.0122 - It Must Have Been the Mistletoe
Jensen/Jared (Jensen/Danneel, Jared/Genevieve)
686 words
Warning: Infidelity / open marriage (somebody stop me)
A/N: Not the best thing to close the year with, but better than starting the new one with it.
Jingle Bells on repeat, Jared’s song, his song, and trembling shadows of candle lights crawling over the walls. The smell of cinnamon and mulled wine, burned sparklers, and faked scent of artificial pine needles. Voices and laughter, cheer. The spirit of Christmas like a real, tangible creature, a specter, filling the air. Suffocating.
Jensen stares into the abyss of his eggnog, vanilla yellow and too sweet to get drunk on, trying not to fall asleep. There’s a headache pulsing through his temples, and too familiar heaviness pulling at the strings of the clockwork beating in his chest. There’s a blinding desire to run, or start screaming. Just because.
“Hey, you.” Jared’s cowboy boots touch the tips of Jensen’s worn Converse, his smile brushes Jensen’s ears, all smooth and sweet. “Are you at all aware of where you’re standing?”
Jensen isn’t. When he glances up, seeing the spring of mistletoe hanging above his head, he takes an instinctive, cowardly step back. “No.”
“It’s a tradition.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
Jared leans a little closer, the fragrance of his cologne and his heat like a poison. A disease. “C’mon, no one’s looking. Nobody cares.”
But that’s a lie, and they both know it. Everyone sees, and everyone knows.
Their kids are running around the Christmas-decorated set, like little Santa’s elves on the loose, and their wives aren’t far either. Sipping on wine and catching up with friends, ex and future co-stars. Their families crossing both blood and border lines.
“You can’t,” Jensen says, palm spread over Jared’s chest, keeping him at distance. But his fingers are more tangling in the fabric of Jared’s T-shirt than shoving him back, pulling instead of pushing. And even the don’t in his words, and the rejecting tone of his voice sound like an encouragement. Weak. Too weak. For one time too many.
Every time he looks at Danneel, he swears that yesterday was the last time. The last kiss, the last sex, the last bruise, hickey… Each time Justice smiles, laughter and amazement in her ‘dada’, he’s persuaded that it’s over. Everything. That it never mattered, just a few slips, that it never meant anything more… And whenever he catches Jared’s eyes, the diary of things gone and present, he knows it’s a lie. That the constant slipping and stumbling is, in fact, a fall, free and fatal. That there’s no going back or out of this, just ahead, towards a disaster.
“Oh… But I want to.” Jared’s mouth is close, pink and tempting, his eyes narrowed, squinting down at Jensen. He curls his fingers around Jensen’s elbow, his touch hot even through the cotton of his Henley, and tugs, guiding Jensen nearer. It’s not an order, it doesn’t feel urgent, it’s just a quiet request, a voiceless plea. Completely disarming.
“Ja--” Jensen’s protests are faint, and Jared knows it. He doesn’t listen to them, ignores every one. He just shifts closer. His lips are soft, warm, a bit of a pressure on Jensen’s own. It’s too easy to give in, open up, just a little to feel his tongue, let it in.
Jared tastes like eggnog and sugar-roasted almonds, like Christmas Eve. Like all the masks they’ve learned to wear, secrets and pretense. He’s not gentle, or overly careful, he’s never been. He’s strong and needy, possessive. His body’s hard and unyielding, pressing Jensen into the wall, like there’s more. Like there can be more. Here. Now.
It takes a lot of strength to stop, break the kiss and pull away, and even more courage to look up.
They might be standing in shadows, but they aren’t invisible, there’s at least one pair of eyes watching them. A lone figure in a crowd, tall and slender; a body Jensen’s fingertips have mapped at least a million times. She meets his gaze across the room. And smiles.
“She sent me," Jared says as he leans against the wall next to Jensen, all calm and casual, his shoulder touching Jensen’s. Warmth and safety. Danger. He shrugs, easy, innocent. "Said you seemed sad."
Like it’s completely okay. Like it isn’t completely fucked up.
❄ ❄ ❄
Happy New Year!
<3
686 words
Warning: Infidelity / open marriage (somebody stop me)
A/N: Not the best thing to close the year with, but better than starting the new one with it.
Jingle Bells on repeat, Jared’s song, his song, and trembling shadows of candle lights crawling over the walls. The smell of cinnamon and mulled wine, burned sparklers, and faked scent of artificial pine needles. Voices and laughter, cheer. The spirit of Christmas like a real, tangible creature, a specter, filling the air. Suffocating.
Jensen stares into the abyss of his eggnog, vanilla yellow and too sweet to get drunk on, trying not to fall asleep. There’s a headache pulsing through his temples, and too familiar heaviness pulling at the strings of the clockwork beating in his chest. There’s a blinding desire to run, or start screaming. Just because.
“Hey, you.” Jared’s cowboy boots touch the tips of Jensen’s worn Converse, his smile brushes Jensen’s ears, all smooth and sweet. “Are you at all aware of where you’re standing?”
Jensen isn’t. When he glances up, seeing the spring of mistletoe hanging above his head, he takes an instinctive, cowardly step back. “No.”
“It’s a tradition.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
Jared leans a little closer, the fragrance of his cologne and his heat like a poison. A disease. “C’mon, no one’s looking. Nobody cares.”
But that’s a lie, and they both know it. Everyone sees, and everyone knows.
Their kids are running around the Christmas-decorated set, like little Santa’s elves on the loose, and their wives aren’t far either. Sipping on wine and catching up with friends, ex and future co-stars. Their families crossing both blood and border lines.
“You can’t,” Jensen says, palm spread over Jared’s chest, keeping him at distance. But his fingers are more tangling in the fabric of Jared’s T-shirt than shoving him back, pulling instead of pushing. And even the don’t in his words, and the rejecting tone of his voice sound like an encouragement. Weak. Too weak. For one time too many.
Every time he looks at Danneel, he swears that yesterday was the last time. The last kiss, the last sex, the last bruise, hickey… Each time Justice smiles, laughter and amazement in her ‘dada’, he’s persuaded that it’s over. Everything. That it never mattered, just a few slips, that it never meant anything more… And whenever he catches Jared’s eyes, the diary of things gone and present, he knows it’s a lie. That the constant slipping and stumbling is, in fact, a fall, free and fatal. That there’s no going back or out of this, just ahead, towards a disaster.
“Oh… But I want to.” Jared’s mouth is close, pink and tempting, his eyes narrowed, squinting down at Jensen. He curls his fingers around Jensen’s elbow, his touch hot even through the cotton of his Henley, and tugs, guiding Jensen nearer. It’s not an order, it doesn’t feel urgent, it’s just a quiet request, a voiceless plea. Completely disarming.
“Ja--” Jensen’s protests are faint, and Jared knows it. He doesn’t listen to them, ignores every one. He just shifts closer. His lips are soft, warm, a bit of a pressure on Jensen’s own. It’s too easy to give in, open up, just a little to feel his tongue, let it in.
Jared tastes like eggnog and sugar-roasted almonds, like Christmas Eve. Like all the masks they’ve learned to wear, secrets and pretense. He’s not gentle, or overly careful, he’s never been. He’s strong and needy, possessive. His body’s hard and unyielding, pressing Jensen into the wall, like there’s more. Like there can be more. Here. Now.
It takes a lot of strength to stop, break the kiss and pull away, and even more courage to look up.
They might be standing in shadows, but they aren’t invisible, there’s at least one pair of eyes watching them. A lone figure in a crowd, tall and slender; a body Jensen’s fingertips have mapped at least a million times. She meets his gaze across the room. And smiles.
“She sent me," Jared says as he leans against the wall next to Jensen, all calm and casual, his shoulder touching Jensen’s. Warmth and safety. Danger. He shrugs, easy, innocent. "Said you seemed sad."
Like it’s completely okay. Like it isn’t completely fucked up.
❄ ❄ ❄
Happy New Year!
<3