Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 49/51
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith”, “Bloody Mary” and "Shadow".
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Chapter Forty-Nine: My Way, the Highway, and Dr. McKayne’s Way
Rating: R/NC-17 for the m/m slash kissing and some language, mention of m/m sex
Pairing: Jensen-n-Jared sittin’ in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G… Okay, so they’re not quite sitting in a tree… but the cabin’s made of wood.
Word Count: 3,019
Again with the unresearched medical stuff. Ignore. Smile and nod. Willing suspension of disbelief. Mmmkay?
Chapter Forty-Nine: My Way, the Highway, and Dr. McKayne’s Way
I lie down, burrow into Jared’s warmth, press myself closer to his chest, silently pleased when his arm tightens around me, and his lips move in my hair. I feel like I would imagine an overemotional girl would. It’s kinda nice.
I watch him sleep, all too aware of when he must be dreaming, remembering. His body stiffens just slightly, and his limbs slowly pull towards his torso when he tries to curl into himself. He doesn’t make much noise-small whimpers that are little more than hitches of breath, a catch in a deeper pattern. He settles when I ghost my hand over his body, murmur that it’s okay. It’s light disruption compared to what I experience when I have nightmares-kicking and screaming and waking up ready to lose whatever’s in my stomach.
It only happens once in the hour I watch him, and he wakes on his own, with a strangled catlike noise and stretching limbs that creak and crack and sound like Rice Krispies with milk. “Morning…” I whisper with a smile.
He grins widely, looks at our proximity and blushes, but makes no move to increase the distance between us. “How’d you sleep?” He asks.
I just stare at him for a while. “Really damn good.” I say finally. “I… I had nightmares… but they weren’t so bad… and I feel… rested.” I sit up in bed as he does, swing my legs over to the floor, wrinkling the soft fabric and fuzz of the throw carpet between my toes. “…still tired… exhausted…”
“You will be for a couple days, Jen… you haven’t slept more than an hour a night in what… a week?”
“About that.” I run my hand through my hair. “…still feel better than I did before, though.” I yawn.
“So you’ll take the Lunesta tonight?” He questions. “…or I’ll drug you again?”
“We’ll see.” I stand up, pushing off my knees. “Gonna shower.” I say, halfway to the bathroom. I grab a fresh towel from the stack on the metal storage rack by the bathroom door, along with a washcloth.
While showering, I debate whether or not I can forgive him for drugging me, and whether or not I’ll be strong enough to fight him off this time. I wonder why it still seems like such a big deal to me-the fact he drugged me. I wonder why I think of it that way. I know he did it with my best interests at heart. I know if I’d made the choice to put my hand in his earlier last night, that I’d have had to have taken the pill on my own if he’d asked.
I think of waking up next to him-how it felt. I was warm, I felt safe. Protected. Loved. I want Jared to feel the same lying next to me. Want him to know that he’s safe, that I’ll protect him, that I…
A flare of something wrenches at my heart then, and I know that my feelings for him have changed. The feeling of friendship has deepened, the want for him to be happy and safe is still there, but different in subtle ways-that I don’t want him just to be happy and safe, but I want him to be happy and safe with me. I’m not quite ready to admit that I might love him. But the feeling is strong enough that I have to at least acknowledge that it’s there.
I turn the shower off, and towel myself dry before taking a few deep breaths to calm my once again twitching nerves. Every nerve ending in my body is singing. I’m on edge, my heart is racing and my breath is coming fast and shallow. I hate that I can feel so calm and accepting with things, and still have a panic attack.
It feels like I’m hurtling down a tunnel that’s slowly darkening the further along I get in my travels. I’m passing my life-high school and my first acting gig… all my Days co-stars… my first kiss with Luanne and the first day I met Jared. Everything blurs together and it’s spinning, making me dizzy. It feels like I’m out of control, even though logically, I feel and know that I’m just starting to get everything under control.
My eyesight starts to blur around the edges as I walk out of the bathroom, dressed in boxers and socks and nothing else. I hold on to the nearest piece of sturdy furniture-which isn’t the metal rack by the door-and manage to whisper Jared’s name. The headache is between my eyes, it’s just exhaustion and panic, nothing more.
Jared comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. I can smell eggs and bacon and potatoes. Jared’s making breakfast. My stomach does an odd and painful mix of a growl and a somersault, hungry and nauseous simultaneously. I hadn’t thought it possible.
“Jenny… breathe.” He’s calm in the face of my pointless panic, takes my shoulders and steadies me. For a minute, I think he might try to calm me, get me to the sofa where I can rest and eat breakfast, but he doesn’t. He tells me to wait, to stand still, and he’s gone. He’s back quickly, the yellow-brown container of Xanax in hand. He holds it up to me. “We’re going to try this Dr. McKayne’s way, okay, Jenny?” His fingers come to my mouth, press against my lips. “Okay?”
I really don’t want to, but I don’t see any other way around it that will get rid of the attacks and get me back to a semblance of health by Monday. And if Jared wants me to do this… I’m practically powerless to deny him anything after the sudden and bone-jarring, life-changing realization I had in the shower this morning.
I look down. “Do you want me to do this?” I ask. I’m still coherent, despite the slight dizziness and the way I’m sweating and panting. It occurs to me that if we’re going to do this Eddie’s way-three a day-that I’m going to be a puppet, and that Jared might not know that. Three a day won’t put me into the same headspace as whatever drugs they’d give me at the hospital, but it’ll make me pretty helpless.
He nods. “Please, Jenny?”
“Jare… you have to know… if we do this… if you do this… if I do this… I’m going to be…” I break off, wanting to see if he’ll put it together himself.
“Pretty out of it.” He supplies, half-questioning.
“I’ll be a puppet, Jared.” I tell him. “Three Xanax a day is going to render me pretty helpless. Not completely… I’ll be able to do things… basic things, but…”
He nods and straightens, understanding and acceptance of responsibility in his eyes.
“So…” I look at him.
“I’ll take care of you.” He holds out a single pill to me after taking it from the bottle. “For me?” He asks, when I falter.
I take the pill from him, get a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, and swallow it with a gulp of water. By tomorrow afternoon he’ll be feeding me the pills, along with my food. He’ll probably be helping me to get dressed, directing me in what to do, and when. For reasons I deem inappropriate and that I can’t explain (or don’t want to think about), my cock twitches at the thought of him taking advantage of me in such a state.
It’s Friday. Three a day for three days isn’t so bad, but I’m sure that I’ll still be zombie-like on Monday. I’m also relatively sure that if Eddie had his way, I’d be taking three pills a day for a minimum of five days and then getting dragged to the hospital for a checkup. I really hope Jared’s not doing it that way. I don’t want five days of being loopy, and I don’t want a hospital visit, though after five days of taking three pills a day it’s pretty much required so they can tell you how to start working off of that dosage.
I tell myself that there’s no way Jared can keep it up for five days, because Monday and Tuesday we both have to be on set, and I can’t be a zombie on set, so therefore, there’s nothing to worry about. Sunday will be the last day I’m taking three of these stupid pills.
I sit down with him at the counter, and he serves us both heaping plates of eggs and stir-fried pre-prepared potatoes o’brien. It’s about nine in the morning. “You’ll take another at three, and another at nine at night.” He directs. “That way you can take a sleeping pill at ten or so.” Which will likely have me asleep by eleven, and I’ll sleep easily through eight or nine in the morning, if the results from the pill from last night is any indication. That knocked me out for the better part of nine hours.
I eat about half my eggs and potatoes, laden with salt and ketchup, drink half the bottle of water I’d started to take my medicine. Jared tries to get me to take a few more bites, but I can’t do it.
We take our boots and heavy coats, and go hiking on one of the bunny trails through the campground area. It takes us up through the mountains, twisting and turning through wooded areas and winding across frozen streams and clearings. We stop at the top of the mountain at the lookout where the campground/reservation managers have erected a small deck of sorts-a landing-with several mounted and locked-down telescopes for viewing the sky and stars at night, anything else you can possibly think to focus on. The view up here is pretty incredible.
It’s three o’clock as we’re starting the trek back down the mountain. We ate packed sandwiches (Jared, always prepared, and looking out for my ‘regular meals’, brought them along in a knapsack.) and diet caffeine free cola at the deck near the lookout point atop the mountain almost two hours ago, talking about work and how excited we were to hear about the WB and WWOR 9 teaming together to form the new CW. “Think they’ll renew Supernatural?” Jared asks.
“Sure.” I reply. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t. We’re getting decent ratings.”
Jared nods, reaches into his pocket to pull out my Xanax. He hands me one, recapping the bottle and tucking it away into his pocket again. “Take it.” Is all he says.
I do, not for the first time wondering how this is all going to go. If Jared really knows what he’s getting himself into with me, and if he knows I’m going to be little more than a child in a man’s body.
His hand slides into mine suddenly, and he squeezes. “It’s going to be okay, Jen.” He whispers as the wind picks up. The weather’s been good all day-no additional snow or rain, just some light wind. Now the wind is getting stronger, and when I look up at the clouds, the sky is darkening and the clouds are billowing and foreboding. We’ll have more storms tonight. The area over Vancouver to the far south is already dark and gray.
I squeeze his hand back. “Jare…” I start with his name, not entirely sure what I want to say or how I want to say it.
“Yeah?” He steps over some fallen boulders, helps me to maneuver over them as well. Even with just two taken in six hours I can already feel the beginnings of a daze setting in. Not as deep as it will be, but it’s like I’m looking at reality through a veil already. I’m moving a little slower, I feel a little woozy, and it sounds as though I’m slurring some words when I talk.
“You know… I’ll be…” I swallow. I want to put this subtly. “Um… open to suggestion... these next couple days.”
He laughs. “I’ll be sure not to tell you to jump off the lookout if we go up there again.”
“I didn’t think you would…” I say softly. Obviously he’s not picking up on the hint. “I meant… that… you know… maybe you could… …without me freaking out…”
He stops, tightening his grip on my hand so I can’t move any further. “Jensen.” My name is all he says for a minute. “Jensen…”
I’m shaking, but it’s not from panic right now. It’s from fear of rejection. It’s a little crazy, but it’s the truth. I want Jared. And I know that it won’t be easy for us… not with my nightmares and not with his past, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to try. I’m afraid I might hurt him, but right now it’s him who could hurt me.
He steps close, runs one hand up and down my arm while his other moves in my hand, but doesn’t release it. “Jensen…” My name again. My full name. I wish he’d stop saying it. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I would never… take advantage.”
“What if I…”
“If you what?” He asks, careful not to say anything that might be construed as ‘putting an idea in my head’.
“WhatifIwantedyouto?” I slur all six words together into some terribly unintelligible question that’s me begging, asking, pleading… everything at once. And also a quiet way of telling him that I do want him… sexually. I want to know what it’s like to touch him. I want to know what it’s like to have him touch me. I want to be close to him-that fucking close, with nothing between us.
“To what?”
“You could… do things.” I can’t say this to him. Not without turning as red as a tomato. “To me… and… suggest that I…”
“Jen… whatever we do… will be consensual. I will not hurt you.” He swears quietly. “Will not happen.”
“Jare...” I want him to. I can’t explain it. The mere thought of him… directing me when I’m so compliant… “Jare… I guess… I just wanted to say that… I think I’d be okay… I think I’d like it… even. If you did.”
His hand slides from my hand to my wrist, tightens almost to the point of pain, and he near-drags me back to the cabin, where he pushes me into the wall once we’re on the porch. His chest presses close to mine, and his mouth comes within centimeters of mine. “Jenny… do you know what you’re asking me?”
I nod stubbornly. I want him to show me… what it’s like. Without me being too there… Want to be able to experience it and know it and remember it, without having to think about it too much, because I don’t want to freak out. “To teach me, Jared. To show me… So I don’t… freak out.”
He suddenly relaxes. All his tension in his back and shoulders bleeds out, and he almost slumps. “So not… tying you up and…”
I shake my head. So that’s what he thought. “No… not like that, Jare… I just… I know I sometimes think too much… and I…” I swallow. “I do…”
“You do what, Jen?” He asks, voice thick.
“Iwantyou.” I blurt out. “I want to know what it’s like with you… when you know… you touch me… and I want to know what it’s like to touch you… and I want to feel… I want to… I want you to feel good and I want to know that it doesn’t hurt because every time I think of you or dream of you… doing that… it always hurts you and…” I break off, vaguely aware that I’m rambling. “…and I don’t want to hurt you… and I want you… I know you… I trust you… I…”
“Shhh…” he whispers, and covers my mouth with his. He catches my hand when I bring it up to cup his cheek, and presses it, palm down, into the wooden outer wall of the cabin. His other hand curls around my elbow, pressing my other arm into the wall, steadying and immobilizing me at once. “Just…” He whispers when I mumble into his mouth, wriggle beneath his touch. “Just feel this, Jen…”
I relax best I can, but my fingers still try to find a hold on the wall, and my fingertips still claw into the splintering wood, and my body strains against Jared’s. Ultimately I do let him kiss me-I have no choice, and it feels good. His mouth works over mine, lips pressing and moving, teeth nipping and biting, but never hard, nibbling at my lips, the skin around my lips. His tongue traces patterns into the bridge of my mouth, moves about the inside of my mouth, maps my teeth, one by one. He sucks at my lips, first the bottom, then the top, until they ache and swell and almost hurt. He shoves one of my hands behind me, pushes in with his hips harder to hold me in place, and brings his now free hand up, pushing one finger into my mouth alongside his tongue. The pressure of his finger against my sensitive and swollen lips is almost painful, makes me whimper into his kiss.
His teeth press into my lower lip, so hard I’m sure they leave a mark, and his tongue worries the thin flesh afterwards, pressing into new divots, tracing new contours left by his teeth. He draws the lower lip into his mouth again, pushes against me hard when I mewl into his mouth. “Quiet.” He directs, moving his attention to the upper lip, treating it the same. My lips burn and ache when he finally pulls away, but in the best way possible.
His thumb strokes over my mouth, makes my breath catch.
“Inside.” He says, opening the door to the cabin. It’s the last word he says to me for a long while.
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Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith”, “Bloody Mary” and "Shadow".
-------------------------
Chapter Forty-Nine: My Way, the Highway, and Dr. McKayne’s Way
Rating: R/NC-17 for the m/m slash kissing and some language, mention of m/m sex
Pairing: Jensen-n-Jared sittin’ in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G… Okay, so they’re not quite sitting in a tree… but the cabin’s made of wood.
Word Count: 3,019
Again with the unresearched medical stuff. Ignore. Smile and nod. Willing suspension of disbelief. Mmmkay?
Chapter Forty-Nine: My Way, the Highway, and Dr. McKayne’s Way
I lie down, burrow into Jared’s warmth, press myself closer to his chest, silently pleased when his arm tightens around me, and his lips move in my hair. I feel like I would imagine an overemotional girl would. It’s kinda nice.
I watch him sleep, all too aware of when he must be dreaming, remembering. His body stiffens just slightly, and his limbs slowly pull towards his torso when he tries to curl into himself. He doesn’t make much noise-small whimpers that are little more than hitches of breath, a catch in a deeper pattern. He settles when I ghost my hand over his body, murmur that it’s okay. It’s light disruption compared to what I experience when I have nightmares-kicking and screaming and waking up ready to lose whatever’s in my stomach.
It only happens once in the hour I watch him, and he wakes on his own, with a strangled catlike noise and stretching limbs that creak and crack and sound like Rice Krispies with milk. “Morning…” I whisper with a smile.
He grins widely, looks at our proximity and blushes, but makes no move to increase the distance between us. “How’d you sleep?” He asks.
I just stare at him for a while. “Really damn good.” I say finally. “I… I had nightmares… but they weren’t so bad… and I feel… rested.” I sit up in bed as he does, swing my legs over to the floor, wrinkling the soft fabric and fuzz of the throw carpet between my toes. “…still tired… exhausted…”
“You will be for a couple days, Jen… you haven’t slept more than an hour a night in what… a week?”
“About that.” I run my hand through my hair. “…still feel better than I did before, though.” I yawn.
“So you’ll take the Lunesta tonight?” He questions. “…or I’ll drug you again?”
“We’ll see.” I stand up, pushing off my knees. “Gonna shower.” I say, halfway to the bathroom. I grab a fresh towel from the stack on the metal storage rack by the bathroom door, along with a washcloth.
While showering, I debate whether or not I can forgive him for drugging me, and whether or not I’ll be strong enough to fight him off this time. I wonder why it still seems like such a big deal to me-the fact he drugged me. I wonder why I think of it that way. I know he did it with my best interests at heart. I know if I’d made the choice to put my hand in his earlier last night, that I’d have had to have taken the pill on my own if he’d asked.
I think of waking up next to him-how it felt. I was warm, I felt safe. Protected. Loved. I want Jared to feel the same lying next to me. Want him to know that he’s safe, that I’ll protect him, that I…
A flare of something wrenches at my heart then, and I know that my feelings for him have changed. The feeling of friendship has deepened, the want for him to be happy and safe is still there, but different in subtle ways-that I don’t want him just to be happy and safe, but I want him to be happy and safe with me. I’m not quite ready to admit that I might love him. But the feeling is strong enough that I have to at least acknowledge that it’s there.
I turn the shower off, and towel myself dry before taking a few deep breaths to calm my once again twitching nerves. Every nerve ending in my body is singing. I’m on edge, my heart is racing and my breath is coming fast and shallow. I hate that I can feel so calm and accepting with things, and still have a panic attack.
It feels like I’m hurtling down a tunnel that’s slowly darkening the further along I get in my travels. I’m passing my life-high school and my first acting gig… all my Days co-stars… my first kiss with Luanne and the first day I met Jared. Everything blurs together and it’s spinning, making me dizzy. It feels like I’m out of control, even though logically, I feel and know that I’m just starting to get everything under control.
My eyesight starts to blur around the edges as I walk out of the bathroom, dressed in boxers and socks and nothing else. I hold on to the nearest piece of sturdy furniture-which isn’t the metal rack by the door-and manage to whisper Jared’s name. The headache is between my eyes, it’s just exhaustion and panic, nothing more.
Jared comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. I can smell eggs and bacon and potatoes. Jared’s making breakfast. My stomach does an odd and painful mix of a growl and a somersault, hungry and nauseous simultaneously. I hadn’t thought it possible.
“Jenny… breathe.” He’s calm in the face of my pointless panic, takes my shoulders and steadies me. For a minute, I think he might try to calm me, get me to the sofa where I can rest and eat breakfast, but he doesn’t. He tells me to wait, to stand still, and he’s gone. He’s back quickly, the yellow-brown container of Xanax in hand. He holds it up to me. “We’re going to try this Dr. McKayne’s way, okay, Jenny?” His fingers come to my mouth, press against my lips. “Okay?”
I really don’t want to, but I don’t see any other way around it that will get rid of the attacks and get me back to a semblance of health by Monday. And if Jared wants me to do this… I’m practically powerless to deny him anything after the sudden and bone-jarring, life-changing realization I had in the shower this morning.
I look down. “Do you want me to do this?” I ask. I’m still coherent, despite the slight dizziness and the way I’m sweating and panting. It occurs to me that if we’re going to do this Eddie’s way-three a day-that I’m going to be a puppet, and that Jared might not know that. Three a day won’t put me into the same headspace as whatever drugs they’d give me at the hospital, but it’ll make me pretty helpless.
He nods. “Please, Jenny?”
“Jare… you have to know… if we do this… if you do this… if I do this… I’m going to be…” I break off, wanting to see if he’ll put it together himself.
“Pretty out of it.” He supplies, half-questioning.
“I’ll be a puppet, Jared.” I tell him. “Three Xanax a day is going to render me pretty helpless. Not completely… I’ll be able to do things… basic things, but…”
He nods and straightens, understanding and acceptance of responsibility in his eyes.
“So…” I look at him.
“I’ll take care of you.” He holds out a single pill to me after taking it from the bottle. “For me?” He asks, when I falter.
I take the pill from him, get a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, and swallow it with a gulp of water. By tomorrow afternoon he’ll be feeding me the pills, along with my food. He’ll probably be helping me to get dressed, directing me in what to do, and when. For reasons I deem inappropriate and that I can’t explain (or don’t want to think about), my cock twitches at the thought of him taking advantage of me in such a state.
It’s Friday. Three a day for three days isn’t so bad, but I’m sure that I’ll still be zombie-like on Monday. I’m also relatively sure that if Eddie had his way, I’d be taking three pills a day for a minimum of five days and then getting dragged to the hospital for a checkup. I really hope Jared’s not doing it that way. I don’t want five days of being loopy, and I don’t want a hospital visit, though after five days of taking three pills a day it’s pretty much required so they can tell you how to start working off of that dosage.
I tell myself that there’s no way Jared can keep it up for five days, because Monday and Tuesday we both have to be on set, and I can’t be a zombie on set, so therefore, there’s nothing to worry about. Sunday will be the last day I’m taking three of these stupid pills.
I sit down with him at the counter, and he serves us both heaping plates of eggs and stir-fried pre-prepared potatoes o’brien. It’s about nine in the morning. “You’ll take another at three, and another at nine at night.” He directs. “That way you can take a sleeping pill at ten or so.” Which will likely have me asleep by eleven, and I’ll sleep easily through eight or nine in the morning, if the results from the pill from last night is any indication. That knocked me out for the better part of nine hours.
I eat about half my eggs and potatoes, laden with salt and ketchup, drink half the bottle of water I’d started to take my medicine. Jared tries to get me to take a few more bites, but I can’t do it.
We take our boots and heavy coats, and go hiking on one of the bunny trails through the campground area. It takes us up through the mountains, twisting and turning through wooded areas and winding across frozen streams and clearings. We stop at the top of the mountain at the lookout where the campground/reservation managers have erected a small deck of sorts-a landing-with several mounted and locked-down telescopes for viewing the sky and stars at night, anything else you can possibly think to focus on. The view up here is pretty incredible.
It’s three o’clock as we’re starting the trek back down the mountain. We ate packed sandwiches (Jared, always prepared, and looking out for my ‘regular meals’, brought them along in a knapsack.) and diet caffeine free cola at the deck near the lookout point atop the mountain almost two hours ago, talking about work and how excited we were to hear about the WB and WWOR 9 teaming together to form the new CW. “Think they’ll renew Supernatural?” Jared asks.
“Sure.” I reply. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t. We’re getting decent ratings.”
Jared nods, reaches into his pocket to pull out my Xanax. He hands me one, recapping the bottle and tucking it away into his pocket again. “Take it.” Is all he says.
I do, not for the first time wondering how this is all going to go. If Jared really knows what he’s getting himself into with me, and if he knows I’m going to be little more than a child in a man’s body.
His hand slides into mine suddenly, and he squeezes. “It’s going to be okay, Jen.” He whispers as the wind picks up. The weather’s been good all day-no additional snow or rain, just some light wind. Now the wind is getting stronger, and when I look up at the clouds, the sky is darkening and the clouds are billowing and foreboding. We’ll have more storms tonight. The area over Vancouver to the far south is already dark and gray.
I squeeze his hand back. “Jare…” I start with his name, not entirely sure what I want to say or how I want to say it.
“Yeah?” He steps over some fallen boulders, helps me to maneuver over them as well. Even with just two taken in six hours I can already feel the beginnings of a daze setting in. Not as deep as it will be, but it’s like I’m looking at reality through a veil already. I’m moving a little slower, I feel a little woozy, and it sounds as though I’m slurring some words when I talk.
“You know… I’ll be…” I swallow. I want to put this subtly. “Um… open to suggestion... these next couple days.”
He laughs. “I’ll be sure not to tell you to jump off the lookout if we go up there again.”
“I didn’t think you would…” I say softly. Obviously he’s not picking up on the hint. “I meant… that… you know… maybe you could… …without me freaking out…”
He stops, tightening his grip on my hand so I can’t move any further. “Jensen.” My name is all he says for a minute. “Jensen…”
I’m shaking, but it’s not from panic right now. It’s from fear of rejection. It’s a little crazy, but it’s the truth. I want Jared. And I know that it won’t be easy for us… not with my nightmares and not with his past, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to try. I’m afraid I might hurt him, but right now it’s him who could hurt me.
He steps close, runs one hand up and down my arm while his other moves in my hand, but doesn’t release it. “Jensen…” My name again. My full name. I wish he’d stop saying it. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I would never… take advantage.”
“What if I…”
“If you what?” He asks, careful not to say anything that might be construed as ‘putting an idea in my head’.
“WhatifIwantedyouto?” I slur all six words together into some terribly unintelligible question that’s me begging, asking, pleading… everything at once. And also a quiet way of telling him that I do want him… sexually. I want to know what it’s like to touch him. I want to know what it’s like to have him touch me. I want to be close to him-that fucking close, with nothing between us.
“To what?”
“You could… do things.” I can’t say this to him. Not without turning as red as a tomato. “To me… and… suggest that I…”
“Jen… whatever we do… will be consensual. I will not hurt you.” He swears quietly. “Will not happen.”
“Jare...” I want him to. I can’t explain it. The mere thought of him… directing me when I’m so compliant… “Jare… I guess… I just wanted to say that… I think I’d be okay… I think I’d like it… even. If you did.”
His hand slides from my hand to my wrist, tightens almost to the point of pain, and he near-drags me back to the cabin, where he pushes me into the wall once we’re on the porch. His chest presses close to mine, and his mouth comes within centimeters of mine. “Jenny… do you know what you’re asking me?”
I nod stubbornly. I want him to show me… what it’s like. Without me being too there… Want to be able to experience it and know it and remember it, without having to think about it too much, because I don’t want to freak out. “To teach me, Jared. To show me… So I don’t… freak out.”
He suddenly relaxes. All his tension in his back and shoulders bleeds out, and he almost slumps. “So not… tying you up and…”
I shake my head. So that’s what he thought. “No… not like that, Jare… I just… I know I sometimes think too much… and I…” I swallow. “I do…”
“You do what, Jen?” He asks, voice thick.
“Iwantyou.” I blurt out. “I want to know what it’s like with you… when you know… you touch me… and I want to know what it’s like to touch you… and I want to feel… I want to… I want you to feel good and I want to know that it doesn’t hurt because every time I think of you or dream of you… doing that… it always hurts you and…” I break off, vaguely aware that I’m rambling. “…and I don’t want to hurt you… and I want you… I know you… I trust you… I…”
“Shhh…” he whispers, and covers my mouth with his. He catches my hand when I bring it up to cup his cheek, and presses it, palm down, into the wooden outer wall of the cabin. His other hand curls around my elbow, pressing my other arm into the wall, steadying and immobilizing me at once. “Just…” He whispers when I mumble into his mouth, wriggle beneath his touch. “Just feel this, Jen…”
I relax best I can, but my fingers still try to find a hold on the wall, and my fingertips still claw into the splintering wood, and my body strains against Jared’s. Ultimately I do let him kiss me-I have no choice, and it feels good. His mouth works over mine, lips pressing and moving, teeth nipping and biting, but never hard, nibbling at my lips, the skin around my lips. His tongue traces patterns into the bridge of my mouth, moves about the inside of my mouth, maps my teeth, one by one. He sucks at my lips, first the bottom, then the top, until they ache and swell and almost hurt. He shoves one of my hands behind me, pushes in with his hips harder to hold me in place, and brings his now free hand up, pushing one finger into my mouth alongside his tongue. The pressure of his finger against my sensitive and swollen lips is almost painful, makes me whimper into his kiss.
His teeth press into my lower lip, so hard I’m sure they leave a mark, and his tongue worries the thin flesh afterwards, pressing into new divots, tracing new contours left by his teeth. He draws the lower lip into his mouth again, pushes against me hard when I mewl into his mouth. “Quiet.” He directs, moving his attention to the upper lip, treating it the same. My lips burn and ache when he finally pulls away, but in the best way possible.
His thumb strokes over my mouth, makes my breath catch.
“Inside.” He says, opening the door to the cabin. It’s the last word he says to me for a long while.
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