The Best Thing I Ever Ate, Part 2
kung pao chicken
Kane’s going on tour with his band for the summer, Aldis has an internship at a firm up in Dallas that starts June first, and Jensen’s volunteering at a rehab hospital downtown for clinical credit. He’s staying at the house for the summer, just him and Jared. Before that night in May, Jared had been looking forward to it. Since then, he’s been dreading it.
Turns out he was right to. When Kane and Aldis pack their shit and go, being alone in the house with Jensen is almost unbearable. It’s not that they don’t talk - they do, polite inquiries about their respective jobs or grocery lists, and hollow comments about the crap on TV or the fact that Chad is the worst basketball player on the planet. But underneath that, there’s a sense that something inevitable and powerful is about to happen. It reminds Jared of tornado season, how the sky goes green-gray and the birds stop singing and the air thickens, so much pressure building up, oppressive and unmistakable.
Jared pretty much feels guilty or furious at himself or frustrated with Jensen all the time. He tries to take his cues from Jensen, who seems to think that pretending nothing happened and faking it until they make it is the best way to go.
Which is at least partially why, when Jared runs into Brandon at Freebird’s, he accepts his offer to dinner and a concert on Friday. He has a good time, best time he’s had in a while, actually, and invites Brandon back to the house. Brandon is tall and blond and slender, a smart mouth with a quick tongue that he puts to fantastic use. He doesn’t stay the night, and Jared sleeps like a dead man, fucked out but unsatisfied.
*
The next morning Jensen is in scrubs and white sneakers, eating a bowl of cereal - he works Tuesdays to Saturdays at the hospital - while leaning against the counter top. He looks fucking cute, and Jared would have said so a month ago, but not anymore.
“Hey,” Jared says, scratching his stomach and squinting into the fridge, trying to find orange juice.
He’s answered by the sound of the ceramic hitting stainless steel and water running.
The OJ is behind a flat two liter bottle of Pepsi and three jars of spaghetti sauce, and there’s maybe half a cup left based on the weight of the carton. Jensen had to be the one to put it back empty, and when Jared straightens to find Jensen standing right up in his personal space, his face blank but his eyes blazing, Jared’s already halfway to pissed off. He’s totally overreacting for completely obvious reasons but he’s determined to go with it, to relieve some of the pressure.
“You think maybe the next time you bring back a booty call you could be a little quieter about it?” Jensen grates out.
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the guy,” Jared says, crossing his arms over his chest. Jensen’s eyes track the movement before snapping back to Jared’s face.
“Classy, Jay. For fuck’s sake. That’s just.” Jensen shakes his head. “Just don’t bring anyone home while I’m here, okay?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jared exclaims. “Danneel fucking moved in here when you were together.”
Jensen’s lips thin, his nostrils flare, and Jared thinks okay, this is it, we’re finally going to bust this open, one way or another. His hands clench and release and Jared just wants Jensen to do something.
But of course, Jensen doesn’t. Jensen is always in control, never lets anything go, never lets anyone in but Jared and Jared ruined that, put this look of distance and mild disgust on Jensen’s face. His voice is low but even when he says, “Danneel was not some random fuck off the street. Don’t bring her into our shit, Jared. Don’t you dare.” He stares Jared down like they’re two alpha dogs vying for pack dominance, his eyes seeming to say I don’t want to beat the shit out of you but I can and I will if you don’t back off and he must see whatever he wants to see because abruptly, he’s out the back door and gone.
Jared sucks in a breath and sits down heavily in the white plastic lawn chair that serves as part of their dining set. He doesn’t know what to do; in the past when there was something festering between them, someone picked a fight like he just tried. But Jensen’s not going for it. Jared misses Jensen so bad that his body aches, like even the micro-pieces of himself need Jensen, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do.
*
Jared’s sitting in that exact same spot when he hears Jensen’s truck pull in to the driveway. He must have stopped somewhere on the way, because Jared has been to work and come home and placed himself in this spot, a soldier taking up position, bunkering down, hoping that the guy on higher ground doesn’t get the drop on him.
He’s listening so hard for the noises of Jensen’s progress - keys in the bowl in the front hall, shoes off and into the closet, weight on the creaky floorboard in the hall - that he almost misses the moment Jensen actually enters the room. He’s got a takeout bag from New Mandarin, and Jared knows that it holds a carton of Kung Pao chicken, pork lo mein, and steamed dumplings, because that’s what they get. Used to get.
He wasn’t really sure how this whole thing was going to go, just that he was going to dig in and have this out, whether it took the form of yelling or begging or both, until that moment. Seeing that bag, smelling the spices that have already started to fill the kitchen even though Jensen’s only been standing there for five seconds, remembering all the times they’ve shared that exact meal, Jared is abruptly certain that he’s going to fix them and it’s going to be tonight.
“Hi,” he says, calm coming from out of nowhere.
Jensen stills, startled by Jared’s presence or by Jared saying something to him. He cuts his eyes over, and he takes too long to say, “Hi.”
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Jared says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Jensen, watching for signs that he’s going to bolt. “Shouldn’t have said that about Danneel. It was out of line.”
Jensen moves on light feet, sets the bag down on the counter. His shoulders are set defensively, as though he’s come to the same conclusion as Jared - that they’re going to have this out - but isn’t much looking forward to it. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Jared stands, and the sound of the chair scraping on the linoleum is loud, jarring. “Could we stop doing the whole polite strangers thing? It’s obviously not working.”
Jensen sighs, and his frustration is evident in every line of his body. “I don’t know what you want me to say, here, Jared.”
Jared doesn’t think, just goes with his gut, says the first thing that pops into his brain. “I want you to stop punishing me.” It feels so incredibly good to get that out, to put what’s been happening between them and how shitty it makes him feel out in the open, that adrenaline flows to the tips of his fingers and toes, tingling.
“What?”
Jared’s rolling now, out of the gate, and the words come out in a rush of honesty and hurt. “I know I fucked up that night when I - when I kissed you. I know you didn’t want it, and I know it was fucked up, but I apologized, and I said I wouldn’t do it again, and you - it’s like you can’t fucking stand me anymore, man, and I don’t know what to do with that.” Jensen recoils, jerks back, and Jared realizes that he’s been advancing on him the whole time. He stops, anchored to nothing in the middle of the floor. “See, stuff like that. I know you’re not gay, Jensen, but Jesus, it’s like I’m not allowed to touch you anymore. Like you’re disgusted by me, by who I am and that’s. That’s pretty fucking awful.”
This close, Jared can see the tremors in Jensen’s hands, wishes he would take that potential energy and turn it into kinetic even if it means a fist in Jared’s face. But he doesn’t. He just says, “I’m trying to get over it. I’m trying to get okay with it, but it’s goddamn difficult when you’re acting like nothing happened and bringing guys home, reminding me, shoving it in my face all that time that you - yeah. It’s hard, okay?”
Now Jared’s hands are the ones that are flexing and releasing, because he can’t believe - “Are you that homophobic, Jensen, really? Is that what this is about? You’re okay with me being gay until you feel, what, threatened?”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Jensen hisses. “I have never had a problem with you being gay, and you fucking know it.”
“What then? What? If that’s not it, then what is it? Lay it all out for me, Jensen. Go ahead, rationalize until the fucking cows come home.” Jared doesn’t even realize he’s yelling until he hears the final word echo through the room.
“Fuck you, Jared! You’re the one that kissed me, then told me it didn’t fucking mean anything!”
Jared’s so furious, so caught up in righteousness, that he doesn’t process other possible meanings of what Jensen just said until he’s unconsciously crowded Jensen up against the fridge, backed up but defiant, his green eyes blazing up at Jared and his hand knotted in the neck of Jared’s shirt like he’s prepared to hold him off or hold him down where he wants him.
“You - did you want it to mean something?” Jared asks, almost whispering, like a kid in the dark.
Jensen turns his face away. “Jared,” he sighs.
“Did you?” Jared repeats. When it becomes clear that Jensen isn’t going to say anything, isn’t going to give him anything, Jared takes a leap. “Because it did. To me. I’ve been - Jesus, I’ve been holding it back for - a really long time.”
“What, you change your mind?” Jensen asks, practiced bitterness and sarcasm covering the fear, and Jared gets it, he finally gets it. Hell, he’s felt it, turned it over and over in his mind lying in bed at night, worrying over it like a dog with a petrified bone. They’re so sure of each other in every other way, the stability and constancy and unconditional loyalty and love that characterizes their friendship, that the idea of risking that for something uncertain is terrifying. All of a sudden, Jared is sure, sure of Jensen and what they could have, of what they both want, maybe what they’ve both wanted for a long time.
“I didn’t change my mind,” Jared says, softly. “Believe me, I didn’t change my mind. You’ve pretty much been all that’s on my mind for the last two years.”
Jensen turns back at that, his eyes bright and searching Jared’s face, and Jared decides to lay it all out on the table, to jump off the cliff, because now he’s sure that Jensen’s going to jump with him, Butch and Sundance all the way. “I lied,” he says, letting himself look at Jensen’s lips. “It’s going to happen again.”
“Jared, I don’t-”
“Trust me,” he says, sliding his hands up Jensen’s neck, cupping his jaw, framing his face. Jared takes in the details, from Jensen’s curling lashes to the freckles that frame his mouth to the lines starting to form at the corners of his green, green eyes. He loves Jensen’s face, loves Jensen’s everything, and he’s goddamn well going to show him.
Jensen’s lips are soft, pliant. Jared kisses him with all the tenderness and affection and devotion that fills him up, spills over and out, his heart too full to contain it all.
The instant Jensen begins to return the kiss, when Jared feels Jensen’s tongue flick out briefly to moisten their lips, ease the way, Jared’s knees almost give out with relief and arousal.
Jensen’s hasn’t let go of Jared’s shirt, and he uses his grip to tug Jared closer, to bring their bodies into contact from chest to hips, and the heat of it, hard planes of muscle and solid bone beneath, makes Jared moan against Jensen’s lips.
Jared can’t stop kissing Jensen, long open-mouthed kisses, just sliding his top lip against Jensen’s full bottom one, then going the other way, no tongue, no teeth, just heat and moisture and slick, blood-warmed skin. So it’s got to be Jensen that deepens it, using his tongue to urge Jared’s mouth open, slipping past his lips to explore, wet muscle finding its way inside and pushing, pushing at Jared’s tongue and teeth, pushing at Jared’s control.
Jared breaks the kiss, panting, leaning his forehead against the fridge behind Jensen’s shoulder. “Jensen ... you sure? You gotta be sure, because I can’t go back to-”
Jensen tugs at the back of Jared’s neck until he looks at him, really looks, and Jared sees it then, everything Jensen’s been holding back, so powerful it’s almost a physical force. “I trust you,” Jensen says.
*
Jared lets Jensen explore, spread out face down on his bed in the lamplight. He wants to get his hands on Jensen - so, so badly - but he knows, now, that there will be time for that in the future. He’s willing to wait his turn, let Jensen have this, map his love and apology and lust by skimming his hands up Jared’s sides, trailing his fingertips down Jared’s spine, gripping and massaging the globes of his ass.
Want throbs in Jared’s body, his nerves so sensitive that he can feel every beat of his heart in the tips of his fingers, his toes, his dick. When Jensen places a line of open mouthed kisses across his shoulder blade, when he licks and bites his way down Jared’s back, when he slips his fingers inside Jared’s body with slow, sweetly agonizing caution that indicates inexperience and curiosity and so much care, it’s like Jared’s mind shorts out, his existence reduces, concentrates into pure sensation. He gives himself to Jensen, lets go of his sense of self and his consciousness, rocking, rocking, rocking together.
*
Jensen’s face is buried between Jared’s shoulder blades, arm wrapped tightly around Jared’s waist, and it feels like he’s never going to let go. He’s pressing kisses to Jared’s back, his mouth hot against Jared’s sweat-cooled skin.
“How long?” Jared asks as he runs his hand over the muscles in Jensen’s forearm, corded from his work at the clinic.
Jared feels Jensen’s smile on the nape of his neck. “You know when my Dad used to get those steaks from Kroger?”
*
Around three in the morning, Jared’s stomach rumbles loud enough for long enough that Jensen stops his tongue’s southward progress around the latitude of Jared’s bellybutton and forces him out of bed, follows him into the kitchen, both of them stark naked. At first Jared can’t believe how comfortable it is to be with Jensen like this, how comfortable Jensen seems with it all, but then he thinks maybe they’ve come full circle - they took baths together, that first summer, so mutual nudity is nothing new.
The Chinese food is on the counter where Jensen left it, and the dumplings are probably ruined but the noodles are fine and the kung pao chicken is just as good cold as hot, garlic and chilis and ginger and snowpeas and crunchy bamboo shoots. They eat it with their fingers, too impatient for chopsticks, greedy and messy, licking sticky sauce off each other’s hands when they’re done with it all.
Jensen tastes like kung pao when Jared kisses him, right up against the fridge like the first time but nothing like the first time, certainty and familiarity in their touches. Jared takes the lead, and Jensen lets him, submitting to Jared’s hands on his chest, hips, balls. Jared presses in against him, grips their cocks together his hand, watches himself spurt over the both of them, watches Jensen’s face as he comes, gasping, an instant later. Jared thinks I did that, that look in his face is for me, and he can’t imagine anything ever being this good.
*
They’re sitting on the couch on opposite ends when Aldis gets back from Dallas, watching “Die Hard” for the eighty billionth time in their lives. Jared gets up and hugs him so hard he lifts him off his feet, and Jensen does some complicated thing with hands and back slapping.
Beers are opened to celebrate and Aldis is halfway through his first when his eyes get big and he looks back and forth between them with dawning understanding and horror. “At least tell me you didn’t. In the kitchen.”
“Where else would we?” Jensen says, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the width of his smile.
waffles with blueberry compote and homemade whipped cream
Jared stirs awake to the smell of bacon cooking, salty and greasy and basically awesome. He loves Saturdays.
They’ve figured out that Jared is better at dinner-type things and Jensen’s better with baking and breakfast, so that’s how they divide the cooking labor. Weekends mean Jared waking up to pastries and home fries and crispy pork, followed by showers and teeth brushing, followed by going back to bed for sex and sleep. Weekends are the best.
This one’s going to be the best ever.
He practically jumps out of bed, pulls on a pair of discarded sweat pants that he realizes are Jensen’s when they only reach the tops of his ankles. Oh, well. They have pockets, so they’re fine.
Jared actually squints when he stumbles into their bright, south-facing, remodeled, very adult kitchen. It’s so far from the house they spend their college years in that it kind of blows Jared’s mind every time he sees it. It’s part of the house that they bought, and it’s full of stuff they picked out together. The bay window has a view of the garden.
Jensen’s at the stove in a ratty old t-shirt and basketball shorts and bare feet, a plate of bacon on the counter beside him. It’s not even a contest, really, bacon or Jensen.
Jared comes up behind him, slides his hands across Jensen’s obliques and down, settling finally at Jensen’s hips. The bend between Jensen’s neck and left shoulder looks tasty, so he bites it lightly and finds that it’s just as good as it looks.
Jensen hmmms, and leans back into Jared’s body, mindlessly offering more of his neck with a tilt of his head. Jared trails kisses down the length of the taut muscle and settles his chin on Jensen’s shoulder when he’s done.
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Waffles with blueberry compote and bacon,” Jensen says, stirring.
“Blueberry what now?”
“Smushed up blueberries with sugar and cornstarch,” Jensen clarifies.
“And whipped cream?”
“If you want.” Jensen stirs the mixture again, dips a bit onto the spoon, and tastes. He smacks his lips, satisfied, but there’s a bit of blueberry goo at the corner of his mouth so Jared collects it with a flick of his tongue. It’s sweet and slightly bitter at the same time, and he likes it.
“It’s good,” Jared says. “But I think it needs something.”
Jensen frowns. “What? What’s it need? Salt? More sugar?” Predictably, he dips the tip of a finger into the sauce, and Jared intercepts it before Jensen can bring it to his mouth.
Jensen’s index finger tastes like blueberries and sugar and bacon grease, and Jared licks and sucks at it until all those flavors are gone and the only one that remains is Jensen’s, familiar and addictive. He makes it a show, hollowing his cheeks and letting Jensen’s skin drag against his lips, flashing his tongue, getting Jensen’s finger wetter than it needs to be. He’s hard already, just from doing this, his dick obscenely tenting the sweatpants away from his body.
“Jared,” Jensen murmurs. His eyes are fixed on his finger is sliding in and out of Jared’s mouth, pupils blown and lips red as though he’s been the one sucking something. Jared loves it, the way Jensen’s mouth, cheeks, ears, nipples, cock flush so red when he’s turned on.
Jared’s got to have those lips, has to taste, feel, devour, and Jensen gives as good as he gets, opening up immediately to let Jared’s tongue sweep his teeth and the roof of his mouth, chasing it back when it retreats, sucking on it.
“Mmmm, can’t tell, need another taste,” Jared says, and Jensen reads his mind, both of them on the same page like always, swiping two fingers into the blueberries and offering them to Jared.
The flavor is intense, slightly sour and sweet and fresh, and Jared enjoys it before getting down to the business of soaking Jensen’s fingers with saliva, swirling his tongue around the tips, between them, over the big knuckles and flat fingernails. He grunts and shuts his eyes when Jensen’s other hand finds his cock, firm grip squeezing and releasing with the rhythm of Jared’s sucks.
“Breakfast later?” Jensen asks hopefully.
“Breakfast now,” Jared says, grabbing the small pot of blueberry compote off the stove and pushing Jensen in the direction of the table, a big, solid thing made of Mexican pine.
“Oh,” Jensen says, and swallows, looking at Jared’s fingers, his swollen mouth.
“Yeah.” When Jensen’s thighs hit the edge of the table, Jared’s on him, kissing deep, hands moving restlessly, trying to find skin. “Take this off,” he says, tugging at Jensen’s shirt.
Jensen does one better, stripping off the shirt and pushing down his shorts, and even after all this time, Jared can’t decide what to look at first - his erect nipples, small and pebbled, the gentle cuts in his abs, the vee of his hips, framing his gorgeous cock, already purpling with blood and swollen toward his belly, or his face, pink cheeks and green eyes and freckles even more noticeable against his flush. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” Jared says.
Jared wouldn’t have thought it possible but Jensen goes even redder, blushing at the compliment, and Jared loves him so much he thinks it’s going to kill him sometimes. “Yeah, yeah. Less talk, more action,” Jensen says, and Jared’s very willing to comply. He quickly shucks the sweatpants and plasters himself against Jensen, miles and miles of skin pressed together.
“Thought you like it when I talk,” Jared says, sliding his hands around Jensen’s waist and bending slightly to bite down on the straining tendons in his neck. He opens his mouth against the tender spot, sliding his tongue across the place where a mark is already starting to rise. “Cause I got plans, and I was going to tell you about ‘em, but if you don’t want me to talk...”
“You’re an asshole,” Jensen says, already starting to sound a little short of breath, and Jared lets his hand brush against the wet head of his cock, accidentally on purpose. Jensen grips the edge of the table so hard it creaks, and Jared can’t resist the picture he makes, already desperate and looking like the incarnation of sex.
Jared dips his finger into the blueberry sauce, rubs it against Jensen’s lips, and fuck, it’s like lipstick, and Jared thinks he might have found a new kink to explore. Jared takes his time cleaning it off, licking and sucking at Jensen’s mouth while Jensen’s hands grip Jared’s ass, nails digging in to the skin. He coats his finger again, but this time he slides past Jensen’s lips, into his mouth. “Get it wet,” he orders, and he feels a deliberate graze of teeth before Jensen starts sucking in earnest, curling his tongue, letting spit gather. Jared adds another finger, enjoying the stretch of Jensen’s lips around them. He asks a question with his eyes, sets down a challenge, and Jensen says yes with his mouth, pulling harder at Jared’s fingers with his tongue, egging him on.
“Hmmm, I like this,” Jared says, bumping his hips against Jensen’s to show him just how much, his cock achingly hard. He rolls his hips, snug against the dip of Jensen’s hipbone, and the friction is perfect, double sensation of his fingers in Jensen’s hot mouth, his dick rubbing against skin and bone. “Think I could come.”
Jensen spits out Jared’s fingers. “You fucker, you’d better not-“
“I’d better not what, Jen?” Jared asks, using his weight and muscle to turn Jensen around, to guide him so that he lays his upper body flat against the table, ass up in the air and legs slightly spread. Jared runs his hand down the smooth skin of Jensen’s back, soothing and promising, appreciating of the play of muscle shifting under his fingers, loving the way his darker skin contrasts with Jensen’s lighter tone. They look damn good together. “Better not lay you out on this table and open you up with my tongue and fuck you until you can’t breathe?”
Jensen moans, shifting his hips and laying his head on his bent arm, stretched out and offered up for Jared. The only noise in the kitchen is the sound of Jensen’s harsh breathing and the rattle of the chair bouncing across the tile as Jared drags it over and settles down to work.
Jared traces the contours of Jensen’s butt, enjoying the round firmness of it, the delicious curve between his lower back and his cheeks. He brushes his thumbs over the spot where ass meets the top of Jensen’s thigh, then shifts up, revealing the pink furl of muscle between. Jensen jerks at the first touch of Jared’s tongue, a light, teasing motion, just getting the skin around his hole a little moist. He tastes clean, like soap and the shower he always takes first thing in the morning, and like Jensen, a warm combination of musk and spice that is utterly unique. Jared licks again, and again, alternating between flicks with the tip of his tongue and slow swipes with the broad flat, until Jensen’s hole is glistening and wet, until Jared’s jaw aches almost as badly as his dick, until Jensen is begging in broken words that barely make any sense.
“Jared, please, please, I’ll, if you, please, gonna die, just, god, god, god.”
Jared has no idea what that means but he definitely agrees. Jensen groans from deep in his chest when Jared sinks his middle finger inside, a slow but steady penetration. He almost passes out when the blood rushes to his cock at the feel of it, warm, smooth muscle hugging his finger. He watches as it disappears in and out of Jensen’s body, bends to lick at the spot where Jensen’s hole is spread open around it, getting his finger wet for the slide back in.
“Fuck, Jared, tryin’ to kill me,” Jensen says. He reaches around his body in an awkward bend, and slips a finger in beside Jared’s. The both moan, Jared from the sight of it and Jensen from how it feels, and Jared can see how stretched he is, how ready. He sits back in the chair, pulling at Jensen’s hips, and Jensen’s up, around, in his lap half a second later, his feet flat on the floor, his mouth eating the taste of himself off Jared’s tongue.
Jared spreads Jensen’s cheeks and Jensen steadies Jared’s cock with his fist as he sinks down with short circles of his hips, careful without lube but not so careful Jared can’t feel Jensen’s body opening up to accommodate him, this incredible clenching, gripping heat. Jensen only stops when his balls are flush against Jared’s abs and just that is almost enough to send Jared off.
“Don’t you dare,” Jensen gasps, recognizing the signs. He stills his body, rests his elbows on Jared’s shoulder and kisses him with long, deep swipes of his tongue and teasing nibbles. Jared runs his hands up and down Jensen’s back, cupping his shoulders and thrusting once, sharply.
Jensen throws his head back and takes it as the invitation it is, rising up, his ass clinging deliciously to Jared’s cock like it doesn’t want to give it up. He drops down hard and fast and sets up the pace like that, slow withdrawal and urgent penetration so that Jared starts to anticipate the rhythm, holding his breath on the way up, air punching out of his lungs on the way down.
Sweat is trickling down Jensen’s temples, starting to collect on his collarbones, and he glistens in the sunlight shining through the window.
“God, I love you,” Jared pants, and Jensen laughs.
“Doesn’t count during sex,” Jensen says, just as breathless, a shocky sound falling from his lips as he fucks himself on Jared’s cock, his dick leaving wet trails of precome on Jared’s abs, rubbing against the planes of Jared’s stomach with each thrust.
“Counts,” Jared pants. “Totally counts.” He grabs Jensen’s face in his hands and kisses him, close-mouthed, almost chaste kisses that speak of commitment and comfort, contentment and trust. Jensen’s hips slow their desperate movement, grinding and rolling now instead of thrusting, and Jared rolls with him, their mouths connected, their bodies joined.
Jared drops his head onto Jensen’s shoulder and Jensen’s hand comes up to grip the back of Jared’s head, fingers tangling in the wet strands. Jensen moans as they grind together, little ‘ah, ah, ahs’ that drive Jared wild, and his fingers dig into the muscle of Jensen’s back as he tries to hold on, just a bit longer.
“Jared,” Jensen whimpers, and Jared catches his lips just as Jensen starts to come, his ass spasming around Jared’s cock as his dick spurts against his stomach, his cries muffled by Jared’s mouth.
Jared’s orgasm erupts from the base of his spine, burning up his nerves. He clutches at Jensen as he shakes and pumps his come deep inside, hot spurts against his tight inner walls.
They sit there like that, wrapped around each other, breathing hard, until Jared’s cock slips from Jensen’s body. He can feel come sticky on his thighs and he’s already thinking about the clean up shower and round two.
But he’s got something to take care of, first.
“Jensen.”
“Wha?” Jensen says, lifting his head and wincing as he unfolds from Jared’s lap. He’s goddamn adorable, fucked out and stupid, wide green eyes and messy hair, leaning back against the table on unsteady legs.
“I came in here to ask you something before you distracted me with your blueberries and sex,” Jared says, his hand rubbing idly at Jensen’s come on his stomach.
“Ask me later,” he mumbles. “Gotta shower and die.”
“Kinda can’t wait,” Jared says, fumbling around for the sweatpants while Jensen grabs up his discarded clothes into a ball, not bothering to put them back on.
“Whatever,” Jensen says.
“Marry me,” Jared says.
“You’re just saying that because of the blueberries and sex,” Jensen says, finally getting himself together enough to grin and focus on Jared, who’s holding two matching rings in the palm of his hand. “You’re serious.”
“Pretty serious,” Jared says, suddenly horribly nervous. He’s never been more sure of anything than he is of Jensen but still. He’s asking someone to marry him, and neither of them are wearing any clothes. It’s kind of wonderful and terrible at the same time. “We’ve, uh, we’ve spent most of our lives together already, anyway, and we’ll probably spend the rest of it together, but I want - I want to be this, with you. Want to be married to you.”
Jensen’s stare is a weight crushing the air out of Jared’s lungs. Jared really doesn’t know what Jensen’s thinking about this, whether he’ll think it’s stupid or unnecessary, but Jared wants this, wants to stand up in front of their friends and family and swear his love and commitment to Jensen and have that returned. He can’t explain it; he just knows, deep down, that this is something they should do, together.
“Well,” Jensen says, finally, when Jared thinks he’s about to pass out with nerves. The slow grin that Jared has loved for as long as he can remember spreads across his face, and his hand closes over Jared’s where it’s clenched around the rings. “On that note. Let’s get married.”