Fic: Haven. RPS. Chris/Jensen. NC-17. Chapter 9/11

[felisblanco]

Continued from here.



“There’s nothin’ wrong with my damn legs. Let go of me,” Chris grumbles, shaking Steve off when he tries to grab his elbow to help him up the stairs. Okay, so he’s maybe a bit wobbly still but he’s fine. Nothing a couple of days rest won’t fix.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s exhausted but tries as he can to hide it. Jensen starts leading him to the bedroom but Chris twists away and sinks down on the couch instead. “How ‘bout somethin’ to eat, huh?” he asks, even if he has no appetite. Jensen’s hardly left his side for two days, which means the kid’s been living on nothing but sandwiches and coffee. He needs some meat on his skinny bones. “You up for cookin’, Steve?”

“Sure. Anything in particular?”

“Nah.” He turns to Jensen who is standing still, seeming lost. “Sweetheart, any requests? Hey.”

He tugs on Jensen’s sleeve, and he looks up, startled. “What? No. I don’t… I don’t care. Chris, you should lie down.”

“If I get tired I can lie down right here,” Chris says, patting the couch. “C’mon, darlin’, sit with me.”

Jensen glances at Steve but then he sits down, stiff at first but as soon as Chris pulls him closer his body melts into Chris’s side.

“You okay?”

Jensen nods. “Yeah. Sure.” He smiles quickly. “Glad to have you home.”

“Glad to be home. Steve,” Chris says without looking up, eyes still smiling at Jensen. “You might need to do some shoppin’. Ain’t got much food, I think. Unless you picked up groceries while I was out.”

“What am I, your damn butler? Fine. I’ll figure something out.”

They wait until they hear the door slam. Then Chris pulls Jensen even closer, kissing his cheek. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s not… I’m…” Jensen sighs. “I was thinking, maybe I should move out.”

Chris’s heart stops. “Is it ‘cause of what I did? I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t remember but that ain’t no excuse. Never should have drunk so damn much. Fuckin’ stupid. I-”

“Chris, shut up,” Jensen says, sounding exasperated. “It’s not that. Even if you were an ass. And you fucking scared me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Chris kisses his cheek, wishing he had the strength to apologize properly. “Then why, baby? Why’d you think you need to leave?” He’s trying his best to be understanding and supportive, if Jensen really feels he can’t stay then of course Chris has to let him go, but fuck, his heart hurts just thinking about it.

“It’s just… ever since I got here, all I’ve done is fuck you up. Your disorder, your drinking, your temper, it’s all gone out of whack because of me. Maybe, if I’m not here all the time, you’d get better faster.”

Chris sighs. “Darlin’, I appreciate what you’re sayin’, but that’s bull. If you moved out, I’d be too busy worryin’ about you to get a single night’s rest and you know how grumpy I am when I’m tired.”

Jensen huffs a small laugh. “I know. But-”

“Darlin’, do you wanna move out?” Chris interrupts. “‘Cause I get it if you do and I’ll be sad but I’ll support you, I will. Whatever you want, we’ll make it work. But if you’re doin’ this for me, then please don’t.”

“I just want you to get better,” Jensen murmurs, rubbing his face. Chris hadn’t noticed before how tired Jensen looks but now he can see the circles, like faint bruises under his eyes. “That’s all.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I want for you, sweetheart.” He pulls Jensen closer and kisses him. “How’bout we make each other better, huh? You help me, I help you, somethin’ like that?”

“Yeah, okay.” Jensen gives him a vain smile. “How?”

Chris shrugs. “If I try and not drink so much, maybe you could go see that therapist.”

Jensen stills. Then he takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Alright. If you promise to go back on your meds. And no more going out looking for trouble.”

“Fine,” Chris agrees since that was the plan anyway. “If you start goin’ out on your own.”

Jensen closes his eyes. “Fine. I’ll… walk around the block. Tomorrow.”

“That’s a start.” Chris runs his hand through Jensen’s hair, stroking it tenderly before pushing him gently down until his head is resting on Chris’s shoulder. “Just rest, darlin’,” he tells him. “I’ll wake you up when the food’s ready.”

“You should be in bed,” Jensen tries once more but he’s already yawning, and it doesn’t take long until his breathing turns deep and quiet. Chris keeps on stroking his hair until his arm grows tired and he lets it fall around Jensen’s shoulders, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. It’s good to be home.

They’re both fast asleep when Steve comes back, carrying two bags of groceries. He sets the bags down with a sigh and then stands watching them for the longest time, a soft look of sadness and resignation on his face, before fetching the blanket to cover them. Guess he better put the groceries away and then he’s going downstairs for a drink. Chris owes him at least that much.

“Hey,” Jensen says into the microphone, grinning when the crowd greets him with whistles and applause. “Sorry I bailed yesterday. Had to take care of our old man. Someone tell him he ain’t no spring chicken anymore. Gotta watch his liquor.”

“Fuck you, darlin’, I’m twenty-six!” Chris yells and the audience erupts in laughter. “Old man, my ass!”

“Like I said, getting on in years,” Jensen continues, smirking. “And yes please, would love to have that ass.” He laughs along with the audience when Chris goes red despite the grin splitting his face. “Well, since it’s Monday night, how about a little working man blues? Courtesy of my ‘old’ man.”

The crowd cheers as Jensen strums one of Chris’s routine songs, feeling anticipation tingle in his fingertips. It’s happening, tonight. All he’s gotta do is get through this gig and then… He grins over at Chris who is smiling softly, eyes never leaving Jensen’s face.

Somehow he’d imagined the night would go by way too slowly but instead it seems like only minutes until they’re making their way upstairs, with Chris humming happily in his ear. Soon as the door is closed, Chris is kissing him sweetly, first his lips and then down his throat, tugging the neck of his t-shirt aside to get to his collarbone.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” he murmurs, “we’ve got all the time in the world,” which is when Jensen realizes he’s pushing his own fingers in between the buttons of Chris’s shirt, clawing at his skin. “C’mon, baby,” Chris says and laughs softly. “C’mon.”

They stumble through the apartment to Chris’s bedroom, kicking off shoes and tearing at their clothes between kisses and Chris’s soft murmurs of “Love you,” and Jensen panting, “Love you. Want you so bad.”

It’s dark inside and Chris lets go of Jensen for a moment to turn on the bedside lamp, illuminating the bed in a soft, warm, yellow light. The sheets are fresh, the whole room smells of lavender.

Jensen’s heart stumbles. Blinking he lets out a slow breath. He suddenly feels faint, like he might need to sit down.

Chris kisses him one more time then half turns away to work on the buttons of his shirt. He looks happy and excited but still calm, collected, like he does this every day. Like it’s just that easy.

Jensen reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and works it over his head. His skin is sweaty from being on stage and he shivers slightly. It’s not cold, he’s just… This is really happening. He throws the t-shirt over the chair and moves on to his jeans, fumbling with the top button, unbuttoning it more by accident than skill. When he goes to unzip the zipper his fingers tremble too much for him to catch hold and he huffs in frustration.

The sound makes Chris look over from where he’s shrugging his shirt off his shoulders. He smiles softly. Says, “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” and steps closer, jeans still clinging to his hips as he takes Jensen’s hands and lifts them to his lips, kissing them almost reverently. “Let me, darlin’,” he says. “It’s alright.”

He pulls down Jensen’s zipper then slips the jeans over his hips, following them all the way down to his ankles, crouching as he lifts Jensen’s feet free, one after the other, before slipping off his socks as well. Jensen stands awkwardly, hand on Chris’s shoulder for balance, heart hammering in his chest. Chris looks up at him, his eyes so bright, so filled with love that Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. Chris reaches for the waistband of Jensen’s boxer briefs and Jensen inhales sharply.

Chris instantly stops. “Alright, love?”

Jensen swallows then nods, biting at his lip. Chris’s hands close around Jensen’s narrow hips, warm and strong. He smiles. Then he curls his fingers over the waistband of the boxers and pulls them down, slowly. Jensen jumps slightly when his dick bounces free, the urge to cover himself so strong he has to bite hard down on his lip to remind himself to keep still. Remind himself that Chris has seen him naked many times now. But looking down at Chris like that, crouching before him…

Jensen closes his eyes when Chris leans forward but all he does is kiss the tip of Jensen’s dick, warm breath brushing through his pubic hairs and then Jensen feels the heat of him pull away. When he opens his eyes Chris is standing again, hand hovering by Jensen’s hip. “Alright?” he asks again, and again Jensen nods. There’s a strange pressure behind his eyes, hot and aching.

Chris moves his hand, cupping Jensen’s face, eyes shifting, searching. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, like they haven’t been doing that all night, like they’ve never done it before. Jensen blinks slowly, then realizes he should answer and nods. His words seem to have disappeared.

Chris slips his hand behind Jensen’s neck and pulls him down, covering his dry lips with his own soft warm ones, then coaxes them gently open with his tongue, freeing Jensen’s lower lip from his teeth that he hadn’t realized were still biting down.

“That’s it,” Chris murmurs into his mouth. “It’s alright.”

He kisses Jensen softly until Jensen kisses him back, slipping his tongue into Chris’s mouth, breathing out when Chris hums happily. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, like he’s scared. He’s got nothing to be afraid of. He’s got nothing to be afraid of. He’s not the one who’s going to be…

Jensen sucks in air through his nose. His heart throbs in his throat.

Chris pulls back, thumb stroking Jensen’s cheek. “How’bout you just lie down, darlin’?” he says softly. “Just lie down and relax and I’ll do the prep. I can show you another time. Just lie down and relax.” He pushes Jensen gently onto the bed, kissing him as he lies down. Shit, he’s shaking. “It’s alright. Just take it easy.”

He lies there, eyes blinking, heart racing, stomach churning, dick thankfully still stupidly aroused despite everything. Watching Chris finish undress before fetching the bottle of lube from the drawer. He gets on the bed beside Jensen, flat on his back at first then bending one knee and raising himself half up on his side. He keeps watching Jensen, even as he drizzles lube over his fingers, even as he reaches behind himself. Only then do his eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a small grunting sound.

Jensen flinches.

Chris’s eyes instantly open, and he smiles and says, “It’s alright. It’s good. Just the first one, always a bit of a surprise.”

He grins and Jensen smiles back, lips so dry he feels them crack. Chris’s arm moves slightly and his face ripples, eyes blinking, lips twitching, brow furrowing, then his mouth opens on a low moan. Jensen can’t take his eyes off him. He’s not sure he’s even breathing. There’s a slight squelching sound which gets louder as Chris starts breathing faster, letting out small noises, muffled grunts and breathed moans, like he just can’t help himself. His eyes flutter and then they fall closed as Chris’s hips move in rhythm with his hand.

Jensen breathes in. “Is it, is it good?” he asks, his voice hardly audible.

“Oh yeah, so good,” Chris grunts. “So damn good. Fuck.”

Jensen pushes himself up on his elbow to see better. Chris’s arm is moving, but Jensen can only see his wrist, can’t see where his fingers disappear into his body. “Really?” he whispers.

Chris’s movement still. He opens his eyes, gazing softly at Jensen like he wants to pull him into the crock of his neck, wants to rock him calm. “Really,” he says. “Feels amazin’. And it’s even better ‘cause I’m doin’ it for you.”

Jensen flushes warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chris pulls out his fingers with a small grimace then leans forward and kisses Jensen, soft at first then with more vigor. When they pull apart Jensen is panting. “Alright?” Chris asks.

Jensen nods.

Chris smiles. He rolls over on his stomach then pushes himself up on all four, reaching for the bottle of lube and dropping it by Jensen’s hand. “Your turn. Get a feel for it with your fingers. Go on. Coat them real good.”

Jensen gets up on his knees, grabbing the bottle. He moves awkwardly behind Chris while trying to drizzle the right amount of lube on his fingers, but he squeezes too hard and it goes everywhere. Shit! He rubs his fingers together, and they slide, slick and wet and glistening. He swallows. He tears his eyes away from his fingers, finding their target. He’s right behind Chris, between his spread knees. Chris’s ass is right there. His hole is right there. Dark, glistening wet, slightly open but still so… small. Jensen looks at his fingers. He looks down at his dick. He looks back at Chris. His chest tightens into a fist. He can’t breathe. He can’t move.

“Baby, it’s alright,” he hears Chris say through the ocean whooshing in his ears. “I promise. It’s good.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” Jensen whispers.

Chris chuckles. “No. Darlin’, I swear, it won’t. It’s-”

A soft inhale then, “Sweetheart.” Chris rolls over, cupping his face. His thumb slides wet over Jensen’s cheek. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s alright, baby. You wanna stop?”

Jensen swallows. He blinks rapidly. “Yes.”

Chris breathes out. He smiles. Wipes under Jensen’s other eye before kissing him softly. Pulls away when Jensen doesn’t kiss back. His face feels frozen.

“Alright. It’s alright. Wait here, just a moment.” Chris slips out of bed and disappears.

Jensen sinks down on his heels. He’s trembling all over. He’s still holding out his hand, covered in lube, when Chris gently takes hold of his wrist and then wipes him clean with a wet towel. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s alright. Sshh.”

He disappears again, only for a moment and then he’s back, wearing pj bottoms and a t-shirt. He crawls back on the bed. “Let’s just lie down a moment, alright?” he says gently, taking Jensen’s hands, then sinking down on the pillow, pulling Jensen along until he’s lying half on, half off, chest to chest but hips safely on the bed. Chris palms the back of his head. “Sshh, just breathe,” he says and that’s when Jensen realizes he’s gasping, tears dripping off the tip of his nose. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Jensen sobs. He’s shaking. His muscles are so tight they are starting to cramp. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. Don’t say that. Don’t say that.” Chris wraps one arm around him, the other still cupping the back of Jensen’s head, pushing it gently down until his face is safely hidden in Chris’s neck. “Breathe. You gotta breathe for me, darlin’. Breathe and relax. Like that. Good boy,” he soothes.

Jensen forces himself to slow down his breathing. His chest feels impossibly tight.

“Good boy,” Chris repeats, his voice a low murmur. “You did good. You did good, sweetheart. You did the right thing. You told me. I always want you to tell me. I never want you doin’ nothin’ you ain’t good with. Always tell me if you wanna stop. Promise me.”

Jensen nods, one violent shudder after another shaking him as he slowly forces his muscles to relax. God, why is he like this? What the hell is wrong with him?

“I mean it, darlin’,” Chris says, his voice staying low and even. “I do. How you think I’d feel if I found out you did somethin’ just to make me feel good and you didn’t even wanna? That ain’t sexy. That ain’t what I want. I’d never want that, baby. I’d feel like a goddamn bastard.”

“You weren’t doing anything! I just…” Jensen squeezes his eyes tighter. He’s making Chris’s neck wet. “I don’t know what happened.”

Chis sighs. He strokes Jensen’s back. His hands are so warm and gentle, they make Jensen shiver all over again. “You do, sweetheart. You do know what happened. It happened to you. It happened to you so goddamn often you can’t imagine it any different than hurtin’. So damn much.”

Jensen hitches his breath. “I’m sorry. It was supposed to be nice and I ruined-”

“No. No.” Chris lifts his head and kisses his shoulder. “Never say that. I told you. It ain’t your fault. You weren’t ready. It’s alright. Even if you never feel ready, it’s all alright. I’d rather have you safe and happy than ever have sex again.”

“You love sex,” Jensen sniffles.

“I love you more,” Chris says and strokes Jensen’s hair, rocking him gently as his eyes grow steadfastly heavier.

Chris is making coffee, bleary eyed, when Jensen shuffles out of the bedroom. He stops, hovering in the doorway for a moment, looking unsure, like he’s thinking of turning around and go hide in his room. Chris throws him a smile and reaches out his hand, crooking his fingers. Jensen bites his lip then ambles the rest of the way, straight into Chris’s arms, ducking his head to bury his face in Chris’s hair. Chris hums, stroking Jensen’s head, his back, kissing his cheek. “You get enough sleep?” he asks softly, not mentioning that he’s running on nothing but worries himself.

Jensen nods. He steps back, swiping the back of his hand over his lips, like he’s afraid he’s left drool at the corner of his mouth. He still won’t look Chris in the eye.

“Coffee before or after showering?”

Jensen eyes the coffee machine. It’s still got some minutes to go. “After, I guess,” he mumbles and turns away. He stops when Chris catches his wrist, turning reluctantly around when Chris tugs him closer.

“You alright?” Chris asks, pushing Jensen’s hair away from his face. Jensen stares stubbornly at the floor. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m fine,” Jensen says abruptly. “Can I go shower? Please.”

Chris lets him reluctantly go and watches as Jensen makes his way into the bathroom, still shuffling, like his feet are too heavy to lift properly. The lock slipping into place sounds loud and accusing.

Chris sighs. Okay. It’s okay. It was to be expected.

He turns back to the coffee machine. Watches the coffee drip until he can’t stand it anymore and pulls the carafe free, filling up his mug before putting the carafe back to finish. Then goes to sit on the couch, pretending to read one of the guitar books Jensen borrowed from the library as he slowly sips his coffee and waits.

When Jensen comes back out, freshly showered and dressed in sweats and a hoodie, he looks steadier, his shoulders not quite as hunched, but his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. Chris’s heart clenches. “There’s coffee,” he says with a brief smile, waving at the counter. “Mind fillin’ me up, darlin’?”

Jensen comes over to refill Chris’s mug, and this time, when Chris looks up with a smile, Jensen meets his eyes and even smiles a little back though it looks tired and dejected. He takes the carafe back then returns, sitting down on the couch, pulling his feet up and leaning into Chris’s side, his own coffee mug cradled in his hands. Chris puts his arm around him, pulling him closer. For a while they just sit there, sipping their coffee, not saying anything.

Jensen finally sighs and puts his empty mug away, then rubs a hand over his face, as if to check it’s dry.

“I wanted it,” he mutters, stiffening when Chris sighs, even if he didn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t know what he meant, he just needed to breathe out. “I did. I was ready.”

Chris puts his mug down on the coffee table. “Sweetheart…”

Jensen shakes his head. “No. I’m not…” The loud swallow sounds painful. “I’m not damaged.”

“’Course not, darlin’,” Chris says gently. “But I think maybe you need a bit more time. And that’s alright. We’re in no hurry.”

“I was ready,” Jensen repeats but this time he sounds more forlorn than defensive. “I was. I wanted it. I’d been looking forward-” He blinks his eyes but not before a tear manages to slip free. “Fuck.”

Chris swipes the tear away with his thumb, feeling sad but not surprised when Jensen won’t meet his eyes. “Darlin’, listen to me. You couldn’t have known that would happen. Brains ain’t rational when it comes to these things, they work on gut feelings. And this time,” Chris says and kisses him softly, “your gut told you to stop ‘cause you were afraid you’d hurt me. Because you love me. How can I be mad ‘bout that?”

“My gut is fucking stupid,” Jensen mutters. When Chris chuckles Jensen’s lips twitch a little upwards before turning down again. “You looked like you were hurting,” he says quietly.

Ah. “Well, I can’t help what my face looks like, but I promise you, darlin’, I weren’t.”

“You looked like you were hurting,” Jensen repeats like he didn’t hear him. “And when I meant to put my fingers in you all I could think of…” He hitches his breath. “It hurt. It hurt so much. Every time.”

If Chris ever finds any of those goddamn fuckers, he’ll fucking kill them. “I know,” he soothes, pressing his lips into Jensen’s hair to hide the hatred he just knows is burning in his eyes. “I know, baby.” Then rocks Jensen gently while his breaths blow harsh and shallow into the crook of Chris’s neck.

Maybe they went about this the wrong way. Showing Jensen that other people enjoy something he only knows as being painful probably won’t do much to elevate his fears. Not if he can’t imagine it not hurting, can’t associate anything being put in there with other than pain. But honestly, Chris can’t see them being able to do it the other way either. Sure, Chris had tongued him but that’s different. Few things softer than a tongue. Fingers are hard, bony, and rough with callouses and fingernails, and they reach further in. They can do as much damage as a dick, even more, if you’re enough of a bastard. Chris suspects Jensen knows that from experience.

“Sweetheart,” he says, keeping his voice soft and low. “I think maybe we better put it on hold. Not forever,” he quickly adds when Jensen stiffens in his arms. “Just ‘til you’ve had some time to work through your troubles. I’m good with what we have. Don’t you like what we have?”

“You mean kissing and all that?” Jensen mumbles into his neck.

Chris smiles. “I mean kissin’ and touchin’ and lickin’ and suckin’ and…” He laughs when Jensen squirms. “Yeah, all that. Plenty of stuff we can do that don’t include that area. We’ll just declare it off limits for now, how’s that?”

Jensen’s whole body flushes warm. “Maybe.”

He keeps silent for a while as Chris continues to rock him gently in his arms, humming as he thinks about all the things he wants to do to Jensen, wants to do for Jensen.

“I didn’t mind…” Jensen says suddenly, his face burning hot in the crook of Chris’s neck. “You know, when you, you know… with your tongue. I didn’t mind that.”

Chris’s smile is so wide it hurts his cheeks. “That’s good, ‘cause that’s one of my favourite things.”

“Still don’t know how you can do that,” Jensen mutters. “What if I fart in your face?”

Chris laughs. “My nose ain’t that delicate I can’t stand a little smell.”

“Eugh,” Jensen says but some of the tension seems to be leaking out of him. “Still weird.”

“All sex’s kinda weird when you think of it,” Chris says. “Me puttin’ my tongue in your ass ain’t much different than you puttin’ your dick in my mouth. Or kissin’? Lickin’ each other’s tongues like that? Can’t tell me that ain’t weird.” He grins when he feels Jensen shake with silent laughter. “It’s all just different parts of one body connectin’ with another. Only difference is taste, really. Love the taste of your ass, just so you know. Love the taste of your dick, too. All of you taste delicious.”

Jensen snorts. He turns in Chris’s arms so he can kiss him on the mouth, with just a hint of tongue before he pulls back, grimacing. “Well, now I’m thinking of how weird all that licking is,” he says with a hint of annoyance. “Fuck you, man.”

“We can stop,” Chris offers and laughs when Jensen scowls at him before attacking his mouth with his lips, tongue and teeth, mixing their tastes of coffee, one black, the other laced with sugar.

Jensen picks at the hole in his jeans, showing a pale, faintly freckled knee. He’s filled out the questionnaire, which took forever, and now he’s just waiting for her to finish reading it over. He shifts in his seat, his stomach twisting slightly tighter. She said it was all confidential and if she’s gonna be a bitch about any of the stuff he wrote, he’d rather know now than later.

“Okay, that’s good. So, how about we start with you telling me a bit about yourself.”

He squirms. “Ain’t much to tell. Born and raised in Texas. Moved here a few months ago.” He stops, nibbling at the inside of his lower lip. It’s starting to get sore and he lets it go. Starts in on the other side instead.

“Okay,” she says after a long awkward silence. “We’ll start with that. Texas, huh? Big city? Rural? Suburbs?”

“Small town,” Jensen mutters. He’s regretting this already. What the hell does it matter where he came from? Aren’t they supposed to be talking about what’s wrong with him now? “Fucking shithole.”

“Not fond memories?” He doesn’t answer, just looks away. “Alright,” she concedes. “Small town. That can be challenging. Did you get along with your folks?”

“Not particularly, no,” he huffs then adds, feeling guilty, “My mama’s alright.”

“Okay. And your dad? How would you describe your relationship?”

Jensen winces as his teeth cut into the tender flesh of his lip. Fuck, ow. “Heavy,” he mutters, running his tongue cautiously over the cut. It stings like a motherfucker.

“Emotionally?”

He rolls his eyes. Emotions are not exactly something he associates with his old man. “That too, yeah, sure.”

She nods slowly. “He's physically violent?”

Jensen stills. He hadn’t realized she’d make that jump but of course, he’d basically told her. He feels hot in his chest, his stomach. He doesn’t want to be here. He just really wants to go. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Okay,” she allows. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” he snarks. “You’re the expert.”

She just nods. “I am. So, tell me, why are you here, Jensen?”

He shifts in his seat, tapping his knee with his fingers. “Because my… my friend told me to.”

“Alright. Why does your friend think you need therapy?”

Jensen stares up at the ceiling. Swallows. “I don’t like going out. Like on my own. That’s all.” He shifts his gaze to her, glares. “He thinks that’s a problem but it’s not. I’m not agoraphobic or whatever. I’m not afraid the sky’s gonna drop down on me or something. I just like staying in.”

“Okay.” She notes something down that he wishes he could read. “You’ve always liked staying in, more than going out?”

Her neutral acceptance takes the wind somewhat out of his angry sails. “No. I don’t know,” he mumbles, gnawing on his lip, forgetting the cut, again. He winces when it reopens, leaving a taste of blood on his tongue. “I mean, I wasn’t really… Not back home. It wasn’t…” He looks away. “I had a place.”

“Okay. What kind of place?”

“Was just a place.” He runs his tongue over the cut again. Ow. “Abandoned house.”

She looks intrigued. “Was it nice?”

He grimaces, remembering the dusty floorboards, the dead wasps covering every surface. The rats in the basement. “Not really, no.”

“So why did you go there?”

He bites his lip. Upper, this time. “I guess ‘cause it was just for me. No one else knew about it.”

“It made you feel safe?”

“I guess.” Although he hated the rats. And the wasps. And the spiders. But at least it didn’t have people.

“You didn’t feel safe at home?”

He shoots her a look. They’d agreed not to talk about that!

“Okay.” She taps her pen on the clipboard, studying him in a way that makes him want to crawl under the small coffee table with its big box of Kleenex. “Now, I don’t know what it was like in your town,” she says finally, “but I’m guessing there were some places for kids to go. Playgrounds, malls, riverbanks? Places like that. You didn’t go there?”

He starts to pull up his knees then remembers he’s wearing sneakers and slides his feet awkwardly back down on the floor. “No.”

“What about friends? Were there no friends you could hang out with?”

“No. There was no one,” he snaps. “Can we move on? What the fuck does it matter anyway? I don’t fucking live there anymore.” A drop of sweat starts trickling down his back.

“We’re trying to figure out why you don’t like going outside, remember?” she says patiently.

“Because it’s full of assholes, okay?” he grits out. “I don’t- I just don’t see the point.”

“Fresh air?” she suggests with a small smile. “Exercise? A change of scenery?”

“It’s not-!” He forces himself to take a breath. “It’s not worth it.”

“Worth what?” she asks, leaning slightly forward, as if to encourage him.

He clenches his jaw. “It’s not worth the risk.”

She studies him. “The world is a scary place,” she acknowledges.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares stubbornly at his hands.

“Were you bullied back home?”

He closes his eyes. Presses his teeth into his upper lip.

“Did they beat you?”

He bites hard. Blood fills his mouth.

“Jensen, were you assaulted?”

He stands up and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

Chris is waiting in the truck outside, dozing off against the window, startling awake when the passenger door slams shut. “Oh, hey.” He frowns. “Damn, son, what happened?”

“What?”

Chris reaches over and wipes his thumb over Jensen’s lower lip. It comes away bloody. Shit.

“Nothing. I just bit my lip. Can we go?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Wait.” Chris pulls an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket. “Spit it wet and clean yourself some. Does it hurt?”

Jensen shrugs. He spits pink into the hankie and wipes at his mouth. There’s more blood than he thought. Probably looks like a damn zombie.

Chris is watching him. He still hasn’t turned the ignition. The silence is deafening. “Thought you’d be longer in there,” he finally says. “Everythin’ go alright?”

Jensen scowls. “I’m not going back.”

Chris sits up, instantly on alert. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just a waste of time,” Jensen mutters. When Chris keeps looking at him, he spits out, “I’m not talking about my fucking childhood with some lady I don’t even know!”

“Ah.” Chris breathes out and sits back. Jensen mentally rolls his eyes. What was Chris planning on doing, beat that lady up? Sometimes his whole caveman act is just fucking ridiculous.

“Darlin’, therapy’s like that. All about how your parents fucked you up. It’s standard shit.”

Jensen’s jaw is so tense his molars hurt. “I don’t care. She’s asking about stuff she has no business knowing.”

Chris looks over at him. His eyes turn soft and sad, which only makes Jensen feel more pissed off. Like, fuck you, I don’t need your fucking pity! “The stuff you told me about?” Chris asks gently.

Jensen breathes in slowly, nostrils flaring. “Did you tell her?” he accuses as it suddenly occurs to him.

Chris sighs. “Sweetheart, you think I’d do that?”

“You told Steve,” Jensen reminds him, feeling oddly satisfied when Chris winces.

“Okay, yeah. I deserve that. I’m sorry, sweetheart. But no, I didn’t tell her. I’ve never even talked to her.” He frowns. “But I did tell my therapist. I guess they might have discussed it when she was lookin’ for someone to take you on. I don’t know. She knew?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.” Jensen’s anger deflates a little. “No. She just… I maybe said something that made her ask,” he admits.

Chris nods. “Bit early goin’ there though. Usually they ease you into it.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Jensen mutters. “And I’m not going back.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want, darlin’.” Chris puts the truck in gear. “Gonna have to talk about all that stuff eventually,” he adds as he checks the side mirror for the traffic to ease up. “Only way to start feelin’ better.”

“Yeah?” Jensen bites back. “Like you talk about them fine folks fucking you?”

Chris freezes, his knuckles turning white where they clutch the wheel.

Shit! Why the hell did he say that? “I’m sorry! Chris, I’m sorry.”

Chris licks his lips, eyes blinking rapidly. “How you know ‘bout that?”

Jensen hesitates. “Uh, you told me?”

“I…” Chris frowns, shaking his head. “What?”

“When you were…” Jensen swallows. His own anger is gone. Evaporated. Now he just feels like shit. “That time you got sick,” he says quietly. “When Steve stayed over. You were pretty out of it but… you told me about, about them fine folks using you.” He lays a hand on Chris’s arm and feels a fine tremor under his palm, like a soft vibration. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown that back at you like that. I’m a fucking jerk. Chris, please.”

“I’m okay.” Chris says. His voice sounds flat, almost robotic. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. And you’re not. And I’m really, really sorry. Chris, can you please look at me?”

Chris closes his eyes and for a moment Jensen is terrified he’s triggered him, that he’s become lost in that awful place again, but after a moment Chris shudders and open his eyes, looking over at him with a tired smile. “I’m okay, darlin’. Just surprised me, is all. I don’t remember…” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Goddammit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Chris looks heavenward, breathing in deeply. “It’s just… I never talk about that shit.”

“Maybe you should.”

Chris looks over, raising his eyebrows. “Glass houses, darlin’.”

Jensen scowls. “Right back at ya.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it, alright?” Chris puts the blinker on and checks the mirror again before swinging into traffic. “And don’t give up on that lady just yet. Sleep on it, then decide.”

“Whatever.” Like hell he’s going back. No matter what Chris says.

“Listen, I don’t wanna talk about any of that family stuff,” Jensen says in a rush as soon as he drops into the couch, one week later. “That’s not what I’m here for, okay? So just… leave it.”

She picks up her clipboard, balancing it on her crossed knee, pen resting between her fingers. Studying him in a way that makes him want to run straight out again. “Hello, Jensen,” she says, “Welcome. How are you?”

His face grows hot. His mother would be appalled at his bad manners. “Hi. I’m fine. Good. Whatever.”

She offers him a small smile. “Good.” She taps the pen against the clipboard. “Okay, let’s talk a bit more about why you’re here then. Why you don’t like going outside. Why do you think that is?”

“I told you. Ain’t nothing out there but assholes,” he dismisses.

“Right. But that was back home,” she says. “You’re not there anymore. Why are you still anxious?”

“There are assholes everywhere,” he points out, rather needlessly, he thinks.

She nods. “True. Have you had a run in with people like that after you moved here?”

“Some.” Jensen stares up at the ceiling. “I got jumped,” he says before he loses his nerve.

She puts down her pen. “Okay,” she says slowly, watching him. “Mugged?”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean, yeah, they took everything but my guitar. But that’s not why… No. They-” He stops abruptly. He can’t. “They beat me up,” he says instead. It’s not lying if it’s actually what happened. Just not all of it.

“Okay. Were they just some thugs looking for a fight or…?”

“Looking for fun’s more like it,” he mumbles, regretting it when she looks at him in question. “Not just me. They’ve been attacking… folks round where, where I’m staying. Guess they picked me for an easy target.”

“Because you were alone?”

“’Cause I’m…” He averts his eyes. “Because of how I look.”

“Huh.” She tilts her head, studying him. “What about your looks do you think they resented?”

“They said I looked like a fag. Like, like a sissy. That I needed…” He stops, swallows.

She doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to continue.

“They called me pretty,” he finally manages. “Like it was disgusting. Told me I had a mouth made for… you know.” His face is burning. “And then they… they proved it. Before beating the crap out of me.”

He covers his mouth with his fist. Laughs without meaning to. “Think they got mad I was so good at it,” he says. Mocks. “Think maybe that’s why they beat me so hard. They got so fucking mad. Thought they were, I don’t know, teaching me a lesson or something.” He laughs again. He just can’t seem to stop himself. “I mean, they weren’t to know I’d had some real good practice already. Plenty, plenty practice.” He laughs again but this time it sounds more like a sob, and he presses his fist into his mouth to shut himself up. Fuck. He takes a deep breath. Lets it out on a shaky exhale. “I thought they were gonna kill me,” he whispers.

“That must have been terrifying,” she says gently. He can’t look at her. “When was this?”

“A few months ago.” He sucks in air through his nose. It sounds wet, awful. “I was fine! I mean, I was fucked up, but I’ve had worse, you know. Lots worse. I should have been fine. But…” His breath hitches. “All that was back home. I thought… I thought it’d be different here.”

“You thought you were finally safe,” she says. “And then you weren’t.”

He pulls his knees up to bury his face in his arms, forgetting he’s not supposed to put his shoes up on the furniture. “It never stops. It never, ever stops!”

She keeps silent as he cries.

“You said you’d had worse,” she asks when his breathing finally slows down. “At home?”

He can’t answer.

“Did you mean the beating?” Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. “Or did you mean the sexual abuse?”

Jensen wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I gotta go. Sorry.” He stumbles to his feet and heads for the door.

“Jensen,” she calls after him, “did you mean both?”

He stops and looks back at her. Then he throws the door open and runs out.

Chris savors a small sip of whiskey, conscious that the single glass will have to last him until the break. It’s alright, he’s content watching Jensen on stage, strumming his beauty of a guitar, offering one song after another to his captivated audience. It’s another slow night, they have become a fan favorite and Jensen has admitted to preferring the quiet, soft atmosphere to his rockier performances. By now they’re three to one, at least, and even the livelier ones have more soft rock than hard.

He’s so quiet these days. Withdrawn. Cuddly and loving to the point of being clingy and Chris must admit, he doesn’t hate that. But he misses the cocky young kid from that first night. The way he’d stood on stage, knees shaking but so determined to prove them all wrong, to prove that he wasn’t just another pretty face, that he could be loud and brash and brazen, just they wait and see. He’s never quite gotten that back, after what happened. Not yet anyway. Chris wants to believe they’re working on it. Slowly.

Like therapy. That could be going better. Jensen’s only been a couple of times, storming out not even halfway through each session. It’s been weeks since last and Chris still hasn’t been able to convince him to go back.

Chris’s own therapy… Well, it is what it is. Necessary but no fun. He’s still not talking about… that. Has never mentioned it in all their years, so she doesn’t know and therefor never asks. He’s aware of the hypocrisy, every time he tells Jensen he’s there for him, for whatever he needs to talk about. It’s not the same. Chris already knows why he’s like this. Not gonna matter whether he talks about it or not. Whatever Jensen and Steve might think.

Some guy slips into the seat beside him, quick like lightning and Chris jerks away, furious. “What the hell you think you’re doin’, man? This is my damn table and I ain’t invitin’ you to sit down!”

The guy lifts his hoodie, bruised face glancing out from under it. “It’s me. Please. I need your help.”

Chris frowns. Then his eyes widen. “Lorna? Jesus! What the hell happened to you?”

He moves to gently touch her cheek, but she turns away, trembling lips twisting down. “Don’t.”

The fury is so swift he feels dizzy. “They get you? Them bastards?”

“I got them.”

Something touches his hip and he looks down to see a gun, hidden in the shadows under the table. Jesus! He grabs some napkins and quickly snatches the gun, shoving it under his shirt. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

“I need help,” she whispers. “Please. It’s not registered to me. I’ve wiped it clean. I just need to get it far, far away from me. Please!” She gazes at him, tears in her eyes, begging. Desperate.

Chris closes his eyes. Breathes deeply. Opens his eyes. “Tell me what happened,” he says, keeping his voice low. “What you do, go after’em?”

She scoffs, finally looking like the fierce woman he’s come to know and respect. “No! What the hell do you take me for? Suicidal?”

Chris would feel insulted if he wasn’t too busy freaking out. “No. Just askin’. So what happened?”

“The usual, I’m guessing. I was on my way home from here, last night, and those bastards, those motherfuckers…” She sucks in air through her nose, nostrils flaring. “They were waiting for me, right around the next block. Fucking ambushed me. Didn’t even have time to run before they beat me down in the dirt and, and started ripping my dress off.”

She falters, emotions rippling her face, and Chris gently pushes his drink over to her. She gulps it down, like it’s water.

“Was just lucky I had that tucked inside my coat,” she continues, voice hoarse, nodding her chin toward the gun, bulging Chris’s shirt. “Sure surprised them.” She chokes out a laugh, and wipes at her eyes. “I’d never even shot a gun before! I just pulled the trigger, again and again, and then I ran as fast as I fucking could in those damn heels. Didn’t even know if I’d hit’em until I saw the news this morning.” She sniffs, squaring her jaw. “One dead, two critical.”

Chris had seen the headline but hadn’t bothered reading the rest. Not like it’s news, people getting shot in this damn neighborhood.

She fixes her gaze on him, knuckles white where she grabs hold of his sleeve. “I swear I didn’t plan it! I’ve just been so scared. I’ve been so damn scared. Stole the gun off a kid that came to the clinic, drugged out of his mind. Been walking with it on me every time I leave here to get to my car. Always park away a bit in case someone from work drives by and recognizes it. And these streets are so dark.”

He nods, patting her hand. “I know. I know. It’s a damn disgrace.”

“Mr. Kane-”

“Chris, please.”

She smiles, grateful. “Chris. I know I asked you for help before but I swear, I never meant like this.” She starts trembling, fist covering her mouth. “It’s just… I don’t know where else to go.”

“Alright, alright.” He rubs a palm over his face. “Lemme think. I need to think.”

She sits silent as he panics, sweats, feeling the cool metal of the gun burning through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck! “I didn’t see you last night-”

“Yes!” she interrupts. “That’s good!”

He puts up his hand, shaking his head. “No, I just meant… I’m guessin’ you were dressed all nice and pretty?”

She nods, nervously licking her lips. “Fabulous as always,” she quips but her voice trembles. “You know it, baby.”

“Alright. So, chances are, if there were cameras, that’s who they caught.”

Her eyes go wide as her face turns ashen. “Oh Jesus. I didn’t even… They’re gonna recognize me!”

“No. Honey, they’re not. I mean…” He smiles at her. “I hate to say it, but you don’t look anythin’ like your fabulous self right now. I’mma guess this is how most people know you, outside these walls. Darlin’, I wouldna recognized you like this if I’d run into you anywhere but here.”

She tries but fails to smile. “Even if they caught my face?”

“Even if they caught your face. And look, with the wig, the dress, the heels, when bein’ your beautiful self? You walk differently, you move differently. There ain’t a thing they can take from those grainy recordings that’ll fit… this.” He waves a hand at her undescriptive masculine look. “Trust me. So, this is what we’ll do. I’mma take the gun and make sure they never find it. And you go home and play your other part, for as long as it takes for you to start feelin’ safe again. Or better yet, if you can, get out of town. Go visit someone. Or just move, somewhere you can be yourself. And never, ever think about any of this again.”

“I can’t ask this of you,” she says but she looks so relieved, Chris is afraid she’ll break down crying.

“You ain’t. I’m just tellin’ you what’s gonna happen.” He sits forward, fixing his gaze on her. “Lady, you did a good thing. No, you did,” he insists when she shakes her head, tears filling her eyes. “Them bastards, they weren’t ever gonna stop. And we’ve all been livin’ scared of’em for way too long. Thank you. Lorna, sweetie, you’ve saved my boy’s life. You have. And I’mma do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t suffer for it.”

She nods, sniffling. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

He nods and offers her a small smile. “Now, c’mon, I’ll walk you to the back door, make sure no one’s hangin’ around there smokin’. And then you go home, take a bath and work on what you’re gonna tell’em at work tomorrow to explain that bruise on your face.” He grins. “If you want we can visit some hick bar other side of town and I’ll pretend to smack you for insultin’ my woman.”

He’s glad to see her smile back, even if it’s wobbly. “You gonna put your sweet little thing in a dress to play that part?”

“Hey! My boy ain’t dressin’ up for no one but me.” He winks and she laughs, low and broken, but still, it’s something.

He slides out of the booth and tucks the gun under the waistband of his jeans, hiding it under his shirt. Then they make their way across the bar to the back door. He was right, she moves differently dressed like this, and not just because she’s hunched in on herself in fear. He never would have picked her out of a crowd as the woman who’s been coming to his bar for years. For one thing, she’s at least four inches shorter.

He watches her leave then trots up the alley stairs to the apartment. If the shooting happened last night, chances are the cops might come knocking on his door, as soon as tonight. Especially if they did catch her on surveillance camera and saw something that made them believe she belongs to his crowd. He’s not sure how, though, she looks like any woman from afar, if above average height, and he’ll bet she kept her head down when hurrying through the streets to her car. But to be safe he needs to get rid of the damn gun tonight.

Jesus, how the hell does one get rid of a gun? There’s no harbor nearby, no deep lake he can think of. Maybe he can go bury it in the desert. Or throw it in the sewers. Or…

Damn, he’d make a lousy criminal.

After some thought he changes into dark sweats and wraps the gun in a plastic bag. Then he sneaks out, gun burning hot in the pocket of his hoodie, and jogs along the dark city streets. Tomorrow is trash day; all he needs to do is make sure no dumpster divers or kids stumble over the fucking thing before pick-up. He finds an alley that has no security cameras that he can see, and flips open a dumpster. Finds a trash bag and opens it, shoving the gun inside, making sure to cover it well with slimy rotten food before retying the bag and throwing it back in. Slips out of the alley and keeps jogging another ten blocks, until he finds a public trashcan where he throws in the rubber gloves he’d been wearing. Then he keeps on jogging, head kept low, until he’s so turned around, he almost doesn’t find his way back home.

When he gets back, he’s surprised to discover it’s been less than an hour. It felt like a lifetime. He takes a quick shower, changes into different clothes, picks up the phone he left behind so the cops wouldn’t be able to track his movements, in case they can do that. Then he goes back downstairs, slipping into his seat just as Jensen jumps off the stage.

“Where were you?” Jensen asks as Chris waves at Matt to send over their usual drinks. “I was gonna ask you to come up and do a song with me, but you were gone.”

“Upstairs. Some drunk bastard spilled his drink all over me.” He accepts his second drink of the night from Danneel, making sure his smile is calm and relaxed, before sliding Jensen’s soda over to him. “Sorry, darlin’.”

“Oh. It’s okay.” Jensen takes a sip of his Coke. “That guy who was talking to you?”

Chris can’t help but smile at the kid’s badly hidden jealousy. “Yeah. Had to go change, after showin’ him politely out.”

“Polite? You?” Jensen snorts. He glances at Chris from under his bangs. “You were talking a long time.”

Chris sighs. “Darlin’, people who come here, sometimes they just need to talk. Life ain’t easy for queers this far south. You know that.”

Jensen looks down. “Yeah. Sorry.” He glances up at Chris again. “That why you look so worried? Think he’s gonna get hurt?”

Chris puts his arm around Jensen and pulls him close. “Nah, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Now, what’s that you say about a song?”

Jensen instantly lights up. “Or maybe two? Would you do two?”

“Darlin’,” Chris says and kisses him. “You know I’d do absolutely anythin’ for you.”

The cops don’t come. Not that night, not any nights after. Chris checks the news every hour, every day. One of the guys dies of his injuries; that makes two dead. Chris can’t say he’s sorry. There’s no update on the third. After two weeks with no leads, the story dies, just one more shooting in a city of too many gone unsolved. Chris can’t say he’s sorry about that either.

He doesn’t know how to tell Jensen he’s safe now without revealing Lorna’s secret. Finally he decides to tell a version of the truth, one he can live with. That he heard from someone at the bar that Jensen’s attackers had been part of a gang that got taken out by some rivals. That from what he’d heard at least two of them are dead and the third unlikely to survive. He feels bad about lying but he doubts the guy will come back on his own. Cowards like that, they don’t work solo. Besides, for all he knows the asshole actually is dead, or hopefully at least fucked up enough he can never hurt anyone ever again.

Jensen just stares at him once he’s done talking, lips pressed tight, eyes blinking rapidly. “So… they’re gone?” he finally says. His voice shakes. “They’re not coming back?”

“Not unless you believe in ghosts, son.” Chris takes Jensen’s hands in his, smiling at him. “And even then, I doubt they’re gonna be let out of Hell anytime soon.”

Jensen breathes in and lets it out with small shudder. “They’re really gone?” he says again, like he can’t quite believe it.

“They’re really gone.”

Jensen presses his fist to his mouth. His eyes keep blinking, turning wet and glittering until a couple of tears brim over. “There could be others,” he whispers.

Chris sighs. “Yeah, love. I know. The whole world is full of shitheads. But that don’t mean we let’em win. We don’t let’em strut around out there, free to be assholes, while we lock ourselves in our homes. We don’t make them our prison guards. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

Jensen doesn’t look entirely convinced but he nods. “Yeah. I think so.” He bites his lip. “Still don’t feel safe,” he admits.

“I get that.” Chris pulls him closer and kisses him softly on the cheek, hand stroking his hair. “That kinda fear don’t just disappear overnight. It’s gonna take time. But that’s alright, long as you remember you got more of a right to be out there than any fucker who thinks you don’t. You know I’m right. We fought a whole goddamn war about it.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “They put our kind right back in, you know? Freed us from the Nazis just so they could lock us up in their own fucking prisons.”

Chris grimaces. “Yeah, well, it was still about folks bein’ allowed to be who they are, just took’em a bit longer to see us as folks.” He pokes Jensen in the side, tickling him. “But I’m glad you’re usin’ those library trips for somethin’ other than music and sex ed. Maybe you could look up some books on cookin’, too.”

Jensen squirms, his body shaking with giggles. “Stop it!”

Chris instantly lets him go, even if Jensen looks a little disappointed, like he didn’t really mind being tickled to death. Doesn’t matter, they can’t be having separate rules, based on situations. He just won’t take that chance. Instead he pulls Jensen closer and kisses him until they both feel out of breath.

“So…” he says, giving Jensen a smile. “What you say we go celebrate? Drinks tonight, somewhere other than here?”

Jensen’s smile slips. “Where else than here is safe for us?”

“Sweetheart, there’s more to life than makin’ out in queer bars. People like us? They go drinkin’, they listen to music, they have fun with friends. Ain’t all queer friendly places, but we get by. We always have.” He sweeps Jensen’s hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. “It’s time you step out of this safe bubble. There’s a whole wide world out there and I want you to see it. And I want the world to see you.”

Jensen pulls away. “Cause I’m ‘pretty’?”

Chris sighs. “Cause you’re amazin’, sweetheart. You’re an amazin’ singer and you’re an amazin’ person. Alright? And sure, yeah, you’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen but hell if I want’em to see that! Your pretty looks are all mine.”

The smile that splits Jensen’s face lights up the whole room. “Yeah?”

Chris answer is to kiss Jensen again until they both decide going outside can wait, they’ve got plenty to celebrate right there.

Continued here.