why don't you do right {part two, nc-17, jared/jensen}
Act II.
Jared.
Hollywood Town, 1947.
two nights ago…
Jared Padalecki had never been much of a drinker. His height and weight didn’t matter a bit; get a few hard sips in him and he was out for the count and none the wiser. It was something Jensen always teased him about, before adding how glad he was that Jared wasn’t one to lead his life by the bottle’s often precarious whims.
Tonight it was Jensen who’d driven him to the bottle.
Jared leaned back against a fencepost outside his split-level Hollywood mansion, let the woodsy flavor of the scotch he’d snatched from Bob’s office burn its way down his throat. Head spinning, he stared up at the single light burning in the upstairs bedroom. He could see Jensen pacing back and forth behind the curtain, his husband’s profile as well-known to him as his own.
A choked sob filled the air, and it took Jared several moments to realize it was even coming from him. He dropped the bottle, glass crashing at his feet, and felt inside his jacket for the photograph that had ended any optimistic thoughts for a future with Jensen with a click of a camera lens.
It was time to get over it, move on and move forward. Jared had survived plenty before Jensen; he’d survive just as well without him now. He just had to believe it. Which was more difficult in practice than theory, he discovered soon after he shut the front door behind himself and turned to find Jensen all but bounding down the steps.
“Jared?” Jensen’s voice took on an edge of relief, his fingers drawing a silk robe tight across his broad shoulders. His lips curved when Jared stepped out of the shadows. “There you are…I was worried. It’s late.”
Jared only stared at him, blinking wet lashes that he fully prepared to blame on the sudden California downpour, and not on any softer, destroyed emotion. Jensen’s smile faded, replaced by a question in those green eyes that Jared finally had to look away from.
He felt more than heard Jensen come closer, then strong fingers closed around his shoulder. “Jay?”
Jared was shaking; he bit down on his lip so hard that copper flooded his tongue, made nausea gather in his belly. He let himself sink into the warmth of Jensen’s embrace for all of a moment before shoving him away, breath coming fast and shallow.
Jensen reached for him again, hands pressed to Jared’s cheeks, whispering in urgent tones. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Jared backed toward the stairs, watching the way lamplight danced across Jensen’s confused--guilty?--features. He lifted a finger, shook it at the man who’d had his heart and fed it to the wolves. “I need you to stay away from me, Jensen. All right?”
“What? Jared!” Panic caused a break in Jensen’s smooth baritone, and Jared spun around on his heel. Pressed a fist between his eyes and took the stairs two at a time, angrily cursing himself as he heard Jensen calling after him.
He slammed through the bedroom suite they shared; blind and quaking as he threw open the closet doors. Grabbed the first piece of luggage he could find and began ransacking the room, tossing clothes into haphazard heaps.
“Jesus, what the hell are you doing?” Jensen shouted, gripping the doorway hard enough to splinter the wood before throwing himself across the room. Jared fought it when those arms came around him, ignoring Jensen’s muffled oath as he caught Jared’s elbow to the gut. They fell together.
“Gone. I want you gone.” Jared reached over Jensen’s leg for the bottom half of a navy suit that he well recognized. He’d purchased it for Jensen, against Jensen’s wishes, the night his husband scored the deal at the Ink & Paint. God, he’d been so fucking proud…such a fucking fool.
“I’m not going anywhere, damn it.” Tears were thickening Jensen’s voice, too, and he gripped the other end of the slacks. Met Jared’s gaze and held tight. “Tell me what’s happening here.”
It was then that Jared realized where they were, spread out and tangled across the bed, and familiar heat pooled in his stomach. Shot through his limbs, until Jensen’s eyes widened and he knew his husband realized exactly where his mind had gone.
Jensen licked his lips, lids falling half-closed as he pressed closer. “Jay.”
Jared closed his eyes, breath harsh, excited, and let Jensen lower his mouth against his jaw. The first touch made him jerk, his hands falling from around expensive fabric to take hold of Jensen’s hair. “I know.” Jensen worked his lips down Jared’s throat, sighing, and Jared tightened his grip. “I know all about it, Jensen. I saw…there were pictures, okay? You and…Eric.”
To give him credit, Jensen didn’t try to deny the accusation. Simply buried his face in Jared’s neck and shuddered. When it came, his voice was shot. Hoarse, soft. “It’s not…please, Jared, it’s not--”
“Don’t you dare,” Jared laughed without a bit of humor. “It’s exactly what I think, isn’t it?”
At Jensen’s silence, Jared’s heart broke all over again. He shoved the other man away, sitting up straight and staring at the gilded frame of a photo above the dresser. Jensen didn’t try to touch him again, but Jared could feel him panting from somewhere behind. Knew if he looked back, he’d see the same agony coloring those green eyes that was piercing right through him.
“Where…where do you want me to go?” Jensen finally asked, subdued and broken, and for whatever reason the compliance in his voice set Jared off hotter than his earlier defiance.
“I don’t give a damn, as long as you do.” Jared came slowly to his feet, turned and stared down into Jensen’s ravaged features. “Treat your tricks all you want, Jensen, but not when you’re staying in my goddamn house. Not when you’re goddamn with me.”
Jensen flinched like he’d been cold-cocked, and a fleeting wash of guilt overcame Jared. He shoved his hands in his pockets and touched the edge of Morgan’s print. He jerked it out, stared at the horrible image and swallowed down bile. “And take this with you, too.”
Jensen caught the photograph as it came sailing through the air, face pale and lips trembling. “God.” He blinked, staring at it much the same way as Jared had. Disbelief, maybe, edged with horror and humiliation. “How can I even blame you?”
It wasn’t what Jared was expecting to hear. Instinct had him ready to fall at Jensen’s feet, beg forgiveness for sins he hadn’t even committed, just to take away the pain in his eyes. It was his own damn fault, trying to play knight in shining armor when he’d barely been old enough to fight the war.
“Just…why?” He couldn’t hold back the question any longer, and hated that he felt like a child begging approval. “Was it something I…did I not…?”
“No. It’s not your fault.” Jensen stood up, wild-eyed and filled with desperation. Hunger. His eyes searched Jared’s face, hands settling on either side of Jared’s hips. “God, Jay, I look at you and just…”
Instead of finishing with words, Jensen pulled Jared’s face down into a kiss that hurt. His mouth ate at Jared’s, tongue lashing, and through the buzz in his ears Jared heard himself groaning. Responding. Arms wrapping like bands around Jensen’s waist, forcing him down to the mattress.
“Yeah.” It was a whisper, but Jared caught it all the same. Jensen’s harsh gasp when he sat up, ripped the robe from those freckled shoulders, worked like a hot-wire to his cock and Jared bent down. Sank his teeth into Jensen’s neck and gripped one strong thigh.
“P-Please.” Jensen growled, back arched and arm slung around Jared’s neck. “Do it, Jared. Punish me…if you want to.”
God help him, he did. He’d never wanted to physically hurt anyone before, but right now the idea of marking Jensen, of bloodying him with teeth and nails, satisfied some beast inside of Jared that had been sleeping for years.
“What was I thinking? You’re just too fucking pretty to be good,” he muttered, more to himself, but Jensen heard and drew his breath faster. Spread his legs and let Jared thrust between them. Jared’s lids fell closed, teeth ground together as Jensen reached down and popped the button of his fly.
“I can be good…for you, Jay,” Jensen said, filling his hands with Jared’s cock. Jared looked down, watched Jensen’s slick tongue paint his lips before those fingers threatened to send him to oblivion.
He pulled away, drawing a whine from deep in Jensen’s throat before he caught the dark, heady look in Jared’s eyes and shivered. “On your knees,” Jared managed, loosening his collar with a finger and already anticipating the many ways he’d make Jensen see the errors of his ways.
Jensen’s throat worked, cheeks flushed pink and pupils blown in the dim light. He nodded, once, before twisting onto his belly. Jared bit down hard at the sight it presented, hands anxious to lay claim to the freckled flesh.
“Christ.” He clenched his palms tight, throbbing from head-to-toe while Jensen hung his head between his shoulders. Said his name so softly, pleading, and Jared’s fingers were numb as they worked quickly at his shirt. Even when he finally pressed up skin-to-skin, it was hard to tell who was more in control of the situation.
Jensen’s shoulders rolled, a low groan escaping when Jared brushed against him, and anger warred with the desperate need to drive himself deep inside and never let Jensen go. Jared nuzzled the back of Jensen’s neck, caught an earlobe with his teeth. “Tell me what happened.”
Jensen made a questioning noise, nearly purring under Jared’s efforts.
“You fuck him like this?” Jared dragged his teeth along the cords of Jensen’s neck. His fingers held Jensen in place when he jerked at Jared’s words, something molten and furious sharpening Jared’s voice to a razor’s edge. “Or did you just go right for it, ride him all night long?”
“Jared.” It was a helpless plea, hardened by frustration. “Don’t.”
“Shut the hell up!” He smacked the curve of Jensen’s ass, palm burning as they both went still. Something threatened to rise up and choke him, blood pounding in his ears as he stared at the reddening handprint. Jensen was shaking underneath him, and Jared felt sick to his stomach. “God, Jensen, oh God, I’m--”
Jensen reared back, silenced him with a thready gasp. “Again.”
Then Jared did choke, unable to fully comprehend just how hearing that one word affected him…or maybe how long he’d really been waiting for it. “That what you really want?” he gritted out, rubbing against the mark he’d made. “For me to punish you?”
“I…” Jensen’s voice cracked with the crack of Jared’s hand. “God, I just want you. Jay.”
“Tell me what you did with him.” Sweat stung his eyes. He brought his hand down again, relished the hiss Jensen hardly tried to cover up. “Do it!” Jensen hesitated, and Jared growled under his breath. “You want it, you better fucking answer me.”
“I never…we didn’t…” It was obviously difficult for Jensen to speak, breath catching on each subsequent blow. Finally, he got it out in a low rush. “I never did this with anyone, Jared. Not like this…not since we…ah, it hurts!”
Already fumbling for the bottle of scented oil, Jared forced each word out past a throat scored by shouting and tears. “Well, that’ll sure help me sleep at night.” He slicked himself up, and spread Jensen apart. Closed his eyes as he slid inside on a heavy groan that Jensen echoed. Tight, heat, wet…he bit his lip and tried not to imagine Jensen in the same position with some faceless person.
Knowing it was useless.
Jensen grunted and took him, let Jared ride him rough and ready, and arched back when one of Jared’s hands closed around his neck. “Yours,” he swore on a heated whisper, and Jared’s fingers squeezed.
“Not anymore.”
Jensen cried out, cursing a filthy streak as Jared settled down deep and pounded. There was that split second, hovering on the edge before Jared followed, his own oaths staining the air as he gripped Jensen’s hips and gave himself one last time.
After it was over, Jensen’s hand brushed against his arm. Unsure, hesitant. Jared swallowed and leaned away from the promise in that single touch.
Reaching for his clothes, he thought of a dark room and a never-emptying bottle of whiskey. Well aware of Jensen sitting there, waiting, his words seemed more painful than anything his hands could accomplish.
“When I get back, I don’t expect you to be here. Find another rich trick’s dick to ride.”
xxx
The good thing about Los Angeles--which truth be told, Jared was running out of good things pretty fast--was that it never seemed to be too late for anything, and so it didn’t take too long trolling Little Hollywood’s back alleys to find just what he was looking for.
The Terminal Bar was nothing like the ritz and glamour Jared was accustomed to. If anything, it reminded him of the days back when he’d first fallen for Jensen--time spent driving past crusty city blocks. Young, more powerful than he had any right to be, bored half out of his mind and just hoping for a glimmer of interest from the street corner’s gorgeous, green-eyed god.
The memory sparked nothing but pain now, and Jared pushed through the grimy glass doors to find himself ensconced in warmth and tobacco. His eyes immediately began to water; he squinted through the smoke and made his way across the room to where an attractive brunette was pouring tired-eyed men their shots.
Her eyes performed a cursory look over him as he pulled up a barstool, then came back and widened. Jared offered a friendly smile that fell flat the second his lips quirked. “Bourbon,” he said, giving up the fight and resting his head on his forearms.
She turned to pour, and he listened to the steady thrum of voices around him. It was almost comforting in a way, knowing none of them cared who he was. None of them expected anything from him. When a glass slid his way, he glanced up with a murmur of thanks. He tossed it back, grimaced at the sour taste and slapped it down for another.
The barkeep hesitated, then straightened her shoulders and met his challenging stare head-on. “Long way from the palace, huh, Prince Charming?”
Jared had to laugh, albeit without humor. There was no accusation in her voice--concern, maybe?--but right now the last thing he wanted was to be questioned. “My royal money’s good here, too, I s’pose?”
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on the woman, who simply lifted a brow and moved to refill his glass. “We’re not too picky.”
“Glad to hear it.” Jared fumbled his drink, nearly gagged as it went down. When the coughing fit finally ended, the woman was shaking her head at him with something like pity in her eyes.
“I have to tell you…I make a living hearing sob stories, son, and drinking yourself blind isn’t going to solve a damn thing.”
Jared smacked his lips, brows drawing together as his vision went fuzzy and golden. “So, what you’re sayin’ is…be proactive. Take care of my business.”
She seemed a little uncertain, not really sure what exactly she was agreeing with him about, but nodded nonetheless. “I think so, yes. Better than destroying yourself from the inside out, anyway.” A soft snort, and she flicked a dishrag from the apron tied to her waist. “Get you another?”
He blinked at her sunny smile, feeling slow and unsteady. “Uh, n-no. I think I’m just gonna…” He scratched his head, remembered Jensen’s pretty mouth, his mouth, swallowing Eric’s cock. “I gotta go.”
He slapped a few bills down on the table, ignoring the woman’s squawk of surprise as he pushed back and started out the door. His feet didn’t seem to want to listen to his brain, but he wasn’t so out of it that he didn’t know damn well what he was doing.
Or where he was going.
He hailed a ride on the roadcar and within a quarter-hour found himself staring down the massive walls of Kripke House. The early evening drizzle had taken a turn for the worse, and Jared shook off the cold that ran down his nose. Shielded his eyes. “Kripke!”
The sound was lost amidst the rolling thunder, the wind slapping against the trees. Jared took a few steps closer, fury coiling in his breast as his voice broke. “Kripke! You lying bastard…afraid to show your face?”
He tasted salt on his tongue, and it wasn’t coming from the rain. Dragging in breath after breath, his fingers shook as he jerked at the locked gate leading up to the main house. He tossed curse after curse into the wind, near-on sobbing with anger, betrayal.
“You son of a bitch! He was mine! You son of a bitch--”
Pain, sudden and sharp, burst behind Jared’s lids, flaring outward through his limbs until his eyes rolled up in his head and everything went dark.
xxx
Two days later, and Jared still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened.
He told as much to J.D. Morgan, holed up in the ornery investigator’s apartment and shivering with the memories of waking up to find Eric’s dead body. Blood everywhere, the stench that still followed him…the very real possibility that he’d, oh, God.
“But you don’t actually remember doing it,” Morgan said, eyes narrowed on Jared as he passed over a steaming mug of coffee. Jared took it with a soft thanks, then shook his head in answer. Morgan’s big frame relaxed as he sat down at the rickety kitchen table and cracked his knuckles. “Well, then. Lemme get a look at your head.”
Jared frowned around the rim of his mug. “What?”
“I wanna see just how out of commission the bastards put you.” Morgan’s voice was casual, easy, but the hard glint in his eyes was making Jared more than a little nervous. When he hesitated, Morgan heaved a sigh and grabbed himself a handful of Jared’s shaggy hair. He started feeling the back of Jared’s head with nimble fingers, ignoring the pained hiss that escaped Jared’s lips. “Don’t tell me you don’t get what’s going on, Mr Padalecki.”
“Jared,” he mumbled without thinking. “It’s Jared, and what I don’t get is why you’re not calling the cops, Detective Morgan. Or do you usually feed and house confessed murderers?”
Morgan’s lips quirked just a bit at the snap in Jared’s voice. “That’s better,” he said approvingly. At Jared’s annoyed glance, he added, “You’re gonna need some of that spirit to get through this one, Jared. And what the hell, call me J.D while you’re at it.”
“Still haven’t answered my question.” Jared hunched his shoulders and relaxed under Morgan -- J.D.’s ministrations. “Why aren’t you turning me in? There’s enough damn evidence against me.”
“Easy. I don’t think you killed Eric Kripke,” J.D. said with quiet finality. “And despite your so-called confession, I don’t think you believe it, either.”
“But I was there,” Jared said, voice cracking as Eric’s dead gaze accused him behind tightly closed lids. “I-I have his blood all over me-”
“You’re being set up,” Morgan interjected smoothly. He dropped his hands and sat back to meet Jared’s wide eyes. “C’mon, don’t look so surprised. You’re an easy scapegoat, kid. Right time, wrong place…throw in a few juicy domestic details and you’re prime for the crime.”
Jared’s head felt like it was spinning. It was already difficult to pick just one awful revelation to concentrate on at a time, and now the idea that he was being framed for murder… “But why? Who would want Eric dead? He was harmless! Just a sweet old fool who loved everybody.”
J.D. cocked a brow and stood up, crossed the room to dump his glass in the sink. “Interesting analysis, considering his latest connection to you and yours.”
Jared flushed at the not-so-gentle reminder, as if he could really forget, but something still compelled him to - finally - admit the nasty truth. “Everyone’s that way around Jensen. It’s…hard to blame Eric for it, really.”
“But you do blame Jensen,” J.D. correctly deduced, and Jared had to look away. Shame and anger and betrayal still churned in his gut every time he thought of his husband’s infidelity. The devastated look in Jensen’s eyes during their last encounter…Jared couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“Yeah. I guess I do.” He swallowed the bitter dregs of his coffee, fought back the chill of disgust. “If he was tired of me, if he felt the need to do…well, he should’ve let me know. He should’ve let me go. If that’s what he wanted.”
It was the fair thing to do, right? He’d never wanted Jensen to feel stifled, or hell, even worse…obligated. Had that been the problem all along? His fingers clamped around glass, this new idea taking root and digging in. God, what if Jensen had only stayed because Jared had been the easiest available option? Was he really capable of that?
Was Jared really capable of murder? The two seemed to go hand-in-hand, after all.
As if on cue, J.D. cleared his throat. “I saw your husband today. He stopped by…was pretty upset with me. Ready to let me know about it, too.”
Jared’s tortured gaze snapped up to clash with Morgan’s. “Jensen was here?”
J.D. shrugged, but Jared sensed something was off in the easy movement. “He wanted to, ah, hire me, actually.” He raised an eyebrow and added with sarcastic humor, “To find you…prove your innocence, no doubt. What do you think of that, kid?”
Jared parted his lips on a heavy breath, trying like hell not to give into the sick sort of relief that threatened to overwhelm him at the idea that Jensen thought him innocent. What did it matter, though? Someone was still guilty, Jensen was still guilty, and what did it-
A loud rapping on the door destroyed any chance he might have had to respond, and Morgan instantly went full-on alert. Grabbed Jared by the wrist and hauled him across the room, shoved him into a shadowed corner by the fire escape.
“Open up, Morgan.” The slow drawl dripped pleasure and menace, and J.D. stiffened at Jared’s side. “We just wanna ask you a few questions, is all. Won’t take a minute if you cooperate.”
“The cops?” Jared whispered, heart skipping a beat despite his earlier attempts at bravado.
“Worse,” came J.D.’s grim reply. “Do me a favor, kid. Shut up, and get the hell out.”
Jared stared at him in shocked confusion. “But I thought-”
Morgan’s hand covered his mouth and he used it to drag Jared up tight against him. It was Jared’s turn to go stiff, pulse pounding in his head as Morgan turned and whispered into his neck, “Out the escape, idiot. Meet me in the back alley…Ostroff’s flunkies won’t have the place surrounded. They’re too fucking self-assured for that.”
Jared swallowed and nodded, and the rapping against the door picked up more volume.
“Don’t play games with us, Morgan,” the disembodied voice called.
“Trenchcoat and hat, three o’clock,” J.D. said out of the side of his mouth, and Jared blinked. Turned that way to find, sure enough, a long, black coat and hat hanging. As Morgan raised his voice, “A goddamn minute, can’t a guy take a goddamn shower…” he grabbed the garments and started out the fire escape.
He heard J.D. letting in whoever was at the door as he slid down the ladder, catching only a glimpse of height and dark hair, mean eyes, before his feet touched the ground. He pulled the ends of the coat tighter around him and ducked into the grimy darkness.
Minutes, hours, who the hell knew how long passed by, and then solid footsteps approached from the direction Jared had come. He pressed himself up against the nearest wall, ignoring the slime and back-alley stench, and felt the knot in his stomach unwind just a bit when J.D.’s face broke into the moonlight.
Morgan quickly appraised him from head to toe and then he gave an edgy, approving nod. “Good. C’mon, then.”
“Where are we going?” Jared followed at a quick trot, debating with himself over asking J.D. exactly how he’d dealt with getting rid of Ostroff’s goons. Whether he really wanted to know…
“Ink & Paint,” J.D. said shortly, eyes scanning the darkness as if he expected something to jump out at them any minute.
“The Ink and…” Jared squawked in protest, reaching out and using his height and muscle advantage to jerk Morgan to a stop. “No. Hell no, are you crazy-”
“Listen up, kid.” Morgan turned around and shot him a look so filled with impatient derision that Jared was momentarily blindsided. “Right now that pretty husband of yours is the best lead we’ve got to finding out who’s responsible. I get things are awkward, but hell. They’re gonna get a lot worse when you’re locked up for murder.”
Jared swallowed at the uncomfortable truth in that statement. “But I just don’t think…”
Morgan’s lips curled into a nasty grin. “I’ll do the thinking. Now shut up and c’mon.”
“What if someone recognizes me?” Jared wondered, something cold and clammy gripping his insides tight, and he shuddered as a cool breeze blew past and kicked up the dust and leaves around them.
“Sorry to break it to you, kid.” A strange amount of glee permeated J.D.’s gruff tone as he shot a smirk over his shoulder. “Right now you don’t look a thing like something outta Hollywood. People see what they wanna see, and it ain’t gonna be you.”
Jared figured that was probably meant to piss him off, but it didn’t quite hit the mark. The idea of being unburdened by the high-priced demands of Tinseltown was nothing but a seductive influence, and it couldn’t have come for a worst reason.
He trusted Morgan’s instincts well-enough, but still stuck back in the shadows while J.D. played up to the night’s guard, a dead-eyed acquisition from up north named Misha. Jared had never liked the guy, or the way he watched Jensen with leering, hungry eyes. Jensen had always laughed off his odd jealousy, all the while feeding off it in the bedroom, and now Jared couldn’t help but grind his teeth and wonder.
He stayed silent, eyes on the ground as Misha finally let them in. Faded promotional posters of Jensen and other Ink & Paint stars lined the walls of the hallway, and a part of Jared wanted to put a stop to this, to turn around and duck out like the coward he was beginning to fear he was.
“Suck it up, kid,” Morgan said into the quiet, not unkindly, and Jared swallowed back every nasty retort on his tongue.
“Right,” he said hoarsely instead, rubbing his forehead as Morgan pushed open the main doors.
Jensen was center-stage, of course. Those long fingers deftly picked out some smooth jazz number Jared vaguely recognized, the baby grand a magnificent accompaniment to his husband’s skill. The lonely saxophone and upright bass beat were almost overkill.
“What’s the matter?” Morgan asked curiously, watching Jared’s reaction more than the going’s on onstage. “Never seen him in action?”
“No,” Jared said honestly, quietly. “Not like this.”
The melancholy pouring out of Jensen’s fingers, his throat, made Jared’s bones ache more than everything that’d happened over the last several, horrible hours. There was nothing of the vibrant stage-seduction Jensen just couldn’t help but emanate with every breath. Instead, it was like watching an empty, beautiful shell.
Jared hated how much he wanted to blame himself for that.
Pity darkened Morgan’s eyes now, and it looked as uncomfortable there as Jared felt. “He’s really done a number on you, huh?”
“The first time I heard him sing, I was in the hospital.” Jared wasn’t sure why it was spilling out now, and to this hard-boiled P.I. at that, but once he opened his mouth he couldn’t seem to stop. “Got myself nicked in an honest-to-God street rumble, just trying to impress the bastard. He threatened to kick my ass himself over that one, but at least I got his damn attention.” A sad sort of smile curved his lips. “Anyway. I heard that voice, and I just thought to myself…he’s the one who oughta be onscreen. Not me.”
“Christ, kid.” Sympathy was rough in J.D.’s sigh, and he seemed to hesitate before looping an arm around Jared’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Jared snorted, thinking back on what he’d learned of J.D. Morgan’s reputation before he’d shown up desperate for his help. Then he shot a look at the man and came to a startling realization that wasn’t bound to put either one of them more at ease. “You know what? I think you’re telling me the truth.”
Morgan instantly pulled away, and maybe Jared resented his tendency to blurt out the obvious just a little. God knew he could use all the support he could get right now, anything to fill the hole Jensen had left behind.
“Head’s up,” J.D.’s voice went low and dangerous. “I think we’ve been made.”
Jensen had noticed them, all right. He was staring back at Jared with saucer-wide eyes, something Jared wanted to label as fierce relief coloring that gorgeous green for all of a split-second before he blinked. Glanced back down at the piano keys and nearly fumbled the next chord.
“What now?” Jared muttered under his breath, covering up anxiety with unfamiliar, righteous anger. “Was this your bright idea, Detective? Drag me here and rub my face in it all, just so Jensen could have the fucking satisfaction of turning me in himself?”
“You think he would?” J.D. sounded honestly curious, and something inside of Jared just…snapped.
“You son of a bitch,” he breathed out. Jensen was amazingly forgotten as Morgan’s mouth tilted at the corners. “You planned this all along.”
Applause echoed off the walls as Jensen finished up and exited the stage, but Jared couldn’t take his eyes off J.D. The older man just shrugged his shoulders. “I might’ve made a call or two. Do you trust me or not, Jared?”
“You have the balls to ask me that now?” Jared started hotly, only to be interrupted by an approaching waiter. He flinched, shrank back as the man handed J.D. a note resting on a silver serving platter. Jared easily recognized the handwriting, and lifted accusing eyes back to the investigator.
Morgan scanned the note. “Well, loverboy. Time for Act II.”
xxx
Jensen was waiting for them in his dressing room, lights dimmed down low and an eager, nervous look on his face as he quickly ushered them inside. Jared was careful not to meet his husband’s eyes as he brushed past, wondering just what the hell he was doing. But he kept his attention trained all the same as Jensen took a deep breath and reached with shaking hands for a still-smoking cigar on his dressing table.
“Thank you for meeting me here, Detective. They’ve got my…” Jensen broke off, risking a stolen glance Jared’s way before continuing. “Jared’s home is under surveillance. I only just managed to get rid of them here because Adrianne pulled a few strings, didn’t want the club’s patrons to get antsy and take off. With their money.” A wry smile curved his mouth for all of a second, and then he pursed his lips around the end of the cigar.
“Brass?” Morgan questioned from across the room, and Jensen shook his head.
“I don’t know. If they were, they’re higher-up than what we’ve got trolling the streets. And meaner.” His lashes skimmed across his cheeks, and Jared recognized the exhaustion, fought down the long-ingrained urge to comfort. “I admit, I was surprised to get your call. And grateful.”
Jared bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t respond. Turned his head away from the direct, probing stare he could now feel coming from Jensen’s direction.
“Mr Ackles,” Morgan started into the uncomfortable silence.
“Ackles-Padalecki,” Jensen corrected, almost like he was challenging Jared to say or do something. Then his voice dropped lower, uncertain. “At least, for now.”
J.D. met Jared’s panicked gaze without fliching. “Jensen, then,” he smoothly compromised, and Jared squeezed his eyes shut. “You mentioned before that Bob Singer blackmailed you into posing for pictures solely meant to provoke your husband and antagonize Kripke.”
Jared went absolutely still; Jensen looked as gobsmacked as he felt, freckles standing out in stark relief as his skin washed pale. But he held his head high and nodded, licking his lips slowly before adding, “You’re going to ask me if I think Singer was responsible for Eric’s murder.”
J.D. quirked a brow. “And you’re going to tell me…?”
“That I don’t know.” Jensen sagged against the vanity, rubbing a tired hand across his eyes. “And that’s the honest truth. I just don’t know anymore. His threats against Jared certainly seemed real enough at the time.” His breath hitched on a laugh, causing the next word to come out a bit warbled and uneven. “Obviously.”
Jared finally found his voice in the midst of the roaring in his ears. “What threats?”
Jensen latched onto his response like a lifeline, eyes burning with guilt and shame and a million other emotions Jared was too far-gone to identify. “Jared…” he started, whispered, and Morgan cleared his throat.
“Turns out your dear old boss might’ve been playing us both for a fool,” he said grimly, and Jared swept his gaze back across the room. “And I’m not nearly drunk enough to appreciate it. Listen, Jared’s in a lot of trouble until I get this whole mess figured out.”
“You think you’re telling me something I don’t know, Detective?” Jensen snapped, suddenly flushed and combative.
“Yeah? Well then maybe you’d be willing to do something about it.”
“I…” Jensen’s lips trembled with upset, and then he cursed. Rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I can’t, damn it, they’re watching me. As soon as I’m a block out from the club, I’ll have two, maybe three tails. My hands are tied.”
Jared ground his teeth together and tried not to let it get to him. “I can call Chad; see if he can put me up somewhere. I can lay low for awhile, then maybe try and talk to Bob-”
“You’re not talking to anybody!” Jensen’s voice took on an edge and he hesitated just seconds before reaching out, taking Jared by the shoulder. “You’ve gotta get out of the city, Jay.”
“Don’t tell me what I’ve got to do,” Jared said tightly, shrugging off Jensen’s touch and turning fully toward his husband with heated fury. “You’ve kept…God only knows what from me, Jensen. And for what? For Supernatural?”
“For you,” Jensen shot back, anger thickening his own voice. “Fuck.”
“Yeah?” Jared said. “How should I know what to believe? Is this where it happened? Was it even the first time? Eric was a goddamn regular, how do I know this wasn’t just like it was before…oh, God.”
No one seemed to know quite what to say after that, least of all Jared. Just when he was ready to turn on his heel and leave the room, Jensen’s quiet apology rang out. “I’m sorry.” He waited a beat, then again, “I am so sorry, baby.”
“Yeah,” Jared said. He held Jensen’s gaze and licked his lips. “We’re all sorry for something.”
What he was sorriest for went unsaid, but Jensen seemed to catch on anyway.
“I have a question,” Morgan said calmly, and after a pregnant pause they both finally turned his way. “What in the hell is Supernatural?”
Go on to ACT II 1/2 (JARED)
Go back to MASTER POST