To Better Suit Your Moves -- part 4
Part 3
“No!” Jared growled, dropping his frame to run a hand through his hair. “The count is two-three-chachacha, not one-two. You’re jumping it.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jensen muttered, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath in.
“Don’t fully transfer your weight either, keep some on the supporting foot. And keep your knees straight. You don’t rise and fall with the cha cha. Hips can swing, but knees don’t bounce. Try it again.”
Jared counted off, did the first step, then Jensen joined him - again jumping the beat. “Agh! Sorry,” he apologized again before Jared could get mad at him.
Jared huffed out a sigh. “Let’s take a break.” He walked off the floor and grabbed his water bottle, draining half of it in one go. The afternoon’s heat hadn’t fully dissipated, and despite all the fans the studio was rather sweltering. Keeping his back turned to Jensen, he watched in the mirror as Jensen shuffled a few steps to himself, sighed, then walked over to the bench to strip off his shirt.
Jared’s mouth went dry. How the hell had he failed to notice that? True, Jensen had been wearing baggy shirts and track pants at every practice, but given how much close proximity dancing required, one would think Jared would have realized what was hiding under there. Maybe it was because he’d assumed Jensen to have the skinny lean-cut frame that normally prompted wearing such clothes as to hide it.
But damn, was he wrong. Why the hell had Jensen been hiding that body?
He was slender, yes, but in no way skinny. Jared had already known he had good muscle definition on his arms, but had no idea it continued under his shirt. Not sharply cut like a body-builder, but smooth and strong, allowing effortlessly fluid body movement. Like a sculptor’s vision of the ideal Adonis. Jared eyed the shifting musculature under golden freckled skin with hungry eyes as Jensen used the shirt to dab at the sweat dripping down his face and neck.
He wanted his lips to chase that one drop of sweat as it rolled down from his nape, down strong shoulders to the small of his back . . .
What the fuck was wrong with him? Jared shook himself, slightly breathless and uneasy at his train of thought. Distracted, he slid his own shirt off to try and dry himself off, but the shirt was already too damp to be useful as a towel. He’d always had a tendency to sweat heavily, and the day’s heat was only contributing. Maybe, if Jensen didn’t mind, they could just leave their shirts off . . .
Jared whipped his shirt back on before he could follow that dangerous train of thought.
“Oh shit!” Jensen exclaimed from across the room. Jared turned, both happy and not to see that Jensen had his shirt back on too. Jensen was grimacing at his phone. “Sorry, I totally forgot. Chris and Steve have this thing tonight at the house, and I promised I’d be there. I’m gonna have to leave in about 30 minutes.”
“Sure, right, not a problem,” Jared nodded, swallowing. Yes, cutting today short would be a good thing. A little bit of separation, get out of the heat, cool down, and he would stop thinking that way about Jensen. Who was his friend. And a guy.
Jensen shrugged, meeting Jared’s eyes in apology, but then his gaze dropped down off his face. His cheeks flushed a bit, and he wetted his lips in what seemed to be a nervous habit. Jared looked down at himself - had he spilled something? No, there was nothing on his shirt, just damp cotton clinging to him like a clammy blanket . . .
Wait a second . . . Jared flicked his eyes back to Jensen, who continued to stare at his torso for a moment before realizing what he was doing. Eyes widened as his whole face flamed, and he spun around, keeping his back to Jared while he lurched for his water bottle. “So, um, cha cha?”
Jared couldn’t help a grin. Jensen had been checking him out. “Sure,” he agreed easily. “Let’s see if I can break your bad habit of jumping the beat.”
It took almost the full half hour before Jensen was finally keeping the right time. Jared kept his eyes on him as they danced side by side, arms up as if dancing with imaginary partners. “Good, good, now you’re getting it.”
Jensen smiled, and Jared’s heart flipped. At least, that’s what it felt like. Maybe it was indigestion. Those burritos for lunch had looked a little suspicious.
“Now I really gotta go. Chris will never let me live it down if I’m late because I was doing the cha cha,” he teased, shaking his hips exaggeratedly.
Jared somehow manfully resisted the urge to smack that wiggling ass and nodded. “All right, see you tomorrow.” He watched Jensen leave, then collapsed on a chair and sighed. Maybe Chad would be up for a night of drinking, because Jared sure as hell wanted to get drunk tonight.
Somehow that didn’t happen. Chad didn’t answer his phone, neither did Jeff, and Jared hated to drink alone. He thought about calling Sam, but she’d been so tense about the partner situation that Jared had been avoiding her whenever possible. No way was he calling Alona - that girl was an aggressive drunk, and though tiny, packed one hell of a punch.
So instead of trying to drown his troubles, Jared found himself wandering down the streets, thinking. About Adrianne, about dancing, about life . . . but mostly about Jensen. About the way he felt whenever they were together, especially when they danced together, and that day’s uncomfortable reaction.
Was it just a physical thing? Jared hadn’t been with a girl in . . . way too long to think about, and hadn’t dated for even longer. There was Sandy for a while in high school, but that just didn’t work out. Kimberley, who he met at the Dallas Amateur Open a few years back, and they spent a giddy few months together before they realized they wanted different things. Adrianne had been a possibility, but they’d settled on being good friends and dance partners.
Which admittedly was a relief. Jared knew how messy a dance relationship could get if there were other stresses on the couple. In his experience, it was easier to dance together if they were either seriously committed or platonic friends. Dating couples could be a dancing powder keg. Some made it work and they were the better for it, but others . . . when a bomb like that goes off, a lot of people get caught in the explosion.
Maybe it was just physical. Jared was young and energetic, and celibate. Never a good combination. There were a couple of local dance clubs he could go to, maybe find some pretty girl to dance a little with, talk a bit over a couple drinks, and maybe . . .
But if it was just physical, why did that option sound totally unappealing? Why, when he thought about dancing with someone for fun in a crowded smoky club, did he picture Jensen? Hands on his hips, pressed chest to chest, moving together to the beat . . .
Okay, enough of that. Jared blew out a hard breath and ran his hands over his face. He was so totally screwed.
And apparently his feet agreed with his mind’s belated conclusion, because when he looked up he realized he was standing on Jensen’s street, his house just a few doors down. Jared could hear music coming from that direction, and he hesitated, looking back. Logically, he should turn around and go home. He should go do something, anything, that didn’t involve thinking about Jensen anymore. He should . . .
He was walking up to the house before he could convince himself of what he should do. The front rooms looked dim through the windows, but laughter, voices, and music came from the back yard. Feeling a little silly and not a little bit stalkerish, Jared crept along the wraparound porch to peek into the backyard.
The party was in full swing, with a handful of guests milling around chattering, drinks in hand. Coolers overflowing with soda cans and beer bottles sat propped open along the porch. A table covered in food was being picked over, and a guy with long dark hair manned the grill just a little ways away, the tangy smell of roasted meat making Jared’s mouth water.
Jensen sat on the edge of the porch not far from Jared, one leg dangling over the edge, the other curled under him. He cradled a guitar in his lap, fingers moving almost lovingly over the strings as he played around with a couple little tunes. Another man, this one with wavy blond hair brushing his shoulders, came over with his own guitar to sit next to him. He nudged Jensen with his shoulder, grinning. “You wanna?”
The people nearby made some encouraging noises, but Jensen shook his head. “C’mon man, it’ll be fun.” The man nodded at someone in the crowd. “It’s Jason’s party. Hey Jason, you wanna hear us sing?”
“Of course!” came the prompt answer, and Jensen snorted.
“Traitor,” he muttered, but without any real heat to it. “Fine. Steve, you start.” He elbowed the guy - Steve - who obligingly scooted back to give them some space before settling his own guitar across his lap. He started strumming, and Jensen quickly joined in on the apparently well-known song. Jared found himself leaning forward, fingers clutching the side of the house.
“Speak to me, quietly and clearly,” Steve sang, voice a little rough, warm and low, curling like wood smoke through the air. Jensen nodded his head as they played together, eyes falling half-shut, then joined in singing on the chorus, softly crooning, “Come ‘round more, Alabama. You should come around more Alabama, ‘cause it might just be the right time for you and me.”
Jared fixated immediately on his voice, the whiskey-raw sound that hit and burned his stomach just like he’d taken a shot. Watched his fingers caress the strings, the cock of his wrist, the way those lips formed the words, tongue darting out to lick at them in between verses . . .
Jared swallowed hard, suddenly hanging on to the side of the house for dear life, because if he let go, he’d either collapse or . . . well, that part was a little hazy, but it had something to do with going right up to Jensen and finding out just what that voice tasted like.
Once the song finished, he took a huge gulp of air, panting as if he hadn’t been breathing through the whole thing. Then again, maybe he hadn’t, in order to hear better. He ducked back around the corner and leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath and his sanity. Shit. If he wasn’t screwed before, he sure as hell was now.
He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. He turned, intending to leave, but found someone standing there, glaring at him with piercing blue eyes. The guy’s dark haired head barely came up to Jared’s chin, but he radiated such menace that Jared involuntarily took a step back. The guy advanced on him, clearly in an ass-whipping mood.
“Who are you? What’re you doing here?” he spat, grabbing the front of Jared’s shirt and hauling him forward. Jared sputtered, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t result in blood or broken bones. Blue eyes flicked past Jared’s shoulder then hardened even further. He spun Jared around and shoved, nearly sending him ass over tea kettle across the porch. “What the hell you think you’re doin’, asshole? Get outta here ‘fore I fill your ass fulla buckshot!”
People had started rounding the corner at the first shout, and now half the party was on the porch, watching with wide eyes as the guy advanced on Jared, fists clenched. “Wait!” Jared blurted out, desperate. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“
“Jared?” Jensen ducked around a couple people and looked at Jared, surprised.
The guy doing the impersonation of a growling guard dog shot a look at Jensen. “Jenny, you know this guy?”
“Yeah, Chris, I do. It’s Jared.”
“Did ya know he’d taken to stalking you?” Chris challenged, still casting suspicious glances at Jared.
“Not so much, no.” Jensen rolled his eyes at his friend, stepping closer. “Back off, Chris. Jared’s no stalker. We dance together.”
Chris raised his eyebrows at that, the aggressive frown shifting to a wicked smirk. “Really?” he drawled, “What kinda dance you do so late at night?”
Jared flushed, and was almost pleased to see Jensen do the same thing. Jensen cleared his throat and growled, “Shuddup.” He waved at the people behind him. “Go back to the party, nothin’ more to see here, people. Excitement’s over.” Slowly the guests drifted back, many looking back curiously but not resisting the call of more beer and food. Soon it was just Jared, Jensen, and Chris standing there eyeing each other.
Jensen cocked his head in question, raised eyebrows asking the question wordlessly. Jared shrugged, hands fidgeting at his sides, coming up to cross his chest but realizing how defensive it looked he stopped and dropped his arms again. How could he explain what he was doing here, when he didn’t even really know himself. Apart from a subdued desire for Jensen’s company, to be near him, he really had no reason for lurking outside his house.
Finally Chris broke the awkward silence. “So, this is the guy you’ve been yapping about for weeks.” He clapped Jensen on the shoulder playfully. “Well Jenny, at least you know how to pick ‘em pretty.”
“Chris,” came the growled warning, but Chris ignored it to walk up to Jared, clearly appraising.
“So, Jenny here tells us you’re some kind of dance champion. Serious hot stuff on the hard wood.” Jared nodded, filing the blatantly teasing look Chris shot at Jensen and Jensen’s answering blush and scowl away for further speculation. Chris thumped his bicep before grabbing his shoulder and leading him towards the party. “Excellent! Seems to me you’re perfect for starting the dancing tonight.”
“Wh-what?” Jared stumbled, uncomfortable at being dragged around by a guy a full head shorter than him. “Dancing? What?”
“Chris, don’t,” Jensen tried, following them, but Chris ignored them both as they emerged into the open back yard. Curious eyes fixated immediately on them, and Chris grinned broadly as they approached a clear area of the broad hardwood deck.
“Alright, ladies and gents. This here’s Jared. He’s one of the best dancers in Texas, at least according to some people,” his eyes flicked over to Jensen again before returning to the growing audience. “So I figger who better than to show us how it’s done?”
Cheers and whistles went up, hollered encouragements and some scattered applause. Jared looked out at the faces of strangers and tried not to show how nervous he was. And what was up with that? He danced in front of a few hundred strangers all the time, so there was no reason why a couple dozen made butterflies take up swing dancing in his stomach.
Then his gaze caught Jensen, standing to the side with his arms crossed, glaring at Chris as he crossed over to the stereo hooked up to two large speakers. And suddenly the nerves made sense. “Wait a sec,” Jared called over to Chris, “What d’you want me to dance?”
Chris threw him a look over his shoulder. “We’re in Texas, boy. Only one good kinda dancin’ for a party like this.” His finger punched the play button, and immediately a twanging guitar boomed out from the speakers with a steady drum in the background. He grinned wide and white against a tanned face, doffing a well-worn black cowboy hat. “Line dancin’.”
Jared’s mouth went dry. Crap. He may be a dancer from Texas, but he’d only ever learned one line dance in his life. From the looks of things, these people wouldn’t be all that impressed with the Electric Slide. They watched him expectantly, already bobbing along to the music, a couple feet shuffling in place, but not moving to join him. Waiting.
Okay, he could do this. He had to. Swallowing down his nerves, he moved his feet in place, getting a feel for the rhythm. Maybe he could improvise . . .
Suddenly the music cut off, and Jared blinked. Jensen was at the stereo, shoving a CD in while cuffing Chris upside the head, dislodging the jauntily-placed hat. He turned to Jared with an encouraging smile as with a flurry of drums a more familiar sound blasted out of the speakers, and Jared let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
Grinning back at Jensen, Jared did a quick spin in place before moving into the easy rhythm of cha cha, letting the energy of Santana’s guitar pulse through him. Closing his eyes, he saw Jensen’s smile, the way his body had matched his so easily that afternoon, the sway of hips next to his, and let that memory transform into his steps.
Dancing solo was fine and all, but this needed a partner. Jared scanned over the crowd briefly, but while several of the girls looked willing and able, none of them would work. He pulled a hip twist spiral then slid across the deck to where Jensen was standing, holding out a hand enticingly. Jensen didn’t hesitate, placed his hand in Jared’s and let him pull him forward.
Cheers and whistles broke out as Jensen danced out with Jared back to the center of the floor, eyes locked and smirking. Jared smirked back, letting himself dance backward, giving Jensen the lead temporarily as they circled, suddenly feeling predatory. They didn’t touch, maintained a couple feet of distance between them, but very clearly danced together, responding to each other's movements.
And if you said, this life ain’t good enough
I would give my world to lift you up,
I could change my life to better suit your moves,
‘cause you’re so smooth
Jared stepped forward, foot next to Jensen’s, right up in his space with chests nearly touching. Jensen rolled his shoulder back, letting his whole body turn as Jared moved around him, remaining facing each other but never quite touching, even as Jared’s hands itched to grab Jensen’s hips, pull him closer like he would with a girl, let them grind together . . .
He backed off before the temptation got too great, but Jensen had clearly seen it and stalked right up into his face, playful fire in his eyes, hand on Jared’s chest pushing him back. Jared gave ground for a few beats before he grinned impishly, grabbing that hand and spinning Jensen around. Jensen’s mock outraged expression was nearly as funny as Chris’s laugh howling over the music.
Not one to stand for that, Jensen finished his turn, planted his feet, then twisted his arm with enough leverage that Jared was forced to spin, lest he end up in an armlock. Jensen then broke free, grinning widely as he danced back a few steps, and Jared couldn’t help but smile back.
The music ended, and everyone watching burst out into cheers and applause, some of the girls wolf-whistling for good measure. Jared took a deep, exaggerated bow then gestured to Jensen with a flourish, who bowed slightly with crimson cheeks. Chris stepped forward, shaking his head with amusement. “Not bad, Jenny, not bad at all.”
Jensen punched his shoulder. “Knock it off with the Jenny crap, Christian.”
Chris only cuffed him back, smirking. “Fine, Jensen. But now that your boy here’s done with the foreplay, how ‘bout we get to some real dancing?”
“Only if you join me,” Jensen challenged, eyes glinting.
Jared arched an eyebrow, making a show of looking Chris up and down. “Stumpy here can dance?”
“Better believe it,” Chris poked him hard in the chest, glaring. “Bet I could even teach you something, boy.” He stomped over to the stereo, punching buttons while muttering something to Steve, who laughed briefly before nodding, then elbowed the guys near him.
Jensen groaned. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”
“What?”
“Just watch. And you know they’re gonna make me lead ‘em.” Jensen heaved a long-suffering sigh, but it was ruined slightly by the chuckles that followed.
Jared nudged him. “Well, if they’re gonna put on a show, mind if I sit this one out and grab a beer?”
“Nah, go ahead. But watch close, ‘cause Chris is more’n likely to quiz you later.”
Jared headed for one of the coolers as six guys and four girls stepped forward onto the impromptu dance floor, Steve tugging at Jensen’s elbow. Jensen resisted just long enough to snag someone’s cowboy hat and tug it securely on his own head. Jared found a free chair and sat, letting his legs sprawl out comfortably. This promised to be a good show.
Chris cued up the music and came out to join them as Jensen nodded to the beat, clearly counting off. In time they all started together, a synchronized series of side steps, a quick forward, then a cross-step turn. Jared cocked his head, watching the steps, a flurry of feet in cowboy boots, sneakers, and sandals, all dancing in time. The steps themselves weren’t hard, but the combinations . . .
As the dance continued, Jared found his gaze drawn upwards from the feet and fixing on Jensen. Jensen, who had his hat tilted rakishly, thumbs hooked behind his belt buckle, and a crooked smile on his face as he glanced over at Chris before looking back at Jared. His bow-legs made it look like he was sauntering through the dance, confident and carelessly graceful, whole body almost screaming “cowboy.”
Jared took a long draught of cold beer, transfixed by the sight. It amazed him each time he could just watch Jensen dance, the way he fit himself to the music, let it tell a story, have attitude. Even the routine steps took on new meaning. Watching him waltz, one could easily imagine him in a tux, whisking a well-dressed lady around an opulent ballroom. Here, line dancing with a group of friends, Jared could picture him working on a ranch somewhere, bowlegged stride from sitting on a horse half the day, skin sun-dusted with even more freckles as strong hands twirled a lariat.
Huh. So that’s what Kim meant by musicality, what Jensen had been trying to teach him.
Jared leaned forward, bracing elbows on knees, letting the beer bottle dangle in his fingers as he watched, taking in all the details. Jensen tipped his hat and grinned at him, then laughed as Steve missed a step and nearly crashed into Chris, who dropped his hat and almost stepped on it. The girl beside them laughed, swiped up the hat and jammed it back on Chris’s head with a saucy wink, bumping him with her hip on the next turn.
His eyes met Jensen’s sparkling green ones. Now he got it. It’d never been so clear and obvious before - Jared wondered just how blind he’d been.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
part 5
“No!” Jared growled, dropping his frame to run a hand through his hair. “The count is two-three-chachacha, not one-two. You’re jumping it.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jensen muttered, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath in.
“Don’t fully transfer your weight either, keep some on the supporting foot. And keep your knees straight. You don’t rise and fall with the cha cha. Hips can swing, but knees don’t bounce. Try it again.”
Jared counted off, did the first step, then Jensen joined him - again jumping the beat. “Agh! Sorry,” he apologized again before Jared could get mad at him.
Jared huffed out a sigh. “Let’s take a break.” He walked off the floor and grabbed his water bottle, draining half of it in one go. The afternoon’s heat hadn’t fully dissipated, and despite all the fans the studio was rather sweltering. Keeping his back turned to Jensen, he watched in the mirror as Jensen shuffled a few steps to himself, sighed, then walked over to the bench to strip off his shirt.
Jared’s mouth went dry. How the hell had he failed to notice that? True, Jensen had been wearing baggy shirts and track pants at every practice, but given how much close proximity dancing required, one would think Jared would have realized what was hiding under there. Maybe it was because he’d assumed Jensen to have the skinny lean-cut frame that normally prompted wearing such clothes as to hide it.
But damn, was he wrong. Why the hell had Jensen been hiding that body?
He was slender, yes, but in no way skinny. Jared had already known he had good muscle definition on his arms, but had no idea it continued under his shirt. Not sharply cut like a body-builder, but smooth and strong, allowing effortlessly fluid body movement. Like a sculptor’s vision of the ideal Adonis. Jared eyed the shifting musculature under golden freckled skin with hungry eyes as Jensen used the shirt to dab at the sweat dripping down his face and neck.
He wanted his lips to chase that one drop of sweat as it rolled down from his nape, down strong shoulders to the small of his back . . .
What the fuck was wrong with him? Jared shook himself, slightly breathless and uneasy at his train of thought. Distracted, he slid his own shirt off to try and dry himself off, but the shirt was already too damp to be useful as a towel. He’d always had a tendency to sweat heavily, and the day’s heat was only contributing. Maybe, if Jensen didn’t mind, they could just leave their shirts off . . .
Jared whipped his shirt back on before he could follow that dangerous train of thought.
“Oh shit!” Jensen exclaimed from across the room. Jared turned, both happy and not to see that Jensen had his shirt back on too. Jensen was grimacing at his phone. “Sorry, I totally forgot. Chris and Steve have this thing tonight at the house, and I promised I’d be there. I’m gonna have to leave in about 30 minutes.”
“Sure, right, not a problem,” Jared nodded, swallowing. Yes, cutting today short would be a good thing. A little bit of separation, get out of the heat, cool down, and he would stop thinking that way about Jensen. Who was his friend. And a guy.
Jensen shrugged, meeting Jared’s eyes in apology, but then his gaze dropped down off his face. His cheeks flushed a bit, and he wetted his lips in what seemed to be a nervous habit. Jared looked down at himself - had he spilled something? No, there was nothing on his shirt, just damp cotton clinging to him like a clammy blanket . . .
Wait a second . . . Jared flicked his eyes back to Jensen, who continued to stare at his torso for a moment before realizing what he was doing. Eyes widened as his whole face flamed, and he spun around, keeping his back to Jared while he lurched for his water bottle. “So, um, cha cha?”
Jared couldn’t help a grin. Jensen had been checking him out. “Sure,” he agreed easily. “Let’s see if I can break your bad habit of jumping the beat.”
It took almost the full half hour before Jensen was finally keeping the right time. Jared kept his eyes on him as they danced side by side, arms up as if dancing with imaginary partners. “Good, good, now you’re getting it.”
Jensen smiled, and Jared’s heart flipped. At least, that’s what it felt like. Maybe it was indigestion. Those burritos for lunch had looked a little suspicious.
“Now I really gotta go. Chris will never let me live it down if I’m late because I was doing the cha cha,” he teased, shaking his hips exaggeratedly.
Jared somehow manfully resisted the urge to smack that wiggling ass and nodded. “All right, see you tomorrow.” He watched Jensen leave, then collapsed on a chair and sighed. Maybe Chad would be up for a night of drinking, because Jared sure as hell wanted to get drunk tonight.
Somehow that didn’t happen. Chad didn’t answer his phone, neither did Jeff, and Jared hated to drink alone. He thought about calling Sam, but she’d been so tense about the partner situation that Jared had been avoiding her whenever possible. No way was he calling Alona - that girl was an aggressive drunk, and though tiny, packed one hell of a punch.
So instead of trying to drown his troubles, Jared found himself wandering down the streets, thinking. About Adrianne, about dancing, about life . . . but mostly about Jensen. About the way he felt whenever they were together, especially when they danced together, and that day’s uncomfortable reaction.
Was it just a physical thing? Jared hadn’t been with a girl in . . . way too long to think about, and hadn’t dated for even longer. There was Sandy for a while in high school, but that just didn’t work out. Kimberley, who he met at the Dallas Amateur Open a few years back, and they spent a giddy few months together before they realized they wanted different things. Adrianne had been a possibility, but they’d settled on being good friends and dance partners.
Which admittedly was a relief. Jared knew how messy a dance relationship could get if there were other stresses on the couple. In his experience, it was easier to dance together if they were either seriously committed or platonic friends. Dating couples could be a dancing powder keg. Some made it work and they were the better for it, but others . . . when a bomb like that goes off, a lot of people get caught in the explosion.
Maybe it was just physical. Jared was young and energetic, and celibate. Never a good combination. There were a couple of local dance clubs he could go to, maybe find some pretty girl to dance a little with, talk a bit over a couple drinks, and maybe . . .
But if it was just physical, why did that option sound totally unappealing? Why, when he thought about dancing with someone for fun in a crowded smoky club, did he picture Jensen? Hands on his hips, pressed chest to chest, moving together to the beat . . .
Okay, enough of that. Jared blew out a hard breath and ran his hands over his face. He was so totally screwed.
And apparently his feet agreed with his mind’s belated conclusion, because when he looked up he realized he was standing on Jensen’s street, his house just a few doors down. Jared could hear music coming from that direction, and he hesitated, looking back. Logically, he should turn around and go home. He should go do something, anything, that didn’t involve thinking about Jensen anymore. He should . . .
He was walking up to the house before he could convince himself of what he should do. The front rooms looked dim through the windows, but laughter, voices, and music came from the back yard. Feeling a little silly and not a little bit stalkerish, Jared crept along the wraparound porch to peek into the backyard.
The party was in full swing, with a handful of guests milling around chattering, drinks in hand. Coolers overflowing with soda cans and beer bottles sat propped open along the porch. A table covered in food was being picked over, and a guy with long dark hair manned the grill just a little ways away, the tangy smell of roasted meat making Jared’s mouth water.
Jensen sat on the edge of the porch not far from Jared, one leg dangling over the edge, the other curled under him. He cradled a guitar in his lap, fingers moving almost lovingly over the strings as he played around with a couple little tunes. Another man, this one with wavy blond hair brushing his shoulders, came over with his own guitar to sit next to him. He nudged Jensen with his shoulder, grinning. “You wanna?”
The people nearby made some encouraging noises, but Jensen shook his head. “C’mon man, it’ll be fun.” The man nodded at someone in the crowd. “It’s Jason’s party. Hey Jason, you wanna hear us sing?”
“Of course!” came the prompt answer, and Jensen snorted.
“Traitor,” he muttered, but without any real heat to it. “Fine. Steve, you start.” He elbowed the guy - Steve - who obligingly scooted back to give them some space before settling his own guitar across his lap. He started strumming, and Jensen quickly joined in on the apparently well-known song. Jared found himself leaning forward, fingers clutching the side of the house.
“Speak to me, quietly and clearly,” Steve sang, voice a little rough, warm and low, curling like wood smoke through the air. Jensen nodded his head as they played together, eyes falling half-shut, then joined in singing on the chorus, softly crooning, “Come ‘round more, Alabama. You should come around more Alabama, ‘cause it might just be the right time for you and me.”
Jared fixated immediately on his voice, the whiskey-raw sound that hit and burned his stomach just like he’d taken a shot. Watched his fingers caress the strings, the cock of his wrist, the way those lips formed the words, tongue darting out to lick at them in between verses . . .
Jared swallowed hard, suddenly hanging on to the side of the house for dear life, because if he let go, he’d either collapse or . . . well, that part was a little hazy, but it had something to do with going right up to Jensen and finding out just what that voice tasted like.
Once the song finished, he took a huge gulp of air, panting as if he hadn’t been breathing through the whole thing. Then again, maybe he hadn’t, in order to hear better. He ducked back around the corner and leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath and his sanity. Shit. If he wasn’t screwed before, he sure as hell was now.
He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. He turned, intending to leave, but found someone standing there, glaring at him with piercing blue eyes. The guy’s dark haired head barely came up to Jared’s chin, but he radiated such menace that Jared involuntarily took a step back. The guy advanced on him, clearly in an ass-whipping mood.
“Who are you? What’re you doing here?” he spat, grabbing the front of Jared’s shirt and hauling him forward. Jared sputtered, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t result in blood or broken bones. Blue eyes flicked past Jared’s shoulder then hardened even further. He spun Jared around and shoved, nearly sending him ass over tea kettle across the porch. “What the hell you think you’re doin’, asshole? Get outta here ‘fore I fill your ass fulla buckshot!”
People had started rounding the corner at the first shout, and now half the party was on the porch, watching with wide eyes as the guy advanced on Jared, fists clenched. “Wait!” Jared blurted out, desperate. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“
“Jared?” Jensen ducked around a couple people and looked at Jared, surprised.
The guy doing the impersonation of a growling guard dog shot a look at Jensen. “Jenny, you know this guy?”
“Yeah, Chris, I do. It’s Jared.”
“Did ya know he’d taken to stalking you?” Chris challenged, still casting suspicious glances at Jared.
“Not so much, no.” Jensen rolled his eyes at his friend, stepping closer. “Back off, Chris. Jared’s no stalker. We dance together.”
Chris raised his eyebrows at that, the aggressive frown shifting to a wicked smirk. “Really?” he drawled, “What kinda dance you do so late at night?”
Jared flushed, and was almost pleased to see Jensen do the same thing. Jensen cleared his throat and growled, “Shuddup.” He waved at the people behind him. “Go back to the party, nothin’ more to see here, people. Excitement’s over.” Slowly the guests drifted back, many looking back curiously but not resisting the call of more beer and food. Soon it was just Jared, Jensen, and Chris standing there eyeing each other.
Jensen cocked his head in question, raised eyebrows asking the question wordlessly. Jared shrugged, hands fidgeting at his sides, coming up to cross his chest but realizing how defensive it looked he stopped and dropped his arms again. How could he explain what he was doing here, when he didn’t even really know himself. Apart from a subdued desire for Jensen’s company, to be near him, he really had no reason for lurking outside his house.
Finally Chris broke the awkward silence. “So, this is the guy you’ve been yapping about for weeks.” He clapped Jensen on the shoulder playfully. “Well Jenny, at least you know how to pick ‘em pretty.”
“Chris,” came the growled warning, but Chris ignored it to walk up to Jared, clearly appraising.
“So, Jenny here tells us you’re some kind of dance champion. Serious hot stuff on the hard wood.” Jared nodded, filing the blatantly teasing look Chris shot at Jensen and Jensen’s answering blush and scowl away for further speculation. Chris thumped his bicep before grabbing his shoulder and leading him towards the party. “Excellent! Seems to me you’re perfect for starting the dancing tonight.”
“Wh-what?” Jared stumbled, uncomfortable at being dragged around by a guy a full head shorter than him. “Dancing? What?”
“Chris, don’t,” Jensen tried, following them, but Chris ignored them both as they emerged into the open back yard. Curious eyes fixated immediately on them, and Chris grinned broadly as they approached a clear area of the broad hardwood deck.
“Alright, ladies and gents. This here’s Jared. He’s one of the best dancers in Texas, at least according to some people,” his eyes flicked over to Jensen again before returning to the growing audience. “So I figger who better than to show us how it’s done?”
Cheers and whistles went up, hollered encouragements and some scattered applause. Jared looked out at the faces of strangers and tried not to show how nervous he was. And what was up with that? He danced in front of a few hundred strangers all the time, so there was no reason why a couple dozen made butterflies take up swing dancing in his stomach.
Then his gaze caught Jensen, standing to the side with his arms crossed, glaring at Chris as he crossed over to the stereo hooked up to two large speakers. And suddenly the nerves made sense. “Wait a sec,” Jared called over to Chris, “What d’you want me to dance?”
Chris threw him a look over his shoulder. “We’re in Texas, boy. Only one good kinda dancin’ for a party like this.” His finger punched the play button, and immediately a twanging guitar boomed out from the speakers with a steady drum in the background. He grinned wide and white against a tanned face, doffing a well-worn black cowboy hat. “Line dancin’.”
Jared’s mouth went dry. Crap. He may be a dancer from Texas, but he’d only ever learned one line dance in his life. From the looks of things, these people wouldn’t be all that impressed with the Electric Slide. They watched him expectantly, already bobbing along to the music, a couple feet shuffling in place, but not moving to join him. Waiting.
Okay, he could do this. He had to. Swallowing down his nerves, he moved his feet in place, getting a feel for the rhythm. Maybe he could improvise . . .
Suddenly the music cut off, and Jared blinked. Jensen was at the stereo, shoving a CD in while cuffing Chris upside the head, dislodging the jauntily-placed hat. He turned to Jared with an encouraging smile as with a flurry of drums a more familiar sound blasted out of the speakers, and Jared let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
Grinning back at Jensen, Jared did a quick spin in place before moving into the easy rhythm of cha cha, letting the energy of Santana’s guitar pulse through him. Closing his eyes, he saw Jensen’s smile, the way his body had matched his so easily that afternoon, the sway of hips next to his, and let that memory transform into his steps.
Dancing solo was fine and all, but this needed a partner. Jared scanned over the crowd briefly, but while several of the girls looked willing and able, none of them would work. He pulled a hip twist spiral then slid across the deck to where Jensen was standing, holding out a hand enticingly. Jensen didn’t hesitate, placed his hand in Jared’s and let him pull him forward.
Cheers and whistles broke out as Jensen danced out with Jared back to the center of the floor, eyes locked and smirking. Jared smirked back, letting himself dance backward, giving Jensen the lead temporarily as they circled, suddenly feeling predatory. They didn’t touch, maintained a couple feet of distance between them, but very clearly danced together, responding to each other's movements.
And if you said, this life ain’t good enough
I would give my world to lift you up,
I could change my life to better suit your moves,
‘cause you’re so smooth
Jared stepped forward, foot next to Jensen’s, right up in his space with chests nearly touching. Jensen rolled his shoulder back, letting his whole body turn as Jared moved around him, remaining facing each other but never quite touching, even as Jared’s hands itched to grab Jensen’s hips, pull him closer like he would with a girl, let them grind together . . .
He backed off before the temptation got too great, but Jensen had clearly seen it and stalked right up into his face, playful fire in his eyes, hand on Jared’s chest pushing him back. Jared gave ground for a few beats before he grinned impishly, grabbing that hand and spinning Jensen around. Jensen’s mock outraged expression was nearly as funny as Chris’s laugh howling over the music.
Not one to stand for that, Jensen finished his turn, planted his feet, then twisted his arm with enough leverage that Jared was forced to spin, lest he end up in an armlock. Jensen then broke free, grinning widely as he danced back a few steps, and Jared couldn’t help but smile back.
The music ended, and everyone watching burst out into cheers and applause, some of the girls wolf-whistling for good measure. Jared took a deep, exaggerated bow then gestured to Jensen with a flourish, who bowed slightly with crimson cheeks. Chris stepped forward, shaking his head with amusement. “Not bad, Jenny, not bad at all.”
Jensen punched his shoulder. “Knock it off with the Jenny crap, Christian.”
Chris only cuffed him back, smirking. “Fine, Jensen. But now that your boy here’s done with the foreplay, how ‘bout we get to some real dancing?”
“Only if you join me,” Jensen challenged, eyes glinting.
Jared arched an eyebrow, making a show of looking Chris up and down. “Stumpy here can dance?”
“Better believe it,” Chris poked him hard in the chest, glaring. “Bet I could even teach you something, boy.” He stomped over to the stereo, punching buttons while muttering something to Steve, who laughed briefly before nodding, then elbowed the guys near him.
Jensen groaned. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”
“What?”
“Just watch. And you know they’re gonna make me lead ‘em.” Jensen heaved a long-suffering sigh, but it was ruined slightly by the chuckles that followed.
Jared nudged him. “Well, if they’re gonna put on a show, mind if I sit this one out and grab a beer?”
“Nah, go ahead. But watch close, ‘cause Chris is more’n likely to quiz you later.”
Jared headed for one of the coolers as six guys and four girls stepped forward onto the impromptu dance floor, Steve tugging at Jensen’s elbow. Jensen resisted just long enough to snag someone’s cowboy hat and tug it securely on his own head. Jared found a free chair and sat, letting his legs sprawl out comfortably. This promised to be a good show.
Chris cued up the music and came out to join them as Jensen nodded to the beat, clearly counting off. In time they all started together, a synchronized series of side steps, a quick forward, then a cross-step turn. Jared cocked his head, watching the steps, a flurry of feet in cowboy boots, sneakers, and sandals, all dancing in time. The steps themselves weren’t hard, but the combinations . . .
As the dance continued, Jared found his gaze drawn upwards from the feet and fixing on Jensen. Jensen, who had his hat tilted rakishly, thumbs hooked behind his belt buckle, and a crooked smile on his face as he glanced over at Chris before looking back at Jared. His bow-legs made it look like he was sauntering through the dance, confident and carelessly graceful, whole body almost screaming “cowboy.”
Jared took a long draught of cold beer, transfixed by the sight. It amazed him each time he could just watch Jensen dance, the way he fit himself to the music, let it tell a story, have attitude. Even the routine steps took on new meaning. Watching him waltz, one could easily imagine him in a tux, whisking a well-dressed lady around an opulent ballroom. Here, line dancing with a group of friends, Jared could picture him working on a ranch somewhere, bowlegged stride from sitting on a horse half the day, skin sun-dusted with even more freckles as strong hands twirled a lariat.
Huh. So that’s what Kim meant by musicality, what Jensen had been trying to teach him.
Jared leaned forward, bracing elbows on knees, letting the beer bottle dangle in his fingers as he watched, taking in all the details. Jensen tipped his hat and grinned at him, then laughed as Steve missed a step and nearly crashed into Chris, who dropped his hat and almost stepped on it. The girl beside them laughed, swiped up the hat and jammed it back on Chris’s head with a saucy wink, bumping him with her hip on the next turn.
His eyes met Jensen’s sparkling green ones. Now he got it. It’d never been so clear and obvious before - Jared wondered just how blind he’d been.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
part 5