Fic: paper.planes (3/6)
Apr. 15th, 2008 10:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: paper.planes (3/6)
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,104 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: Thanks tonativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. As always, feedback = <3
Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Part 1 | Part 2
“Hey Kerry, you got any time after class today?”
Sandy shuffles out the classroom, keeping the door open for her friend. Three people squeeze in first in their haste to get out, but Kerry eventually appears.
She replies, “Nah, I’m meeting someone, sorry. Why?”
“Oh, I just have to go do some admin stuff, but I hate waiting in line alone,” she says, making a face. “Oh well. I’ll live.” Sandy slings on her rucksack, hand automatically going to pull her long hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the straps. “I’ve got exciting things to do in line anyway. Like the reading assignment.”
“You do that, love,” Kerry chuckles and pats her on the shoulder. They part at the walkway, Kerry leaving with a cheerful “I’ll see you next week!”
Sandy waves her friend off, then squares her shoulders and troops off towards Vitton Hall.
Ugh, she groans as students start pouring out of class, many of them headed in the same direction she is. Sandy picks up the pace and it only takes her a few minutes to cross the South Quad.
After she’s slipped through the large glass doors in the wake of another student, she spies the back of a familiar figure halfway down the hall. The towering form of a floppy-haired student rises above the crowd and when he hoists his messenger bag up to reveal a peepshow of skin at the hem of a too-short sweatshirt, Sandy instantly recognizes him.
What’s Jared doing here? Sandy wonders as she scrambles after him, taking two steps for every one of his freakishly long ones. But upon nearing the Provost’s office she passes a daunting queue of waiting students and slows down to approach the sign-up sheet, which hangs on a clipboard at the door.
She quickly scrawls her name, frowning at the twenty others that precede hers, then sets off to find Jared again.
Ooh, he better not have any class right now, she thinks, cheering up at the prospect of not having to spend the next hour waiting for an advisor with just The Penelopiad for company.
-----
Today, Jared tells himself. I’ll find him today, and give back his bag.
Or so he told himself, two days ago. As well as yesterday. But today, honestly, he’ll find Jensen for sure.
Apparently staking out the fifth floor of Westborough Library isn’t enough. Neither is wearing his Chucks down to the sole as he spends half the day traversing campus (does Jensen’s building have to be so bloody well far?), and apparently, there is no such thing as “mind over matter” because if there was, Jensen would be here with a rose between his teeth. No, apparently finding the elusive, swaggering American takes intervention.
So on Friday Jared skips a seminar entirely and heads to the southern edge of campus, long strides eating up lengths of pavement and grass, but it can’t bring him there fast enough.
Maybe he goes home for lunch, Jared frets, speeding up his gait into a confident power-walk. Maybe that’s why I keep missing him, because he catches the bus right after class.
Jared continues along this vein until he’s dropped into Vitton Hall and makes his way through the architecture block, peeking in through doors before he finally decides to simply ask around, see if anybody knows Jensen. Jared locates the office for the Architecture department and quickly ducks inside.
“Hey,” he says to the woman sitting behind the front desk. She has her back turned and doesn’t acknowledge him, so Jared clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to close the door yet. We’re closed between one and two for lunch, dear.”
“I just have a quick question—“ Jared interjects as she reluctantly turns around to look up at him. “I’m trying to track down a student here, Jensen? Any idea where I might find him?”
The woman’s face lights up like a flipped switch and her cheeks turn rosy. She leans forward, giving Jared her full attention. “Oh, the handsome one you mean?”
“What? No,” Jared frowns. “I mean, yes. Er…” He shifts his weight and hoists his bag up with his shoulder. “Can you just tell me if he’s here today?”
“Oh, well I can’t say for sure. But if he’s in the building, he’ll almost certainly be in the studio.”
Jared blinks at her.
“Oh, not an architecture student then?” Jared shakes his head. “It’ll be upstairs on the second floor. You’ll know it because it’s the largest room, with the big windows.”
“Thanks,” Jared says, offering a wide smile at the helpful information. “Have a nice lunch!”
“Thank you, darling,” she says as she gets up and closes the door after him. Jared easily finds a staircase and lopes up, two steps at a time, hands in his sweatshirt pockets; buried inside is the slipcover for Jensen’s glasses and Jared pinches the corner of the satin, worrying the smooth fabric that’s warm from being against his belly all day.
The studio is easily found. As Jared climbs up to the second floor, a door abruptly shows up on his left-hand side and beyond it a long, unbroken stretch of glass pane and concrete wall lends the room almost a display case effect. Jared peers in, eyes squinting into the flooded light that streams in from an equally vast view of the campus.
Hey, we don’t get any classrooms like this, Jared sulks, thinking of the windowless lecture halls that Trotter boasts. He steps forward to get a better look and scans the studio which, despite its substantial space, is swallowed by high tables drowned in piles of wood and drafting tools, while any ground not taken up by the tables is occupied by tall stools that bump against each other. Against the far wall is a low counter with computers lined up like broken teeth.
Jared’s eyes travel to the end of the wall, then stop on a figure clad in a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up and body hunched over a laptop that’s plugged in next to the old-school computers.
An irrational panic launches Jared back into the stairwell. Bleeding hell, he thinks, surprised at his own reaction. He hadn’t realized just how much emotional investment he’s made in this errand but now that he’s located Jensen, now that he’s about to go in and actually talk to him, it’s kind of fucking nerve-wracking.
Jared waits a bit, lets his heart resume a healthy tempo before pulling the drawstring bag out of his sweatshirt pocket and waving it around a bit so that it’s not so goddamned warm (and obvious that he’d been keeping it close). Sticking it into the front flap of his bag, Jared inhales through his nose, then climbs back into the hallway.
He politely raps twice on the door before letting himself in.
Jensen turns around at the sound, his face betraying nothing but pleasure at the sight of Jared’s hesitant form. “Jay.”
“Hullo,” Jared says, squeezing between two stools that screech loudly when he scoots them over. He coughs. “Where is everybody?”
“There’s usually a class in here, but everyone’s in London today, looking at Lloyds Building. I think they’re covering the 20th century this week.”
“You lot get to go on trips? ” Jared says, aghast. “That is so—“ He cuts himself off before he can say unfair and thus confirm that he is, in fact, two.
“Unfair?” Jensen finishes for him. Jared nods dumbly as Jensen chuckles, the timbre of it warming the otherwise brisk room.
Jared is about to defend that statement when Jensen leans back in his low swivel chair and pushes up his glasses, and Jared suddenly remembers why he came in the first place.
“Oh, I came by to return this,” Jared says, moving forward and perching on the stool in front of Jensen. The bite of cold metal goes straight through to his skin but he plunks his bag on his lap anyway and pulls out the drawstring bag, surreptitiously checking that no lint or anything gross got stuck on it during its travels before he hands it over.
“Oh awesome, I’ve had to wear these things for the past three days ‘cause I didn’t want to scratch them up,” Jensen says. Unbidden images— glasses perched on freckled cheekbones. Metal legs toying between lips. Lens wiped on the hem of a T-shirt and skin underneath, skin underneath— steal into Jared’s mind. When Jensen removes the eyewear, folding the legs in and sliding them into the small slipcover, something like disappointment creeps into Jared. But then vivid green irises peer up at him, glinting gold beneath thick lashes, and Jared thinks he can live with this too.
However, when said eyes flicker down to linger over Jared’s mouth he is slowly left unbearably aware of how uncomfortable the metal stool is, how he has an inexplicable urge to flee now that his errand is over, and how inconvenient it is that his nervous habit just happens to include biting his lips raw. This habit probably doesn’t help in making Jensen stop staring at his mouth.
Jared clears his throat uncomfortably, licks his abused lips one last time and says, “Plaid?”
Jensen’s eyes trip up from Jared’s chewed lips. “What’s that?”
“You’re wearing plaid,” Jared says, slowly gaining momentum. “If I didn’t believe you were older than me before, I definitely believe it now,” he says, hint of a mischievous smile growing.
Jensen turns his seat so that he’s facing Jared head-on and proceeds to glare up at him, though any ferocity is dampened by an amused quirk of the lips.
Jared watches with interest as Jensen finally sets his glasses on the counter, then stands up so that he’s eye-level with Jared. Jensen steps in until his faded boots skim the metal legs of Jared’s chair and suddenly, in the span of a breath, the stakes have changed.
“If you hate what I’m wearing so much…” Jensen trails off teasingly as his fingers track up, settling on a fastened button. His fingernail skates off the little plastic disc, then moves back in and undoes the first closure, revealing more of Jensen’s thin, white shirt hidden beneath.
Jared feels his throat dry, doesn’t even notice when his canvas bag slips off his lap and onto the floor with a softened thud. Jensen’s eyes skitter back down to his mouth and Jared realizes with great discomfit that his lips must have automatically snuck back in between his teeth. But Jensen only mirrors the motion, tucking the barest hint of lower lip under his front teeth as his hands run on auto-pilot, undoing the next two, three, four buttons.
Five… Jared counts dazedly, and then Jensen’s shirt is completely open. The edges hang down in parallel lines with a great divide of white to breach the plaid patterning.
The act of breathing lulls the two in like lapping waves and Jensen slowly drifts in. With mounting embarrassment, Jared looks down but when he sees the faint yet unmistakable peaks of Jensen’s stiffened nipples through thin white fabric, mortification quivers through him. Jared’s eyes shoot back up and he knows, bloody hell, that there’s a guilty flush working over his face despite the chill in the air.
“Jay,” Jensen says, and fuck if that wasn’t a groan lurking in the shadows of his name.
“Wh… what?”
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
Conflicting emotions of Ohshit and Yes rip at Jared’s chest, baring his thickly beating heart and plopping it wetly onto his sleeve. Jensen leans ever nearer, mouth inches from Jared’s, and the battling feelings soon petrify as Jared just… can’t. Think. Anymore.
Soft, full lips open to speak.
“I left my stuff with you, so that you’d come looking for me.” Jensen’s words tickle Jared’s wetted lips, and he places a firm hand on the table edge jutting into Jared’s lower back.
Trapped, he panics. Jared watches Jensen watch his mouth, wishing that he didn’t feel so much like some tasty edible underneath that wanting gaze. “Um,” he whispers.
Unheeding, Jensen rocks forward, seduced by the sheer energy that shakes off Jared in electric thrums. Plaid cotton drapes onto denim-clad thighs and Jensen’s other hand comes down, effectively boxing him in. Jared’s breathing hitches at the confinement while the murmur-soft sensation of trailing fabric shoots through the weave of his denims, flutters over skin and prickles straight up his spine in a static shiver.
Jensen’s lips part.
He’s not—no. No fucking way he’d— Jensen shuts off Jared’s inner monologue with a firm, commanding kiss. Oh.
Jensen’s lips are as soft as they look, as pliant as he speaks. Jensen’s chest radiates warmth like a furnace and if Jared leans in, it’s just because it’s cold in the concrete studio; it’s brisk through the autumn-chilled windows, and if Jensen is here (in his lap, oh God), then what’s stopping Jared from leaning in an inch or two and claiming some of that heat for himself?
Encouraged, Jensen presses in and starts to deepen the kiss, parting once to breathe before surging in and chasing the gap between their lips along with Jared’s momentary fear.
As fingers come up to play with the curls at the back of Jared’s neck, his mind comes sneaking back to him in jumbles of Ohgod we’re— fuck he smells good, followed by oh fuck not now. Jared wriggles and adjusts himself, attempting to distract Jensen by opening his mouth in invitation.
He feels Jensen smirk against his lips. Damn it. But then Jensen teasingly flicks his tongue at Jared’s teeth and suddenly, Jared could care less if his Mum knew he had a monster stiffy, so long as Jensen kept— yeah— kept that up.
“Mmm,” Jared lets out a little whine that turns his face red when he hears it but Jensen doesn’t seem to mind. He breaks the kiss with a muttered “shit, Jay” and then crushes back in, hands burned into Jared’s neck and lower back like palm-shaped brands.
Feeling lightheaded, Jared starts to wrap his arms around Jensen’s waist for leverage when his cell phone suddenly explodes into a singing clamor inside his bag, rattling between pen case and keys.
Mentally swearing a blue streak, Jared desperately hopes that Jensen will just ignore it and keep his mouth on his, but he doesn’t. Jensen stills, then stops and moves off.
“Maybe you should get that,” Jensen says, licking his lips. Jared does nothing, willing his phone to stay quiet when— no, it goes off again. He bends over and wrestles it out of his bag.
“Hello?” Jesus Christ.
“Hey Jared! I saw you go into Vitton, where are you?”
“Oh, hello Sandy.” Jared shoots Jensen an apologetic grimace as he turns around in his seat, hunching forward and placing his elbows on the table. “I’m uh, just in the building. Why, where are you?”
“I’m waiting in line to see my advisor. I just figured if you’re here, you should come down and keep me company!”
“Sandy, uh,” Jared ventures a look behind him but Jensen’s back in the swivel chair, politely distracting himself on his laptop. He sees Jensen idly touch his glasses slipcover and Jared wonders if he’s going to put them back on.
“Jared?”
“Oh right, I…” Jared stalls, groping for an excuse legitimate enough to warrant staying here, in both Sandy and Jensen’s eyes, but Jensen’s already pulled up his previous schoolwork and Jared deflates. “I’ll… be right there. Just give me a sec.”
Disappointment settles over him like a thick cloud and he shuts his phone off. “Um, hey.”
Jensen turns a bit, looking at Jared over his shoulder. “Gotta go?”
“Uh…” Jared slides off the stool. “Yeah.” He bends down to pick up his messenger bag and hauls it up.
An awkward moment passes as Jensen stays silent and Jared shifts his weight. Finding no possible way to follow up what had just transpired (and honestly, what had just happened?), Jared only blows his breath over his fringe.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks, cautiously hopeful.
“Yeah,” Jensen says, but the intense warmth from earlier has dissipated into cordiality.
“Okay,” Jared replies, crestfallen. “Later.”
He leaves out the nearest door and sticks his hands in his pockets, feeling self-conscious and on display as he strides past the enormous window.
If he’d turned around, he would have seen Jensen watch him go, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.
-----
Jared finds Sandy downstairs, where she said she’d be. There are twelve students in front of her and Jared has to reassure the guy behind them that he isn’t queue jumping before he’s allowed to lean against the wall without dirty looks coming his way.
Sandy peers up at him. Jared looks… defeated. Guilt wells up in her as she studies the slump of his shoulders, the thin line of his lips, and she distressingly acknowledges the fact that she had just relinquished her title of Platonic Best Friend in favor of Jealous Hussy.
It’s just that… when she’d finally found Jared, upstairs in the wide, open room, he was. Jensen had been.
Sandy bites her lip.
Jensen’s hands traveling up Jared’s long, lean back, rumpling thick fabric in its quest to find skin; skin at Jared’s neck, fingers in soft hair and Jared had leaned in. Leaned in like it was the only thing he could do, like it was the only thing he ever wanted.
She’d tried, she’d really tried to leave the two of them alone, to let whatever happen, happen. For Jared’s sake, if anything. But it was the horror, the gaping feeling of wrongness that flooded her as she studied Jared’s familiar back with foreign hands all over it.
Sandy has never looked at Jared’s back, has never needed to when his smiling teeth are blinking down at her. The sudden knowledge of how Jared looks from behind scares her, and when she realizes how much she needs Jared in the forefront of her life, it leaves her winded.
“So, what are you going in for?” Jared asks.
Sandy swallows thickly. Hating her own weakness, she winds her arm through Jared’s and proceeds to chat with him about university, about how she needs to drop a class to manage this term, and as Sandy talks she watches Jared nod at everything she says, pertinent or not.
Sandy tightens her hold and Jared feels it. He straightens up, drops a kiss into her hair and looks down at her. She relaxes.
Back | Next
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author:
aeroport_artRating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,104 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: Thanks to
nativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. As always, feedback = <3Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Part 1 | Part 2
“Hey Kerry, you got any time after class today?”
Sandy shuffles out the classroom, keeping the door open for her friend. Three people squeeze in first in their haste to get out, but Kerry eventually appears.
She replies, “Nah, I’m meeting someone, sorry. Why?”
“Oh, I just have to go do some admin stuff, but I hate waiting in line alone,” she says, making a face. “Oh well. I’ll live.” Sandy slings on her rucksack, hand automatically going to pull her long hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the straps. “I’ve got exciting things to do in line anyway. Like the reading assignment.”
“You do that, love,” Kerry chuckles and pats her on the shoulder. They part at the walkway, Kerry leaving with a cheerful “I’ll see you next week!”
Sandy waves her friend off, then squares her shoulders and troops off towards Vitton Hall.
Ugh, she groans as students start pouring out of class, many of them headed in the same direction she is. Sandy picks up the pace and it only takes her a few minutes to cross the South Quad.
After she’s slipped through the large glass doors in the wake of another student, she spies the back of a familiar figure halfway down the hall. The towering form of a floppy-haired student rises above the crowd and when he hoists his messenger bag up to reveal a peepshow of skin at the hem of a too-short sweatshirt, Sandy instantly recognizes him.
What’s Jared doing here? Sandy wonders as she scrambles after him, taking two steps for every one of his freakishly long ones. But upon nearing the Provost’s office she passes a daunting queue of waiting students and slows down to approach the sign-up sheet, which hangs on a clipboard at the door.
She quickly scrawls her name, frowning at the twenty others that precede hers, then sets off to find Jared again.
Ooh, he better not have any class right now, she thinks, cheering up at the prospect of not having to spend the next hour waiting for an advisor with just The Penelopiad for company.
-----
Today, Jared tells himself. I’ll find him today, and give back his bag.
Or so he told himself, two days ago. As well as yesterday. But today, honestly, he’ll find Jensen for sure.
Apparently staking out the fifth floor of Westborough Library isn’t enough. Neither is wearing his Chucks down to the sole as he spends half the day traversing campus (does Jensen’s building have to be so bloody well far?), and apparently, there is no such thing as “mind over matter” because if there was, Jensen would be here with a rose between his teeth. No, apparently finding the elusive, swaggering American takes intervention.
So on Friday Jared skips a seminar entirely and heads to the southern edge of campus, long strides eating up lengths of pavement and grass, but it can’t bring him there fast enough.
Maybe he goes home for lunch, Jared frets, speeding up his gait into a confident power-walk. Maybe that’s why I keep missing him, because he catches the bus right after class.
Jared continues along this vein until he’s dropped into Vitton Hall and makes his way through the architecture block, peeking in through doors before he finally decides to simply ask around, see if anybody knows Jensen. Jared locates the office for the Architecture department and quickly ducks inside.
“Hey,” he says to the woman sitting behind the front desk. She has her back turned and doesn’t acknowledge him, so Jared clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to close the door yet. We’re closed between one and two for lunch, dear.”
“I just have a quick question—“ Jared interjects as she reluctantly turns around to look up at him. “I’m trying to track down a student here, Jensen? Any idea where I might find him?”
The woman’s face lights up like a flipped switch and her cheeks turn rosy. She leans forward, giving Jared her full attention. “Oh, the handsome one you mean?”
“What? No,” Jared frowns. “I mean, yes. Er…” He shifts his weight and hoists his bag up with his shoulder. “Can you just tell me if he’s here today?”
“Oh, well I can’t say for sure. But if he’s in the building, he’ll almost certainly be in the studio.”
Jared blinks at her.
“Oh, not an architecture student then?” Jared shakes his head. “It’ll be upstairs on the second floor. You’ll know it because it’s the largest room, with the big windows.”
“Thanks,” Jared says, offering a wide smile at the helpful information. “Have a nice lunch!”
“Thank you, darling,” she says as she gets up and closes the door after him. Jared easily finds a staircase and lopes up, two steps at a time, hands in his sweatshirt pockets; buried inside is the slipcover for Jensen’s glasses and Jared pinches the corner of the satin, worrying the smooth fabric that’s warm from being against his belly all day.
The studio is easily found. As Jared climbs up to the second floor, a door abruptly shows up on his left-hand side and beyond it a long, unbroken stretch of glass pane and concrete wall lends the room almost a display case effect. Jared peers in, eyes squinting into the flooded light that streams in from an equally vast view of the campus.
Hey, we don’t get any classrooms like this, Jared sulks, thinking of the windowless lecture halls that Trotter boasts. He steps forward to get a better look and scans the studio which, despite its substantial space, is swallowed by high tables drowned in piles of wood and drafting tools, while any ground not taken up by the tables is occupied by tall stools that bump against each other. Against the far wall is a low counter with computers lined up like broken teeth.
Jared’s eyes travel to the end of the wall, then stop on a figure clad in a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up and body hunched over a laptop that’s plugged in next to the old-school computers.
An irrational panic launches Jared back into the stairwell. Bleeding hell, he thinks, surprised at his own reaction. He hadn’t realized just how much emotional investment he’s made in this errand but now that he’s located Jensen, now that he’s about to go in and actually talk to him, it’s kind of fucking nerve-wracking.
Jared waits a bit, lets his heart resume a healthy tempo before pulling the drawstring bag out of his sweatshirt pocket and waving it around a bit so that it’s not so goddamned warm (and obvious that he’d been keeping it close). Sticking it into the front flap of his bag, Jared inhales through his nose, then climbs back into the hallway.
He politely raps twice on the door before letting himself in.
Jensen turns around at the sound, his face betraying nothing but pleasure at the sight of Jared’s hesitant form. “Jay.”
“Hullo,” Jared says, squeezing between two stools that screech loudly when he scoots them over. He coughs. “Where is everybody?”
“There’s usually a class in here, but everyone’s in London today, looking at Lloyds Building. I think they’re covering the 20th century this week.”
“You lot get to go on trips? ” Jared says, aghast. “That is so—“ He cuts himself off before he can say unfair and thus confirm that he is, in fact, two.
“Unfair?” Jensen finishes for him. Jared nods dumbly as Jensen chuckles, the timbre of it warming the otherwise brisk room.
Jared is about to defend that statement when Jensen leans back in his low swivel chair and pushes up his glasses, and Jared suddenly remembers why he came in the first place.
“Oh, I came by to return this,” Jared says, moving forward and perching on the stool in front of Jensen. The bite of cold metal goes straight through to his skin but he plunks his bag on his lap anyway and pulls out the drawstring bag, surreptitiously checking that no lint or anything gross got stuck on it during its travels before he hands it over.
“Oh awesome, I’ve had to wear these things for the past three days ‘cause I didn’t want to scratch them up,” Jensen says. Unbidden images— glasses perched on freckled cheekbones. Metal legs toying between lips. Lens wiped on the hem of a T-shirt and skin underneath, skin underneath— steal into Jared’s mind. When Jensen removes the eyewear, folding the legs in and sliding them into the small slipcover, something like disappointment creeps into Jared. But then vivid green irises peer up at him, glinting gold beneath thick lashes, and Jared thinks he can live with this too.
However, when said eyes flicker down to linger over Jared’s mouth he is slowly left unbearably aware of how uncomfortable the metal stool is, how he has an inexplicable urge to flee now that his errand is over, and how inconvenient it is that his nervous habit just happens to include biting his lips raw. This habit probably doesn’t help in making Jensen stop staring at his mouth.
Jared clears his throat uncomfortably, licks his abused lips one last time and says, “Plaid?”
Jensen’s eyes trip up from Jared’s chewed lips. “What’s that?”
“You’re wearing plaid,” Jared says, slowly gaining momentum. “If I didn’t believe you were older than me before, I definitely believe it now,” he says, hint of a mischievous smile growing.
Jensen turns his seat so that he’s facing Jared head-on and proceeds to glare up at him, though any ferocity is dampened by an amused quirk of the lips.
Jared watches with interest as Jensen finally sets his glasses on the counter, then stands up so that he’s eye-level with Jared. Jensen steps in until his faded boots skim the metal legs of Jared’s chair and suddenly, in the span of a breath, the stakes have changed.
“If you hate what I’m wearing so much…” Jensen trails off teasingly as his fingers track up, settling on a fastened button. His fingernail skates off the little plastic disc, then moves back in and undoes the first closure, revealing more of Jensen’s thin, white shirt hidden beneath.
Jared feels his throat dry, doesn’t even notice when his canvas bag slips off his lap and onto the floor with a softened thud. Jensen’s eyes skitter back down to his mouth and Jared realizes with great discomfit that his lips must have automatically snuck back in between his teeth. But Jensen only mirrors the motion, tucking the barest hint of lower lip under his front teeth as his hands run on auto-pilot, undoing the next two, three, four buttons.
Five… Jared counts dazedly, and then Jensen’s shirt is completely open. The edges hang down in parallel lines with a great divide of white to breach the plaid patterning.
The act of breathing lulls the two in like lapping waves and Jensen slowly drifts in. With mounting embarrassment, Jared looks down but when he sees the faint yet unmistakable peaks of Jensen’s stiffened nipples through thin white fabric, mortification quivers through him. Jared’s eyes shoot back up and he knows, bloody hell, that there’s a guilty flush working over his face despite the chill in the air.
“Jay,” Jensen says, and fuck if that wasn’t a groan lurking in the shadows of his name.
“Wh… what?”
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
Conflicting emotions of Ohshit and Yes rip at Jared’s chest, baring his thickly beating heart and plopping it wetly onto his sleeve. Jensen leans ever nearer, mouth inches from Jared’s, and the battling feelings soon petrify as Jared just… can’t. Think. Anymore.
Soft, full lips open to speak.
“I left my stuff with you, so that you’d come looking for me.” Jensen’s words tickle Jared’s wetted lips, and he places a firm hand on the table edge jutting into Jared’s lower back.
Trapped, he panics. Jared watches Jensen watch his mouth, wishing that he didn’t feel so much like some tasty edible underneath that wanting gaze. “Um,” he whispers.
Unheeding, Jensen rocks forward, seduced by the sheer energy that shakes off Jared in electric thrums. Plaid cotton drapes onto denim-clad thighs and Jensen’s other hand comes down, effectively boxing him in. Jared’s breathing hitches at the confinement while the murmur-soft sensation of trailing fabric shoots through the weave of his denims, flutters over skin and prickles straight up his spine in a static shiver.
Jensen’s lips part.
He’s not—no. No fucking way he’d— Jensen shuts off Jared’s inner monologue with a firm, commanding kiss. Oh.
Jensen’s lips are as soft as they look, as pliant as he speaks. Jensen’s chest radiates warmth like a furnace and if Jared leans in, it’s just because it’s cold in the concrete studio; it’s brisk through the autumn-chilled windows, and if Jensen is here (in his lap, oh God), then what’s stopping Jared from leaning in an inch or two and claiming some of that heat for himself?
Encouraged, Jensen presses in and starts to deepen the kiss, parting once to breathe before surging in and chasing the gap between their lips along with Jared’s momentary fear.
As fingers come up to play with the curls at the back of Jared’s neck, his mind comes sneaking back to him in jumbles of Ohgod we’re— fuck he smells good, followed by oh fuck not now. Jared wriggles and adjusts himself, attempting to distract Jensen by opening his mouth in invitation.
He feels Jensen smirk against his lips. Damn it. But then Jensen teasingly flicks his tongue at Jared’s teeth and suddenly, Jared could care less if his Mum knew he had a monster stiffy, so long as Jensen kept— yeah— kept that up.
“Mmm,” Jared lets out a little whine that turns his face red when he hears it but Jensen doesn’t seem to mind. He breaks the kiss with a muttered “shit, Jay” and then crushes back in, hands burned into Jared’s neck and lower back like palm-shaped brands.
Feeling lightheaded, Jared starts to wrap his arms around Jensen’s waist for leverage when his cell phone suddenly explodes into a singing clamor inside his bag, rattling between pen case and keys.
Mentally swearing a blue streak, Jared desperately hopes that Jensen will just ignore it and keep his mouth on his, but he doesn’t. Jensen stills, then stops and moves off.
“Maybe you should get that,” Jensen says, licking his lips. Jared does nothing, willing his phone to stay quiet when— no, it goes off again. He bends over and wrestles it out of his bag.
“Hello?” Jesus Christ.
“Hey Jared! I saw you go into Vitton, where are you?”
“Oh, hello Sandy.” Jared shoots Jensen an apologetic grimace as he turns around in his seat, hunching forward and placing his elbows on the table. “I’m uh, just in the building. Why, where are you?”
“I’m waiting in line to see my advisor. I just figured if you’re here, you should come down and keep me company!”
“Sandy, uh,” Jared ventures a look behind him but Jensen’s back in the swivel chair, politely distracting himself on his laptop. He sees Jensen idly touch his glasses slipcover and Jared wonders if he’s going to put them back on.
“Jared?”
“Oh right, I…” Jared stalls, groping for an excuse legitimate enough to warrant staying here, in both Sandy and Jensen’s eyes, but Jensen’s already pulled up his previous schoolwork and Jared deflates. “I’ll… be right there. Just give me a sec.”
Disappointment settles over him like a thick cloud and he shuts his phone off. “Um, hey.”
Jensen turns a bit, looking at Jared over his shoulder. “Gotta go?”
“Uh…” Jared slides off the stool. “Yeah.” He bends down to pick up his messenger bag and hauls it up.
An awkward moment passes as Jensen stays silent and Jared shifts his weight. Finding no possible way to follow up what had just transpired (and honestly, what had just happened?), Jared only blows his breath over his fringe.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks, cautiously hopeful.
“Yeah,” Jensen says, but the intense warmth from earlier has dissipated into cordiality.
“Okay,” Jared replies, crestfallen. “Later.”
He leaves out the nearest door and sticks his hands in his pockets, feeling self-conscious and on display as he strides past the enormous window.
If he’d turned around, he would have seen Jensen watch him go, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.
-----
Jared finds Sandy downstairs, where she said she’d be. There are twelve students in front of her and Jared has to reassure the guy behind them that he isn’t queue jumping before he’s allowed to lean against the wall without dirty looks coming his way.
Sandy peers up at him. Jared looks… defeated. Guilt wells up in her as she studies the slump of his shoulders, the thin line of his lips, and she distressingly acknowledges the fact that she had just relinquished her title of Platonic Best Friend in favor of Jealous Hussy.
It’s just that… when she’d finally found Jared, upstairs in the wide, open room, he was. Jensen had been.
Sandy bites her lip.
Jensen’s hands traveling up Jared’s long, lean back, rumpling thick fabric in its quest to find skin; skin at Jared’s neck, fingers in soft hair and Jared had leaned in. Leaned in like it was the only thing he could do, like it was the only thing he ever wanted.
She’d tried, she’d really tried to leave the two of them alone, to let whatever happen, happen. For Jared’s sake, if anything. But it was the horror, the gaping feeling of wrongness that flooded her as she studied Jared’s familiar back with foreign hands all over it.
Sandy has never looked at Jared’s back, has never needed to when his smiling teeth are blinking down at her. The sudden knowledge of how Jared looks from behind scares her, and when she realizes how much she needs Jared in the forefront of her life, it leaves her winded.
“So, what are you going in for?” Jared asks.
Sandy swallows thickly. Hating her own weakness, she winds her arm through Jared’s and proceeds to chat with him about university, about how she needs to drop a class to manage this term, and as Sandy talks she watches Jared nod at everything she says, pertinent or not.
Sandy tightens her hold and Jared feels it. He straightens up, drops a kiss into her hair and looks down at her. She relaxes.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-15 04:53 pm (UTC)I ... I love. I adore jealous hussy Sandy!
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Date: 2008-04-15 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-15 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 12:43 am (UTC)And oh, Sandy. I think she's acting like a lot of girls in her situation would act - not truly bitchy, just confused and trying to reclaim what she thought was her's anyway. I'm interested to see where her storyline goes.
Jensen continues to be intriguing - I'm never quite sure what's going through his head, I can't predict what his intentions are, and I love that you've written him like that. Definitely gives the reader a look into how Jared's feeling, I'm sure. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 11:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 10:59 pm (UTC)Jared wouldn't be very happy if he knew.
That was so sweet of Jensen to leave his things so Jared would come looking for him
Off to read the next part
no subject
Date: 2009-03-08 03:30 pm (UTC)