aeroport_art | Fic: Cupid 97 (This ain't your Hallmark Cupid) (5/5)

Title: Cupid 97 (This ain't your Hallmark Cupid)
Characters: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/JDM, Jared/Sandy, Chris Kane, CW cast and cameos from Grey's Anatomy cast
Author:

aeroport_art
Rating: R
Warnings: potty mouths, sarcasm, UST/schmoop, AU
Word Count: ~27,500
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, go 'way.
Notes: Written for spn_fairytales. My challenge/inspiration was The Saucy Boy by Hans Christian Andersen. A huge thanks to

mooyoo for being such a rockstar with the beta!! This story and universe was an absolute blast to write and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it! Finally, feedback = love. Whew!

Summary: Everybody's got a love/hate relationship with their jobs. But for Jensen Ackles, top Cupid in the nation, after a hit goes wrong it's just a long, downhill slide from there. Caution: an ungodly amount of swearing, sarcasm, and schmoop in which Chris Kane is an awesome best friend, Tom Welling's the vacuous son of Zeus, Rosenbaum is Rosenbaum, and Jensen has a penchant for Plans.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Jensen’s ass is getting numb from sitting on the floor so long. Said numb ass is telling him to stop moping like a goddamned pussy and to get the fuck up. Normally Jensen wouldn’t take orders from such a rude voice but whatever, the ceremony’s over, and he’s hid here long enough that in all likelihood Jeff’s well on his way back to the hotel or wherever it is he’s staying at. By now there’s little chance of Jensen bumping into Jeff, only to embarrass himself by begging Jeff to take him back because while his hormones are screaming Go for it already! , his brain’s tsk-ing and wagging its finger, saying stuff like how it wouldn’t be fair to Jeff, he’s not over Jared, blah blah blah.

Jensen wonders if his body parts have always ordered him around like this. Isn’t that a sign of like, schizophrenia or something?

Whatever; Jensen’s ass is officially yelling at him now by sending uncomfortable prickles over his skin so he stands up, feeling his years in his back and knees as they pop-pop and when he’s standing upright, he nearly falls over again from the blood rush to his head.

Gotta go find the guys, he thinks resignedly, trudging towards the front of the stage. Jensen’s feeling pretty abysmal though and the prospect of going home and sleeping is the only thing that’s even remotely cheering him up right now. Yeah, he’ll make up an excuse before they rope him into celebrating at a bar somewhere, where he’ll just infect his friends’ moods like mono.

Jensen gets to the deserted stage and finds the whole room pretty much empty. He plops back down on his butt, legs idly swinging over the edge as he spots his friends and beckons them over.

“Hey guys,” he says as they trickle to the front of the ballroom. Jensen has his exit line thought out already, he just needs to fluff up the context before using it. “Great job tonight. So uh, you know those cheese-stuffed jalapenos—”

“Yeah, they were fricking awesome,” Mike jumps in, his eyes lighting up. Tom follows in behind and smiles benignly at him.

“We could tell you liked them, Mike. You ate like, four of them off my plate,” Tom says adoringly as he slips his hand into Mike’s back pocket and tugs him up until they’re hip-to-hip. Mike’s fair skin delicately pinks.

“They were really spicy and…uh…” Jensen trails off. He can’t remember his line. He settles for, “What the fuck is your hand doing on Rosenbaum’s ass?”

Tom’s complexion outstrips Mike’s in the race to a brick-red blush as he sheepishly slides his hand out and moves it up to rest on the soft indent of Mike’s waist. “What do you mean, Jensen?” he asks embarrassedly.

“I mean…” Jensen stares incredulously at Tom’s fingers as they fondle the fabric of Mike’s suit jacket.

“It’s disgusting, I know,” Chad says as he swaggers up from behind. He slaps his palms down on the varnished stage, hoists himself up and plants his ass down next to Jensen. “They’ve been like that all week. Be glad you don’t have to come to work anymore; the first and third elevators are officially desecrated.” Chad shudders.

Jensen’s still oddly mesmerized by Tom’s fingers, where they’re now slipping down Mike’s hipbone. He doesn’t even want to think about where they’re trying to migrate. Jensen snaps his eyes back up to Tom face, blurting “What happened to Kristin? ”

“Huh? What about her?” Tom asks, tipping his head to the side like an idiot pretty boy—oh wait. Jensen inwardly snickers.

“I thought you guys got together,” he says.

“Tom,” Mike hisses. “I thought you said Jenny knew about us!”

“I thought he did!”

…Oh. Oh, okay. Apparently Jensen’s put two and two together to make five. “Never mind, guys,” he hastily says. “Congratulations on, um…” Jensen looks down and quickly points at their statuettes. “Your awards.”

“Thanks,” Mike says distractedly as he pries off Tom’s wandering hand and grips it in his own.

The air sifts through shades of awkwardness until, thankfully, Chris strolls into the empty ballroom from one of the main doors, Kristin and Kristin in tow. “Look what I found,” Chris smiles, presenting the two Muses who are snug in each arm.

“Is everybody here getting laid except me?” Jensen gripes. He lets himself tip backwards until he’s lying flat on the stage, arms spread out like a gravity-challenged crucifixion.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, geez,” K-Bell complains, reaching forward to grab one of Jensen’s ankles. She yanks down hard until he yelps and slides down onto the floor, landing heavily on both feet. Jensen glares at her.

“Now now, none of that,” Kristin admonishes. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Show a little love.”

There’s a collection groan from the Cupids—even Jensen winces a little, even though he’s no longer obligated to detest the word “love”. But c’mon, a habit like that’s not going away anytime soon.

“Everybody knows all V-Day’s good for is money.” Chad lifts his fingers up and rubs them together, saying in a singsong voice, “Bonuses. “

There’s an instantaneous stir of optimism through the immortals at the thought of Valentine’s Day bonuses. Even Jensen smiles a little as he thinks about the check arriving in his mail any day now, but before he can ask Mike which day they’re issuing out the checks, he sees him and Tom backing out of the circle.

“I think we’re gonna take off now,” Tom says, his touchy-feely hand still firmly ensconced within Mike’s. Jensen can feel his lunch stirring in his stomach, and oh yeah, that reminds him—

“Me too,” Jensen tacks on, pasting a grimace onto his face as he recites, “I don’t think the spiciness of the jalapenos agreed with my stomach, so I should best be getting home”. Other than a few strange looks, Jensen doesn’t get any opposition from his friends so he gives a feeble wave, makes a show of clutching his stomach, then turns around and limps towards one of the front doors.

He’s got one foot halfway through the exit when he hears Chris shout after him. “I almost forgot. I saw your guy,” he says. Jensen frowns in confusion.

“What guy? Jeff? Look, I don’t want to talk about it. Just give me a day or two and you can hear the whole sordid thing later.”

Chris blinks. “Wait, you talked to Jeff?” It’s obvious Chris wants to press the issue but Jensen must be making a face or something because he quickly backs off. “Never mind. I wasn’t talking about Jeff. I meant that mortal, Jared.”

Jensen was well on his way to zoning out, his bed at home seeming more and more like the proverbial light at the end of a tunnel, when Chris uttered the magic word. “Jared?” Jensen repeats.

“Yeah. I don’t know how he got into the building but he was storming through the halls and mowing everybody down ‘cause he couldn’t see any of us. I guess you were the only with the faulty cloak,” Chris says with the beginnings of a smirk but he catches sight of Jensen’s eyebrow raised in warning—and tamps it down with an overly serious expression. “Anyway, maybe you should go see what’s up.”

“Okay,” Jensen agrees. When Chris keeps staring at him, he adds meaningfully, “I’ll catch you later.”

“Oh,” Chris says. “Yeah. See you later.” He heads back into the ballroom but before Jensen can start his pursuit, Chris doubles back and adds, “If you need a place to crash tonight, my couch has your name and vomit stains all over it.”

There’s a reason Kane’s his boy. A gooey sensation squishes into Jensen’s ribcage, but he quickly scrubs it out with a manful grunt of acknowledgement.

After the door to the Olympus Room swings shut, Jensen jogs towards the lobby. When a careful scan of the room reveals no floppy-haired giant, he frowns and picks up his speed, dashing out the door to head straight for his RAV4. He’ll get a better vantage point from the sky—the cloaking device and flight enabler come standard on all immortal-certified vehicles so Jensen can use it to scope out the roads for Jared’s cream-colored truck.

Damn it, Jared, what the hell are you thinking? Jensen thinks as he slams the gearshift into flight and takes off. The car settles into a purr as it levels out on the airborne lanes and Jensen pats the wheel lovingly; this baby’s sped him through job after job, not letting him down once. All he needs now is luck on his side to find Jared.

Please, Lady Luck, don’t be such a bitch today, Jensen implores, even if it’s asking a lot considering that the last time they’d met, she’d slapped him across the face for being such a smartass. But it’s important this time so Jensen sends up prayer anyway.

-----

The sun’s setting. Or it’s about to set, or maybe it’s already done setting—Jared can never tell, what with all the tall buildings in LA, but the point is, is that it’s hot pink out. The sky looks like a canvas for a drunken painter from the 80’s.

Soon though, the neon glow of sun and smog fades away to a neutral blue. The streetlamps flicker on, even though it’s still bright enough to be unnecessary. Doesn’t matter—it’ll be dark soon.

It’s getting chilly. Yes, even in Southern California. It’s still winter, after all.

Jared picks at one of the pills on his sweatshirt. It comes off easily and he flicks it aside, then sets to work on the next. This one’s a fighter though—it refuses to detach from its synthetic thread and eventually Jared gives up. He glares at the little pill, and the loose string of thread still attached to it. This just isn’t Jared’s night.

He gives a long-suffering sigh and slouches on the metal bench, legs splayed out until he’s spilling out of the plaza and onto the sidewalk. Not that it matters; everything on La Brea closes by 6:00 or 7:00 o’ clock, so there’s no one here right now. The streets are deserted.

Or at least Jared had thought so. But behind him, he hears what sounds like rubber soles against concrete; quiet footfalls that decrease in speed as they approach. He’d turn around to look, but not tonight. Tonight, the effort of craning his neck seems like an impossible feat.

The owner of the footsteps halts behind him. Jared can hear tightly-controlled breathing, like the person's trying to catch his breath, but silently. Not fooling me, Jared thinks. Nobody’s fooling me tonight.

This goes on for awhile, and Jared starts to get irritated. He hopes it isn’t some serial killer that’s standing there, but knowing his luck, it probably is. Jared pulls his knees in and sits up, readying himself to snap at the person who won’t stop freaking breathing so loudly, but the complaint dies in his throat when the guy circles around the bench and sits down next to him.

Jared closes his mouth. Then opens it—decides against it—and snaps it shut once more. Finding himself uncomfortable with how close they’re sitting, he scoots over a few inches. The cold, stark metal bench quickly leeches all the heat from the right side of his ass, and he longs for the body-warmed strip of the three inches he’d just abandoned.

Next to him, Jensen leans back in his seat, slipping down almost a foot as he makes himself comfortable. In that movement, Jared can smell Jensen’s cologne, or deodorant, or whatever it is—the scent is indescribable, like some mash-up of Old Spice and earth, and warm. He smells like—Jared inwardly shrugs—Jensen smells like magic.

Although the silence that stretches between them seems like it oughta be awkward, it isn’t. Sure, there are questions, answers, and explanations running through their minds, and the air’s buzzing with things unsaid, but in the meantime the lack of urgency is kind of comforting. The calm before the storm, if you will. Jared goes back to picking at the stubborn lint ball on his sweatshirt.

After he’s pulled out over an inch of black string, Jensen finally says, “You’ll make a hole, doing that.” Jared abruptly stops. He ventures a cautious look in Jensen’s direction, though he adamantly avoids eye contact. There are goose bumps on Jensen’s arm.

Jared wants to rub them away, and Jensen isn’t even making a move to do it himself; he just sits there, hands loosely curled into fists on his knees while the baby fuzz on his arms stand straight up, trying their damnedest to keep his skin warm. Jared settles for choking out, “And here I was, thinking maybe you weren’t a liar after all.”

Oops. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Jensen swivels around, his foot knocking into Jared’s. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Oh, that’s rich. Jared snorts derisively, big whuff coming out of his nose. Just last week Jensen was asking him to be his boyfriend (not in those words exactly, but Jared can read between the lines), and today he’d had his tongue down some other guy’s throat. And he has the gall to sound confused?

Jensen frowns at Jared’s Can you believe this guy? face, so he snaps, “You’re acting like an asshole. Again.”

Jared splutters, “Me? How am I the asshole?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Jensen says, diving into argument all too eagerly as he ticks his fingers off, “One: for weeks, you won’t leave me alone. You drive me up the wall by being freaking everywhere, like you’d planned it or something. And then the one time I agree to hang out with you, you freaking kiss me—and then you ditch my ass at the restaurant. I had to fucking call my friend for a ride back to my car.”

Jared frowns. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Then,” Jensen continues heatedly, “Since I can’t stop thinking about you all the fucking time, I finally muster up the courage to tell you the truth about my life, which for the record, I’ve never done with any other mortal, and then you ditch my ass in the parking lot.”

“Well, you have to admit—“

“Third,” Jensen steamrolls on, angrily popping his ring finger out to join the other two. Jared eyes them in alarm; at this rate, Jensen’s gonna pull a muscle. Jensen barks, “I lose my fucking job over you. My job, Jared, because I had to go and fall for your bony ass.”

Jared darts his eyes up, saying, “Wait, you fell for—“

“And today. Today I find out you showed up at the award ceremony—which I don’t even know how you got in to—and then you ditch me there, too. And now, after I’ve spent hours hunting you down all over fucking LA, through fucking rush hour traffic, now you sit here being a prick to me.”

Jared stares at him. Jensen takes a long, deep breath, and it looks like he’s done. For now, at least. “Uh…when you put it like that…” Jared manages. God, you sound like an idiot, he berates himself. He clears his throat and tries again. “Wait, so you fell for me?”

Jensen blinks in surprise, matching Jared’s own saucer-sized eyes. Shit, that totally wasn’t what he was gonna say; he was going to ask about Jensen losing his job but, it was like his mouth had it’s own idea of how this was going down. Jared hastily goes on, “I mean. So what, you like, like me? But you just—you act like you hate me—you just called me a, um…” Jared screws his lips shut, cutting his losses as the jumbled words uselessly fall to the ground. Well, that went well. Jensen isn’t saying anything, just blinking at him with those eyelashes, up and down like a goddamned coconut fan blowing a fucking gale into Jared’s face. Jared rubs his eyes and tries to figure out what he just said.

Jensen looks like he’s doing the same. “Come again?” he eventually asks.

Shit. Jared’s quickly running out of ideas, and the way Jensen’s got his tongue between his lips—just do something with it, lick your lips or fucking tuck it back in, Jared panics—is not helping him form a cohesive argument, here. But when Jensen (finally) stretches his tongue out to sweep across his lower lip, Jared remembers. He remembers that not an hour ago, some asshole got to taste that tongue, that mouth. Maybe more. Jesus fucking Christ… Latching onto that growing flame of indignity, Jared goes on the offensive. He snaps, “If you’re so head over heels for me, then who the fuck were you making out with backstage?”

The expression on Jensen’s face is priceless. “How did—you were there? ”

“Yeah, I was there. I’m sorry, did I intrude on your little lie just now? Was I supposed to sit here and think I was the only one for you, when you were running around kissing Patrick? ” Yeah, that’ll show him. Judging from Jensen’s bewildered face, he’s totally wondering how Jared found out all that info. Yeah, well, Jared’s just that fucking sneaky.

“Look, Jared, you didn’t stick around long enough.”

Right, like Jared needs more proof that Jensen’s a lying, cheating McCheater. “What, so I could watch you guys fuck? No thank you.”

“Dude—“ Jensen says impatiently, eyebrows arched in neat little swoops. Jared wants to smack them off.

“Who was he, anyway? Your boss or something? Were you trying to fuck him so you could get your job back—“

“Jared, shut the fuck up already,” Jensen leaps forward to clamp his icy hand on the back of Jared’s neck and violently jerks him sideways—shit, Jared didn’t even think about what he was saying, but he knows he fucked up from the way Jensen’s digging his blunt fingernails in, and now he feels like a complete bastard—a bastard who’s about to get the shit kicked out of him by an immortal god who knows how use a pistol.

Jared’s toppled over, practically in Jensen’s lap when Jensen grabs his jaw with a freezing grip. Jared braces himself for the face-check he’s about to get—

Jensen twists Jared’s face up so that they’re face-to-face. He’s staring right at Jared’s mouth. Jared gets a split second to realize what’s happening before Jensen butts forward and smashes his lips down over his.

Jesus. Jesus Christ.

Jared’s ass is still cold, except for the one butt cheek digging into Jensen’s thigh. That one’s warm. But Jensen’s hands feel like fucking five-pronged icicles branded onto his face and neck, and Jared vaguely wonders if their skin will rip off when they part—hands so mind-numbingly cold, it burns like frostbite where Jensen’s touching him. And his mouth… Jesus, Jensen’s mouth…

Though Jensen’s lips are cool, kind of wet and cold, his tongue—God, Jensen’s tongue—lightly swirls over Jared’s lips, dipping over the ridges of his teeth and delving deeper to obscenely slide against his own—Jensen’s tongue feels like it’s scorching him, from the inside out. It’s the strangest sensation, this kiss. Jared can’t decide whether they’re freezing to death or torching each other down, but it’s one or the other. It ain’t anything in between.

His hands automatically move up to skim across Jensen’s bare arms. Jared can feel the goose bumps lingering there but now, now he gets to do this: he gets to press into their kiss, swing his leg over Jensen’s until he’s straddling him. He’s snugly seated on Jensen’s thighs, their mouths never parting but for quick, gasping breaks for air. Jared gets to do this. He squeezes Jensen’s biceps in his hands—feels Jensen shiver beneath him—and rubs up and down, trying to warm him up with his palms, his weight, his moist breath on Jensen’s convulsing throat…

“Jare…” Jensen pants. “Jared. Jared. ”

“What?” he mumbles against Jensen’s neck. “Mmbusy.”

“Jared—fuck—you’re...you’re…”

Jared sucks, hard, grinning evilly inside when he feels Jensen’s hips buck up beneath him.

Oh, fuck. That’s a hard on under Jared’s ass. Fuck. His mouth still nibbling on Jensen’s soft, soft skin, Jared groans and clamps down as he sucks in another mouthful of blood-hot flesh.

“Shit, Jared! Shit…shit, ow—“ Jensen yelps, plastering himself against the back of the bench. “Sorry, but you, you were digging into my stomach.”

Oh, seriously? Shit, that’s embarrassing. “I was?” Jared asks, looking down at his crotch.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ Jensen blushes as Jared tracks the progress of the flush with fascinated eyes. Seriously, Jensen the Hard-Ass is blushing. Oh God, Jared wants to adopt him, now.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jensen coughs. Jared’s eyes inexorably slide down from pink ears to hard, bunched muscles that stretch across Jensen’s chest and arms as he rubs the back of his neck. Jared’s throat dries. He’ll adopt Jensen, but only after they fuck.

Mind firmly rolling in the gutter now, Jared jumps when he feels Jensen’s hand grope into the pouch of his sweatshirt and root around, Jared feeling slightly violated. Finally he gets a hold of the card that’s nestled inside and struggles with it, the corners stubbornly snagging on fabric before Jensen yanks it out along with a little shower of foil bits.

“God, I think one of the corners on this thing sliced a hole into my stomach,” Jensen says, holding the card up to the light to look at it.

“Maybe I should check it out,” Jared suggests hopefully, eyes sliding south as his fingers inch beneath the hem of Jensen’s thin, thin T-shirt. God, nipples, his mouth waters, staring at the hard, fabric-covered nubs.

Jensen isn’t cooperating though. He’s examining the card—God, it’s just a stupid card. Pay attention already.

“What is this?” Jensen asks, flipping the front open to look inside, where there’s flakes of red foil stuck in the leftover glue there. There’s a heart-shaped hole on the cover, where the candy used to poke through.

“It’s just a stupid card,” Jared says, grumpily sitting back when it’s clear Jensen doesn’t have his priorities straight. He makes a quick grab for it, but Jensen just snatches it back with cat-like (Cupid-like?) dexterity.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jensen says, attention firmly glued to it. “Why do you have this?”

Jared huffs. If he’d known that buying the card was going to prevent him from getting some quality time with Jensen’s mouth, he never would’ve touched the goddamned thing. “It’s just…” Jared crosses his arms. Okay, he’ll admit to himself the real reason why he’d bought it—not that it’d even been a conscious decision, really—but he’s not about to share it with Jensen. “It’s stupid. Can we just throw it away or something?”

“No, I want to know why you have this,” Jensen pushes, flipping it around so that it’s facing Jared who automatically reaches out to hold the bottom, looking down at the picture with resignation.

It’s a picture of a… well, it seems cheesy now, but it’s a picture of a Cupid. Not the real kind—of course, Jared hadn’t even known there was a “real kind” until a few hours ago—but it’s a drawing of a squishy, bare-assed baby with fluffy wings and a bow in hand, and he’s shooting a goofy cartoon girl through the chest over a caption that reads: I’m hit! The arrow goes all the way through her body, heart-shaped squirts of blood coming out the back—it’s sick, really.

Jared idly flips the card open; the inside is simple, it just says Will you be my Valentine? in wiggly red font. “It’s stupid,” Jared repeats.

“Why do you have it?” Jensen asks impatiently.

“God, I just… I don’t know, I think I might’ve, um.” Jared looks up hopefully, but Jensen’s expression clearly says Go on. “Jesus, alright already. I kindofboughtitforyou,” Jared quickly blurts as he shuts the card and looks around, searching in vain for a trash can he can dump it in.

Jensen swipes it out of his hand though, only to angrily raise it up to Jared’s face and demand, “Is this some kinda joke or something?” He points to the naked baby. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“No, no. I mean—Jesus, Jensen, I don’t know. I hardly even looked at it. I just… saw it, and thought of you,” Jared grimaces. “Chill out already.”

“If it’s for me, then where’s the candy?” Jensen asks, flipping the card open and poking his finger through the heart-shaped die cut.

“Um. I ate it,” Jared says uncertainly. God, this conversation sucks. Why are they even still talking?

Jensen searches his face as he lower the stupid fucking card, finally. His green eyes calmly take in Jared’s embarrassment and the self-conscious shrug of Jared’s shoulders. His face remains unreadable as he sets the card down on the bench.

“Quit it,” Jared complains. “Quit starin’ at me—“

Jensen rocks forward and catches his open mouth with his own.

God, took long enough. Jared lets his eyelids fall closed as he sways in, cupping Jensen’s rough cheeks between his hands. He can feel Jensen smile against him.

-----

Even though Jensen never got to have the candy, he knows it was dark chocolate. He knows because he can taste it on the inside of Jared’s mouth.

When they part—slowly, teasingly—Jared smiles so fucking huge it hurts Jensen’s eyes to look at it from this close. Neither can he look away, though, so instead he says, “Get off me already. I think you’ve punctured my legs with your bony ass.”

Jared happily obliges, hopping off and smothering Jensen from the side instead. Suddenly Jared’s mouth is right up next to him, Jared’s sticky sweet mouth brushing over the cold shell of Jensen’s ear, and he shivers.

He can hear the slick opening of Jared’s mouth, the sound instantly encouraging his dick from half-hard to Fucking Interested. Jared whispers, “So. Tell me the truth. Do you have any wings?”

Oh, for chrissakes—“Dude, I ain’t got any fucking wings,” Jensen grumbles, standing up from the metal bench and dragging Jared up (and up…he’s gonna have to get used to this). It’s almost midnight now, and it’s cold. Jared might have the hottest mouth and hottest ass, but his paws are freaking ice cubes.

“I ain’t got wings, nobody goes to work naked unless they wanna get fired, we stopped using bows and arrows by the 10th fucking century—“ Jensen explains disdainfully as he marches towards his car, dragging Jared along.

At first Jared looks confused about where they’re going, but when he catches sight of Jensen’s RAV4, his bemused smile turns wicked. Jensen hauls the giant kid up and slams him against the passenger door, trying to rattle that cat-got-the-canary grin off his face, but Jared only looks more smug. Jared says, silky smooth and low, “I take it you’re gonna teach me how a real Cupid does it?”

Fuck. Jensen’s brain short-circuits for a moment, but eventually he manages to growl out Yeah before unlocking the door and pushing Jared inside, shoving long arms and legs in after him.

Jared puts his hand on the inner handle, about to close the door when he pokes his head out to say, “Too bad. Wings are kind of hot.”

Before Jensen can swear at him, Jared yanks the door shut, his face cheekily beaming up at him through the window.

Damn it—Jensen stomps around to the driver side, determined to turn Jared into sleepy, post-coital manageability when they get home.

Jesus though, really? Wings? Fucking Hallmark.

fin.

Back