Fic: Life Drawing 6/? PG-13 J2
Shy-model-Jensen
Innocent-artist-Jared
Warnings for "Oh Jensen--"
Jensen likes Jared’s truck, its old-truck smell, oil and age and dogs. He likes the engine’s heavy rumble. There’s nothing flashy or slick about it; it’s real, and it makes Jared feel real by extension, genuine. He wishes he had his backpack though, something to hold in his hands, to think about besides how close Jared is.
Jensen isn’t used to wanting something that has even a chance of coming true. He’d never have liked Jared if he’d known where it would lead, that he’d be in Jared’s truck, in his parent’s house, that Jared would show up to Garrett’s game at Jensen's invitation. It’s new and it’s weird and it scares the crap out of him.
“Hey,” says Jared, and Jensen remembers that he’s not as invisible as he wishes. “Mind if we stop at Sonic? I’ve been craving limeade slush all day.”
Jensen's lips twitch, and he turns to the window before Jared can see his smile. It’s like driving around with an overgrown ten-year-old. Seriously.
“I’m not in a rush,” Jensen says, “And you’re the driver.”
They pull into the garish yellow and red parking lot. “America’s favorite drive-in,” the sign proclaims, and Jensen wonders for just a second, if Jared chose it for Jensen, because it’s quiet and they don’t have to get out of the truck, stand in line, deal with people. He’s not sure if it’s comforting, that Jared wants to make it easy for him, or embarrassing, that Jared doesn’t think he can handle going into a restaurant.
“These are great,” Jared says as he reads the menu even though he already knows what he wants. “You want one?”
If Jensen says no, Jared’ll think he’s broke and worry, so Jensen digs a five out of his jeans pocket. “Yeah,” he says, “Order me a medium?”
Jared waves away the money. “I’ve got it this time,” he says, and pushes the ‘ready to order’ button. He gets Jensen's medium, and a ‘Route 44’ giant size for himself.
“Look,” says Jensen while they wait for the car-hop to bring their drinks, “I don’t--I’m not really eating ramen breakfast, lunch and dinner, you know.” Jared looks at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. “You don’t have to buy my drink or have your mom feed me.”
This huge grin spreads across Jared’s face, and Jensen has no idea what it means. “My mom’s decided you’re too skinny and she needs to put some meat on you.” It’s hard to tell in the fluorescent light from outside, but Jensen thinks he might be blushing. “And I wanted to buy your drink. It makes me happy. I like to share. If you want, you can get it next time.”
Jensen turns away again, and masks his confusion by saying, “I’m not paying for a large. I’ll buy you a medium.”
Jared laughs, and deep in Jensen's chest, a little spark of hope flares to life and refuses to be smothered.
Jared drives them to a nearby park, and they stretch out on a pair of picnic tables, head to head, close enough that Jensen can hear Jared’s breath, could touch his hair if he reached above his own. They watch the stars while they finish off their drinks. Jared complains of brain-freeze, and Jensen would have said something about “How does that work without brains?” if he’d been with Garrett, but Jared’s different, and he doesn’t take the risk.
“You need to get home right away?” Jared asks at last, and a part of Jensen wants to come up with some reason, wants to be safe, wants to run from the new and difficult.
“Not for a while,” he says, and wishes he could see Jared’s face.
“Wanna go back to my house?” Jared asks, “We could play video games, or watch a movie?”
That’s--so far out of the scope of things Jensen may have ever considered that he doesn’t know how to reply.
“Why?” he asks. It sounds rude, so he tries to soften it with: “Why would you want to do that?”
“I like you,” Jared says, quieter than guys usually talk to each other. Jensen tries to not panic, tries to not lose himself in figuring out what that means, what Jared wants, what Jensen's gonna do about it. He likes Jared, he reminds himself, and it’s the truth. He tries to shut down the parts of his brain that are twisting in a wordless freefall into the things he can’t think about, tries to focus here, now.
Jared’s saying something about a ride home later, and Jensen interrupts with a “Yeah. Okay, yeah.”
The dogs greet them at the door instead of the gate this time, whining and nuzzling Jared’s then Jensen's hands, looking for treats or scritches or something else he can’t imagine. They’re silly and sweet and Jensen crouches down for a moment and rubs behind Harley’s ears.
Gerry’s in the living room when they get there, watching some western on the television. Jared hustles them through the unlit dining room, and after the embarrassment of last time, Jensen can’t blame him. Jared nods at the stairs, “C’mon,” he says, “My room’s up this way.”
Jensen refuses to back out now, no matter how hard it is to breathe, no matter how hard his heart beats in his chest. He knows he’s not walking to the gallows, but the feeling is still there.
A month ago he couldn’t imagine wanting to go upstairs to someone’s bedroom enough to do it. Now, it’s not easy, but it’s better than the alternative, running away like a nut-job. The dogs go upstairs with them, and that makes it a little easier, their unconditional affection bolstering his confidence.
Jared’s bedroom isn’t big, probably a little smaller than the room Jensen shares with Garrett. Bed, dresser, television, nightstand, all the usual stuff, but what catches Jensen's attention are the drawings. Jared’s walls are covered, papered, in his artwork, pages of pencil and charcoal and ink sketches and finished pieces, so many of them that there’s no telling what color the walls underneath are, if there’s paneling or paint behind the art.
“I’ll be back,” Jared says, and disappears before Jensen can even begin to process the wealth of images.
The drawings are all people, Jensen notices. Some are so vague, just the shape and the motion. Others are detailed portraits. He recognizes Jared’s mom and dad, a few of his sister. One drawing catches his eye. The man is young, handsome. He looks so strong, his eyes bright and sure. It takes Jensen a minute to realize he’s looking at himself, that those are his eyes, his lips, the slope of his own jaw.
Jared sees him like this, not as some whiny fragile thing, not as a coward or a toy. He’s not sure how to take it. It feels like a challenge, a chance to be something more than he is. A chance to prove himself that’s more real than his difficult career plan. It scares him, that maybe Jared expects him to be the guy in the drawing.
When Jared comes back into the room, Jensen is still looking at himself, and he startles, feeling vain for staring so long.
“Oh, jeeze,” Jared says as he sees what Jensen's looking at. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that when I invited you up. I know you don’t like seeing the drawings you model for.” He sets stuff down on the dresser by the TV--two glasses of what looks to be Sprite, and a stack of movies.
He reaches for the thumbtacks holding the drawing paper up, but Jensen stops him with a soft-spoken “No, don’t. It’s okay.”
Jared looks over his shoulder, and Jensen finds a genuine smile to give him. Jared’s return grin is like the sun, and Jensen feels a thrill that he did that, before it’s too much and he has to cough and turn away.
“Uh, ‘The Fugitive’ or ‘Boondock Saints?’” Jared asks.
“The second one,” Jensen answers, shifting on his feet.
Jared smiles again, all dimples and teeth. “Sorry there’s nowhere to sit,” he says. “You take the bed, I’ll sit here on the floor.”
Jensen hates to be a problem, so much so that it makes his chest hurt, but he toes off his shoes and settles on the edge of the mattress. Jared feeds the tape into the VCR and then plunks himself on the carpet, reaching up to get his drink. Jensen moves back some more, pulling his legs up to give Jared more room, to keep them from touching. He’s not sure what’ll happen if they do, if he’ll finally be sure that Jared doesn’t want him like that, or if there will be this new ‘touching’ thing to deal with.
Sadie jumps up on the bed, and Jared turns with obvious intent to shoo her off, but she tucks her nose under Jensen's hand, and Jared caves like a marshmallow. “Just this once,” he mock-scolds the dog.
Jensen tugs his lower lip with his teeth to hide his grin as the movie starts. Jared turns back towards the TV and the opening credits start.
Jared watches the movie, and Jensen watches Jared, the shift of attention and emotion across his face. He figures it’s only fair, after Jared got to draw him while he studied. He’s no artist, but he can appreciate beauty when he sees it. Jared’s bright, like a star, and almost as far from Jensen's reach. He resolves to savor the moments, store them away for a time when he’s alone.
Jensen shifts around, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. He doesn’t want to lean back against the drawings on the wall behind the bed. Jared looks back, his hazel eyes soft with concern. “Do you want a pillow? You can lay down if you want.”
Laying down sounds good--it’s later than Jensen usually stays up and he’d gotten another night of short sleep, too anxious about Jared coming to Garrett’s game, or not, to rest. He’ll be able to see Jared and the TV from that position. He moves until he’s curled up on his side, his head on Jared’s pillows, his body stretched out on Jared’s bed. Sadie crawls up behind him, snuffling at his neck through the hoodie he’s still wearing. Jared smiles to see it, and Jensen is the happiest he can remember being in a long time.
Having Jared so close slowly changes from exciting to pleasant to comforting. Despite the violence on the screen, Jensen feels his eyes growing heavy. Every blink seems to take longer, and the gaps in the movie’s reasoning seem bigger. Men are yelling and he’s not really sure why, but Jared watches like it matters and Jensen watches Jared.
His eyes are itchy and achy so he takes his glasses off to rub them, and then it seems like too much trouble to put them back on again. Jared’s still pretty, even with the edges of him softened by Jensen's vision. The TV is blurry but he doesn’t care--all he wants to see is close enough.
He closes his eyes, and sleep infiltrates his mind, seeping like tar, enveloping his thoughts.
Innocent-artist-Jared
Warnings for "Oh Jensen--"
Jensen likes Jared’s truck, its old-truck smell, oil and age and dogs. He likes the engine’s heavy rumble. There’s nothing flashy or slick about it; it’s real, and it makes Jared feel real by extension, genuine. He wishes he had his backpack though, something to hold in his hands, to think about besides how close Jared is.
Jensen isn’t used to wanting something that has even a chance of coming true. He’d never have liked Jared if he’d known where it would lead, that he’d be in Jared’s truck, in his parent’s house, that Jared would show up to Garrett’s game at Jensen's invitation. It’s new and it’s weird and it scares the crap out of him.
“Hey,” says Jared, and Jensen remembers that he’s not as invisible as he wishes. “Mind if we stop at Sonic? I’ve been craving limeade slush all day.”
Jensen's lips twitch, and he turns to the window before Jared can see his smile. It’s like driving around with an overgrown ten-year-old. Seriously.
“I’m not in a rush,” Jensen says, “And you’re the driver.”
They pull into the garish yellow and red parking lot. “America’s favorite drive-in,” the sign proclaims, and Jensen wonders for just a second, if Jared chose it for Jensen, because it’s quiet and they don’t have to get out of the truck, stand in line, deal with people. He’s not sure if it’s comforting, that Jared wants to make it easy for him, or embarrassing, that Jared doesn’t think he can handle going into a restaurant.
“These are great,” Jared says as he reads the menu even though he already knows what he wants. “You want one?”
If Jensen says no, Jared’ll think he’s broke and worry, so Jensen digs a five out of his jeans pocket. “Yeah,” he says, “Order me a medium?”
Jared waves away the money. “I’ve got it this time,” he says, and pushes the ‘ready to order’ button. He gets Jensen's medium, and a ‘Route 44’ giant size for himself.
“Look,” says Jensen while they wait for the car-hop to bring their drinks, “I don’t--I’m not really eating ramen breakfast, lunch and dinner, you know.” Jared looks at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. “You don’t have to buy my drink or have your mom feed me.”
This huge grin spreads across Jared’s face, and Jensen has no idea what it means. “My mom’s decided you’re too skinny and she needs to put some meat on you.” It’s hard to tell in the fluorescent light from outside, but Jensen thinks he might be blushing. “And I wanted to buy your drink. It makes me happy. I like to share. If you want, you can get it next time.”
Jensen turns away again, and masks his confusion by saying, “I’m not paying for a large. I’ll buy you a medium.”
Jared laughs, and deep in Jensen's chest, a little spark of hope flares to life and refuses to be smothered.
Jared drives them to a nearby park, and they stretch out on a pair of picnic tables, head to head, close enough that Jensen can hear Jared’s breath, could touch his hair if he reached above his own. They watch the stars while they finish off their drinks. Jared complains of brain-freeze, and Jensen would have said something about “How does that work without brains?” if he’d been with Garrett, but Jared’s different, and he doesn’t take the risk.
“You need to get home right away?” Jared asks at last, and a part of Jensen wants to come up with some reason, wants to be safe, wants to run from the new and difficult.
“Not for a while,” he says, and wishes he could see Jared’s face.
“Wanna go back to my house?” Jared asks, “We could play video games, or watch a movie?”
That’s--so far out of the scope of things Jensen may have ever considered that he doesn’t know how to reply.
“Why?” he asks. It sounds rude, so he tries to soften it with: “Why would you want to do that?”
“I like you,” Jared says, quieter than guys usually talk to each other. Jensen tries to not panic, tries to not lose himself in figuring out what that means, what Jared wants, what Jensen's gonna do about it. He likes Jared, he reminds himself, and it’s the truth. He tries to shut down the parts of his brain that are twisting in a wordless freefall into the things he can’t think about, tries to focus here, now.
Jared’s saying something about a ride home later, and Jensen interrupts with a “Yeah. Okay, yeah.”
The dogs greet them at the door instead of the gate this time, whining and nuzzling Jared’s then Jensen's hands, looking for treats or scritches or something else he can’t imagine. They’re silly and sweet and Jensen crouches down for a moment and rubs behind Harley’s ears.
Gerry’s in the living room when they get there, watching some western on the television. Jared hustles them through the unlit dining room, and after the embarrassment of last time, Jensen can’t blame him. Jared nods at the stairs, “C’mon,” he says, “My room’s up this way.”
Jensen refuses to back out now, no matter how hard it is to breathe, no matter how hard his heart beats in his chest. He knows he’s not walking to the gallows, but the feeling is still there.
A month ago he couldn’t imagine wanting to go upstairs to someone’s bedroom enough to do it. Now, it’s not easy, but it’s better than the alternative, running away like a nut-job. The dogs go upstairs with them, and that makes it a little easier, their unconditional affection bolstering his confidence.
Jared’s bedroom isn’t big, probably a little smaller than the room Jensen shares with Garrett. Bed, dresser, television, nightstand, all the usual stuff, but what catches Jensen's attention are the drawings. Jared’s walls are covered, papered, in his artwork, pages of pencil and charcoal and ink sketches and finished pieces, so many of them that there’s no telling what color the walls underneath are, if there’s paneling or paint behind the art.
“I’ll be back,” Jared says, and disappears before Jensen can even begin to process the wealth of images.
The drawings are all people, Jensen notices. Some are so vague, just the shape and the motion. Others are detailed portraits. He recognizes Jared’s mom and dad, a few of his sister. One drawing catches his eye. The man is young, handsome. He looks so strong, his eyes bright and sure. It takes Jensen a minute to realize he’s looking at himself, that those are his eyes, his lips, the slope of his own jaw.
Jared sees him like this, not as some whiny fragile thing, not as a coward or a toy. He’s not sure how to take it. It feels like a challenge, a chance to be something more than he is. A chance to prove himself that’s more real than his difficult career plan. It scares him, that maybe Jared expects him to be the guy in the drawing.
When Jared comes back into the room, Jensen is still looking at himself, and he startles, feeling vain for staring so long.
“Oh, jeeze,” Jared says as he sees what Jensen's looking at. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that when I invited you up. I know you don’t like seeing the drawings you model for.” He sets stuff down on the dresser by the TV--two glasses of what looks to be Sprite, and a stack of movies.
He reaches for the thumbtacks holding the drawing paper up, but Jensen stops him with a soft-spoken “No, don’t. It’s okay.”
Jared looks over his shoulder, and Jensen finds a genuine smile to give him. Jared’s return grin is like the sun, and Jensen feels a thrill that he did that, before it’s too much and he has to cough and turn away.
“Uh, ‘The Fugitive’ or ‘Boondock Saints?’” Jared asks.
“The second one,” Jensen answers, shifting on his feet.
Jared smiles again, all dimples and teeth. “Sorry there’s nowhere to sit,” he says. “You take the bed, I’ll sit here on the floor.”
Jensen hates to be a problem, so much so that it makes his chest hurt, but he toes off his shoes and settles on the edge of the mattress. Jared feeds the tape into the VCR and then plunks himself on the carpet, reaching up to get his drink. Jensen moves back some more, pulling his legs up to give Jared more room, to keep them from touching. He’s not sure what’ll happen if they do, if he’ll finally be sure that Jared doesn’t want him like that, or if there will be this new ‘touching’ thing to deal with.
Sadie jumps up on the bed, and Jared turns with obvious intent to shoo her off, but she tucks her nose under Jensen's hand, and Jared caves like a marshmallow. “Just this once,” he mock-scolds the dog.
Jensen tugs his lower lip with his teeth to hide his grin as the movie starts. Jared turns back towards the TV and the opening credits start.
Jared watches the movie, and Jensen watches Jared, the shift of attention and emotion across his face. He figures it’s only fair, after Jared got to draw him while he studied. He’s no artist, but he can appreciate beauty when he sees it. Jared’s bright, like a star, and almost as far from Jensen's reach. He resolves to savor the moments, store them away for a time when he’s alone.
Jensen shifts around, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. He doesn’t want to lean back against the drawings on the wall behind the bed. Jared looks back, his hazel eyes soft with concern. “Do you want a pillow? You can lay down if you want.”
Laying down sounds good--it’s later than Jensen usually stays up and he’d gotten another night of short sleep, too anxious about Jared coming to Garrett’s game, or not, to rest. He’ll be able to see Jared and the TV from that position. He moves until he’s curled up on his side, his head on Jared’s pillows, his body stretched out on Jared’s bed. Sadie crawls up behind him, snuffling at his neck through the hoodie he’s still wearing. Jared smiles to see it, and Jensen is the happiest he can remember being in a long time.
Having Jared so close slowly changes from exciting to pleasant to comforting. Despite the violence on the screen, Jensen feels his eyes growing heavy. Every blink seems to take longer, and the gaps in the movie’s reasoning seem bigger. Men are yelling and he’s not really sure why, but Jared watches like it matters and Jensen watches Jared.
His eyes are itchy and achy so he takes his glasses off to rub them, and then it seems like too much trouble to put them back on again. Jared’s still pretty, even with the edges of him softened by Jensen's vision. The TV is blurry but he doesn’t care--all he wants to see is close enough.
He closes his eyes, and sleep infiltrates his mind, seeping like tar, enveloping his thoughts.