The Self-Importance of Being Jensen: Part One
{ Materpost }
Part One
The hallway is a mess, and that's a problem.
Jensen is an organized guy. What others (Jared, namely) may call anal and set in his ways, Jensen prefers to see as orderly and efficient. He believes in following a fixed schedule, paying the bills the day they arrive, and never leaving wet towels on the floor, thank you very much.
Oh, and that whoever invented the ‘junk drawer’ is a fucking moron.
So when he steps through the door to what he’s finally accepted as a home that’s at least half his, the neurotic part of him rears its ugly head when he has to step over dirty sneakers and an upended stack of old pizza boxes.
He tries to breathe deeply through his nose. “Jared!”
Instead of his roommate, the clattering of nails on hardwood comes tearing around the corner at breakneck speeds, Harley practically slamming into a wall in overgrown-puppy eagerness to get to him. After an indulgent moment or two of tongues and ear scratches, Jensen pushes them away. “Okay, okay, easy,” he warns, giving Sadie a final pat. “Where’s daddy, huh?”
He’s in deep shit, he doesn’t add.
Jensen finds him in the kitchen, preparing what looks to be a recreation of Mount Everest, not what normal people would construe as a bowl of ice cream. “Hey, you’re home!” Jared chirps, happy as a clam in faded sweats and a ratty t-shirt.
“Yeah,” Jensen surveys the damage to the rest of the main floor in a quick, disapproving sweep of his eyes. “The bar was quiet. Figured I’d call it an early night.”
Jared takes a half-hearted swipe at a puddle of melted mint chocolate-chip with a dish rag, leaning across the island with an easy smile. “Nah, you missed me,” he surmises, clanking his spoon around in his dish.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah. It’s big fun babysitting for a twenty-six-year-old all night. ‘Fact, me an’ Welling were crying in our beers, wondering just what we’d been doing with our lives until you’d come along, gracing us with...”
“Okay, I get it,” Jared flicks him on his forehead as Jensen passes. “Asshole.”
Slowly removing his jacket Jensen wanders further into the kitchen, flips absently through a stack of mail, glances at a calendar and shopping list stuck on the fridge. “Trash is still sitting at the door,” he mumbles, going for nonchalant.
He can’t see Jared’s reaction, but the sound of silverware scraping the bowl is audibly quieted. “Yeah, sorry,” comes the reply. “I’ll get it in the morning.”
That’s what you said before you went for a run, Jensen thinks, but forces himself not to say. He’s not so great at stopping the rest of his thoughts from coming out, anyway. “And what’s with the explosion of DVD’s in the living room, huh?” He challenges, sweeping with his arm in the direction of the couches and glorious Jared-mess. “It looks like the entertainment unit threw up, man.”
A tiny twitch in the corner of Jared’s mouth downplays his sincerity. “I’ll clean it up, Mom.” He says, scooping up the last of his ice cream and placing the bowl in the sink.
Jensen watches, feeling that telltale line appear in his forehead. Fuck, man, he’s so going to need botox well before his time. “And that - are you planning on leaving that there, or is it going in the dishwasher?” he snaps, feeling a little bit ridiculous.
Jared is looking at him like he needs animal tranquilizers. “Dude, are you serious?” he asks, partly disbelieving and now also a little bit irritated.
“Yeah, I’m serious, man.” Jensen stalks to the sink and brushes Jared aside, reaching for the bowl and shoving it into the dishwasher himself. “I’m so sick of coming home to a huge fucking mess. I don’t enjoy living like a college student, Jared. I’m thirty fucking years old.” And its official, Jensen can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“Thirty-one,” Jared mumbles under his breath, but of course Jensen was meant to hear him. “Look, Jen, I’m sorry if I’m not always the good house frau you’d like me to be, but I’m just trying to relax. Could you lay off for a night?” It’s said sarcastically, icily, in a decidedly un-Jared tone, and maybe Jensen is a little taken aback.
They kind of glare at each other for a moment or two, and Jensen knows what’s coming to the surface. He can see the anger forming just behind Jared’s eyes, the cogs and wheels turning in his brain as he formulates thoughts, exacting the words heavy with blame and hurt. For a moment Jensen thinks he’ll wait for it to come, or better yet, give that final nudge until Jared just gives in to everything he’s been holding back. Get it over with, quick and oh, so painful.
Instead he sucks in a breath, swiping a palm across his eyes. “Look, could we just not?” He asks, maybe pleads a little bit, because he can’t do this yet.
Jared’s eyes are dark with resentment, and in the long seconds that pass, Jensen feels a little bit sick knowing all that anger is directed at him. But then something flashes across the younger man’s face and Jared blinks. When he opens his eyes again they’re a surprising shade of blue - but that’s just Jared’s eyes for you - and the look there has been replaced with one so uncharacteristically sad that Jensen wishes he’d get mad at him again.
Jared looks down at the floor, pushes away from the counter. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice barely above a gravelly whisper. “Yeah.”
Feeling like a grade A asshole, Jensen watches as Jared wanders wearily out to the living room, slumping down onto the edge of the sofa. From there he leans over and starts stacking movie cases into a neat pile.
Heart melting a little bit in his chest, Jensen follows him, dutifully flicking off lights in the kitchen as he goes. “Hey,” he says quietly in his approach, but Jared is ignoring him now, and doesn’t look up. So he sits beside him as close as he can get, hipbone just behind Jared’s where he’s leaning off the cushion, and winds an arm around the lean chest, stilling his movements. “Hey,” he says again.
Jared sighs quietly and goes with it, lifting his head marginally.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Jensen says into the shell of his ear, reaching around him with both arms now, tugging gently until Jared is leaning back against him, body still held tense so Jensen knows he hasn’t been let off the hook just yet.
Jared clears his throat like there’s something blocking it, and doesn’t that just make him feel like the biggest jerk in the entire planet? “Don’t pick fights with me just to make it easier, Jensen.” He says calmly, but his voice still has that gravel quality that makes Jensen want to punch something.
The use of his full first name - that’s a definite warning sign that Jensen still must tread lightly. With one hand making gentle, sweeping circles on the torso leaning into him, the older man cranes his neck and smiles wanly in the darkened room. “Hey, you knew I was a clean freak when you first asked me to move in, Jay.” He kisses the temple beside his cheek. “You used to find it endearing.”
Jared squirms a little in his embrace, but Jensen can hear the smile in his voice. “Could you please not be charming when I’m trying to be mad at you?” He whines petulantly.
“That right?” Jensen conveys mock hurt, struggling to manhandle the heavy body around so that he can see Jared’s face. “Is that why you wouldn’t come out with me tonight?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“No,” Jared huffs, and then finally succumbs, relaxing into Jensen’s arms and resting his head back onto the older man’s shoulder. “Just...I don’t know. Kinda felt like I could use a night in.”
Whether it’s the truth or not, Jensen’s eyes narrow, because he’d been wondering all evening about Jared’s surprising decision to stay home when he’d suggested going out to get a few drinks with friends. “Really?” He asks, trying to read the familiar face with only the light streaming in from the hall to guide him. “You okay?” he asks next, hoping - no, praying - it’s not because of him.
“Yeah,” Jared says, waving it off like it’s nothing. “Just kind of tired, I guess.”
Jensen hums in agreement, but files that away for future reference. They’ve been on break now for almost two weeks, and even when they’re working sixty plus hours a week it’s not like Jared to complain about being worn out. “Nothing a little Rocky Road can’t cure, eh?” he teases, leaning in for a gentle brush of his lips on Jared’s.
Jared nips at him and smiles sheepishly. “And Cookie Dough,” he adds, and pats his flat, muscled stomach like he’s eating for two.
“You’ve got a problem,” Jensen chuckles, and moves to press Jared back against the armrest. Jared lets himself be held down and that just sends a flood of arousal straight to Jensen’s dick. As he starts a trail of wet kisses down the long, slender neck, he feels a shiver run through the younger man as his hands begin sliding under the cotton of his sleep shirt.
Clothes get tossed aside, shoes kicked off onto the floor. And then, tremulous but still mocking, “Jen, are you just going to leave that stuff there in a heap like that? I mean, what about wrinkles and...”
Sliding slowly down the lean body, Jensen smirks up owlishly. “Shut the fuck up, Jay.”
There are flattened cardboard boxes stacked in the garage.
Jensen is very responsible. So when he told Danneel that he loved her, it was the truth. Danneel is a great girl - drop-dead gorgeous, a free spirit, and sexy as hell. Maybe in another life she would have been the only one for him. Problem was, Jensen hadn’t planned on falling head over heels for his male co-star.
Even though Danneel knows that there’s someone else, Jensen is willing to bet his left nut that she’d never suspect its Jared. If she does, she’s got a damn good poker face - never batting an eyelash at all the weekends Jensen has opted out of flying down to LA to stay in Vancouver. Plus, they’d had an agreement from the beginning - it’s not like he’d put a ring on her finger.
Those boxes are a reminder that nothing stays the same, no matter how bad they wish it could. The past few years with Jared have been incredible - a dream come true, really. But Jensen is a responsible guy, so he knows it’s time to be the grown up he sometimes wishes he wasn’t. Time to settle down, move on, do the right thing.
But if it’s the right thing, why the hell does looking at those boxes make his lungs forget how to breathe?
That’s where Jared finds him, standing in the mid-morning sunlight pouring in from the opened garage doors, bare feet on concrete and a cup of coffee forgotten and cooling in one hand.
“What’re you doin’ out here?” Jared’s croaky voice blissfully wakes him from his daydream. He stands shirtless and squinty-eyed, leaning gracefully against the doorframe. He takes in the scene in silence, but if he catches on to the solemn mood or the objects recently holding Jensen’s attention, he doesn’t let it show on his face. Avoidance has always worked for Jared. “It’s early.”
Taking in the adorably dishevelled appearance, Jensen lets the rush of affection he feels towards the younger man push all the other feelings aside for the time being. “Not really, Jay,” he points out, because he’d already found it strange that he’d been out bed before Jared, the usual bright-eyed and bushy-tailed early riser.
Jared kind of “hmphs” and drags his feet down the steps to where Jensen stands, and squints out into the front yard.
When he stands close enough that their shoulders touch, Jensen smiles warmly and wraps an arm around the trim waist, thumb sweeping over the jut of hipbone. “You crashed hard last night. You must have really been tired.”
“Yeah,” Jared agrees, a hand going up to touch absently at his throat. “I kind of think I might be...”
“Coming down with something?” Jensen finishes for him, and smirks at the bewildered expression. “Yeah. Been wondering when you were going to admit it.”
Jared is looking at him with an expression that is one part surprised, two parts exasperated. “You dick! You’ve just been busting my chops the past few days for kicks, is that it?” It’s rhetorical, and he does a piss poor job of covering his smile when Jensen starts chuckling at him. “Thanks, Jen. That’s real nice.” The croak in his voice becomes a little more audible and his shoulders droop, as if coming clean enables him to act like he’s got the plague.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Sorry, babe,” he says, and leans forward to kiss him, because Jared is cute when he pouts.
Grumbling, Jared pushes him back and shoots him a glare. “Jen, don’t. I’m probably contagious.”
“Relax, Typhoid Mary,” Jensen laughs incredulously, which makes Jared frown at him so hard it’s got to be painful. “Besides, not like the major swap of fluids last night wouldn’t have done the damage already,” he points out helpfully.
Petulantly turning away from him, Jared gives him one more half-hearted scowl before heading for the door. “I’m going back to bed. Jerk.”
“Dude, you’re not Sam.”
Jared flips him off. He hates it when he says that.
Laughing harder, Jensen slowly follows. “That’s fine, go nurse your swine flu,” he calls after the quickly retreating form. “I’ll walk the dogs, your highness. Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill in this frigid July weather.” He gives a mock shiver for dramatic effect and its pointless now, because Jared probably couldn’t hear him even if he was listening. But it feels so good to tease him - easy, familiar.
With a final, fleeting glance at the boxes stacked against the wall, Jensen leaves the hollowness of the garage behind.
Jensen’s mom has been calling a lot these days.
Yeah, Jensen is a family man. He doesn’t deny that, because it’s something he takes pride in. Family is something he considers to be really important, maybe number one. But his mom has been driving him crazy the past few weeks, probably because she keeps asking questions he doesn’t know the answers to.
Why haven’t you come to visit yet? Aren’t you going to spend the summer in LA like you always do? Are you going to be able to find your own place before the next season starts filming? Is Jared going to stay living in that big house all by himself?
“Quit staring at it like you can make it disappear.”
Jensen starts at Jared’s voice when the younger man suddenly appears in the kitchen. Brow furrowing in confusion, Jensen looks at him questioningly. “Huh?”
“The post-it, David Blaine,” he says with a jerk of his chin at the fridge Jensen’s been standing directly in front of for the past two minutes. Give or take. “It’s not goin’ to go away. Neither are the five billion other ones I’ve written down in the past seventy two hours. Would you just call her back?” He’s pulling on a hoodie, one of the oversized ones he likes to drown his upper body in. Jensen fails to understand why.
Jensen turns and crosses his arms over his chest. “You talk to her if you think it’s so fun,” he challenges, feeling like a ten-year-old.
Pulling his zipper high, Jared shrugs nonchalantly, “I do.”
“What?” he asks, shaking his head and wondering if he heard that right.
Now Jared looks a little uncomfortable. “She calls a lot, Jen. Your mom isn’t exactly the easiest person to get off the phone.”
“Chad is what most people would consider to be legally retarded,” Jensen replies, face totally deadpan.
Jared is squinting at him like he’s crazy. “What?”
Shaking himself, Jensen smiles crookedly. “Sorry, thought we were having a ‘state the obvious’ contest.” Jared is rolling his eyes, and Jensen congratulates himself on that one. “Look, I know it’s annoying. She’s been pestering me, man. I’ll tell her to call my cell...”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Jared interrupts, and looks as though he’s just been insulted.
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one, then.” After that he’s not really sure what to say, and he just sort of stands there in the kitchen quietly for awhile watching as Jared putters around, texting someone on his cell phone, jotting something down on a crinkled piece of paper, pocketing his keys. Jensen’s mom really loves Jared, she’s always made that well known. For the first time he wonders how she feels about Danneel. She’s never really said.
Jensen clears his throat. “What do you guys talk about?” he asks, and he’s surprised because he’s not even the littlest bit mad, just genuinely curious.
“Hmm?” Jared asks, looking at him absently.
“When my mom calls, what do you talk about?”
Jared shrugs casually. “Oh, I dunno,” he looks for his shoes as he goes, and Jensen hears the playful tone in his voice so he half expects what comes next. “The sweet nothings you whisper in my ear while you fuck me. Sometimes about which flavour of lube is your favourite. You know, this and that.”
Jensen picks up a dishtowel from where it hangs on the oven door and chucks it at him. “You’re really funny,” he says sarcastically, and revels in Jared’s delighted laughter. “Where are you going, asshole?” he asks, finally putting two and two together as Jared triumphantly finds his left sneaker from its hiding spot under the coffee table.
“We’re out of stuff. I’m running to the store,” Jared supplies as he stands and cracks his back with a slight wince.
Jensen follows him as the younger man starts down the hallway for the door. “Want me to go instead?” he asks, because he knows Jared is still feeling kind of shitty.
“Nah,” Jared says, a hand going to the back of his neck and kneading the skin there. After a moment or two of lingering, he looks like he wants to say something and finally decides to bite the bullet. “So, have you gotten a plane ticket yet?”
It takes Jensen’s mind a moment or two to actually catch up. “To LA? No. I keep putting it off.” He looks down at the floor, then around the room. “There’s been too much stuff going on. I don’t want to fall behind.” It’s difficult and kind of lame, but he gets the words out.
Jared kind of chews on his bottom lip and nods. “Yeah.”
“But I’m gonna,” he adds, because he has to.
Jared nods again. “Okay. I’ll probably head to San Antonio for a few weeks, too,” he says, and he doesn’t look mad, or upset, either. Just...calm.
“Yeah,” Jensen parrots, because he’s not too sure what else to say. They stand there like that for an awkward beat or two, stuck in a limbo between the front door and the hallway. Then Jared finally gives him a shy, adorable grin and turns the doorknob, stepping across the threshold. “Hey,” Jensen murmurs, and rushes forward to push Jared against the wood, crushing their lips together with a sudden intensity that takes them both by surprise. Jared tastes like honey-lemon lozenges, and when he grinds their hips together just right, Jensen finds it really fucking unfair that all he gets is a knee-weakening smile before Jared is slithering out of his grasp and out the door.
Such a cock tease sometimes.
When the phone rings, Jensen curses his hard-on and decides to go answer it.
There’s got to be something wrong with the reception on his cell phone.
Jensen isn’t what one would call technically inclined. So he has no idea if the lousy quality he’s hearing on the other end means the phone is broken or what, but he’s kind of hoping so.
“What did the realtor say about downtown?” Danneel is asking, her voice slightly tinny over the line. “Is it going to be hard to find a place on short notice? Because I’m already living partially out of boxes at this point.” She’s trying not to complain, Jensen knows this. Her frustrations are valid
Thing is, Danneel’s voice has this crackly, husky quality that is undoubtedly sexy. Unfortunately, it can be mistaken for a grind-your-teeth-to-dust whininess depending on the context.
For now, he’s blaming the cell phone.
He scratches at the back of his head like it itches. “Yeah, no. The market is kind of crazy right now, so it’s not going to be a picnic,” he replies, hyper-aware of the fact that Mike is walking down the street beside him, whether he’s consciously listening or not. “But she says there’s lots of stuff available out in the west. There’s this one house she was going to show me, with...”
“But what about the city? I thought we wanted a condo or something, Jen.” She cuts him off, not rudely so. “I mean, isn’t that what we talked about? Trendy part of town, maybe a penthouse overlooking the water.”
Jensen feels a nudge to his elbow and looks to see they’ve arrived at their destination. With a nod, he forces his focus back on the conversation. “Right, right. It was just an idea.” Mike pulls open the door to the restaurant and they both walk through. Inside the noise level is just bad enough that he’ll have to strain to hear her. “I’ll, uh, keep looking. We’ll find something downtown,” he assures her, and stands off to one side while Mike chats up a hostess.
“Great. We’ll be able to choose a lot easier when you get here,” she says, and Jensen can’t tell if she means it to be the dig it sounds like to him. Then, “I can’t wait to see you. I miss you, Jen.”
They’re walking out to the patio where the summer sun is beaming down on the side of his face. Jensen switches the phone to his other ear. “I miss you, too.” They get to an umbrella-covered table in a quieter corner of the busy veranda. “I’ll call in a couple days.”
By the time they’ve said their goodbyes, Mike is giving his menu a really infuriating raised-eyebrow look that probably has nothing to do with the soup of the day. “What?” Jensen growls, pulling on his Ray-Bans.
“Nothing, nothing.” He smiles disarmingly when a waitress arrives to fill their water glasses. “How is the little lady?”
“Impatient.”
“Ah,” Mike replies with feigned sincerity, steepling his fingers as if deep in thought. After a beat, and still focusing his attention on the specials list, he adds, “Isn’t Jared’s house in the west end?”
Jensen glares at him from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t go there, Rosie.”
He gets a wide-eyed look of innocence in return. “Just asking.”
With another scowl, Jensen reaches across the table and snatches a cigarette out of the pack his friend left on the tabletop beside the key to his Beamer. “Yeah, I bet,” he mumbles over the snick of a lighter, and inhales on a deep, gratifying breath.
Just as Mike is grinning and following suite, his cell phone starts vibrating across the tabletop.
“The Mrs. again?” Mike asks in a stupid British accent, and leans across the Formica to peer shamelessly at the flashing display screen. Then he smirks and quirks a knowing eyebrow. “Oh. The other woman.”
Jensen kicks at him from under the table and snatches up the phone. “Hey,” he says, and pushes his chair back and to the side a little for the illusion of privacy.
“So for tonight, what are your thoughts on pizza? I know it’s hard to think about dinner when you’re eating lunch, but hey, I do it all the time.” Jared always gets right to the point when he calls. Usually no ‘hi’ or ‘hello’, just jumps right in, like he’d been in the middle of a conversation with himself.
Jensen can’t hide the smile that creeps onto his face. “Not everyone is a bottomless pit, Jay.”
He can hear the roll of eyes on the other end. “Whatever. Can you get on board with the plan, or should I just wait and ask you later?” he asks, and Jensen hears one of the dogs barking in the background. He imagines them playing in the backyard.
“We haven’t eaten yet. Pizza sounds good.” Leaning comfortably back in his chair, Jensen tips his head back a little and takes a slow, relaxed drag from his cigarette.
There’s a pause. “Jen, are you smoking?”
Jensen blows the smoke out his nostrils so quickly he as to smother a cough. “...No?”
There’s a snort, and it’s hard to tell whether it’s amused or simply pissed off. “Whatever. Say hi to Rosie for me. I’ll see you tonight, dumbass.”
“Bye.” He flips the phone shut, and looks up to find Mike staring at him again. He searches for the cocky smile, the one raised eyebrow, the smirk he wants to remove with his fists. Instead, what he finds on his friend’s face is hard to read. Maybe a little disappointed. “What?” he asks, feeling self-conscious.
Mike shakes his head a little. “What are you doing, Jensen?” he asks, as serious as he’s ever sounded in all the time they’ve known each other.
Jensen bristles, sets his shoulders, and flags down a waitress. “I’m ordering a beer.”
They’re out of laundry detergent.
Jensen’s temper can have a bit of a short fuse - pretty quick to ignite, but it usually fizzles out after he gets some air. Little things can get on his nerves remarkably easily. He’d once gone an entire day without talking to Jared because he forgot to write milk down on the shopping list, and Jensen had to forgo putting it in his morning coffee.
It’s not a great trait to have, but Jared learned early on that it if he just let him be, it didn’t take long before he calmed down.
So when he goes to dump a load of Jared’s dark clothes into the washing machine and ends up scraping the bottom of the detergent box, he expects to feel that familiar frustration throb at his temples. Instead he finds himself staring down into the metal innards of the unit with a funny feeling in his chest.
The shirt that has come to rest at the top of the pile is one of his own. It isn’t special - far from it. Just an old, grey crew neck he reserves for mornings of kicking around the house or wearing to the gym. He’d gone looking for it the other day and wondered where it had ended up. Even though his clothes don’t really fit the younger man - loose in the shoulders and falling short everywhere else - it doesn’t seem to stop them from going missing whenever Jared is feeling beat down or under the weather.
Jensen picks it up and holds it close to his face, inhaling deeply. A smile pulls at his mouth, because Jared’s scent is like getting a hit of the good stuff.
Later that night, Jensen doesn’t complain about the multiple loads of still-to-be-washed laundry as he’s crawling leisurely into bed, proudly wearing that same shirt.
“But it’s got my germs all over it,” Jared points out as he rolls over onto his side, face mere inches away from Jensen’s on the pillow.
With a quiet, contented sigh, Jensen traces a gentle fingertip over the crinkled nose, smoothing away the lines. “Then it’s got something in common with me.” He leans in and kisses Jared’s eyelids closed.
Jensen can’t remember feeling less annoyed about incomplete chores in his entire existence.
Part Two