Fandom: Supernatural RPS
A/N: Written for Annette (pippii) for all the beautiful charms she made for me. <3 This was supposed to be so much better.
Title: Someday by Rob Thomas
Prompt table #1
Scratching idly on his stomach, Jared walks into the kitchen with a wide yawn, nearly colliding with Sadie who rushes to get there before him and stubbornly mingles between his legs.
The light from the newly changed bulb above the kitchen counter is like a poison, too bright and too direct, and too much of everything at this hour, and Jared narrows his eyes at it unfriendly, yawning again.
The world behind the windows is everything but bright. It's misty and wet, the color of something between a washed out cold blue and stony gray, glum and lazy. Still asleep.
Jensen, on the contrary, is wide awake. Or trying to be anyway, although he's leaning against the kitchen island rather heavily, as if struggling not to fall asleep again right there. He's already dressed, in yesterday's jeans and a long-sleeved, worn shirt that used to be Dean's, was Dean's, no more than nine hours ago, and sipping on his coffee. He still looks kind of sleep-ruffled and unfocused, slow, but ten kinds of gorgeous.
Jared's always been falling in love quite unexpectedly, and wholly unprepared, but he's never fallen so hard and so fast, free-falling blindly for someone basically the second their eyes met. Jensen was that someone, has been, and Jared can hardly remember what it felt like not being so crazy about him, not loving him, but he thinks it must have been sad.
Jensen smiles tiredly when he spots Jared hovering in the door and raises his cup again in a greeting, “Morning.” His voice is thick from sleep, low and rough, and it's familiar and still so disturbingly hot it makes Jared shiver.
“Morning,” he returns, feeling almost pathetic for being so easy, for the way his body reacts to every simple thing Jensen does. Or doesn't. Still.
He picks up his own coffee that Jensen's left there for him on the counter, with sugar and cream, and just this side of hot that Jared can actually swallow, and walks over to where Jensen's standing, rubbing on his eye with the back of his hand and yawning. Mornings aren't Jensen's big friends. Will probably never be.
“You're awake early,” Jared notes as he wraps his arm around Jensen's waist, his thumb slipping through the loop in Jensen's jeans, pushing them inadvertently half an inch lower. He presses the entire length of his body into Jensen's, trying to get as close as he can, and possibly closer.
Leaning into him, Jensen settles his hand over Jared's at the front of his jeans and entwines their fingers, running his finger-pad over Jared's knuckle. “I overslept,” he says. “I'm fairly sure he's already there.”
Jensen's convinced that Clif knows. That when he takes them home and drops Jensen at his hotel, he knows that it will be barely an hour before Jensen's leaving again, driving to Jared's. Jared doesn't think that Jensen's being unreasonably suspicious. Not anymore anyway, because Clif's looks have been nothing but questioning lately, inquisitive, and he's started to be a bit too early in the morning, waiting for Jensen long before the arranged time. They are both sure that there's no real danger coming from Clif's knowing. It would be just a little sad and unfair if he found out before they gathered the courage to come out to their families and friends.
“Do you think that this will end some day?” Jared used to ask. “That one day we'll be just us without trying to-- Without pretending that we're something else?” And Jensen's answer was always the same; sad and weary. “I hope so. Jared, I'm tired of this, okay? Just like you are. And I wish I could tell all of them, our families, the fans, how much I love you. How happy you make me. But... there's no good coming out of it. Not now. Not yet.” Eventually, Jared stopped asking. The question was still there, is, just that annoying and persistent, nudging Jared's mind and provoking, but voiceless, unspoken.
Resting his chin on Jensen's shoulder, Jared kisses the soft, sensitive skin under Jensen's jaw, breathing him in, along with the bitter taste of his coffee. Jensen smells amazing in the morning; cold and fresh and fruity from the shower, and warm with the just interrupted sleep. Like Jared's sheets. Like them.
Jensen sighs and tilts his head up a little, giving Jared a better access, then swallows thickly when Jared's tongue darts out, feeling his pulse point, the contour of his Adam's apple. And maybe it's the Dracula movie talking, the one Jared watched last afternoon while he was waiting for Jensen, but it looks like Jensen was offering his pale throat to a vampire. Jared wants to bite him, suck the thin skin in between his teeth and raise blood to the surface, leave a mark that will stay for some time and show that Jensen's taken, but he knows that Jensen wouldn't be happy about it. And the make-up girls even a good deal less. So he licks a stripe along Jensen's jawline and up to his ear instead, biting his earlobe and making Jensen shudder in his hold.
“Jared.” Jensen pulls slightly back and turns his head, looking at Jared sideways. His eyes have a darker shade of green that yields into an almost golden brown, and his mouth is right there, full and plushy, and wholly irresistible. He moans quietly at the first contact, just this little, sexy noise at the back of his throat, and his lips part beneath Jared's instantly, automatically, sliding over them, nibbling and biting gently.
It's a slow kiss, leisure and innocent, almost, but that kind that vibrates each nerve ending like a guitar string, evoking more want and lust than a hard, possessive one would. Jared doesn't really understand how it's even humanly possible to go from fully asleep to fully aroused, so fast, just from a kiss, but he's there. And he's learned not to question anything that involves Jensen and his talented mouth. “Jensen,” he whispers huskily, breathy, when they break apart, trying to turn his brain back on.
“Hm-hm,” Jensen echoes, pretty much out of it himself, his eyelids fluttering open. “Have to go.” He sounds sleepy and regretful.
“Yeah,” Jared hums back, although neither of them moves an inch.
But it's another minute before Jensen pulls away, sliding out of Jared's arms and pushing emptiness and cold there instead. “Have to.” He finishes his coffee in one long swallow and moves towards the sink to wash his cup.
Jared watches him, noticing how the material of his shirt shifts with his movements, stretching over his shoulder blades and upper arms, the muscles beneath taut and defined, the way his jeans cling to him firmly, and in all the right places. How he favors his left leg a little, trying to ease on his knee that is still sore from the not too elegant landing on a gravestone three days ago.
“I hate this,” Jared tells him, not really sure whether he's concretely addressing Jensen, or no one in particular.
Jensen turns around and smiles, knowing, understanding, but unable to change it. Make it better. “I know.”
“I hate this so much.”
“I'll see you in about an hour.”
Jared doesn't know whether it's a promise that is supposed to make him feel better, or just a bare stating of facts. It sounds like both and none of it at once, and it doesn't really help.
“Have you seen my shoe?” Jensen asks then, looking down and guiding Jared's eyes to his feet. It's only then that Jared notices that Jensen's wearing only one Converse shoe, while his left foot is clad only in a black sock.
“Have you checked under the bed?”
“Yeah. But there was only the one.”
Jared shakes his head and puts his cup down, heading out of the kitchen to find Harley.
There are no ghosts in his house, no thieves or things randomly disappearing into thin air, there's just Harley and his original method how to keep Jensen there, with them. It never works because Jensen has to leave whether he wants to or not, in Jared's shoes or barefooted, but Harley doesn't give up. It's the same old show every morning.
By the time Jared returns, bare five minutes later and with Jensen's shoe, a little green and muddy, Jensen's packed. His messenger bag is sitting on the kitchen table, his keys clinging in his hand, and Jensen's got his denim jacket on. Jared knows, rationally, that he will see Jensen on the set in just a while and that they will spend the next thirteen, fifteen hours together, but he still hates this picture more than anything. It's the leaving part that irritates him so much.
“Thank you,” Jensen grins as he shoves his keys into the back pocket of his jeans and takes the shoe from Jared, leaning against the kitchen unit for a balance.
Jared could say, 'You're welcome', or 'No problem', but he doesn't. He says, “Why don't you move in with me?” instead, surprising even himself.
Because he's, once again, realized how crazy their whole situation is. Like it's not enough that they have to hide their feelings, disguise every moment they are together with lies and pretext. Every time Jensen spends a night at Jared's, which is more and more often, he wakes up an hour earlier to be back at his hotel before Clif arrives to pick him up. It's so stupid and hilarious Jared would laugh. If it wasn't so sad. So them.
Jensen, promptly, drops the sneaker. His eyes dart up to Jared's face, wide and adorably bewildered. “Uh.”
“I mean... Do you really like your hotel apartment that much? Do you actually enjoy all this moving around?”
“Not... really,” Jensen admits hesitantly. “But. Don't you think that that would be a little too suspicious?” He crouches down to tie up his shoes, and Jared follows him down there.
“What's there to be suspicious about?” he asks. “We're friends, we work together. We start and end basically at the same time. We have one driver; if he had only one place to stop at, we'd spare a lot of time. And gas.”
Jensen says nothing for a moment. Paused a mid-movement with the shoelace curled around his fingers, he's just looking at Jared, measuring him curiously. “Time and gas? That's very thoughtful of you, Jare.”
“I thought so,” Jared smiles. He puts his hand on Jensen's thigh, running his fingertips along the tattered hole in the fabric of his jeans, over the soft skin beneath. “On a selfish note... You could sleep a little longer. And I could have you for myself for a little longer. All these quickies are hot and all, but... one day I'd like to make love to you without you falling asleep on me.”
Jensen immediately scowls, offended. “I have never--” he protests vehemently, standing up so fast he sways a bit.
“You weren't that far from it last night.”
“Not far,” Jensen admits. “But not asleep.”
Jensen was tired when he arrived last night, a couple of hours after Jared had finished, half asleep and starving, a beautiful creature mixed of Jensen and Dean. Jensen's jeans and shoes, and Dean's shirt and stubble, helplessness and pain, and smears of make-up on his temple and jaw.
He walked through the door, tripping over his own feet, and yawning instead of saying hi. But he fell into Jared's arms the moment they met in the hallway, his body warm and firm, pressing Jared right up against the wall. His hands framed Jared's face, cold finger-pads caressing Jared's skin, and his lips opened upon Jared's. His kiss was all-control, demanding and possessive, teeth sharp and tongue hot and soft, nudging Jared's lips apart, seeking Jared's heat and his taste.
Jensen evidently was hungry, but it wasn't for dinner; he wanted Jared, right then and, preferably, right there. And Jared forgot all about the re-heated lasagna in the microwave or the unfinished movie speaking in the background. Instead, his fingers curled around Jensen's narrow hipbones, hitching him closer until he could actually feel him, hot and hard, and he rocked into him, grinding, forcing out of his mouth a breathless curse.
Cradled in between Jensen's thighs, still out of breath and only slowly coming down, Jared ran his fingers over Jensen's features, tracing the curve of his mouth, the mild wrinkles on his forehead, the deeper lines at his eyes. He loved those the most, loved the way Jensen's whole face would lit up, changing to something softer, vulnerable almost, when he smiled. Jensen's body was like a furnace beneath him, still trembling slightly, damp with perspiration and flushed, and his eyes were closed, long eyelashes fluttering.
“Not that I'm complaining,” Jared started, speaking quietly, whispering, too afraid to break the stillness of the moment. “On the contrary, really, but... What was that?”
Jensen laughed, that rich, deep laughter Jared could feel in his bones, and opened his eyes to look up at Jared. “I was cold,” he smiled. “And I missed you.” He barely finished the sentence, and then he was asleep; his breathing even, brows furrowed, his fingers splayed over Jared's ass, keeping him in place. Jared softening still deep inside of him.
Jared leans against the table, watching Jensen watch him back. Jensen's wearing both of his shoes now and he's got his messenger bag thrown over his shoulder, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He's more than ready to go, but he wavers.
“So?” Jared asks, feeling as if the whole century has passed, not just a minute, maybe even less.
Jensen seems unsure, uncomfortable even. It's not what Jared wanted to happen. “Can I think about it?”
“Oh. You... need to think about it. I mean, of course you need to think about it. Yeah. Sure.”
Jensen pulls from the counter and reaches out, twisting his fingers in the front of Jared's T-shirt, pulling him close. His freckles are clearly visible like that, gentle, cinnamon-like dots, and unbelievably distracting. “It's not that I don't want to spend more time with you,” he says. “Wake up with you. Fall asleep in the same bed. Or that I don't appreciate the offer. Because I do, really. It's just--” He shrugs, searching for the right words. “I don't want us to get sick of each other or something. I'm still amazed we're not yet.”
“I don't think I'll ever get sick of you.”
“Just you wait.” Jensen promises, smirking, stepping back and away; Jared's fingers closed around his elbow having no effect at stopping him whatsoever.
And then he's gone. Jared can hear the front door click, Jensen's footsteps on the pavement, the rumble of the engine of his truck. His cellphone slides over the table, the vibrations dull and echoing, before it beeps, announcing a text message. Jared picks it up, uninterested, his eyes glued to the driveway Jensen's just backing out of, and flips the phone open. When the tailgate lights disappear behind a corner, Jared glances down at the display, and smiles widely when he sees the message is from Jensen. It's short and simple, but eloquent and sweet: “Yes. <3”