Fic: paper.planes (4/6)
Apr. 15th, 2008 06:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: paper.planes (4/6)
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: 4,475 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: Thanks tonativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. As a heads up, the last two parts are still getting groomed for british-isms, so it might be another couple days or so before they're out. Otherwise, as always, feedback = ♥
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 | Part 3
God, it’s been weeks. Weeks, and Jared feels like he’s going out of his bloody mind.
It’s nearing final exams and Jared’s classes are finally showing their teeth. The upcoming debate meet means no more skiving off evening practices, and moreover, he’s promised interviews to a few publications that take place between lectures. In short, no time for study breaks at the library, no time for swinging by Vitton.
No time for Jensen, and the very thought makes Jared want it all the more.
It’s lunchtime now and with all of ten minutes to feed himself before another block of classes, Jared spends it at the trusty Student Union with a plate of baked ziti.
It’s not like he doesn’t know where my department is, Jared mopes as he shovels pasta into his mouth. He tries not to think about how if Jensen even cared, they would’ve at least seen each other once or twice since The Incident.
Jared blushes at the memory and takes another bite of food, when a shadow falls over him. He looks up—sees dark hair flipped over a shoulder.
“Where’s Damon?” Sandy asks, sitting down and unwrapping her sandwich.
“No idea. Maybe he’s with Christina?”
She nods. The two friends eat in companionable silence, Sandy highlighting and marking a paperback as Jared plots his week’s schedule in an attempt to dream up an excuse to go to go visit Jensen’s building.
Jared checks his watch. Five minutes until class. “Sandy, wanna walk with me to Trotter?”
“Sure,” she says agreeably, capping her pink highlighter with a smart click. They pack up and leave the Student Union.
A few steps outside, Jared catches the sight of a figure reclining against a silver birch tree. Ohshit, he mentally swears.
Confused at the abrupt stop, Sandy follows Jared’s line of vision and her chest tightens when she sees— of course— Hooker-Boy Jensen himself. She sighs and dutifully follows when Jared makes his way over.
Jensen notices them halfway over and his posture visibly stiffens.
Jared stops, awkwardly staged between Jensen and Sandy, and he shyly (Shyly? Sandy gapes.) says, “Hi.”
“Hey yourself.” Jensen’s eyes flick over to Sandy and she pinches a smile.
“Oh, this is Sandy. Sandy, Jensen,” Jared introduces, stepping aside for them to shake hands. His forehead wrinkles when Jensen sends her a slow, lopsided grin and her tight smile loosens up in return, and Jesus Christ, just how long does a handshake have to last? Jared cuts in, “Haven’t seen you around lately.” God, he hopes that didn’t sound as petulant as it did in his head.
“Yeah. Been busy,” Jensen replies as he (finally) drops Sandy’s slim hand, voice clipped and eyes distant.
Jared’s frown deepens as Jensen turns his attention to Sandy, asking polite questions like how they know each other and such, and Jared just kind of wants to scream Look at me , but he refrains. Barely.
Still, he can only take it for so long and after a conversation and a half have passed, Jared blurts out, “So, it’s nice seeing you Jensen, but I have lecture now. Gotta run.”
Jensen’s eyes briefly make contact before they dart to the side. What the hell? Jared wonders as he stares at Jensen’s face, willing the subtle expressions flitting across to tell him all the secrets to the universe. Or at least the secrets to what the hell is even going on.
“I thought you had class,” Jensen says at Jared’s silence and this time when green eyes lift, there’s desire lingering in Jensen’s irises, in the bite of his lower lip. And then it shuts off again, like a blown fuse.
“Right,” Jared says, belatedly. Jensen twists his lips into a perfunctory smile but Jared doesn’t, can’t return it.
“It was nice to finally meet you,” Sandy says, glossing over the awkward pause with practiced ease. Jensen nods back in reply and then, they leave.
Did he just… dump me? Jared knows how stupid that sounds, but still. It’s how it feels. He’d grown accustomed to Jensen’s languid teasing, his toe-curling warmth and alluring gazes, but in the blink of an eye, none of it was there anymore. At all. Snuffed out like a candle, there’s nothing left of Jensen’s affection but a trail of smoke and ash in the form of evasive, guarded eyes.
Something had changed since the last time they’d been together, but for the life of him, Jared can’t puzzle it out.
Later in class, he’s still wondering about when exactly he’d missed the memo when he bites down especially hard on his pen. The back of the plastic tube splits open and blue ink spills onto his lip.
Shit, he curses, noticing blue stains on his hand and imagining how ridiculous it must look on his face.
This is turning out to be a really shitty-ass week. Jared puts his head down, cradled between the open pages of his thick government text, and tiredly closes his eyes.
-----
It’s a warm day. Wait— let’s rephrase that.
It’s a warm day for December in Braxton, and Jensen pulls his wool coat closer against his chest as he thinks about winter in California; candy cane frappuccinos in Westwood Village, evergreen sidewalks with his shades on and shirt off. The sound of the ocean whispering behind holiday jingles, and afternoon barbecues in the sun.
But, all things are relative. And today, it is relatively warm. Jensen leans against a birch tree, gloved hands tucked into his armpits, and watches Jared and Sandy’s retreating figures. Halfway across the Student Union, he can still see the back of Jared’s head bobbing over the sea of students but the petite brunette is swallowed up and gone.
“Hey,” a loud voice calls out. Jensen looks up and spots his classmate, Mike Rosenbaum. He pushes off the tree with his shoulder and falls in step with the East Londoner, who’s busy pulling a violently green beanie over his shorn head. Mike asks, “What were you doing with England’s poster couple?”
“What?” Jensen frowns, scratching the back of his head as they climb the steps leading into the bookstore.
“Jared Padalecki and Sandra McCoy, right?”
“Uh... yeah.” Jensen wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “How do you know Jared?”
“What do you mean?” Mike asks, looking at him like there’s a second head growing out of Jensen’s neck.
He repeats, “I mean… how do you know Jared?”
The two of them are making their way to the art department of the store when Mike stops in his tracks. “Wait… I think I missed something here. How do you know Jared Padalecki?”
“Bumped into him in Vitton one day. We’re friends...sort of.” Jensen spies a large metal case at the far wall of the bookstore and walks over, Mike following behind in silence. Jensen approaches the rack, rifling through wooden sheets and dowels and scanning the other model-making materials as he pointedly ignores the gaping-fish look Mike is shooting him.
“You do know that he’s famous, right?”
Jensen blinks, hand stalling on a strip of balsa wood.
Mike continues. “Jared Padalecki, son of Gerald Padalecki, director of the BBC3? Or maybe it was BBC4, I forget.”
Jensen indulges a lengthy pause, his fingers running over the soft fibers of the wooden strip in his hand. “I didn’t know that,” he finally says.
Mike just chuckles and claps Jensen on the shoulder. “Well, now you do. You’re friends with a trendy, celebrity millionaire. Live it up, Jenny.”
Jensen continues picking out the materials he needs for his model, but everything feels mechanical as his brain clunks with the surprising news.
This doesn’t change anything, does it? he asks himself, mentally stretching and molding his strange relationship with Jared to see if anything cracks, to see if anything’s different in light of the new information. Nothing really changes, and Jensen repeats, This doesn’t change anything.
-----
Three hours later, Jensen remembers Mike’s original words, before he’d gotten sidetracked.
“So what did you mean by ‘England’s poster couple’?” Jensen interjects into the radio-filled noise of the studio, hands busy as he saws at a dowel. Mike keeps one hand on the drying glue of his plywood model, but turns around and asks, “What?”
“Jared Padalecki and Sandy McCoy. Earlier you said they were ‘England’s poster couple?” Jensen realizes he’s sort of answered his own question already but, well. He’s always been a bit of a masochist.
“Oh yeah. Jared Padalecki and Sandra McCoy, it’s practically one name,” Mike says flippantly. “I think they’re like, betrothed or something completely bollocksed like that.”
Jensen freezes, his serrated blade halfway through the birch dowel.
When he goes back to sawing, his hand slips and the blade nicks his thumb. Jensen swears and tosses the tool on the table, pushes himself off the stool, then strides out of the studio, nursing the wound with his mouth.
Mike looks on in mild interest before shrugging and going back to his project.
Outside, Jensen plunks himself down on the front steps. He runs a hand over his face, mashing in his eye sockets with the heels of his palms, and the pressure soothes him a little.
“Fuck,” he says. He listens to the syllable dissipate into the air, and it isn’t enough. “Fuck that,” he tries, and it’s better.
“Fuck him,” Jensen mutters, and it’s better still. He watches straggling students roam the South Quad for a few minutes before going back inside and sauntering through the hallways, lost in thought.
He doesn’t let it go on for too long, however. There’s a lot of work to do and Jensen has more important things to concern himself with. More important things than looking forward to each day with the possibility of earnest, nervous eyes blinking down at him. More important than heady exhilaration at the thought of tall, gangly limbs…
Wide, bitten lips and teeth the color of porcelain. Hair falling into feline eyes and the thing is, Jared had leaned in, he’d kissed him back, damn it. Fucking betrothed to some rich bitch and still, he’d kissed him back.
“Fuck,” Jensen says aloud, harsh consonants reverberating off the walls. A student walking by glances at him and Jensen stares back until the kid scuttles into a classroom.
-----
Late that night, Jensen gets a phone call.
“Hey, butt-face.”
“Danneel?” Jensen grumbles. “Ugh… you know what time it is over here, don’t you?”
“Of course. I just don’t care.”
“Ever the sweetheart,” he groans, sitting up in bed and rubbing sleepiness out of his eyes. “So. What’s up?”
“You busy this weekend?”
Jensen stills. “Uh… what do you mean?”
“I’m gonna be in town for a few days!”
“You serious?”
“Yeah I’m serious. And I am fully expecting you to put me up for the weekend.”
“Depends,” Jensen grins, leaning back on his elbows. “How much you gonna pay me?”
“Funny, that’s what you ask all the girls, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” Jensen replies dryly. He’s sensitive about that. And really, why do people always think he’s a hustler?
“Love you too, darling. Anyway, I’ll give you a call when I’m in town, ‘k?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen replies. Danneel hangs up abruptly, as is her whirlwind tendency, and Jensen tosses his own phone back onto his nightstand. When he settles in to fall back asleep, it’s with a gentle grin on his lips. Lord knows he could use a little backup these days.
-----
He’s alive. Two weeks from Hell, but Jared’s alive.
“I’m still here,” he says aloud. His friends barely spare him a look, adapted as they are to Jared’s habit of conversing with himself. “Hey guys, I’m still here.”
“Bully for you, Jay,” Kendrick says. He pulls a drag off his cigarette and goes back to describing the recent fluctuations in the London Stock Exchange.
“Fuck Dow Jones,” Jared says flipping onto his stomach. “It’s Thursday night, I’ve just barely made it out alive and I need to get shit-faced tonight.”
The boys in the room perk up. Damon’s nodding thoughtfully and Paul looks interested for the first time that evening. Clarence is easy-going and will do whatever the others do, and only Kendrick looks put off.
“Oi, I still have class tomorrow morning,” he says, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Screw class. Come help me get bladdered,” Jared replies, arms hanging off of Kendrick’s bed. He doesn’t fit on the futon. “C’moooon,” Jared whines.
“I’m in,” Paul says. Damon seconds this and Clarence shrugs.
“I’ve got shit to do before tomorrow,” Kendrick groans. “Fine. Guys, get the boy pissed, shut him up for me.”
Jared beams. The four of them leave Kendrick’s apartment and venture out into the night. It’s cold, foggy as the inside of a rain cloud and they can barely see two feet in front of them, but they find the tube station through muscle memory. Inside the damp, tiled station, they fight over which bar to hit up.
“Artesian, man. The girls there’ll do anything.”
“Fuck that, they’re all old enough to be your Mum.”
When nobody can agree on anything, they play Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Underground and a dizzy Jared puts his finger somewhere between Noble and Coleman.
“Red Monkey it is,” Clarence confirms. Paul groans, muttering about how it’s a fucking dance club and he doesn’t want to dance, but Jared pulls a puppy face and the dark-haired boy grudgingly agrees.
It’s a twenty-five-minute ride to the club. A fifteen-minute wait to get in, eight minutes to get their drinks, and another twenty to get Jared good and hammered.
As Jared blithely chats it up with the bartender, leaking BBC network information in exchange for four shots of tequila, Paul pulls his camera phone out and snaps a Jared-shaped blur for Kendrick.
When Jared returns, Damon reprimands, “Mixing alcohols is bad for you, Jay,” though he willingly takes a shot glass and a lime.
“It’s not ‘Jay’!” Jared sloshes the remaining alcohol, but the liquid just spills from glass to glass. Jared smiles proudly. “Didn’t spill any. Now take!”
Clarence and Paul collect their own shots and limes. The four boys clink, drink, and bite down on sour fruit in unison.
Jared sets his emptied glass onto the table, though the wood smacks up a lot higher than he’d anticipated. Uh oh, getting drunk. Yes. He puts his head on the table and blearily looks out onto the dance floor. From Jared’s sideways angle, the writing bodies look like columns of shiny flesh and fabric. He sees Jensen in the fray somewhere, dancing with a hot blonde chick, and Oh, much drunker than I thought.
He blinks contentedly for a few more minutes before Paul slaps him on the back.
“Hey, it’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” he yells over the music.
Jared sits up obediently, keeping a ravenous gaze on the Jensen-that-doesn’t-exist. Mmm…he sure thinks about him a lot.
“Dude, who are you staring at?” Damon leans over and yells into Jared’s ear.
“What?”
“That guy. Who is he?”
“Jensen,” Jared shouts happily, until. Wait. “Wait, you can see him? ”
“You’re sloshed, mate,” Damon shouts back, and he looks like he’s going to say more but the song changes and the rising, deafening beat makes for a discouraging battle to be heard. Damon shrugs.
Damon can see him. Uh. Jared reels a little and holds the edge of the table for support. Fuck, what the fuck!? Why me? And who the fuck is that girl?
Jensen-that-actually-exists takes this opportune moment to look up, and their eyes squarely meet. Jared’s throat dries, and he coughs.
God, for just one night Jared didn’t want to have to think about him. Just wanted an easy, glib night at the bars. Funny how things work, Jared thinks, though it’s really not.
But then again… Jensen holds his gaze steady over the spinning, neon lights and silhouettes of shimmying bodies, doesn’t even blink when people pass between them. And then Jensen smiles, a slow and sure reveal of straight, white teeth.
He’s looking at me. And smiling. Jared swallows thickly. He’s looking at me ohfuck and Jared feels himself tense, arms and legs going jittery.
“Hey, what the hell?” Damon protests as his pint glass is snatched up. Jared guzzles the beer down, then wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist.
Yuck, light beer. Jared stands up, pretty steadily he thinks, and makes his way onto the dance floor.
-----
It isn’t a very large dance club. No, the whole space is only about as wide as a small lecture hall, and everybody here is jammed up against each other. On the way to the hardwood floor, the area that divides serious, dancing folk from the martini-sipping kids at the bar, Jared acquires a couple girls. They waft to him like static cling, and while he usually hates feeling like the party-boy the press makes him out to be, well, Jared’s kind of thinking this is actually a brilliant idea if Jensen’s darkening gaze is anything to go by.
Serves him right, Jared smugly thinks as he encircles a tiny waist with his hands. Another girl behind him settles into a grinding, undulating groove like Jared’s a pole to dance around, and Jared repeats, Serves him right, because, fuck, I’m a catch. A tall, leggy brunette who almost comes up to Jared’s chin struts over in platform heels, floating into the electric field. Such a catch. I am—
“—fucking hot!” Jared yells drunkenly.
“What?” The girl in front of him leans in, hands damp on his bare forearms.
“I’m fucking HOT!”
“Thanks!” she replies, a pleased smile gracing red lips. Jared is confused for a few moments, and then shrugs and keeps on rubbing. He hopes Jensen is watching.
-----
Jensen is not watching that. He’s so not watching that. It’s disgusting, depraved, it’s obscene is what it is; a virtual orgy unfolding on the dance floor and Jensen doesn’t have to sully his eyes with that.
He bites his lip as one of the girls sinks to her knees, then shimmies back up mile-long legs. Motherfuck.
Not that he doesn’t have his own pretty thing to play with; the chick in front of him is sexy in her own right. Spunky, cropped blonde hair and an ass made for grabbing, but she just isn’t doing it for him. She isn’t doing it for Jared, who keeps fucking looking at Jensen like the cat that got the cream.
Danneel finally comes back, drinks in tow, and Jensen snatches one out of her hands.
“Grabby grabby!”
“What is this?” Jensen asks. But by the time she can respond “Rum and coke!” it’s halfway down his esophagus. He sets the plastic cup onto a ledge somewhere and steps into Danneel’s space, feeling his way around her supple curves and pulling her in.
“Make it look good, babe,” Jensen hoarsely says into her ear, and she smiles. Ooh, this is always so much fun.
Danneel shakes her hair, letting her natural waves fluff out a bit more, and she turns; naked shoulder blades against Jensen’s chest, and slithers down Jensen’s body like viscous honey. When she’s somewhere in the vicinity of Jensen’s abs, he searches out for Jared and finds the boy staring at him. Even from here he can tell, Jared isn’t happy.
Two can play, Jensen thinks. And I’ll win, kiddo.
-----
Oh shit, if Jared thought Jensen was dancing before… fucking shit.
Some really hot redhead with sexy-wild hair had just waltzed up to Jensen, handed him an open drink (hasn’t the guy ever heard of Rope?), and then plastered herself onto him like paint on a wall. And damn, could the girl dance.
Suddenly, the previous beat switches, dips, and skips. Oh, no. No, nononono.
They’re playing Sexy Back. They’re playing fucking Sexy Back and holy Shit motherofGod do Jensen and his girl know this song, because she lights up and bounces at him in her sleazy plunging neckline and open back dress and then—
Shoulders hipping to the low bass line, she’s backing away from Jensen and he’s cocked back, loose, easy. His shoulders cinch along, their hands barely touching, fingers intertwining in and out, and then she switches, she’s fucking stalking Jensen in a circle like he’s trussed up quarry and oh.
Jensen and his girl know this song, and they’re performing a fucking music video for the crowd, which has backed into a semi-circle of pulsing bodies that acknowledge the prowling, hormone-driven couple.
Jared hasn’t stopped his own grinding; his girls know their stuff too, and they’re performing a lovely rendition of the song using his body as a prop, but shit, they don’t have anything on the primal duo that’s taking the club by storm.
Jared’s throat dries with pure, unadulterated jealousy. Yes, he’s drunk enough to admit it, though not enough to admit who he’s jealous of, but he watches them dance and he knows, Jesus Christ does he know, that when this song’s over it’s payback time.
Jensen meets his gaze across the club and smiles in triumph, then— fuck— leisurely tilts his head back in erotic pleasure, baring a swath of suckable neck that looks like nirvana from Jared’s vantage point. Jensen’s hands trail down pale, sultry skin until they land on her hips like home, and she lifts a divine leg, wrapping it around Jensen’s lower back so that they’re not even dancing anymore, she’s full on massaging Jensen’s crotch with her knickers and you know, that’s it. That’s it.
Jared shakes off the girls that are still writhing on him and they whimper, trying to entice him back with sinuous limbs but Jared just barrels forward.
It isn’t a very large dance club, and it only takes a little jostling to quickly approach Jensen and that undulating hussy who is unfortunately glued to the front of Jensen’s pants. He can help with that.
Jared lunges forward, claps a hand on her silky shoulder and pries her off of him as Jensen watches with labored breath and blown pupils.
Except, now that Jared’s main goal (get her off of Jensen) is accomplished, he doesn’t quite know what to do with, uh… huh.
Despite Jared’s brusqueness, the girl doesn’t seem to mind and she backs up, hypnotically grinding her arse against Jared’s crotch. This… Jared can do this. He rolls with it, rocking down as she straddles his thigh and then shit...shit, Jensen sways forward and joins them.
Jensen slides a hand on the girl’s bared upper thigh, his strokes mesmerizing in their gentleness. She noticeably shivers and widens her legs, letting Jared thrust up with his own and then Jensen’s hand slips onto, well. Jared’s upper thigh.
Oh, shit. Jared is so. Fucked.
-----
God, the kid’s got balls. Yanking a girl like that at any other time will get a guy mauled, or worse, but then again it’s just Jensen and they both know any mauling would be of the good variety.
Well, good, if you can ignore the fact that Jay’s got himself a famous, beautiful girlfriend at home, probably knitting baby booties as she waits for her fiancé to come home.
Shit, the kid’s really doing a number on him. Jared’s hair is messy and in his face. His lips pull back when he’s dancing and there’s a hint of tongue pressed against teeth that simply will not go away, no matter how long Jensen stares. And he’s been staring a pretty long time.
Despite the little horde of beauties surrounding Jared earlier, the kid must not have been trying, because damn, this Jared is a whole new creature. He’s dancing with Danneel, interacting with her with limbs in all the right places, shaking his head to the beat and strumming her arms with his long fingers. And Danneel likes this, Jensen can tell; she gives Jared her all and does her sexy thing on his thigh.
Jensen looks down. Thrusting between pale, inviting thighs is the stretched-taut fabric of Jared’s denims. Jensen inches forward and joins the two, opening up as Danneel pulls him in and lavishes him with encouragement. Behind her, Jared’s tongue uncurls and swipes across his lips, and his teeth chew the wetted flesh. His eyes don’t leave Jensen’s, feral and narrowed in silent challenge.
Jesus.
Okay, Jensen can do this dance, this little ménage-à-trois . He isn’t about to be one-upped by some oversexed kid. Jensen touches Danneel’s leg, then moves in for the kill.
Mine, Jensen thinks as Jared’s rhythm stutters, his hips briefly going out of sync. But Jared recovers quickly and now there’s just determination left, jaw set and eyes focused.
Jared reaches around Danneel’s arms and grabs a fistful of Jensen’s shirtfront, then draws him forward until the girl’s sandwiched, contentedly rocking between them.
What are you thinking, Jay? Jensen worries. He glances around, wondering if anybody else notices the lust emanating from Jared’s heated gaze, or from the way Jared’s fucking tonguing himself with wet lips and teeth, but everybody’s going about their business.
Jared leans in, over Danneel’s shoulder. And hell, this was fun for a while, but the look in Jared’s eyes as they linger on Jensen’s mouth is positively dangerous, and Jensen’s brain red-flags. This is going nowhere good.
Jensen swallows, tenses up, and Danneel notices. She lifts her lashes and there’s a question in the tilt of her head, she’s asking need some help? and Jensen gives an imperceptible nod.
She winds slender arms around Jensen’s neck, arches up and kisses him square on the lips.
With sickening regret, Jensen wraps around her and kisses back, nursing her mouth with his own and prolonging it for as long as it takes for…
Jared stops. Stops completely, like a flat note in a chord as the rest of the crowd progresses through the song. Jensen doesn’t have to open his eyes to know what Jared must look like. So, he doesn’t. He patiently waits for the lanky boy to back up, to leave, and only when Danneel pulls her glossed lips off his does Jensen venture a look.
Yeah, Jared’s gone.
Danneel looks up at Jensen anxiously. He’s usually so confident, almost annoyingly so, but the expression on his face right now is anything but reassured.
“So that’s him, huh?” she asks into Jensen’s ear. Not that Jensen’s said anything about anybody but shit, she’s known the guy for years, and this is the first time he’s ever looked like this. Ever looked so… destroyed.
Eyes searching the dark club for floppy-hair, Jensen eventually says, “Yeah.”
But Jared’s nowhere to be found. Jensen repeats, “Yeah, that’s him.”
He runs his hand across his face.
Back | Next
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author:
aeroport_artRating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4,475 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: Thanks to
nativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. As a heads up, the last two parts are still getting groomed for british-isms, so it might be another couple days or so before they're out. Otherwise, as always, feedback = ♥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 | Part 3
God, it’s been weeks. Weeks, and Jared feels like he’s going out of his bloody mind.
It’s nearing final exams and Jared’s classes are finally showing their teeth. The upcoming debate meet means no more skiving off evening practices, and moreover, he’s promised interviews to a few publications that take place between lectures. In short, no time for study breaks at the library, no time for swinging by Vitton.
No time for Jensen, and the very thought makes Jared want it all the more.
It’s lunchtime now and with all of ten minutes to feed himself before another block of classes, Jared spends it at the trusty Student Union with a plate of baked ziti.
It’s not like he doesn’t know where my department is, Jared mopes as he shovels pasta into his mouth. He tries not to think about how if Jensen even cared, they would’ve at least seen each other once or twice since The Incident.
Jared blushes at the memory and takes another bite of food, when a shadow falls over him. He looks up—sees dark hair flipped over a shoulder.
“Where’s Damon?” Sandy asks, sitting down and unwrapping her sandwich.
“No idea. Maybe he’s with Christina?”
She nods. The two friends eat in companionable silence, Sandy highlighting and marking a paperback as Jared plots his week’s schedule in an attempt to dream up an excuse to go to go visit Jensen’s building.
Jared checks his watch. Five minutes until class. “Sandy, wanna walk with me to Trotter?”
“Sure,” she says agreeably, capping her pink highlighter with a smart click. They pack up and leave the Student Union.
A few steps outside, Jared catches the sight of a figure reclining against a silver birch tree. Ohshit, he mentally swears.
Confused at the abrupt stop, Sandy follows Jared’s line of vision and her chest tightens when she sees— of course— Hooker-Boy Jensen himself. She sighs and dutifully follows when Jared makes his way over.
Jensen notices them halfway over and his posture visibly stiffens.
Jared stops, awkwardly staged between Jensen and Sandy, and he shyly (Shyly? Sandy gapes.) says, “Hi.”
“Hey yourself.” Jensen’s eyes flick over to Sandy and she pinches a smile.
“Oh, this is Sandy. Sandy, Jensen,” Jared introduces, stepping aside for them to shake hands. His forehead wrinkles when Jensen sends her a slow, lopsided grin and her tight smile loosens up in return, and Jesus Christ, just how long does a handshake have to last? Jared cuts in, “Haven’t seen you around lately.” God, he hopes that didn’t sound as petulant as it did in his head.
“Yeah. Been busy,” Jensen replies as he (finally) drops Sandy’s slim hand, voice clipped and eyes distant.
Jared’s frown deepens as Jensen turns his attention to Sandy, asking polite questions like how they know each other and such, and Jared just kind of wants to scream Look at me , but he refrains. Barely.
Still, he can only take it for so long and after a conversation and a half have passed, Jared blurts out, “So, it’s nice seeing you Jensen, but I have lecture now. Gotta run.”
Jensen’s eyes briefly make contact before they dart to the side. What the hell? Jared wonders as he stares at Jensen’s face, willing the subtle expressions flitting across to tell him all the secrets to the universe. Or at least the secrets to what the hell is even going on.
“I thought you had class,” Jensen says at Jared’s silence and this time when green eyes lift, there’s desire lingering in Jensen’s irises, in the bite of his lower lip. And then it shuts off again, like a blown fuse.
“Right,” Jared says, belatedly. Jensen twists his lips into a perfunctory smile but Jared doesn’t, can’t return it.
“It was nice to finally meet you,” Sandy says, glossing over the awkward pause with practiced ease. Jensen nods back in reply and then, they leave.
Did he just… dump me? Jared knows how stupid that sounds, but still. It’s how it feels. He’d grown accustomed to Jensen’s languid teasing, his toe-curling warmth and alluring gazes, but in the blink of an eye, none of it was there anymore. At all. Snuffed out like a candle, there’s nothing left of Jensen’s affection but a trail of smoke and ash in the form of evasive, guarded eyes.
Something had changed since the last time they’d been together, but for the life of him, Jared can’t puzzle it out.
Later in class, he’s still wondering about when exactly he’d missed the memo when he bites down especially hard on his pen. The back of the plastic tube splits open and blue ink spills onto his lip.
Shit, he curses, noticing blue stains on his hand and imagining how ridiculous it must look on his face.
This is turning out to be a really shitty-ass week. Jared puts his head down, cradled between the open pages of his thick government text, and tiredly closes his eyes.
-----
It’s a warm day. Wait— let’s rephrase that.
It’s a warm day for December in Braxton, and Jensen pulls his wool coat closer against his chest as he thinks about winter in California; candy cane frappuccinos in Westwood Village, evergreen sidewalks with his shades on and shirt off. The sound of the ocean whispering behind holiday jingles, and afternoon barbecues in the sun.
But, all things are relative. And today, it is relatively warm. Jensen leans against a birch tree, gloved hands tucked into his armpits, and watches Jared and Sandy’s retreating figures. Halfway across the Student Union, he can still see the back of Jared’s head bobbing over the sea of students but the petite brunette is swallowed up and gone.
“Hey,” a loud voice calls out. Jensen looks up and spots his classmate, Mike Rosenbaum. He pushes off the tree with his shoulder and falls in step with the East Londoner, who’s busy pulling a violently green beanie over his shorn head. Mike asks, “What were you doing with England’s poster couple?”
“What?” Jensen frowns, scratching the back of his head as they climb the steps leading into the bookstore.
“Jared Padalecki and Sandra McCoy, right?”
“Uh... yeah.” Jensen wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “How do you know Jared?”
“What do you mean?” Mike asks, looking at him like there’s a second head growing out of Jensen’s neck.
He repeats, “I mean… how do you know Jared?”
The two of them are making their way to the art department of the store when Mike stops in his tracks. “Wait… I think I missed something here. How do you know Jared Padalecki?”
“Bumped into him in Vitton one day. We’re friends...sort of.” Jensen spies a large metal case at the far wall of the bookstore and walks over, Mike following behind in silence. Jensen approaches the rack, rifling through wooden sheets and dowels and scanning the other model-making materials as he pointedly ignores the gaping-fish look Mike is shooting him.
“You do know that he’s famous, right?”
Jensen blinks, hand stalling on a strip of balsa wood.
Mike continues. “Jared Padalecki, son of Gerald Padalecki, director of the BBC3? Or maybe it was BBC4, I forget.”
Jensen indulges a lengthy pause, his fingers running over the soft fibers of the wooden strip in his hand. “I didn’t know that,” he finally says.
Mike just chuckles and claps Jensen on the shoulder. “Well, now you do. You’re friends with a trendy, celebrity millionaire. Live it up, Jenny.”
Jensen continues picking out the materials he needs for his model, but everything feels mechanical as his brain clunks with the surprising news.
This doesn’t change anything, does it? he asks himself, mentally stretching and molding his strange relationship with Jared to see if anything cracks, to see if anything’s different in light of the new information. Nothing really changes, and Jensen repeats, This doesn’t change anything.
-----
Three hours later, Jensen remembers Mike’s original words, before he’d gotten sidetracked.
“So what did you mean by ‘England’s poster couple’?” Jensen interjects into the radio-filled noise of the studio, hands busy as he saws at a dowel. Mike keeps one hand on the drying glue of his plywood model, but turns around and asks, “What?”
“Jared Padalecki and Sandy McCoy. Earlier you said they were ‘England’s poster couple?” Jensen realizes he’s sort of answered his own question already but, well. He’s always been a bit of a masochist.
“Oh yeah. Jared Padalecki and Sandra McCoy, it’s practically one name,” Mike says flippantly. “I think they’re like, betrothed or something completely bollocksed like that.”
Jensen freezes, his serrated blade halfway through the birch dowel.
When he goes back to sawing, his hand slips and the blade nicks his thumb. Jensen swears and tosses the tool on the table, pushes himself off the stool, then strides out of the studio, nursing the wound with his mouth.
Mike looks on in mild interest before shrugging and going back to his project.
Outside, Jensen plunks himself down on the front steps. He runs a hand over his face, mashing in his eye sockets with the heels of his palms, and the pressure soothes him a little.
“Fuck,” he says. He listens to the syllable dissipate into the air, and it isn’t enough. “Fuck that,” he tries, and it’s better.
“Fuck him,” Jensen mutters, and it’s better still. He watches straggling students roam the South Quad for a few minutes before going back inside and sauntering through the hallways, lost in thought.
He doesn’t let it go on for too long, however. There’s a lot of work to do and Jensen has more important things to concern himself with. More important things than looking forward to each day with the possibility of earnest, nervous eyes blinking down at him. More important than heady exhilaration at the thought of tall, gangly limbs…
Wide, bitten lips and teeth the color of porcelain. Hair falling into feline eyes and the thing is, Jared had leaned in, he’d kissed him back, damn it. Fucking betrothed to some rich bitch and still, he’d kissed him back.
“Fuck,” Jensen says aloud, harsh consonants reverberating off the walls. A student walking by glances at him and Jensen stares back until the kid scuttles into a classroom.
-----
Late that night, Jensen gets a phone call.
“Hey, butt-face.”
“Danneel?” Jensen grumbles. “Ugh… you know what time it is over here, don’t you?”
“Of course. I just don’t care.”
“Ever the sweetheart,” he groans, sitting up in bed and rubbing sleepiness out of his eyes. “So. What’s up?”
“You busy this weekend?”
Jensen stills. “Uh… what do you mean?”
“I’m gonna be in town for a few days!”
“You serious?”
“Yeah I’m serious. And I am fully expecting you to put me up for the weekend.”
“Depends,” Jensen grins, leaning back on his elbows. “How much you gonna pay me?”
“Funny, that’s what you ask all the girls, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” Jensen replies dryly. He’s sensitive about that. And really, why do people always think he’s a hustler?
“Love you too, darling. Anyway, I’ll give you a call when I’m in town, ‘k?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen replies. Danneel hangs up abruptly, as is her whirlwind tendency, and Jensen tosses his own phone back onto his nightstand. When he settles in to fall back asleep, it’s with a gentle grin on his lips. Lord knows he could use a little backup these days.
-----
He’s alive. Two weeks from Hell, but Jared’s alive.
“I’m still here,” he says aloud. His friends barely spare him a look, adapted as they are to Jared’s habit of conversing with himself. “Hey guys, I’m still here.”
“Bully for you, Jay,” Kendrick says. He pulls a drag off his cigarette and goes back to describing the recent fluctuations in the London Stock Exchange.
“Fuck Dow Jones,” Jared says flipping onto his stomach. “It’s Thursday night, I’ve just barely made it out alive and I need to get shit-faced tonight.”
The boys in the room perk up. Damon’s nodding thoughtfully and Paul looks interested for the first time that evening. Clarence is easy-going and will do whatever the others do, and only Kendrick looks put off.
“Oi, I still have class tomorrow morning,” he says, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Screw class. Come help me get bladdered,” Jared replies, arms hanging off of Kendrick’s bed. He doesn’t fit on the futon. “C’moooon,” Jared whines.
“I’m in,” Paul says. Damon seconds this and Clarence shrugs.
“I’ve got shit to do before tomorrow,” Kendrick groans. “Fine. Guys, get the boy pissed, shut him up for me.”
Jared beams. The four of them leave Kendrick’s apartment and venture out into the night. It’s cold, foggy as the inside of a rain cloud and they can barely see two feet in front of them, but they find the tube station through muscle memory. Inside the damp, tiled station, they fight over which bar to hit up.
“Artesian, man. The girls there’ll do anything.”
“Fuck that, they’re all old enough to be your Mum.”
When nobody can agree on anything, they play Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Underground and a dizzy Jared puts his finger somewhere between Noble and Coleman.
“Red Monkey it is,” Clarence confirms. Paul groans, muttering about how it’s a fucking dance club and he doesn’t want to dance, but Jared pulls a puppy face and the dark-haired boy grudgingly agrees.
It’s a twenty-five-minute ride to the club. A fifteen-minute wait to get in, eight minutes to get their drinks, and another twenty to get Jared good and hammered.
As Jared blithely chats it up with the bartender, leaking BBC network information in exchange for four shots of tequila, Paul pulls his camera phone out and snaps a Jared-shaped blur for Kendrick.
When Jared returns, Damon reprimands, “Mixing alcohols is bad for you, Jay,” though he willingly takes a shot glass and a lime.
“It’s not ‘Jay’!” Jared sloshes the remaining alcohol, but the liquid just spills from glass to glass. Jared smiles proudly. “Didn’t spill any. Now take!”
Clarence and Paul collect their own shots and limes. The four boys clink, drink, and bite down on sour fruit in unison.
Jared sets his emptied glass onto the table, though the wood smacks up a lot higher than he’d anticipated. Uh oh, getting drunk. Yes. He puts his head on the table and blearily looks out onto the dance floor. From Jared’s sideways angle, the writing bodies look like columns of shiny flesh and fabric. He sees Jensen in the fray somewhere, dancing with a hot blonde chick, and Oh, much drunker than I thought.
He blinks contentedly for a few more minutes before Paul slaps him on the back.
“Hey, it’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” he yells over the music.
Jared sits up obediently, keeping a ravenous gaze on the Jensen-that-doesn’t-exist. Mmm…he sure thinks about him a lot.
“Dude, who are you staring at?” Damon leans over and yells into Jared’s ear.
“What?”
“That guy. Who is he?”
“Jensen,” Jared shouts happily, until. Wait. “Wait, you can see him? ”
“You’re sloshed, mate,” Damon shouts back, and he looks like he’s going to say more but the song changes and the rising, deafening beat makes for a discouraging battle to be heard. Damon shrugs.
Damon can see him. Uh. Jared reels a little and holds the edge of the table for support. Fuck, what the fuck!? Why me? And who the fuck is that girl?
Jensen-that-actually-exists takes this opportune moment to look up, and their eyes squarely meet. Jared’s throat dries, and he coughs.
God, for just one night Jared didn’t want to have to think about him. Just wanted an easy, glib night at the bars. Funny how things work, Jared thinks, though it’s really not.
But then again… Jensen holds his gaze steady over the spinning, neon lights and silhouettes of shimmying bodies, doesn’t even blink when people pass between them. And then Jensen smiles, a slow and sure reveal of straight, white teeth.
He’s looking at me. And smiling. Jared swallows thickly. He’s looking at me ohfuck and Jared feels himself tense, arms and legs going jittery.
“Hey, what the hell?” Damon protests as his pint glass is snatched up. Jared guzzles the beer down, then wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist.
Yuck, light beer. Jared stands up, pretty steadily he thinks, and makes his way onto the dance floor.
-----
It isn’t a very large dance club. No, the whole space is only about as wide as a small lecture hall, and everybody here is jammed up against each other. On the way to the hardwood floor, the area that divides serious, dancing folk from the martini-sipping kids at the bar, Jared acquires a couple girls. They waft to him like static cling, and while he usually hates feeling like the party-boy the press makes him out to be, well, Jared’s kind of thinking this is actually a brilliant idea if Jensen’s darkening gaze is anything to go by.
Serves him right, Jared smugly thinks as he encircles a tiny waist with his hands. Another girl behind him settles into a grinding, undulating groove like Jared’s a pole to dance around, and Jared repeats, Serves him right, because, fuck, I’m a catch. A tall, leggy brunette who almost comes up to Jared’s chin struts over in platform heels, floating into the electric field. Such a catch. I am—
“—fucking hot!” Jared yells drunkenly.
“What?” The girl in front of him leans in, hands damp on his bare forearms.
“I’m fucking HOT!”
“Thanks!” she replies, a pleased smile gracing red lips. Jared is confused for a few moments, and then shrugs and keeps on rubbing. He hopes Jensen is watching.
-----
Jensen is not watching that. He’s so not watching that. It’s disgusting, depraved, it’s obscene is what it is; a virtual orgy unfolding on the dance floor and Jensen doesn’t have to sully his eyes with that.
He bites his lip as one of the girls sinks to her knees, then shimmies back up mile-long legs. Motherfuck.
Not that he doesn’t have his own pretty thing to play with; the chick in front of him is sexy in her own right. Spunky, cropped blonde hair and an ass made for grabbing, but she just isn’t doing it for him. She isn’t doing it for Jared, who keeps fucking looking at Jensen like the cat that got the cream.
Danneel finally comes back, drinks in tow, and Jensen snatches one out of her hands.
“Grabby grabby!”
“What is this?” Jensen asks. But by the time she can respond “Rum and coke!” it’s halfway down his esophagus. He sets the plastic cup onto a ledge somewhere and steps into Danneel’s space, feeling his way around her supple curves and pulling her in.
“Make it look good, babe,” Jensen hoarsely says into her ear, and she smiles. Ooh, this is always so much fun.
Danneel shakes her hair, letting her natural waves fluff out a bit more, and she turns; naked shoulder blades against Jensen’s chest, and slithers down Jensen’s body like viscous honey. When she’s somewhere in the vicinity of Jensen’s abs, he searches out for Jared and finds the boy staring at him. Even from here he can tell, Jared isn’t happy.
Two can play, Jensen thinks. And I’ll win, kiddo.
-----
Oh shit, if Jared thought Jensen was dancing before… fucking shit.
Some really hot redhead with sexy-wild hair had just waltzed up to Jensen, handed him an open drink (hasn’t the guy ever heard of Rope?), and then plastered herself onto him like paint on a wall. And damn, could the girl dance.
Suddenly, the previous beat switches, dips, and skips. Oh, no. No, nononono.
They’re playing Sexy Back. They’re playing fucking Sexy Back and holy Shit motherofGod do Jensen and his girl know this song, because she lights up and bounces at him in her sleazy plunging neckline and open back dress and then—
Shoulders hipping to the low bass line, she’s backing away from Jensen and he’s cocked back, loose, easy. His shoulders cinch along, their hands barely touching, fingers intertwining in and out, and then she switches, she’s fucking stalking Jensen in a circle like he’s trussed up quarry and oh.
Jensen and his girl know this song, and they’re performing a fucking music video for the crowd, which has backed into a semi-circle of pulsing bodies that acknowledge the prowling, hormone-driven couple.
Jared hasn’t stopped his own grinding; his girls know their stuff too, and they’re performing a lovely rendition of the song using his body as a prop, but shit, they don’t have anything on the primal duo that’s taking the club by storm.
Jared’s throat dries with pure, unadulterated jealousy. Yes, he’s drunk enough to admit it, though not enough to admit who he’s jealous of, but he watches them dance and he knows, Jesus Christ does he know, that when this song’s over it’s payback time.
Jensen meets his gaze across the club and smiles in triumph, then— fuck— leisurely tilts his head back in erotic pleasure, baring a swath of suckable neck that looks like nirvana from Jared’s vantage point. Jensen’s hands trail down pale, sultry skin until they land on her hips like home, and she lifts a divine leg, wrapping it around Jensen’s lower back so that they’re not even dancing anymore, she’s full on massaging Jensen’s crotch with her knickers and you know, that’s it. That’s it.
Jared shakes off the girls that are still writhing on him and they whimper, trying to entice him back with sinuous limbs but Jared just barrels forward.
It isn’t a very large dance club, and it only takes a little jostling to quickly approach Jensen and that undulating hussy who is unfortunately glued to the front of Jensen’s pants. He can help with that.
Jared lunges forward, claps a hand on her silky shoulder and pries her off of him as Jensen watches with labored breath and blown pupils.
Except, now that Jared’s main goal (get her off of Jensen) is accomplished, he doesn’t quite know what to do with, uh… huh.
Despite Jared’s brusqueness, the girl doesn’t seem to mind and she backs up, hypnotically grinding her arse against Jared’s crotch. This… Jared can do this. He rolls with it, rocking down as she straddles his thigh and then shit...shit, Jensen sways forward and joins them.
Jensen slides a hand on the girl’s bared upper thigh, his strokes mesmerizing in their gentleness. She noticeably shivers and widens her legs, letting Jared thrust up with his own and then Jensen’s hand slips onto, well. Jared’s upper thigh.
Oh, shit. Jared is so. Fucked.
-----
God, the kid’s got balls. Yanking a girl like that at any other time will get a guy mauled, or worse, but then again it’s just Jensen and they both know any mauling would be of the good variety.
Well, good, if you can ignore the fact that Jay’s got himself a famous, beautiful girlfriend at home, probably knitting baby booties as she waits for her fiancé to come home.
Shit, the kid’s really doing a number on him. Jared’s hair is messy and in his face. His lips pull back when he’s dancing and there’s a hint of tongue pressed against teeth that simply will not go away, no matter how long Jensen stares. And he’s been staring a pretty long time.
Despite the little horde of beauties surrounding Jared earlier, the kid must not have been trying, because damn, this Jared is a whole new creature. He’s dancing with Danneel, interacting with her with limbs in all the right places, shaking his head to the beat and strumming her arms with his long fingers. And Danneel likes this, Jensen can tell; she gives Jared her all and does her sexy thing on his thigh.
Jensen looks down. Thrusting between pale, inviting thighs is the stretched-taut fabric of Jared’s denims. Jensen inches forward and joins the two, opening up as Danneel pulls him in and lavishes him with encouragement. Behind her, Jared’s tongue uncurls and swipes across his lips, and his teeth chew the wetted flesh. His eyes don’t leave Jensen’s, feral and narrowed in silent challenge.
Jesus.
Okay, Jensen can do this dance, this little ménage-à-trois . He isn’t about to be one-upped by some oversexed kid. Jensen touches Danneel’s leg, then moves in for the kill.
Mine, Jensen thinks as Jared’s rhythm stutters, his hips briefly going out of sync. But Jared recovers quickly and now there’s just determination left, jaw set and eyes focused.
Jared reaches around Danneel’s arms and grabs a fistful of Jensen’s shirtfront, then draws him forward until the girl’s sandwiched, contentedly rocking between them.
What are you thinking, Jay? Jensen worries. He glances around, wondering if anybody else notices the lust emanating from Jared’s heated gaze, or from the way Jared’s fucking tonguing himself with wet lips and teeth, but everybody’s going about their business.
Jared leans in, over Danneel’s shoulder. And hell, this was fun for a while, but the look in Jared’s eyes as they linger on Jensen’s mouth is positively dangerous, and Jensen’s brain red-flags. This is going nowhere good.
Jensen swallows, tenses up, and Danneel notices. She lifts her lashes and there’s a question in the tilt of her head, she’s asking need some help? and Jensen gives an imperceptible nod.
She winds slender arms around Jensen’s neck, arches up and kisses him square on the lips.
With sickening regret, Jensen wraps around her and kisses back, nursing her mouth with his own and prolonging it for as long as it takes for…
Jared stops. Stops completely, like a flat note in a chord as the rest of the crowd progresses through the song. Jensen doesn’t have to open his eyes to know what Jared must look like. So, he doesn’t. He patiently waits for the lanky boy to back up, to leave, and only when Danneel pulls her glossed lips off his does Jensen venture a look.
Yeah, Jared’s gone.
Danneel looks up at Jensen anxiously. He’s usually so confident, almost annoyingly so, but the expression on his face right now is anything but reassured.
“So that’s him, huh?” she asks into Jensen’s ear. Not that Jensen’s said anything about anybody but shit, she’s known the guy for years, and this is the first time he’s ever looked like this. Ever looked so… destroyed.
Eyes searching the dark club for floppy-hair, Jensen eventually says, “Yeah.”
But Jared’s nowhere to be found. Jensen repeats, “Yeah, that’s him.”
He runs his hand across his face.
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Date: 2008-04-16 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-16 12:05 am (UTC)And thanks for commenting *__* It's so lonely here, over in pseudo-WIP-land.
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Date: 2008-04-16 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-16 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-16 02:06 am (UTC)So, I just wanted you to know that. ...:D!
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Date: 2008-04-16 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-21 12:57 am (UTC)*sways* Hot DAMN. I just. I'll be.
...I think I need a moment.
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Date: 2008-04-21 01:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 03:28 am (UTC)i love jared's determination and jealousy and how jen was obliviouse to his fame so cool.
The dancing was hot. I do break and like proper dance and it awesome when everyone stands round to watch its a great feeling.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 11:06 pm (UTC)Off to read the next part
no subject
Date: 2009-03-08 04:02 pm (UTC)