Fic: Life Drawing 3/? PG-13 J2
Life Drawing (3/?)
SPN RPS
PG-13
Entirely fictional
Warnings: Oh, Jensen.
Special thanks to gin (backinblack), Jellicle and deathangelgw for all your help and suggestions.
Jensen doesn’t sleep that night, not at all. It feels like the first day of a new class or job, but worse. By 4:30 the next day, he’s bent over the toilet, nerves twisting his guts until he pukes, silent heaves and the splatter of barf hitting the water. His knuckles are almost as white as the porcelain he clings to with the effort of keeping quiet. He can’t be heard, can’t be found like this, weak and exposed, can’t let anyone know how fucked up he is.
He’s been so stupid, made so many mistakes. He should have never caught that artist boy’s eye after class. He should have ignored him the next time he saw him, a larger than life figure threading through a crowded hall. He sure as hell should never have told Garrett about him, and that maybe Jen liked him. He can’t bring himself to hate Garrett for wanting to see him happy, but right now he’s too afraid to feel good about this.
What if--okay, what if Jared is being honest? What if he just thinks Jensen's looks are interesting and wants to draw him? Jensen knows it’s stupid, like some junior high crush, and God, why would Jared want anything to do with him that isn’t a model-for-favors transaction or worse? Why would he possibly want to smile at Jensen or talk to him, spend time with him, sitting together like Garrett and Lenore, taking long romantic walks by the god-damn lake? Jensen shudders with a fresh dread. What if he does smile and talk? What if he expects Jensen to have a conversation? God, what if this is his chance to be with somebody who isn’t a freak and he blows it?
Jensen's gut clenches and he dry-heaves again. It’s not until he’s wrung out and drained that he is too exhausted to fight anymore. He can do this. He said he would and he will, but God, why does it have to be so hard?
--------
Jared knocks on Jensen's door at six on the dot. It’s stupid, way stupid, that he’s wearing his best jeans and a shirt straight out of the dryer so it won’t be wrinkly. It makes him an enormous gay doofus, but he feels like he should have flowers or a gift or something. He puts on his most-open smile and tries to not look over-eager as the door opens.
He’s expecting Garrett, but Jensen stands on the other side, hoodie already pulled up over his head. His book bag is slung over one shoulder, a laundry sack in the other hand. And okay, Jared doesn’t really know the guy; it’s only the third time he’s ever seen him, but it doesn’t take more than a glance to see something’s wrong. Jensen's pale, almost grey, man. His eyes are red and his voice is shot when he says, “Let’s go.” His line of sight never comes any higher than the center of Jared’s chest. He should be in bed. Seriously.
“Hey, look,” Jared says, “We don’t have to do this today.”
“You said today,” Jensen cuts him off. “I’m ready now. Unless you don’t want to do it at all.”
His tone is so tight, the words gritted out between his teeth. It’s pretty damn clear that if Jared cancels now, for whatever reason, there won’t be a reschedule. Ever.
And fine, if it’s gonna be like that. “Nah, today works. Here, let me help you with all that crap.”
Jensen twitches, not quite a flinch, as Jared reaches out. He lets Jared carry the laundry though, and follows him out to the truck, quiet as a ghost. He doesn’t say a word as he gets in and shuts the door. As Jared starts the motor, he turns towards the window.
Jared’s never been able to take the silent treatment.
“Hey, did I start off on the wrong foot somehow?”
“You’re fine,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t look over.
Jared drives another block. “You uh, your room-mate seems pretty cool.”
“He is.” Jensen's answer is as short as the last one, but a little less tense. And Jared, he figures that if he can get him on a roll, get him talking, that it’ll all be alright, especially because, y’know, everybody likes talking to Jared.
The problem with this plan, Jared decides a few miles and a half-dozen questions down the road, is that Jensen sucks at answering questions. He finds ways to respond with one or two words when Jared thought it would take at least six. The questions Jared thinks are the best, the “open-ended’ ones, like his English teacher would say, get the worst answers of all--this vague “Eh,” and half a shrug.
Jared just doesn’t get it. He understands that Jensen's maybe a little shy, but they’ve been in the truck for fifteen minutes now, and Jared’s being as nice as he knows how. Jensen said he wasn’t mad, so Jared fishes around for something else it could be.
“You cold?” he asks, realizing that he’s in a light shirt and Jensen's in a jacket and he still hasn’t taken the hood down.
Jensen shakes his head, and Jared could just about mouth the words along with him as he says “I’m fine.”
“So what’s with the clothes then?” Jared wants to bite his own tongue off, ‘cause he knows that was rude as hell, and his momma would have smacked his head if she’d heard it.
“I don’t like people looking at me,” Jensen says, and that’s more than two words. Apparently, rude is good for something.
Jared can’t stop the bark of laughter that jumps out of his throat. “Dude, you model nude for a living.”
“I don’t like it when people who look at me talk to me.” Jensen's voice is a ‘would you please shut the fuck up, you freakin’ giant asshole’ growl, and Jared shuts his trap for the rest of the drive.
_______________
Jensen tries. He would put his hand on a stack of bibles and swear he tries, but the small-talk starts and there’s this rushing noise in his head that might be his heart-beat and he can’t think what to say that doesn’t sound stupid. The cab of the truck is too small and it’s just the two of them, and he can’t remember the last time he was in a vehicle with only one person and it wasn’t Garrett.
Every stoplight is a challenge, fighting the urge to just get out and run, to put as much distance between himself and what he wants and fears as possible.
He knows he’s being an asshole, knows he should be smiling and saying more than two words at a time, but he’s sure the wrong words will come out, something so stupid he can’t talk to Jared ever again.
Jared turns down a residential street full of mid-size houses that were probably built thirty years ago, all stucco and live oak trees in the front yards, parking on the street, and Jared pulls up in front of one of those.
“Here?” he blurts, trying to not sound as trapped as he feels. He takes a breath and closes the fear down into a grey box deep in his chest.
“Yup,” Jared grins, sheepish. “I told you I still live with my folks, right? Or maybe I didn’t. Anyways, nobody’ll be home for hours, so we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”
Jensen's not sure which worries him more, the idea of them being alone for hours, or that in a few hours, he’s going to have to meet more people.
Jared’s out of the truck and getting the laundry out of the back by the time Jensen has gathered his courage and opened his door. He can hear dogs barking, but it’s the happy, welcome-home kind of bark, and he’s not worried. Jared leads him through a side gate, where two tan-colored mutts yip and whine underfoot and nuzzle for pets and do everything but jump up on the two men in their quest for attention.
“Y’all are just neglected, aren’t cha?” Jared croons at them, and Jensen feels the first start of a smile on his lips.
“What’re their names?” he asks, and looks away from the pleased glance Jared gives him.
“That’s Harley, there, the big galoot, and Sadie Mae, the poor abandoned princess.”
Jensen gives them awkward scritches while Jared opens the side door to the house. The utility room opens up on the left of the short hall, and the kitchen straight ahead.
“I thought you could get your laundry started, then we can grab a snack and get to work,” Jared suggests. He’s so bright, so open, Jensen doesn’t know how to take him. It would be so easy to get distracted by his chatter and his grin. He turns on the washer and adds soap, gesturing for Jensen to put his clothes in. “You can study at the table, or out in the living room, or we can go upstairs. Up to you, man.”
Upstairs sounds a lot like bedroom, and Jensen is nowhere near ready to deal with all the uncertainties that entails. He considers the other two choices, to figure which would give Jared the best poses to draw him. Not that he’s posing. Not that he cares.
They end up in the living room, Jensen stretched out on the couch, books and papers scattered around him, the bowl of chips that Jared provided near at hand. Something about the house, a smell or a feeling, reminds him of Garrett’s old house, how safe it was, even when filled with Garrett and his brothers and all their friends and all their noise. Jared’s house is lived-in like that, comfortable.
Jared’s quiet when he draws, and Jensen can appreciate that. It’s easy to pretend he’s not there, not thinking of things to ask, things he wants Jensen to say. Jensen hits the anatomy book for an hour, memorizing structures and functions and connections before his brain refuses to take any more information. He digs around in his bag for the calculus book, and catches Jared’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he says, before he can stop the words, and then he looks stupid and has to explain himself. “For moving. If you were in the middle of something.”
“No,” says Jared, and Jensen can hear the wary gentleness in his voice, knows he must seem so stupid and timid or something. He hates it, being so screwed up, screwing everything up. “Do you want to see what I’ve done so far?”
Jensen shakes his head. He had looked at the work, the first few times he modeled for the school, but he couldn’t help seeing his flaws. Bowlegged. Cross-eyed. Too pretty for a man. His shames, magnified and enhanced and treated like that’s all there is to him.
But Jared’s trying, and Jensen feels bad for being such an ass all day.
“Are you getting good work?” he asks.
Jared looks down at his sketch pad, smiling fondly as he trails his fingers over what he’s drawn. “Yeah. I really am.” He looks up, and Jensen's caught in his gaze. His heartbeat trips over itself, and he feels that glance all the way through his guts.
“Hey, Jensen?” Jared asks, still so careful, so gentle. “Would it bother you, if I asked you to push your sleeves up? Maybe take your shoes and socks off?”
Jensen feels the heat rising in his cheeks. And god, it’s not like he doesn’t stand naked in front of twenty people every week, but this is different. It’s personal, just him and Jared. If Jared just wants to look at him, just wants to draw him, it’s not so scary, he tells himself. He nods, feeling lightheaded, shaky. He slides his sleeves up his forearms, letting his hands show, the bones of his wrist. He doesn’t meet Jared’s eyes as he toes off his shoes, rolls his socks off his feet.
“Thanks,” Jared says as he flips the page on his oversized pad and starts a new drawing.
Jensen turns back to his text book and tries to calm his breathing. He thinks that maybe he can do this. Maybe it wasn’t such a huge mistake.
SPN RPS
PG-13
Entirely fictional
Warnings: Oh, Jensen.
Special thanks to gin (backinblack), Jellicle and deathangelgw for all your help and suggestions.
Jensen doesn’t sleep that night, not at all. It feels like the first day of a new class or job, but worse. By 4:30 the next day, he’s bent over the toilet, nerves twisting his guts until he pukes, silent heaves and the splatter of barf hitting the water. His knuckles are almost as white as the porcelain he clings to with the effort of keeping quiet. He can’t be heard, can’t be found like this, weak and exposed, can’t let anyone know how fucked up he is.
He’s been so stupid, made so many mistakes. He should have never caught that artist boy’s eye after class. He should have ignored him the next time he saw him, a larger than life figure threading through a crowded hall. He sure as hell should never have told Garrett about him, and that maybe Jen liked him. He can’t bring himself to hate Garrett for wanting to see him happy, but right now he’s too afraid to feel good about this.
What if--okay, what if Jared is being honest? What if he just thinks Jensen's looks are interesting and wants to draw him? Jensen knows it’s stupid, like some junior high crush, and God, why would Jared want anything to do with him that isn’t a model-for-favors transaction or worse? Why would he possibly want to smile at Jensen or talk to him, spend time with him, sitting together like Garrett and Lenore, taking long romantic walks by the god-damn lake? Jensen shudders with a fresh dread. What if he does smile and talk? What if he expects Jensen to have a conversation? God, what if this is his chance to be with somebody who isn’t a freak and he blows it?
Jensen's gut clenches and he dry-heaves again. It’s not until he’s wrung out and drained that he is too exhausted to fight anymore. He can do this. He said he would and he will, but God, why does it have to be so hard?
--------
Jared knocks on Jensen's door at six on the dot. It’s stupid, way stupid, that he’s wearing his best jeans and a shirt straight out of the dryer so it won’t be wrinkly. It makes him an enormous gay doofus, but he feels like he should have flowers or a gift or something. He puts on his most-open smile and tries to not look over-eager as the door opens.
He’s expecting Garrett, but Jensen stands on the other side, hoodie already pulled up over his head. His book bag is slung over one shoulder, a laundry sack in the other hand. And okay, Jared doesn’t really know the guy; it’s only the third time he’s ever seen him, but it doesn’t take more than a glance to see something’s wrong. Jensen's pale, almost grey, man. His eyes are red and his voice is shot when he says, “Let’s go.” His line of sight never comes any higher than the center of Jared’s chest. He should be in bed. Seriously.
“Hey, look,” Jared says, “We don’t have to do this today.”
“You said today,” Jensen cuts him off. “I’m ready now. Unless you don’t want to do it at all.”
His tone is so tight, the words gritted out between his teeth. It’s pretty damn clear that if Jared cancels now, for whatever reason, there won’t be a reschedule. Ever.
And fine, if it’s gonna be like that. “Nah, today works. Here, let me help you with all that crap.”
Jensen twitches, not quite a flinch, as Jared reaches out. He lets Jared carry the laundry though, and follows him out to the truck, quiet as a ghost. He doesn’t say a word as he gets in and shuts the door. As Jared starts the motor, he turns towards the window.
Jared’s never been able to take the silent treatment.
“Hey, did I start off on the wrong foot somehow?”
“You’re fine,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t look over.
Jared drives another block. “You uh, your room-mate seems pretty cool.”
“He is.” Jensen's answer is as short as the last one, but a little less tense. And Jared, he figures that if he can get him on a roll, get him talking, that it’ll all be alright, especially because, y’know, everybody likes talking to Jared.
The problem with this plan, Jared decides a few miles and a half-dozen questions down the road, is that Jensen sucks at answering questions. He finds ways to respond with one or two words when Jared thought it would take at least six. The questions Jared thinks are the best, the “open-ended’ ones, like his English teacher would say, get the worst answers of all--this vague “Eh,” and half a shrug.
Jared just doesn’t get it. He understands that Jensen's maybe a little shy, but they’ve been in the truck for fifteen minutes now, and Jared’s being as nice as he knows how. Jensen said he wasn’t mad, so Jared fishes around for something else it could be.
“You cold?” he asks, realizing that he’s in a light shirt and Jensen's in a jacket and he still hasn’t taken the hood down.
Jensen shakes his head, and Jared could just about mouth the words along with him as he says “I’m fine.”
“So what’s with the clothes then?” Jared wants to bite his own tongue off, ‘cause he knows that was rude as hell, and his momma would have smacked his head if she’d heard it.
“I don’t like people looking at me,” Jensen says, and that’s more than two words. Apparently, rude is good for something.
Jared can’t stop the bark of laughter that jumps out of his throat. “Dude, you model nude for a living.”
“I don’t like it when people who look at me talk to me.” Jensen's voice is a ‘would you please shut the fuck up, you freakin’ giant asshole’ growl, and Jared shuts his trap for the rest of the drive.
_______________
Jensen tries. He would put his hand on a stack of bibles and swear he tries, but the small-talk starts and there’s this rushing noise in his head that might be his heart-beat and he can’t think what to say that doesn’t sound stupid. The cab of the truck is too small and it’s just the two of them, and he can’t remember the last time he was in a vehicle with only one person and it wasn’t Garrett.
Every stoplight is a challenge, fighting the urge to just get out and run, to put as much distance between himself and what he wants and fears as possible.
He knows he’s being an asshole, knows he should be smiling and saying more than two words at a time, but he’s sure the wrong words will come out, something so stupid he can’t talk to Jared ever again.
Jared turns down a residential street full of mid-size houses that were probably built thirty years ago, all stucco and live oak trees in the front yards, parking on the street, and Jared pulls up in front of one of those.
“Here?” he blurts, trying to not sound as trapped as he feels. He takes a breath and closes the fear down into a grey box deep in his chest.
“Yup,” Jared grins, sheepish. “I told you I still live with my folks, right? Or maybe I didn’t. Anyways, nobody’ll be home for hours, so we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”
Jensen's not sure which worries him more, the idea of them being alone for hours, or that in a few hours, he’s going to have to meet more people.
Jared’s out of the truck and getting the laundry out of the back by the time Jensen has gathered his courage and opened his door. He can hear dogs barking, but it’s the happy, welcome-home kind of bark, and he’s not worried. Jared leads him through a side gate, where two tan-colored mutts yip and whine underfoot and nuzzle for pets and do everything but jump up on the two men in their quest for attention.
“Y’all are just neglected, aren’t cha?” Jared croons at them, and Jensen feels the first start of a smile on his lips.
“What’re their names?” he asks, and looks away from the pleased glance Jared gives him.
“That’s Harley, there, the big galoot, and Sadie Mae, the poor abandoned princess.”
Jensen gives them awkward scritches while Jared opens the side door to the house. The utility room opens up on the left of the short hall, and the kitchen straight ahead.
“I thought you could get your laundry started, then we can grab a snack and get to work,” Jared suggests. He’s so bright, so open, Jensen doesn’t know how to take him. It would be so easy to get distracted by his chatter and his grin. He turns on the washer and adds soap, gesturing for Jensen to put his clothes in. “You can study at the table, or out in the living room, or we can go upstairs. Up to you, man.”
Upstairs sounds a lot like bedroom, and Jensen is nowhere near ready to deal with all the uncertainties that entails. He considers the other two choices, to figure which would give Jared the best poses to draw him. Not that he’s posing. Not that he cares.
They end up in the living room, Jensen stretched out on the couch, books and papers scattered around him, the bowl of chips that Jared provided near at hand. Something about the house, a smell or a feeling, reminds him of Garrett’s old house, how safe it was, even when filled with Garrett and his brothers and all their friends and all their noise. Jared’s house is lived-in like that, comfortable.
Jared’s quiet when he draws, and Jensen can appreciate that. It’s easy to pretend he’s not there, not thinking of things to ask, things he wants Jensen to say. Jensen hits the anatomy book for an hour, memorizing structures and functions and connections before his brain refuses to take any more information. He digs around in his bag for the calculus book, and catches Jared’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he says, before he can stop the words, and then he looks stupid and has to explain himself. “For moving. If you were in the middle of something.”
“No,” says Jared, and Jensen can hear the wary gentleness in his voice, knows he must seem so stupid and timid or something. He hates it, being so screwed up, screwing everything up. “Do you want to see what I’ve done so far?”
Jensen shakes his head. He had looked at the work, the first few times he modeled for the school, but he couldn’t help seeing his flaws. Bowlegged. Cross-eyed. Too pretty for a man. His shames, magnified and enhanced and treated like that’s all there is to him.
But Jared’s trying, and Jensen feels bad for being such an ass all day.
“Are you getting good work?” he asks.
Jared looks down at his sketch pad, smiling fondly as he trails his fingers over what he’s drawn. “Yeah. I really am.” He looks up, and Jensen's caught in his gaze. His heartbeat trips over itself, and he feels that glance all the way through his guts.
“Hey, Jensen?” Jared asks, still so careful, so gentle. “Would it bother you, if I asked you to push your sleeves up? Maybe take your shoes and socks off?”
Jensen feels the heat rising in his cheeks. And god, it’s not like he doesn’t stand naked in front of twenty people every week, but this is different. It’s personal, just him and Jared. If Jared just wants to look at him, just wants to draw him, it’s not so scary, he tells himself. He nods, feeling lightheaded, shaky. He slides his sleeves up his forearms, letting his hands show, the bones of his wrist. He doesn’t meet Jared’s eyes as he toes off his shoes, rolls his socks off his feet.
“Thanks,” Jared says as he flips the page on his oversized pad and starts a new drawing.
Jensen turns back to his text book and tries to calm his breathing. He thinks that maybe he can do this. Maybe it wasn’t such a huge mistake.