud,” Jensen said as he cracked eggs into the waffle mixture. He’d promised to introduce Jared to Misha at the Book Fair-and to the joys of parental involvement. “Yeah, okay, Book Fair. Do you have your list, Immy?”
“I want the Camp Rock Mad Libs,” she said, diving into her book bag for the newspaper-print Scholastic Books ad. “And the Guinness Book of World Records. And the poster with the kitten on it. Oooh, and the Harry Potter box set.”
“That’s a tall order,” Jensen said with a warning glance at his daughter. “We talked about this. You have a fifteen-dollar budget. Christmas is around the corner.”
“But Dad,” Imogen whined.
“Don’t but Dad me,” Jensen cut her off as he put the syrup and milk on the table. “Fifteen dollars.”
“Jensen,” Jared said with a laugh. “I think we can afford more than that.”
“See?” Imogen crawled into her chair. “Papa says-”
“I said no,” Jensen snapped, his voice louder than normal. His brain slammed into the back of his skull in protest. He turned toward Imogen and Jared with a spatula held out in front of him. “One more word about it and you get nothing, you hear me? And Jared, there is no we, so butt out.”
Imogen’s cheeks and neck flushed a bright pink as she flinched away. Son of a bitch, Jensen thought, angry at himself for taking his frustration out on his daughter. He took a step toward her, but she made a mouse of a sound and hurried out of her chair, straight into Jared’s outstretched arms.
“Maybe you should just let me handle the Book Fair,” Jared said, as if he was capable of doing anything remotely responsible. Jensen wanted to claw the superior expression from his face. “If you’re snapping at us over fifteen dollars, I can’t imagine you’ll do better with kids you aren’t supposed to love.”
“No, I,” Jensen stammered, embarrassed. He’d never really yelled at Imogen before; she was a biddable and easygoing child who always followed the rules. “Immy. I’m sorry I yelled. I have a headache.”
He took another step closer to his frightened daughter-and didn’t that just kick him in the teeth, Imogen frightened of him-but Jared shook his head. Instead, he retreated to the stove and wordlessly cooked several large waffles. By time he put them on a serving dish in the middle of the table, Imogen had returned to her own chair and was telling Jared about Justin Bieber’s new 3D movie, which was due out at Christmas.
“Why don’t I see about getting tickets for the LA opening?” Jared suggested, sounding almost as excited as his star struck daughter. He grabbed two waffles and doused them with syrup and butter.
“Omigod!” Imogen squealed, her hands waving in front of her chest like she was seizing. “Could you really? Madison would freak.”
“It could be one of our dates,” Jared added.
“Silly Papa,” Imogen laughed and rolled her eyes, but Jensen knew she loved her dates with Jared.
It was stupid, really, but Jared insisted on Imogen sharing five ‘dates’ with him before he would allow her to actually date a boy. From Jensen’s memory, they’d already racked up way more than the requisite five, but the tradition remained.
“Let me make a call,” Jared said, obviously proud of his ability to enchant his daughter, his number one fan. “Justin and I are with the same agent, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I didn’t know that,” Jensen said before he could remind himself that he didn’t care. He’d been involved in the Hollywood game so long that he knew all the players. “Isn’t he with Creative Arts? What happened with United Talent? You’ve been with them for years.”
“It was time for a change,” Jared said with a shrug. “UT can’t handle the major deals like Creative Arts can.”
“Right,” Jensen turned his attention to his own waffle, which he coated with raspberry jam from the northern part of the state; Washington was a gold mine of fresh fruit products. He’d canceled his subscriptions to all the Hollywood dailies-and weeklies and monthlies. Now he read Mother Jones and Poets & Writers.
“You never really liked UT,” Jared said after a beat of silence.
“That’s true,” he nodded. The move from United Talent to Creative Arts marked the first time that Jared had made such a big career decision without consulting Jensen. Rather, it was the first one Jensen had heard about. He offered Jared a small smile because it turned out that it didn’t hurt like he’d expected it to. “Sounds like a good move.”
“I’m going to marry Justin Bieber,” Imogen said, still breathless at the mere idea of meeting her idol. “I just know it.”
Jared and Jensen exchanged horrified looks and then laughed together. It didn’t matter why they were laughing, Jensen decided, it just mattered that they were laughing. Together, like they were friends.
Maybe today will not suck, Jensen thought.
**
Jensen leaned against the counter at his post in the library, willing his head to stop throbbing. The first wave of students filed through the double doors, chattering in excitement. He nodded at the teacher-he knew them all by now-as she followed the students in.
“Wow, I forgot how exciting book fairs were when we were kids,” Jared remarked as he restocked a tub of scented pencils near the cash register. He leaned next to Jensen and grinned as a bevy of giggling girls braved a glance his way. “This is awesome.”
A second class arrived and the library was officially at capacity. Jensen pushed himself upright and sighed. He liked to walk around and make suggestions to the kids, but he was tethered to the check out.
“Go ahead,” Jared said with a laugh and shove at Jensen’s shoulder. “I know you want to go out there. I’ll handle this.”
“Yeah?” Jensen took a half step toward the crowd, but hesitated. “You sure?”
“I used to work at the Taco Shack, remember?” Jared said. “If I can handle hungry Texans during the lunch hour rush, I think I can handle these kids.”
He didn’t need any prodding after that. Despite his headache, Jensen really did want to get involved with the children. He wandered around and talked to the students he knew, and introduced himself to those he didn’t. Time slid away like it always did when he was working in the school and before he realized it, Imogen was hugging his waist.
“Hey, monkey,” he said, returning the hug even though his hands were full of How to Train Your Dragon books. “Did you find your books?”
“We just got here,” she said, already looking around at the brightly colored displays. She spotted Jared across the room and waved happily at him. “I’m going to look around. I saw a Junie B. Jones book I haven’t read yet. Maybe I’ll get that instead of the Mad Libs.”
She was off before he could tell her that he’d already squirreled a copy of the Junie B. Jones behind the counter with Jared. He smiled after her, glad that he knew his daughter so well.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
Jensen whirled around and came face to face with Misha, who stood a respectable distance away. His face flushed in embarrassment, for he was positive that he’d made an ass out of himself in front of the teacher the night before.
“Hey, Misha.”
“Don’t worry,” Misha smiled kindly. “I’m not going to talk about last night; not here anyway. Except to say I want to try again, without Chad or the whiskey.”
“Chad!” Jensen snapped his fingers; glad to have a name for the faceless blond that blew him the night before. He flushed as soon as he realized Misha stood watching him with forced amusement. “I mean, um. Look, I’m sorry for whatever I might have said. Or, you know, done.”
“You don’t remember,” Misha said. It wasn’t a question.
“Mr. Ackles,” Imogen’s friend, Madison, tugged on his sleeve, saving him from further humiliating himself. “Imogen said she is going to meet Justin Bieber. Is that true?”
As he worked to temper the little girl’s excitement, Misha disappeared into the crowd. Jensen had never been so thankful for a rabid Bieber fan in his life. He led Madison through the sea of kids to meet Jared, who Madison swore was her favorite-after The Biebs, of course.
“Misha said you don’t remember anything,” Jared said, in a low voice that didn’t carry to the students queued up to pay for their books.
“Really, Jay?” Jensen said in exasperation. “You want to talk about this now?”
“Nah, nothing to talk about,” Jared said with a brilliant smile at the pretty little girl in front of them. She blushed a hideous shade of violet and stumbled away, her Charlie Bones book clutched to her chest. “Or least, there must not be. Dude, you were all over that man, so if you don’t remember it, then yeah, I’d say there’s probably nothing to talk about.”
“Oh god,” Jensen groaned. He didn’t remember, not really, but that was par for the course for him when it came to heavy drinking. He’d managed to resist Misha for so long-only to blow it in a night of extreme stupidity. “Wait. You… saw? How did you…?”
“Misha drove you home,” Jared said with a shake of his head. “You nearly destroyed the ficus when you tackled him.”
“God,” Jensen whispered and fell into a plastic chair beside Jared. “I do remember something about the ficus.”
“Oh hey,” Jared said as if he just remembered something important. Jensen rolled his eyes, because he knew his ex like he knew himself. That oh hey meant that Jared was about to tell him something that could potentially lead to a fight. Jensen braced for impact. “Genevieve and Tyson will be here tomorrow.”
“Fantastic,” Jensen groaned and slid his right hand into place, covering his mouth and lower jaw. Just what he needed; the bitch that thought Imogen was disposable. He fought the urge to punch the ever-loving shit out of Jared-Seattle Waldorf had a zero tolerance for violence.
“We’re going to stay at the Alexis,” Jared continued as he handed a teenage boy his change and an autograph. “I thought maybe I could take Imogen with me for the weekend; let her hang out with Tyson on neutral ground or something.”
“What happened to her coming next week?”
“I’m not sure,” Jared admitted and when Jensen looked at him, he could tell Jared was tired. “She texted me a couple of hours ago to let me know.”
“I need to talk to Misha,” Jensen said without meaning to do so. He felt his cheeks heat up under Jared’s stare. “To apologize.”
“Right,” Jared shrugged and leaned his hip against the counter. The tide of children was ebbing as the lunch hour neared. “He is crazy hot. I don’t blame you for trying again. Hell, I went for it.”
“You what?” Jensen froze from his shoulders to the very tips of his toes, shod as they were in soft Italian leather. It was there, the bottom, waiting to drop out from under him. If Misha had-if Jared had… he couldn’t even finish the thought.
“You know,” Jared said and tilted his head and simultaneously lifted his eyebrows. “You were passed out and he was there, apologizing for kissing you, saying he just did it to get you inside. I figured he wasn’t interested in you.”
“But Genevieve,” Jensen said, his stomach clenching ominously.
“Yeah, well,” the younger man shrugged and chuckled. “He shot me down, so no worries.”
Jensen was appalled. He’d never been confronted by Jared’s cheating so directly, so cavalierly. Was that how it’d always been? Jared reaching out to take what he wanted, regardless of his relationship status? He didn’t envy Genevieve… not anymore.
“Good on you for getting back in there,” Jared continued with a punch to Jensen’s shoulder. “If someone sympathy kissed me, though, I’d probably just let it go.”
He hadn’t expected Jared to blatantly lie to him, not about Misha at least. He had no vested interest in Misha, hell; he had no vested interest in Jensen. He nodded because Jared was expecting some sort of response to his cruelly aimed words.
“You’re right,” Jensen jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the exit. Had Misha not sought him out so quickly, Jensen would have believed Jared’s version of events. “I just… need a few minutes. You got this under control?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jared pressed his lips into a thin line and creased his brow. “Take all the time you need, man. That guy’s a dick. I’m here if you want to talk it out.”
Jensen backed away, carefully schooling his features into feigned disappointment. Actually, it wasn’t feigned at all. He was well and truly disappointed that Jared had let him down yet again. He’d thought they’d be able to salvage some sort of friend-based relationship, but the fact that he was willing to continue to deliberately hurt him was proof enough for Jensen that that would not be the case.
He walked slowly from the library, taking a left toward the lobby instead of the right that would take him to Misha’s classroom. If he went out the front door of the school and skirted the side of the building, he could enter the building again near the gym and double back to Misha without being seen.
As he walked along the sidewalk, wrapping his arms in front of his chest against the crisp Seattle air, he rolled Jared’s words around his head. He gathered his ex had propositioned Misha, and Misha had turned him down. He was surprised Misha hadn’t mentioned that pertinent fact to him-although not really. He could believe that Misha would not wield his knowledge as a weapon against him.
Jensen blinked against the realization that someone cared about him enough to 1) turn down sex with Jared Padalecki and 2) not want to hurt him.
In less time than he could make sense of, he found himself hovering outside of his daughter’s classroom, cautiously peering in between the plastic beads of the curtain in the doorway. Imogen’s tiny feet dangled from her chair, her heel knocking rhythmically against her chair, sending bursts of red lights skittering around the room. The other students didn’t seem to notice; perhaps they’d grown accustomed to her fidgeting.
Misha stood next to the Promethean board, coaching a student through a complex sequencing exercise. He was crouched down to the boy’s level, both hands on his knees, as he explained why the quarter followed the nickel and then the penny. His smile had crinkled the edges of his eyes, and it took Jensen’s breath away. As he straightened to allow the boy to try again, he caught sight of Jensen.
“Go ahead, Dillon,” he said with a reassuring pat on the boy’s shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take out your spelling books and review the list for the test on Friday. I am stepping into the hallway and I want you all to be as quiet as Lux and Bonnie, okay? Blaine, I’m leaving you in charge.”
Jensen stepped away from the doorway, wanting to avoid the watchful eyes of the class. He was not a stranger to the room, but his arrival always caused a small wave as the students updated him on their recent accomplishments.
“Is everything okay?” Misha asked as soon as he was out of the room.
“Why did you leave Blaine in charge?” Jensen asked, letting his nerves get the better of him. “He’s a troublemaker.”
“Did you disrupt my class to question my decision-making abilities?” Misha asked with a shake of his head. Jensen took in his serious look-made more severe by his buttoned waistcoat, pinstriped pants and fiery red pocket square-and swallowed his nerves. “Come on, Jensen, just say it.”
It was too late to back out, but damn, Jensen wished he’d taken a moment to come up with some intelligible words before he’d burst into Misha’s classroom. Yeah, he seriously wished that were the case.
“I, uh.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Misha taunted him. Jensen had never realized how cold those blue eyes could get. “Could we hurry this along so I can return to my class?”
“Just shut up and give me a minute,” Jensen reached up to cover his mouth, but changed his mind. He was done nursing his pain. “I’m sorry I don’t remember last night.”
“It’s fine,” Misha sighed and shifted as if he intended to return to his classroom. “Look, I need to-”
“I said give me a minute,” Jensen said and reached out to grab Misha’s arm. With one firm yank, Misha was tethered to Jensn’s chest. Highly inappropriate, but for just a moment, Misha allowed it. “I want to remember, you idiot. Next time. Next time, I want to remember.”
Misha blinked at him, his head tilted slightly back to make up for the scant inches that separated them in height. Jensen stayed still, letting the other man look his fill. He watched in fascination as the blue of Misha’s eyes thawed out and turned warm and sparkling once again. And Jesusgod, had he really used the word sparkling to describe Misha’s eyes?
“I want you to remember, too,” Misha said in not much more than a whisper.
“Slowly,” Jensen said with a significant glance toward the classroom where the noise level was steadily increasing, despite Blaine’s supervision. “We’ll start with dinner tonight.”
“Don’t stand me up again,” Misha commanded.
“I won’t. And… about Imogen,” he said and his forehead crinkled out of habit. “We’re a joint package, but I need to know where this is going before I let her in. We have to be discreet.”
“Mum’s the word,” Misha said, finally letting his lips to curve into a smile. “I’ve got to get back in there. Blaine was an awful choice, wasn’t he?”
“Wait, one more thing,” Jensen said with an apologetic bend of his head. “I know what Jared did. And that you said no.”
Misha nodded, the smile slipping from his face so quickly that Jensen wanted to use the tips of his fingers to drag it back into place.
“I would never,” Misha said, his voice deeper than normal. He sounded like he’d burned his throat with ash from a barrel fire.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Jensen said, increasing the pressure of his fingers around the other man’s arm. They didn’t speak for the space of several heartbeats as the sincerity of Jensen’s words wrapped around them.
“So you mentioned dinner?” Misha asked, finally breaking the silent spell. He moved away from Jensen, but so slowly that Jensen understood the reluctance.
“Yeah,” he grinned. “How about something in your neck of the woods?”
“It’s so cute,” Misha said, stepping close enough to whisper in Jensen’s ear. Jensen shivered and tilted his head closer to the rush of air tickling him. “That you say things like ‘in your neck of the woods’. Yeehaw, Cowboy.”
Jensen sputtered out a laugh and pushed Misha away. “Get back in there and teach my kid something useful,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
He watched as Misha pushed the beads aside and entered his classroom with, unless Jensen was much mistaken, a little skip to his step. Misha clapped his hands together and praised the class for their attempt at silence, which was, he told the class with a wink, one of the hardest direction they’ll ever try to follow.
Yeah, Jensen thought as he headed back to the library and Jared, silence was difficult to maintain. He wondered how long it would take before he could no longer swallow down the angry words threatening to break through his teeth to get at Jared. If he were a betting man, he decided, he wouldn’t bet against the house on that one.
**
Continue to Part 4
The lights were on at Misha’s house. It was a small coral colored duplex snuggled between two similar structures on either side. A rainbow flag flew proudly over the doorway of the house to the left of Misha’s, and a black flag with a purple triangle flew over the doorway of the house to the right.
Jensen sat in his car across the street and watched as Misha walked in front of the living room window, giving him an unfettered view. He seemed to be tidying up, moving stacks of books from one side of the room to the other, all the while moving his lips-singing, Jensen guessed. He looked happy-excited.
If he walked into that house, Jensen would be starting something with Misha. They would move forward into something that had the potential to kill Jensen dead. There was no way, he thought, that he could survive another heartache like the one after Jared left. He didn’t care if it made him a coward-he was scared. Scared of trusting, of loving, of Misha. He pulled out his phone.
Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.
Jensen watched from the car as Misha read the text in front of his window. His shoulders drooped and his eyes closed and stayed that way for several seconds. When he opened them again, he tapped out a text that did not match his physical reaction.
No problem. I'm grading papers anyway. Rain check?
Jensen watched Misha stare at his phone, waiting for a reply. After three minutes, his lips formed a swear (fuck) and put his phone to his ear. He started gesticulating as he paced and talked. There were a few steps to the left of the window that stole Misha away from Jensen, but he always reappeared just as Jensen reached for the ignition. He had to be talking to Vicki, Jensen figured, which made him blush. He would have to face Vicki everyday of Imogen’s third grade year, and now she knew he’d stood up her best friend. Wonderful.
He started the car without further hesitation. He needed whiskey and a blowjob. Being in Capitol Hill, there was no shortage of bars that would yield him both in short order. He pulled up to the first one he saw-Madison Pub-and hurried inside. It was surprisingly low-key, with a traditional pub feel to it. A quick scan of the room told him that yes, Madison’s would get him what he needed.
He shed his heavy jacket; happy he’d chosen a fitted tee shirt for his failed date with Misha. He’d almost worn his favorite, knobby fisherman’s sweater, which would have done him no favors in his pursuit of sex. A tall blond eyed him from across the room. With a quirk of his brow, Jensen gave him the all clear to make his approach.
“Hey,” the man said when he got close enough for Jensen to smell his Aqua Gio cologne. “What are you drinking?”
“Jameson, straight up,” Jensen said, leaning his back against the tall bar ledge. The guy was attractive in the most traditional sense; big muscles, broad shoulders, tapered waist, artfully mussed hair. He could have been a catalog model, so yeah, he’d do.
“You look familiar,” the guy was saying when Jensen bothered to pay attention. “What’s your name?”
“Ross,” he said automatically giving his middle name. He and Jared had been Out cover boys several times and were revered in the gay community-until, of course, the community had turned on Jared for going straight. The last thing Jensen wanted was to be a trophy fuck or worse, have his trolling in the tabloids the next morning.
“I’m Chad,” the blond said, although Jensen didn’t care.
The bartender put a glass of Jameson in front of Jensen, which he greedily drank down. After a second, he finally turned to Chad, letting his eyes fall half-closed.
“I’m not looking for anything outside of tonight,” he said, not bothering to use his best flirty voice. If Chad wasn’t interested, he’d just move on to the next contender. It wasn’t his usual M.O., but Jensen was desperate to forget. “So, you wanna?”
Chad’s blond eyebrows-so different than Jared or Misha’s-lifted in shock. His laugh came out as a stutter. “Well all right then,” he said. “Your place or mine?”
“Neither,” Jensen said, reaching out and trailing a finger down Chad’s toned arm.
“Yeah, okay,” Chad drained his own drink and stood. He moved toward the bathroom behind the kitchen, throwing a come hither look over his shoulder that, under different circumstances, would have made Jensen roll his eyes.
It didn’t take long for Chad to pull Jensen into a stall and slam him against the graffiti-covered wall. Jensen avoided the kiss Chad aimed at his mouth, letting the man lick and bite at his neck instead.
“No marks,” Jensen snapped at a particularly sharp bite. He settled his palms on Chad’s shoulders and applied pressure, ready to skip the foreplay and get to business. Guilt was already seeping into Jensen’s chest, but he batted it away and concentrated on Chad’s smirk as he sank to his knees.
His head jerked back and hit the flimsy wall behind him as Chad swallowed him down. Months, he thought as Chad worked. It’s been months. Jared had always loved sucking his cock, and looking back, he should have known the last time was The Last Time. Jared had used every trick he’d known-including some Jensen couldn’t remember him using before; He’d damn near worshipped his cock, taking his time and ultimately crying when Jensen had finally come.
Jensen thrust hard into Chad’s mouth, punishing him for sins of Jared’s past. He looked down to remind himself that the blond gagging around him was not his ex.
“Sorry,” he had the decency to mumble. He planted his hands on Chad’s head to prevent the other man from pulling away. It felt good, but he had no desire to draw the experience out. The whiskey was working its magic, warming and relaxing his muscles. He kept his movements shallow, and when he felt his orgasm rushing up on him, he pushed Chad away and stroked himself once, twice, and came with a relieved grunt.
His head hit the wall again and he briefly considered repaying the man’s favor, but Chad was already working it out on his own. Jensen tucked himself back into his jeans and politely waited while Chad finished. He widened his stance to avoid getting a shot of come on his shoes.
“Thanks,” Jensen said, his hand on the door before Chad was finished moaning through his release. “I needed that.”
**
~Misha~
It didn’t take long for Vicki to convince Misha to meet her at Madison’s for a round of post blow-off drinks. School night or not, being stood up for the first time in a decade warrants at least three shots. He waved to Vicki as he made his way from the front door to the bar, but before he made it five steps, he was ambushed from the side, knocking him off balance.
“Watch it,” he snapped, shoving at the body using his as a support beam. “Drunk assho-Jen?”
“Heeeey, handsome,” Jensen pressed back into Misha and smacked a kiss on the side of his neck.
Misha’s mouth worked, opening and closing, but no sound came out. Jensen was standing next to him, not curled up around Seth at home, but in the middle of a gay bar in his own neighborhood. He’d been stood up, but he’d apparently misjudged the reasons behind it.
“Are you drunk?” Misha finally managed to get out.
“Definitely,” Jensen said unrepentantly as he started pushing Misha towards the bar. “You need to catch up.”
Misha didn’t resist as they approached the bar, where Vicki watched with wide-eyed surprise. The bartender lit up like the Griswold’s house at Christmas when he saw Jensen.
“Back so soon?” The bartender asked with an audacious wink. Misha thunked against the bar, Jensen’s weight pressing against him from behind.
“Misha needs a drink,” he declared before asking: “What do you want, Mish?”
“Two Cowboy Cocksuckers,” Vicki suggested, staring openly at the man she’d only ever seen inside the hallowed halls of Seattle Waldorf, looking stuffy and staid in his collared shirts and casual blazers.
“Make it three,” Jensen slurred. “I need another one of those.”
“I don’t think Chad qualifies as a cowboy,” the bartender laughed as he poured the shots into three glasses. He’d yet to acknowledge Misha or Vicki’s presence, even though they stood between Jensen and the bar. “But he’s one a hell of a cocksucker, huh?”
Misha whipped his head around to gape at Jensen, who’d thrown his head back and laughed loudly. He played the words again in his head, and he was fairly certain that Beefy McBiceps was insinuating that Jensen had gotten a blowjob from some plebe named Chad.
“He was all right,” Jensen said and pulled a face Misha had never seen before. “The Russian Judge gives him a five for technique and a three for creativity.”
Beefy slammed his fist on the top of the bar and roared with laughter. “Damn, Jensen,” he said once he settled into a chuckle. “This round is on me.”
“What the hell?” Vicki asked, poking Misha in the side to get his attention. “He stood you up so he could score a backroom blowjob? Let’s get out of here.”
He listened to Jensen and the bartender trade a few more lines of innuendo and outright flirting before he admitted Vicki had a point. He downed his shot, licked his lips and gently pushed Jensen’s weight away so he could free his body. He twisted slightly and followed Vicki away from the bar.
“Hey, wait,” Jensen grabbed him by both arms and jerked him back. His feet stumbled over themselves, but before he could fall, he hit Jensen’s chest. “You just got here. Don’t leave.”
“You didn’t want to see me earlier,” Misha said before he could stop himself. Damn, his words sounded as pouty as his voice. He coughed once and forced himself to regain control. “You stay here and continue the destruction of your liver. Fun, wooo!”
“I want to go with you,” Jensen wrapped his arm around Misha’s middle and bent him slightly forward. He nuzzled into the back of the other man’s neck, using his teeth to nip at the tender skin not covered by Misha’s dark hair or his blue shirt. “It’s about time we screw, don’t you think?”
“What the hell?” Vicki’s concerned voice broke through the sudden hazy fog of impending bad decisions banging around in Misha’s head. He couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t engage in some extracurricular activities with the man he’d wanted since first laying eyes on him.
“I-I don’t think I should leave him like this,” Misha said on a gasp as Jensen licked the skin he’d just bit. “I can’t let him drive home. It would be irr-irresponsible to leave him on his own.”
Vicki snorted, unimpressed by his weak good Samaritan act. She patted his chest and said something that sounded like ‘baseline tortellini signals bare’, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. It was difficult to focus on anything that wasn’t Jensen’s mouth. She left him on his own, just like a good best friend should when a pretty ass presented itself for the taking. God, he loved the woman.
Jensen manhandled him around, bringing them chest to chest. There was no hesitation when the kiss finally came; both mouths met, open and ready to play. If he’d stopped to search his memory, Misha would not have been capable of finding a dirtier kiss than that one. Standing in the middle of the moderately crowded Madison Pub, with Rufus Wainwright warbling through the speakers, they moaned and gasped and grabbed and twisted. When loud catcalls and applause broke through their bubble of sexual tension, it was Misha that pulled away.
“Jen, wait,” he stepped away when Jensen moved to kiss him again. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen staggered forward and slung an arm over Misha’s shoulders, leaning heavily into his side. He pressed his lips to whatever skin he could find and let Misha steer them from the bar. “Your place or mine?”
Misha chuckled, gripping Jensen’s waist tight. The thought of fucking Jensen in the same house as Jared held a certain appeal, but Imogen… Christ. He paused with his key in the door of his car.
Jensen pushed against him, angling their faces to kiss again, but Misha held tight to the thought of Imogen and pushed him away.
“No, wait,” he said with a beleaguered sigh. “This is a bad idea. We have to stop.”
“What?” Jensen let his hands drop to his side. His eyebrows tilted down in confusion. “Why?”
“You’re drunk,” Misha said, waving a hand in the air to encompass Jensen generally. “Really drunk. You’ll regret this when you sober up. I don’t want you like this.”
“You don’t want me?”
“Jesus, Jensen,” Misha said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t go all Bella Swan on me now. I said I don’t want you like this. You know damn well I want you. But I want you when you’ve decided that you want me-when you’re sober.”
“You’re an idiot,” Jensen said fervently.
“Yeah,” Misha agreed. He opened the passenger side door and carefully lowered Jensen into the seat, who grumbled about fairness and cock teases. “What’s your address?
“I don’t even fucking know,” Jensen laughed.
“Right,” Misha said, feeling justified in his decision to put a kibosh on the drunken sex. He ignored his dick’s angry throb of protest. “Give me your phone.”
The familiar phone was thrown at Misha with little regard. He fumbled in the air a few seconds before settling the phone in his palm. He slid his finger across the screen to unlock it, tried valiantly to ignore the smiling picture of Imogen missing her two front teeth, and went to Jensen’s contacts. He found the name he wanted and pressed dial.
“Hey man,” Jared said in greeting. The familiarity of those words jabbed Misha in the gut.
“Uh,” Misha started and then cleared his throat. “Jared?”
There was a pause. “Who’s this?”
“This is,” he rubbed his fingers over his forehead and screwed his courage to its sticking point. It was official. He was in Hell-the level reserved for horny teachers who lusted after damaged single fathers, where the punishment was awkward phone calls from bar parking lots. “This is Misha Collins. Imogen’s teacher? Jen’s, uh, Jensen’s friend?”
“Ah.”
“You called Jared?” Jensen sputtered from inside the car, reaching out to snatch the phone away, but Misha simply stepped away.
“Jensen is a little drunk,” he said into the phone. “I need your address so I can get him home.”
“He doesn’t handle alcohol well,” Jared said with a laugh. “Did he drink whiskey?”
“I’m not sure,” Misha prevaricated. He eyed Jensen, who was lolling his head on the back of the seat, moaning. “I found him like this. Why?”
“Whiskey is his fuck or fight.”
“Then, yes,” Misha said, thinking back to Cowboy Chad, and the way Jensen had used his tongue to count and catalog every single one of Misha’s teeth. “I think he’s had whiskey. A lot of it.”
“Did he punch…?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
Misha leaned his forehead against the top of his little sedan and sighed. This was the most inappropriate conversation he’d ever had with a parent-outside of damn near everything he’d ever said to Jensen.
After a few more beats of silence, Jared gave him the address in Queen Anne. He closed the passenger side door and made his way to the driver’s seat. By time he buckled his seat belt, Jensen was asleep.
**
Misha gave himself a minute to admire the beautiful Victorian house before opening his door. He wasn’t surprised by its size, given how Jensen openly complained about the hulking and largely unnecessary space. He reckoned he could fit his little house inside it five times over.
Before the engine stopped clicking, Jared was in the driveway, hands out and ready to assist. “Hey,” he said when Misha got out. “He’s asleep, huh?”
“Yeah, passed out before we ever left the parking lot,” Misha confirmed. “His car is still there.”
“I’ll send someone over to get it,” Jared said, opening the door and reaching in to unbuckle Jensen. “Thanks for getting him home safely.”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” Jensen snarled at Jared and tried to bat his ex’s hands away. “Why couldn’t you just stay away? You already have everything. Let me have this.”
“Jen,” Jared huffed and bent low to snag an arm around his waist. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, without the whiskey.”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” Jensen said, renewing his struggle to get free. “Only Misha can call me that.”
“Hey, hey,” Misha hurried around the other side of the car and snuck a hand between Jensen and Jared, the latter of whom was staring at Misha with narrowed eyes. “Jen, hey, come on. He’s just trying to help me get you inside.”
“I don’t need his fucking help,” Jensen said. He gestured widely at the house and the driveway, where his Range Rover was probably always parked. “He’s got me set up like a god damn kept woman. I don’t need any of it!”
Misha spared a glance at Jared, who had stepped away with pinched features.
“Why are you wearing the ring?” Jensen yelled, holding onto the open car door to keep his balance. “What the fuck is that about? You left us. Take it off!”
The situation was rapidly deteriorating. The fuck seemed to have fled the scene, leaving only the fight. There was no reasoning with the whiskey flowing through his system. Given a choice between the two, there really was no choice. Misha inhaled through his blush, steadfastly refused to acknowledge Jared’s presence-except of course Jared as a witness to what he was about to do was the reason for the blush-and moved closer to Jensen.
“Come on, Jen,” Misha whispered, pressing his cheek in order to Jensen’s to speak directly into his ear. He could smell the alcohol just under his skin, and wafting off his breath. “Let’s get you inside, get you undressed…put you to bed.”
Jensen made a sound that Misha categorized as a whimper and then twisted to press their lips together. Misha allowed the kiss, letting him lick and suck and drive for a handful of delicious seconds.
“There it is,” Misha breathed, running a hand up the other man’s side. He could almost pretend it was just the two of them, standing in the chilly Washington air, lazily kissing the evening away at the end of a perfect first date.
“Please,” Jensen begged, which needed no further description. He said the word the way people moan for water after crossing an unforgiving desert, and damn if Misha wasn’t the one with the frosty cold canteen.
All Jensen wanted, Misha reasoned, was a little relief; a little closeness, a little sex. What was the harm in giving in to such a pretty plea? There was nothing left for Misha to do but start for the front door. As he helped Jensen brush past Jared, he ducked his head.
The foyer lights were down low when Misha pushed the front door open. He cast a quick look around, surprised by the simplistic theme of the décor. Before he could make a courteous comment, Jensen had him pushed into the corner, crushing the ficus tree living there. Thirty seconds, Misha thought as he opened his mouth once again to Jensen’s tongue. Thirty more seconds and I’ll put an end to this.
Jared shut the door and stood just inside Misha’s field of vision, reminding him of things he didn’t want to remember. Namely? That Jensen did not belong to him.
He used his grip on Jensen’s hips-how did they get there?-to steer Jensen toward the stairs. Jared slipped under one of Jensen’s arms and peeled him away from Misha. When Jensen made loud protest, Misha moved closer and drew Jensen’s other arm over his shoulder. As the unlikely trio made their way up the stairs as the drunken man continued to pepper Misha’s face and neck with mouthing little kisses. It was the longest trip of Misha’s life; he was exhausted by time their bizarre threesome shouldered their way into Jensen’s bedroom.
“There you go,” Misha said as Jensen sank into his cushy bed. With a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach and hiked one leg up almost to his chest. All thoughts of sex seemed to be forgotten in favor of sleep. “Sleep well, Jen.”
It was anticlimactic to say the least. Fuck my life, Misha thought as he turned to leave the room.
“Thanks for bringing him home,” Jared said, following him out. He clicked the light off, but left the door open. Misha hoped Jensen wouldn’t choke on his own vomit in the middle of the night.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Misha said as they descended the stairs. “It’s just… you said it was fuck or fight. I figured, you know, one was better than the other.”
“I get that,” Jared said with a grin. They stood in the foyer, awkward and shifting. “Good thinking. Sorry if it was a hardship.”
“No, no,” Misha shook his head and hedged his way to the door. “Anything for a friend, you know?”
“So you’re Imogen’s teacher,” Jared said unnecessarily. He propped one of his stupidly muscular Hollywood pin-up boy shoulders against the front door, barring Misha’s escape. “How’s she doing in your class?”
Misha blinked as he tried to shift mental gears. Jared wanted to talk about his little girl’s progress in second grade just minutes after Misha’s tongue had been in his ex-husband’s mouth. Yeah, he needed a minute before he could turn on the Mr. Collins Teacher Routine. He could normally rely on his desk to keep a discernible divide between him and the parents. He could shuffle his papers and flip through his grade book in order to maintain his position of authority.
He didn’t have any of those tools at his disposal for his parent-teacher conference with Jared Padalecki, who was towering over him like some ridiculously hot Big Foot. He made an indignant sound. He was tired of these men unbalancing his world.
“Perhaps it would be best to discuss Imogen’s studies at the school?” He finally suggested, pointedly putting a hand on the doorknob. “It’s getting late…”
“Right, sorry,” Jared offered him a smile that crooked the sides of his mouth, but didn’t move away from the door. “Did you want to stay over? There’s a guest room.”
“Aren’t you staying in there?” Misha asked and then had to fight to keep from punching himself in the face. “I mean…”
“There’s room for two,” Jared said, sliding his shoulder across the door to lean over Misha. “If we get close.”
“Jesus,” Misha jerked away, nearly falling over the ficus tree again. Leaves fell to the floor at his feet in a little ficus tree temper tantrum that Misha could totally relate to. “I really do have to go.”
Finally-finally-Jared pushed himself upright and opened the door for Misha. He wasted no time in speed walking down the driveway and practically throwing himself into his car. He barely checked the traffic on the quiet street before roaring away-well, as much roaring as a Toyota Corolla could muster.
Jared Padalecki had hit on him. Even after seeing Jensen clinging to him, Jared had made a very blatant move. Jensen had always been vague about what had happened between he and Jared, but Misha had been able to secure some of the details through Google (he was not proud). The infamous Jared Padalecki-the only out gay actor who could carry a mainstream movie to the top of the lists-had announced his engagement to a woman named Genevieve Cortese, as well as the expected arrival of his first biological child, a little over a year prior. He’d found dozens of rumors that pointed to Genevieve as the live-in nanny to Jared and Jensen’s adopted daughter, Imogen. There, of course, had been a scandal; but Misha had never cared enough to pay attention-until he’d met Jensen.
“That dick,” Misha said into the silence of his car.
He scraped his fingers through his hair and slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Part of him wanted to close himself off, to walk away from whatever had been developing between him and Jensen.
“He’s not worth it,” Misha muttered, but as soon as the words were out, he scoffed at the sentiment. “He is worth it.”
There was no way he would let himself be chased away by a pretentious actor so bored by his life that he had to cultivate misery and drama in the lives of others. He would not allow Jared to infect his friendship with Jensen. If Jared was looking for a fight-a competition-then Misha was happy to oblige. To the winner went the spoils: Jensen. Game fucking on.
**
~Jensen~
The incessant beeping of his alarm clock was slow to pull Jensen from his comatose-like sleep. He didn’t open his eyes when he groped his night table to slap the snooze button. The damage was done, he was awake, but he instinctively kept his eyes tightly shut. He could feel-oh god, he could feel-the throbbing in his temples that reminded him of his time in the whiskey bottle.
His memory was full of blurry images that made very little sense. He had cancelled his plans with Misha and had gone to a bar in Capitol Hill. He recalled the early rounds of Jameson with unerring clarity, but it got fuzzy somewhere around the time Misha had shown up. There was something about a phone call… and a ficus? Oh. And the blowjob from that guy… what was his name?
“Daddy?” Imogen whispered from his bedside as she pulled back the covers and slipped in for their traditional morning snuggle. Jensen jerked in surprise and blushed a guilty red as he violently shoved the image of a blond man on his knees to the recesses of his mind. Imogen’s tiny feet rubbed against his jean-clad legs, seeking warmth for her cold toes. “Why did you sleep in your clothes?”
“I was really tired,” he whispered back, causing his head to give an additional stab of pain. He swallowed and determinedly continued their morning routine. “Did you sleep well?”
“I dreamed that I lived in Barbie’s Dream House,” she giggled and pushed her head into the crook of his arm. He curled his forearm around her, pulling her closer. “I was a ballerina. Ken was there.”
“Of course he was,” Jensen said. “How about Skipper? Was she there, too?”
“Oh yes,” Imogen nodded. “We had a fancy party and I had to wear my Easter dress and gloves. It was pretty cool.”
“Sounds it,” he agreed and tentatively opened his eyes. He didn’t have the luxury of nursing his hangover; his daughter needed breakfast and a ride to school. She did not need to see him sick after a night of indulgence. “What do you want for breakfast this morning? Cereal?”
“Waffles,” she corrected him. “I’m starving.”
Gah, he thought as his stomach flopped over itself.
“I’m going to wake Papa up,” she said, pulling away from Jensen quickly, as if she’d just remembered her other father’s presence. Shit. Shitshitshit… he had forgotten. That meant that the half-formed memory of his arm slung around Jared’s shoulder…was Misha there?… was more than likely real.
“I’ll lay your clothes out on your bed,” Jensen called after her. She turned back to roll her eyes to let him know that she knew how it worked.
He sat up slowly, more willing to baby his traitorous body with his daughter out of the room. Cupping his head in both hands, he stood and staggered to his bathroom. He downed several aspirin and so much water that it sloshed dangerously in his stomach. After brushing his teeth and a hot shower, he felt more human and headed down to make breakfast.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jared greeted him as soon as he crossed the threshold to the kitchen. “How you feeling?”
“Fantastic,” he mumbled as he pulled out the ingredients for waffles. He felt the muscles of his back tensing and disagreeing with his proclamation, but he pretended not to notice.
“So, about last night…” Jared started, but trailed off when Imogen skipped in, her Tinker Bell shoes shooting red lasers into Jensen’s sore eyes. “Uh, the Book Fair is today?”
“Crud,” Jensen said as he cracked eggs into the waffle mixture. He’d promised to introduce Jared to Misha at the Book Fair-and to the joys of parental involvement. “Yeah, okay, Book Fair. Do you have your list, Immy?”
“I want the Camp Rock Mad Libs,” she said, diving into her book bag for the newspaper-print Scholastic Books ad. “And the Guinness Book of World Records. And the poster with the kitten on it. Oooh, and the Harry Potter box set.”
“That’s a tall order,” Jensen said with a warning glance at his daughter. “We talked about this. You have a fifteen-dollar budget. Christmas is around the corner.”
“But Dad,” Imogen whined.
“Don’t but Dad me,” Jensen cut her off as he put the syrup and milk on the table. “Fifteen dollars.”
“Jensen,” Jared said with a laugh. “I think we can afford more than that.”
“See?” Imogen crawled into her chair. “Papa says-”
“I said no,” Jensen snapped, his voice louder than normal. His brain slammed into the back of his skull in protest. He turned toward Imogen and Jared with a spatula held out in front of him. “One more word about it and you get nothing, you hear me? And Jared, there is no we, so butt out.”
Imogen’s cheeks and neck flushed a bright pink as she flinched away. Son of a bitch, Jensen thought, angry at himself for taking his frustration out on his daughter. He took a step toward her, but she made a mouse of a sound and hurried out of her chair, straight into Jared’s outstretched arms.
“Maybe you should just let me handle the Book Fair,” Jared said, as if he was capable of doing anything remotely responsible. Jensen wanted to claw the superior expression from his face. “If you’re snapping at us over fifteen dollars, I can’t imagine you’ll do better with kids you aren’t supposed to love.”
“No, I,” Jensen stammered, embarrassed. He’d never really yelled at Imogen before; she was a biddable and easygoing child who always followed the rules. “Immy. I’m sorry I yelled. I have a headache.”
He took another step closer to his frightened daughter-and didn’t that just kick him in the teeth, Imogen frightened of him-but Jared shook his head. Instead, he retreated to the stove and wordlessly cooked several large waffles. By time he put them on a serving dish in the middle of the table, Imogen had returned to her own chair and was telling Jared about Justin Bieber’s new 3D movie, which was due out at Christmas.
“Why don’t I see about getting tickets for the LA opening?” Jared suggested, sounding almost as excited as his star struck daughter. He grabbed two waffles and doused them with syrup and butter.
“Omigod!” Imogen squealed, her hands waving in front of her chest like she was seizing. “Could you really? Madison would freak.”
“It could be one of our dates,” Jared added.
“Silly Papa,” Imogen laughed and rolled her eyes, but Jensen knew she loved her dates with Jared.
It was stupid, really, but Jared insisted on Imogen sharing five ‘dates’ with him before he would allow her to actually date a boy. From Jensen’s memory, they’d already racked up way more than the requisite five, but the tradition remained.
“Let me make a call,” Jared said, obviously proud of his ability to enchant his daughter, his number one fan. “Justin and I are with the same agent, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I didn’t know that,” Jensen said before he could remind himself that he didn’t care. He’d been involved in the Hollywood game so long that he knew all the players. “Isn’t he with Creative Arts? What happened with United Talent? You’ve been with them for years.”
“It was time for a change,” Jared said with a shrug. “UT can’t handle the major deals like Creative Arts can.”
“Right,” Jensen turned his attention to his own waffle, which he coated with raspberry jam from the northern part of the state; Washington was a gold mine of fresh fruit products. He’d canceled his subscriptions to all the Hollywood dailies-and weeklies and monthlies. Now he read Mother Jones and Poets & Writers.
“You never really liked UT,” Jared said after a beat of silence.
“That’s true,” he nodded. The move from United Talent to Creative Arts marked the first time that Jared had made such a big career decision without consulting Jensen. Rather, it was the first one Jensen had heard about. He offered Jared a small smile because it turned out that it didn’t hurt like he’d expected it to. “Sounds like a good move.”
“I’m going to marry Justin Bieber,” Imogen said, still breathless at the mere idea of meeting her idol. “I just know it.”
Jared and Jensen exchanged horrified looks and then laughed together. It didn’t matter why they were laughing, Jensen decided, it just mattered that they were laughing. Together, like they were friends.
Maybe today will not suck, Jensen thought.
**
Jensen leaned against the counter at his post in the library, willing his head to stop throbbing. The first wave of students filed through the double doors, chattering in excitement. He nodded at the teacher-he knew them all by now-as she followed the students in.
“Wow, I forgot how exciting book fairs were when we were kids,” Jared remarked as he restocked a tub of scented pencils near the cash register. He leaned next to Jensen and grinned as a bevy of giggling girls braved a glance his way. “This is awesome.”
A second class arrived and the library was officially at capacity. Jensen pushed himself upright and sighed. He liked to walk around and make suggestions to the kids, but he was tethered to the check out.
“Go ahead,” Jared said with a laugh and shove at Jensen’s shoulder. “I know you want to go out there. I’ll handle this.”
“Yeah?” Jensen took a half step toward the crowd, but hesitated. “You sure?”
“I used to work at the Taco Shack, remember?” Jared said. “If I can handle hungry Texans during the lunch hour rush, I think I can handle these kids.”
He didn’t need any prodding after that. Despite his headache, Jensen really did want to get involved with the children. He wandered around and talked to the students he knew, and introduced himself to those he didn’t. Time slid away like it always did when he was working in the school and before he realized it, Imogen was hugging his waist.
“Hey, monkey,” he said, returning the hug even though his hands were full of How to Train Your Dragon books. “Did you find your books?”
“We just got here,” she said, already looking around at the brightly colored displays. She spotted Jared across the room and waved happily at him. “I’m going to look around. I saw a Junie B. Jones book I haven’t read yet. Maybe I’ll get that instead of the Mad Libs.”
She was off before he could tell her that he’d already squirreled a copy of the Junie B. Jones behind the counter with Jared. He smiled after her, glad that he knew his daughter so well.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
Jensen whirled around and came face to face with Misha, who stood a respectable distance away. His face flushed in embarrassment, for he was positive that he’d made an ass out of himself in front of the teacher the night before.
“Hey, Misha.”
“Don’t worry,” Misha smiled kindly. “I’m not going to talk about last night; not here anyway. Except to say I want to try again, without Chad or the whiskey.”
“Chad!” Jensen snapped his fingers; glad to have a name for the faceless blond that blew him the night before. He flushed as soon as he realized Misha stood watching him with forced amusement. “I mean, um. Look, I’m sorry for whatever I might have said. Or, you know, done.”
“You don’t remember,” Misha said. It wasn’t a question.
“Mr. Ackles,” Imogen’s friend, Madison, tugged on his sleeve, saving him from further humiliating himself. “Imogen said she is going to meet Justin Bieber. Is that true?”
As he worked to temper the little girl’s excitement, Misha disappeared into the crowd. Jensen had never been so thankful for a rabid Bieber fan in his life. He led Madison through the sea of kids to meet Jared, who Madison swore was her favorite-after The Biebs, of course.
“Misha said you don’t remember anything,” Jared said, in a low voice that didn’t carry to the students queued up to pay for their books.
“Really, Jay?” Jensen said in exasperation. “You want to talk about this now?”
“Nah, nothing to talk about,” Jared said with a brilliant smile at the pretty little girl in front of them. She blushed a hideous shade of violet and stumbled away, her Charlie Bones book clutched to her chest. “Or least, there must not be. Dude, you were all over that man, so if you don’t remember it, then yeah, I’d say there’s probably nothing to talk about.”
“Oh god,” Jensen groaned. He didn’t remember, not really, but that was par for the course for him when it came to heavy drinking. He’d managed to resist Misha for so long-only to blow it in a night of extreme stupidity. “Wait. You… saw? How did you…?”
“Misha drove you home,” Jared said with a shake of his head. “You nearly destroyed the ficus when you tackled him.”
“God,” Jensen whispered and fell into a plastic chair beside Jared. “I do remember something about the ficus.”
“Oh hey,” Jared said as if he just remembered something important. Jensen rolled his eyes, because he knew his ex like he knew himself. That oh hey meant that Jared was about to tell him something that could potentially lead to a fight. Jensen braced for impact. “Genevieve and Tyson will be here tomorrow.”
“Fantastic,” Jensen groaned and slid his right hand into place, covering his mouth and lower jaw. Just what he needed; the bitch that thought Imogen was disposable. He fought the urge to punch the ever-loving shit out of Jared-Seattle Waldorf had a zero tolerance for violence.
“We’re going to stay at the Alexis,” Jared continued as he handed a teenage boy his change and an autograph. “I thought maybe I could take Imogen with me for the weekend; let her hang out with Tyson on neutral ground or something.”
“What happened to her coming next week?”
“I’m not sure,” Jared admitted and when Jensen looked at him, he could tell Jared was tired. “She texted me a couple of hours ago to let me know.”
“I need to talk to Misha,” Jensen said without meaning to do so. He felt his cheeks heat up under Jared’s stare. “To apologize.”
“Right,” Jared shrugged and leaned his hip against the counter. The tide of children was ebbing as the lunch hour neared. “He is crazy hot. I don’t blame you for trying again. Hell, I went for it.”
“You what?” Jensen froze from his shoulders to the very tips of his toes, shod as they were in soft Italian leather. It was there, the bottom, waiting to drop out from under him. If Misha had-if Jared had… he couldn’t even finish the thought.
“You know,” Jared said and tilted his head and simultaneously lifted his eyebrows. “You were passed out and he was there, apologizing for kissing you, saying he just did it to get you inside. I figured he wasn’t interested in you.”
“But Genevieve,” Jensen said, his stomach clenching ominously.
“Yeah, well,” the younger man shrugged and chuckled. “He shot me down, so no worries.”
Jensen was appalled. He’d never been confronted by Jared’s cheating so directly, so cavalierly. Was that how it’d always been? Jared reaching out to take what he wanted, regardless of his relationship status? He didn’t envy Genevieve… not anymore.
“Good on you for getting back in there,” Jared continued with a punch to Jensen’s shoulder. “If someone sympathy kissed me, though, I’d probably just let it go.”
He hadn’t expected Jared to blatantly lie to him, not about Misha at least. He had no vested interest in Misha, hell; he had no vested interest in Jensen. He nodded because Jared was expecting some sort of response to his cruelly aimed words.
“You’re right,” Jensen jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the exit. Had Misha not sought him out so quickly, Jensen would have believed Jared’s version of events. “I just… need a few minutes. You got this under control?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jared pressed his lips into a thin line and creased his brow. “Take all the time you need, man. That guy’s a dick. I’m here if you want to talk it out.”
Jensen backed away, carefully schooling his features into feigned disappointment. Actually, it wasn’t feigned at all. He was well and truly disappointed that Jared had let him down yet again. He’d thought they’d be able to salvage some sort of friend-based relationship, but the fact that he was willing to continue to deliberately hurt him was proof enough for Jensen that that would not be the case.
He walked slowly from the library, taking a left toward the lobby instead of the right that would take him to Misha’s classroom. If he went out the front door of the school and skirted the side of the building, he could enter the building again near the gym and double back to Misha without being seen.
As he walked along the sidewalk, wrapping his arms in front of his chest against the crisp Seattle air, he rolled Jared’s words around his head. He gathered his ex had propositioned Misha, and Misha had turned him down. He was surprised Misha hadn’t mentioned that pertinent fact to him-although not really. He could believe that Misha would not wield his knowledge as a weapon against him.
Jensen blinked against the realization that someone cared about him enough to 1) turn down sex with Jared Padalecki and 2) not want to hurt him.
In less time than he could make sense of, he found himself hovering outside of his daughter’s classroom, cautiously peering in between the plastic beads of the curtain in the doorway. Imogen’s tiny feet dangled from her chair, her heel knocking rhythmically against her chair, sending bursts of red lights skittering around the room. The other students didn’t seem to notice; perhaps they’d grown accustomed to her fidgeting.
Misha stood next to the Promethean board, coaching a student through a complex sequencing exercise. He was crouched down to the boy’s level, both hands on his knees, as he explained why the quarter followed the nickel and then the penny. His smile had crinkled the edges of his eyes, and it took Jensen’s breath away. As he straightened to allow the boy to try again, he caught sight of Jensen.
“Go ahead, Dillon,” he said with a reassuring pat on the boy’s shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take out your spelling books and review the list for the test on Friday. I am stepping into the hallway and I want you all to be as quiet as Lux and Bonnie, okay? Blaine, I’m leaving you in charge.”
Jensen stepped away from the doorway, wanting to avoid the watchful eyes of the class. He was not a stranger to the room, but his arrival always caused a small wave as the students updated him on their recent accomplishments.
“Is everything okay?” Misha asked as soon as he was out of the room.
“Why did you leave Blaine in charge?” Jensen asked, letting his nerves get the better of him. “He’s a troublemaker.”
“Did you disrupt my class to question my decision-making abilities?” Misha asked with a shake of his head. Jensen took in his serious look-made more severe by his buttoned waistcoat, pinstriped pants and fiery red pocket square-and swallowed his nerves. “Come on, Jensen, just say it.”
It was too late to back out, but damn, Jensen wished he’d taken a moment to come up with some intelligible words before he’d burst into Misha’s classroom. Yeah, he seriously wished that were the case.
“I, uh.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Misha taunted him. Jensen had never realized how cold those blue eyes could get. “Could we hurry this along so I can return to my class?”
“Just shut up and give me a minute,” Jensen reached up to cover his mouth, but changed his mind. He was done nursing his pain. “I’m sorry I don’t remember last night.”
“It’s fine,” Misha sighed and shifted as if he intended to return to his classroom. “Look, I need to-”
“I said give me a minute,” Jensen said and reached out to grab Misha’s arm. With one firm yank, Misha was tethered to Jensn’s chest. Highly inappropriate, but for just a moment, Misha allowed it. “I want to remember, you idiot. Next time. Next time, I want to remember.”
Misha blinked at him, his head tilted slightly back to make up for the scant inches that separated them in height. Jensen stayed still, letting the other man look his fill. He watched in fascination as the blue of Misha’s eyes thawed out and turned warm and sparkling once again. And Jesusgod, had he really used the word sparkling to describe Misha’s eyes?
“I want you to remember, too,” Misha said in not much more than a whisper.
“Slowly,” Jensen said with a significant glance toward the classroom where the noise level was steadily increasing, despite Blaine’s supervision. “We’ll start with dinner tonight.”
“Don’t stand me up again,” Misha commanded.
“I won’t. And… about Imogen,” he said and his forehead crinkled out of habit. “We’re a joint package, but I need to know where this is going before I let her in. We have to be discreet.”
“Mum’s the word,” Misha said, finally letting his lips to curve into a smile. “I’ve got to get back in there. Blaine was an awful choice, wasn’t he?”
“Wait, one more thing,” Jensen said with an apologetic bend of his head. “I know what Jared did. And that you said no.”
Misha nodded, the smile slipping from his face so quickly that Jensen wanted to use the tips of his fingers to drag it back into place.
“I would never,” Misha said, his voice deeper than normal. He sounded like he’d burned his throat with ash from a barrel fire.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Jensen said, increasing the pressure of his fingers around the other man’s arm. They didn’t speak for the space of several heartbeats as the sincerity of Jensen’s words wrapped around them.
“So you mentioned dinner?” Misha asked, finally breaking the silent spell. He moved away from Jensen, but so slowly that Jensen understood the reluctance.
“Yeah,” he grinned. “How about something in your neck of the woods?”
“It’s so cute,” Misha said, stepping close enough to whisper in Jensen’s ear. Jensen shivered and tilted his head closer to the rush of air tickling him. “That you say things like ‘in your neck of the woods’. Yeehaw, Cowboy.”
Jensen sputtered out a laugh and pushed Misha away. “Get back in there and teach my kid something useful,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
He watched as Misha pushed the beads aside and entered his classroom with, unless Jensen was much mistaken, a little skip to his step. Misha clapped his hands together and praised the class for their attempt at silence, which was, he told the class with a wink, one of the hardest direction they’ll ever try to follow.
Yeah, Jensen thought as he headed back to the library and Jared, silence was difficult to maintain. He wondered how long it would take before he could no longer swallow down the angry words threatening to break through his teeth to get at Jared. If he were a betting man, he decided, he wouldn’t bet against the house on that one.
**
Continue to Part 4