Work Text:
Title - four months
Pairing - Jared/Jensen
Rating - angsty porn
Word Count - 1388
four months
The flat of Jensen’s stick hits Jared on the back of his thigh. Jared hears, “Watch out!” and then, “Shit, Jared, what team are you playing for, man?” as Jensen slaps the ball out from under his feet.
Jared watches as Jensen lopes down the street. He whips the stick back and slams the ball right past Greg in lighting, between a road cone and a garbage can. “Suck it, bitch!” Jensen shouts as he yanks the bottom of his t-shirt from his jeans and wipes his face. “Game fucking over!”
The afternoon sun is bright as it tries to peek through the clouds. Jensen is bent at the waist, hands on his thighs and breathing heavy. His stick is lying on the ground, and when Jared jogs over, Jensen looks up, catches Jared’s eye for a split second, before looking away.
There’s a bead of sweat rolling from Jensen’s temple to his cheek. He wipes it off with the back of his hand, then stands up and walks off, leaving Jared standing there watching him.
It’s been four months, three weeks and two days since they fucked. Jared can still taste Jensen, bitter and salty in the back of his throat.
*
Jared has no idea what Jensen does on the weekend. He stays in Vancouver. He goes back to LA. He flies to the moon. Anything could be true; it’s not like Jensen tells him anything.
They walk off the set late Friday, each getting into separate cars taking them to different places.
“So, I’ll, uh, see you Monday,” Jared calls out.
Jensen stops for a second, his hand just over the door handle, and Jared thinks, maybe-- but then Jensen just waves and gives Jared a half-smile. “Yep. See you then,” he says.
Jared’s still standing there as Jensen’s car drives off. His driver looks at him, clears his throat, and Jared folds himself into the backseat. “Home is fine,” he says as he slams the door shut and stares out the window.
It’s been four months, three weeks and two days since Jared hung out with Jensen on a Friday night. They’d gone for food, then drinks, then back to Jared’s place where they watched TV and played video games until Jared wound up sprawled on his couch and panting, with his cock deep down Jensen’s throat.
Tonight, Jared watches the streets roll by, follows the lights that line the highway. He closes his eyes, leans his head back, and thinks about Jensen’s hands and mouth.
*
Jared goes home and tosses his jacket on the couch and his keys on the table. Harley comes over and noses his palm. Sadie’s still sleeping on the dog bed in the corner of the room.
There’s no noise. The TV is off, no music playing. Jared can hear his footsteps on the floor, the quiet hum of the refrigerator. He stands in the kitchen and looks out the window over the sink.
He’s got no plans for the weekend. Nothing to do. Jared knows he could run lines, or call Tom or Mike, or hell, even try and find where Chad was if he really wanted to.
Jared knows all of this as well as he knows he won’t do any of it. He’ll sleep late and order takeout and watch bad TV. Maybe he’ll go jogging or lift some weights, stupid shit to pass the time.
The kitchen counter is hard against Jared’s back. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks out into the living room. If he squints, he can see them – see Jensen sitting next to him on the couch. See himself leaning back, laughing at whatever lame joke Jensen just told him.
They’re sitting too close, like always. Sitting too close and now Jared thinks, I should have known. I should have thought—but then, Jensen leaned over and kissed him, and said, “Yeah?”
Four months, three weeks and two days ago Jared licked his lips and said yeah back. It’s been fucked ever since.
*
They did it right there on the couch, the TV playing in the background, the pizza box on the floor, crushed under Jared’s boot.
Jensen had leaned over him, pushing him down, holding Jared’s hands tight over his head. His teeth were sharp, his breath warm and a little sour, and Jared’s skin shivered wherever Jensen’s mouth touched.
Jared didn’t know – he didn’t expect – and then Jensen’s voice was low in his ear, telling Jared to “Come on, man, get these off,” as he tugged on Jared’s belt, the leather hissing and snapping against the buckle.
Jensen shoved Jared’s jeans down his hips. His knees hit the floor with a loud thump, and Jared looked up in time to see Jensen smirk, then push against Jared’s chest with his hand. “Stay still,” Jensen said, then wrapped his lips around Jared’s cock.
Jared forced his head up and watched Jensen suck him, hotter and dirtier than a porn star. His foot pushed against the floor, his back arching off the couch. Jensen choked as Jared drove deeper into his throat, his fingers tight against Jared’s hip, pressing in, holding him down. He wouldn’t let Jared move, kept him there, his hand one pressure, his mouth another.
It was too much - too hot, too fast, too good. Jared couldn’t take it, he couldn’t last. He heard the dull rip of his nails against the side of the couch, and four months, three weeks and to days ago, Jared blinked up at the ceiling, swore under his breath and came in his best friend’s mouth.
*
If you asked Jared now, was it worth it, Jared would say no. He and Jensen were every cliché he’d ever heard. Every typical case of getting drunk and horny and doing something you’d regret come morning.
Jared had thought they’d be ok. He really did. But the next morning he woke up and Jensen was gone – no message, no note, no nothing - and everything from that point on was totally jacked.
They don’t hang out anymore, and they don’t talk. They don’t do anything more than work together. Jensen’s just like every random co-star or one night stand Jared’s ever had. Less even. Jared still manages to speak to his one night stands if he sees them. Jensen doesn’t even give him that much.
Sometimes though, Jared will watch Jensen when he thinks Jared’s not looking. He’ll see the way Jensen’s eyes hold on him a little too long. He’ll notice the hard swallow, the line of Jensen’s throat as he looks away, pretending not to hear Jared calling his name.
Jared sees shit like that happen all the time, and part of him wants to stomp over to Jensen and yell something. Yank his arm and shout in his ear and ask him what the fuck does he think he’s doing? How can he just act like this, turn it off, pretend it never happened?
Jared wants answers. He wants to know. He wants Jensen to explain to him, fucking explain how things could go from something so relaxed and cool and fun, to so fucked in that span of just one night. Jared wants to know that, to understand it.
He wants Jensen to tell him how, because Jared wants to do that. Act like everything is fine, like nothing ever happened. Like they hadn’t blown everything they had going for a quick fuck on the couch.
Jared wants to be over it like Jensen seems to be. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore; watch Jensen’s hands and think about his mouth and have to physically stop himself from leaning over and licking the side of Jensen’s throat where his skin is salty-slick with sweat. Jared wants to stop waking up in the middle of the night, the memory of Jensen’s breath heating his belly and thighs. He wants to stop waking up hard and not being able to do anything about it until he’s in the shower, soapy hands around his cock, jerking off to the ghost sound of Jensen’s voice breathing his name.
Mostly though, Jared just wants a do-over. He wants it to be four months, three weeks and two days ago again, but this time, he wants to say no.
-end-