J2: Happy Endings [Are Just Stories That Haven't Finished Yet]
Happy Endings [Are Just Stories That Haven't Finished Yet]
[ Jensen/Jared | ADULT | Alternate Universe ]
Imagine, if you will, a J-squared version of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I didn't write that. I only wrote the epilogue. Title from said movie.
N.B. My brain told me to write this. I merely complied. Unbetaed, written quickly, and feedback more than welcome.
FEBRUARY 2009
"Ask us the sex question."
Jensen rolls his eyes. He didn't think it was possible to embarrass a therapist, but Jared...well, there you go.
His husband holds up multiple fingers before the mortified woman can stop blushing long enough to ask.
Couples therapy. Still fucking ridiculous. Jensen would much rather just shoot somebody.
< >
Jensen told Jared to disappear, back when they were both being hunted. He did it (don't you dare say he obeyed), desperate to get away from the fact he'd been ordered to kill his husband. And that he'd actually considered it.
Yes, they'd never known they were playing the same game for opposite teams and the revelation had been shocking, but no. He wasn't killing Jensen.
But staying together, they were dead.
So he holed up in a shitty motel outside Amarillo, hours from Jensen, both his lives torn to pieces. Jared spent an eternity on his untraceable cell phone, a parting gift from a teammate he'd never see again, rearranging his life and dragging his feet as much as possible. He thought...
When Jensen burst into the room less than thirty-six hours after Jared had left, he should have been surprised. He was too busy throwing Jensen onto the hard motel mattress and biting the soft flesh of his still-husband's neck.
"What the...ugh fuck! Jensen?" He's moaning, Jensen ripping their clothes off with no heed or hesitation. Jared can't hold a full breath, his lungs are aching and he's dizzy with the feel of Jensen. "You fuckin' told me-"
"Turned your goddamn phone on," Jensen's bucking up into Jared's firm hold and he's impatient. "Tracked you from that. Oh, fuck! Couldn't wait...Jared!"
He had turned his old phone on, just for a moment, praying for a message from Jensen.
"Couldn't let me go, baby?"
He's biting and sucking at Jensen's abs but he's yanked up by powerful arms. A killer's arms.
"No. Hell no." Jensen's lips lock on his, tongue an assault in his mouth and fuck that.
Jared pulls Jensen up, arms solid behind his husband's neck. He relaunched his own attack, clawing at Jensen's back as they rock and grind together. He's probably leaving marks and Jensen's teeth are gnawing on his lips, chin, cheek, jugular - wherever he can reach - but for them, marks are nothing new. Just more scars. At least these come from-
"Oh Jesus!" His husband's curled forward, stomach contracted, and their hips are lined up sodamngood.
"It's Jensen, remember?" Smug bastard. "Or have you forgotten our entire marriage?"
"Fuck you."
"Fuck me."
Asshole.
"Gladly."
"About time!"
Jared flexes his fingers against Jensen's spine, then releases him back onto the bed. He brings his lips low to Jensen's ear.
"Turn over, baby."
< >
Of course they have sex more. They fight a lot more too.
It's amazing.
Before all of this went down, Jensen and Jared didn't do anything; they didn't fight and they certainly never fucked. They floated around each other in a suburban nightmare and Jensen hated it.
He'd wake up every morning, shut off the alarm at 6:18 am after hitting the snooze button exactly twice. Shower, shave, and get dressed. Spend three minutes staring at the bathroom door after Jared went in, wondering if he should walk away. Wondering if he could.
And then, every morning, he would think about the day they met.
Jared, tanned and smiling on a Cayman beach, looking at him like Jensen was a cool breeze in the desert. In that moment Jensen wanted to walk away from his agency, a feeling he'd never had.
When they came together that night, a product of the romantic Caribbean air and the heat of shared gazes, Jensen couldn't let go of Jared and he sensed the feeling was mutual.
Jensen knows they fell in love that night. Unfortunately, they spent the next three years falling out of love. Secrets and lies, pretending to be people they weren't, and a twist they couldn't begin to fathom waiting somewhere in the future.
< >
After Amarillo, they ran. Jared didn't really mind the constant movement so long as Jensen stayed with him.
When his husband wanted to see the Atlantic coast, they parked themselves in St. Simons, Georgia. Jared used the time to clean out and transfer their old accounts while Jensen planned their next moves. He comes up with and rejects so many scenarios that they get comfortable and stay.
To Jared it seemed like a strange honeymoon, like rediscovery. Lessons learned that night on Cayman Brac were remembered.
Jensen was a biter, sharp nips and gentle bites replacing screams and moans. And his lips, his fucking lips, merely a distraction before, become Jared's obsession. Wet and plush, Jared could kiss - and bite and use - them for hours.
Jared's glad he kept his hair long, loving the feel of Jensen pulling it in their passion, or carding through it once they were spent. He wears the marks from Jensen's teeth proudly - the fading marks over his collarbone and the fresh ones over his tattooed hip. Jared feels more connected to those bruises than ones from hand-to-hand combat.
Two weeks later, coming back to their rental house after a twilight run, there was a postcard stuck in their screen door.
A vibrant view of South Beach, Miami - “Wish You Were Here!” - and nothing on the back besides the cryptic signature.
XOXO Carla.
< >
Standing on their balcony overlooking Rabat, Jensen feels the slight tremor as a low-grade explosive detonates a few blocks away. There's no visible smoke and if you weren't expecting it like Jensen, the momentary shake probably passed unnoticed.
His husband does good work. But he totally made it back to the hotel first.
Oh, he wins.
Fifteen minutes later, sounds of sirens dying in the distance, Jared walks into the room with a smile on his face. It promptly disappears when he sees Jensen.
"Shit."
"Should have gone for two single hits instead of waiting to take both out at once."
Jared honest-to-God pouts. "You cheated."
"Nope, I'm just better."
"Yeah, righ-"
"Stop talking, and get on the bed," Jensen's grin is almost a snarl and even from here he can see Jared's eyes dilate and his breath quicken. "You're mine tonight."
< >
Jared kind of hates Miami.
Not the weather or the beaches, just the feel of the city; the attitudes of the rich and beautiful and useless. He's glad Jensen doesn't let him take his gun everywhere, because wow. He could really kill some of these people.
He also kind of hates their boss, Carla. But she leaves them both alone for the most part unless there's a job, pays them well, and doesn't mind the fact that they're staying married (and that's final).
Because some agencies apparently have problems with that.
Jensen actually growled when they first met her, gorgeous and blond and cocky. Man, the covert world sure knew how to pick 'em. They were going to walk away, go to ground again, when Carla made her offer.
"We want to hire you."
"I don't fucking think so." Cue growly husband.
The bitch smiled. "Both of you."
"Why?"
"One man's trash is another man's treasure," she'd said enigmatically, smirking. Called them 'strays' and Jared has the feeling she's good at picking up strays and stragglers from their world.
Carla gave them what they needed, not that either of them would admit to needing shit beyond each other (and a lifetime supply of bullets). Covers, money, and the chance to blend the two lives they each knew; the world of an assassin - high-stakes and high-passion - with their marriage, just now finding its footing again.
< >
The jobs are bigger and more exotic. There's more breathing room between them, letting Jared and Jensen settle into some semblance of a life.
Now when they fight, it’s not always on American soil and there's potentially a body count.
It'll never be normal and they'll always be killers. Doesn't mean every job goes down as smoothly as a sip of Crown XR. Bad days leave them grasping onto each other and cursing Carla, the agencies, and God, even as Jared's thrusting into Jensen and telling him they're still okay.
And they are. Better, actually. They don’t let the space between them become impassible, filled with things they don’t say to each other. If you ask Jensen, they talk too much, but there’s rarely a misunderstanding. And when there is, it’s nothing a knock-down drag-out brawl - leading to killer make-up sex that would blow anyone's mind - won’t fix.
There are broken limbs, bullet grazes, and radio silences. Foreign ops, shadowy meetings, and overly zealous handlers. But they have Saturday morning runs, sleepy make-out sessions, and, thanks to Jared, a freaking cat. Their neighbors invite them to barbecues, even though they usually decline, and Jared surprised him with a no-business-allowed trip back to the Caymans.
In the strange world of spies and assassins, Jensen finally decides they've got a pretty good deal.
FIN.
Thanks for reading! Other stories can be found H E R E.
[ Jensen/Jared | ADULT | Alternate Universe ]
Imagine, if you will, a J-squared version of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I didn't write that. I only wrote the epilogue. Title from said movie.
N.B. My brain told me to write this. I merely complied. Unbetaed, written quickly, and feedback more than welcome.
FEBRUARY 2009
"Ask us the sex question."
Jensen rolls his eyes. He didn't think it was possible to embarrass a therapist, but Jared...well, there you go.
His husband holds up multiple fingers before the mortified woman can stop blushing long enough to ask.
Couples therapy. Still fucking ridiculous. Jensen would much rather just shoot somebody.
< >
Jensen told Jared to disappear, back when they were both being hunted. He did it (don't you dare say he obeyed), desperate to get away from the fact he'd been ordered to kill his husband. And that he'd actually considered it.
Yes, they'd never known they were playing the same game for opposite teams and the revelation had been shocking, but no. He wasn't killing Jensen.
But staying together, they were dead.
So he holed up in a shitty motel outside Amarillo, hours from Jensen, both his lives torn to pieces. Jared spent an eternity on his untraceable cell phone, a parting gift from a teammate he'd never see again, rearranging his life and dragging his feet as much as possible. He thought...
When Jensen burst into the room less than thirty-six hours after Jared had left, he should have been surprised. He was too busy throwing Jensen onto the hard motel mattress and biting the soft flesh of his still-husband's neck.
"What the...ugh fuck! Jensen?" He's moaning, Jensen ripping their clothes off with no heed or hesitation. Jared can't hold a full breath, his lungs are aching and he's dizzy with the feel of Jensen. "You fuckin' told me-"
"Turned your goddamn phone on," Jensen's bucking up into Jared's firm hold and he's impatient. "Tracked you from that. Oh, fuck! Couldn't wait...Jared!"
He had turned his old phone on, just for a moment, praying for a message from Jensen.
"Couldn't let me go, baby?"
He's biting and sucking at Jensen's abs but he's yanked up by powerful arms. A killer's arms.
"No. Hell no." Jensen's lips lock on his, tongue an assault in his mouth and fuck that.
Jared pulls Jensen up, arms solid behind his husband's neck. He relaunched his own attack, clawing at Jensen's back as they rock and grind together. He's probably leaving marks and Jensen's teeth are gnawing on his lips, chin, cheek, jugular - wherever he can reach - but for them, marks are nothing new. Just more scars. At least these come from-
"Oh Jesus!" His husband's curled forward, stomach contracted, and their hips are lined up sodamngood.
"It's Jensen, remember?" Smug bastard. "Or have you forgotten our entire marriage?"
"Fuck you."
"Fuck me."
Asshole.
"Gladly."
"About time!"
Jared flexes his fingers against Jensen's spine, then releases him back onto the bed. He brings his lips low to Jensen's ear.
"Turn over, baby."
< >
Of course they have sex more. They fight a lot more too.
It's amazing.
Before all of this went down, Jensen and Jared didn't do anything; they didn't fight and they certainly never fucked. They floated around each other in a suburban nightmare and Jensen hated it.
He'd wake up every morning, shut off the alarm at 6:18 am after hitting the snooze button exactly twice. Shower, shave, and get dressed. Spend three minutes staring at the bathroom door after Jared went in, wondering if he should walk away. Wondering if he could.
And then, every morning, he would think about the day they met.
Jared, tanned and smiling on a Cayman beach, looking at him like Jensen was a cool breeze in the desert. In that moment Jensen wanted to walk away from his agency, a feeling he'd never had.
When they came together that night, a product of the romantic Caribbean air and the heat of shared gazes, Jensen couldn't let go of Jared and he sensed the feeling was mutual.
Jensen knows they fell in love that night. Unfortunately, they spent the next three years falling out of love. Secrets and lies, pretending to be people they weren't, and a twist they couldn't begin to fathom waiting somewhere in the future.
< >
After Amarillo, they ran. Jared didn't really mind the constant movement so long as Jensen stayed with him.
When his husband wanted to see the Atlantic coast, they parked themselves in St. Simons, Georgia. Jared used the time to clean out and transfer their old accounts while Jensen planned their next moves. He comes up with and rejects so many scenarios that they get comfortable and stay.
To Jared it seemed like a strange honeymoon, like rediscovery. Lessons learned that night on Cayman Brac were remembered.
Jensen was a biter, sharp nips and gentle bites replacing screams and moans. And his lips, his fucking lips, merely a distraction before, become Jared's obsession. Wet and plush, Jared could kiss - and bite and use - them for hours.
Jared's glad he kept his hair long, loving the feel of Jensen pulling it in their passion, or carding through it once they were spent. He wears the marks from Jensen's teeth proudly - the fading marks over his collarbone and the fresh ones over his tattooed hip. Jared feels more connected to those bruises than ones from hand-to-hand combat.
Two weeks later, coming back to their rental house after a twilight run, there was a postcard stuck in their screen door.
A vibrant view of South Beach, Miami - “Wish You Were Here!” - and nothing on the back besides the cryptic signature.
XOXO Carla.
< >
Standing on their balcony overlooking Rabat, Jensen feels the slight tremor as a low-grade explosive detonates a few blocks away. There's no visible smoke and if you weren't expecting it like Jensen, the momentary shake probably passed unnoticed.
His husband does good work. But he totally made it back to the hotel first.
Oh, he wins.
Fifteen minutes later, sounds of sirens dying in the distance, Jared walks into the room with a smile on his face. It promptly disappears when he sees Jensen.
"Shit."
"Should have gone for two single hits instead of waiting to take both out at once."
Jared honest-to-God pouts. "You cheated."
"Nope, I'm just better."
"Yeah, righ-"
"Stop talking, and get on the bed," Jensen's grin is almost a snarl and even from here he can see Jared's eyes dilate and his breath quicken. "You're mine tonight."
< >
Jared kind of hates Miami.
Not the weather or the beaches, just the feel of the city; the attitudes of the rich and beautiful and useless. He's glad Jensen doesn't let him take his gun everywhere, because wow. He could really kill some of these people.
He also kind of hates their boss, Carla. But she leaves them both alone for the most part unless there's a job, pays them well, and doesn't mind the fact that they're staying married (and that's final).
Because some agencies apparently have problems with that.
Jensen actually growled when they first met her, gorgeous and blond and cocky. Man, the covert world sure knew how to pick 'em. They were going to walk away, go to ground again, when Carla made her offer.
"We want to hire you."
"I don't fucking think so." Cue growly husband.
The bitch smiled. "Both of you."
"Why?"
"One man's trash is another man's treasure," she'd said enigmatically, smirking. Called them 'strays' and Jared has the feeling she's good at picking up strays and stragglers from their world.
Carla gave them what they needed, not that either of them would admit to needing shit beyond each other (and a lifetime supply of bullets). Covers, money, and the chance to blend the two lives they each knew; the world of an assassin - high-stakes and high-passion - with their marriage, just now finding its footing again.
< >
The jobs are bigger and more exotic. There's more breathing room between them, letting Jared and Jensen settle into some semblance of a life.
Now when they fight, it’s not always on American soil and there's potentially a body count.
It'll never be normal and they'll always be killers. Doesn't mean every job goes down as smoothly as a sip of Crown XR. Bad days leave them grasping onto each other and cursing Carla, the agencies, and God, even as Jared's thrusting into Jensen and telling him they're still okay.
And they are. Better, actually. They don’t let the space between them become impassible, filled with things they don’t say to each other. If you ask Jensen, they talk too much, but there’s rarely a misunderstanding. And when there is, it’s nothing a knock-down drag-out brawl - leading to killer make-up sex that would blow anyone's mind - won’t fix.
There are broken limbs, bullet grazes, and radio silences. Foreign ops, shadowy meetings, and overly zealous handlers. But they have Saturday morning runs, sleepy make-out sessions, and, thanks to Jared, a freaking cat. Their neighbors invite them to barbecues, even though they usually decline, and Jared surprised him with a no-business-allowed trip back to the Caymans.
In the strange world of spies and assassins, Jensen finally decides they've got a pretty good deal.
FIN.
Thanks for reading! Other stories can be found H E R E.