Title: Yesterday Was the Day That I Was Born
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, Jared/Sandy
Words: ~36,000 overall (7,177 this chapter)
Summary: Being informed by your friends and loved ones that you're congenial to the point of boredom and occasionally nausea is sort of a drag. Which is why Jared Padalecki resolves to have an irresponsibly awesome time on his twenty-first birthday. But when his foray into excitement proves to be the iceberg of his Titanic of a life, he's left wondering who and what exactly he'll wake up to once he gets his head back above the suddenly murky waves of his own existence......or something.
Warnings/Disclaimer: AU. Hooker fic. A scene of non-con. A scene of Het. Schmoop. Humor. Everybody owns themselves.
A/N: Beta'ed by the most awesome antarshakes.
Back to Part Five
Daylight is doing its best to force him to open his eyes but he refuses. The breeze joins in the fight as he must have left his window open for how drafty it is in his bedroom. Fumbling around for his blanket, his hand touches something soft.
—Before his exposed cock is enveloped in wet heat that is damn close to making him come in oh, about ten seconds flat. Nine. Eight. Breath going ragged, he looks down to find Jensen between his legs, slowly working more of Jared’s girth into his mouth, hands splaying his thighs apart. Pulling on the muscles in them a bit, but even that feels fantastic.
Jensen had already shucked his clothes onto the floor and the body heat radiating from him is as intense as a furnace.
“You—you don’t have to,” he’s shocked he can eek out. Jensen responds with a swirl of tongue against his sensitive slit that curls his toes and has him melting into the bed, effectively ending the discussion.
Or so he assumed, unable to suppress a gasp of deprivation when Jensen cuts it short and pulls off. He’s about to protest that he meant his offer but not really because god damn, but the bed creaks as Jensen leans over to pull something out of his discarded pants.
He cranes his neck to see but is met with a tracing finger, traveling up the length of his dick, sending another batch of blood careening southward. “There you go,” Jensen praises, pumping him a few times before ripping open a condom wrapper with his teeth.
And that is just not fair.
“I can’t do—“ Jensen rolls it on him and it’s like walking uphill trying to speak. Every slight point of contact a pinprick of white hot sensation.
“I’m not r-ready,” he says, shaky, as he’s lubed up deftly. Control of his body obviously in hands not his, seized in a hostile takeover of oral sex by surprise. Dread and lust the likes of which he’s never known churning out turmoil on the battleground of him.
“It’s like a band-aid,” Jensen tells him conversationally, lining himself up above Jared’s cock. He watches, hopelessly turned on, as his final opportunity to step back from the ledge passes him merrily by. “Right off in one motion.”
With that, he lowers himself down, a smooth and unceasing glide until his ass meets Jared’s thighs, fucking quaking with the exquisite, experimental clench around his cock. Jensen prepared for this, loosened up and slick on the inside, just waiting for the final piece to lock in.
And then he realizes. In a single rush and blur of points he couldn’t begin to articulate now but nonetheless grasps fully and individually in an instant.
Jenny Medina. Sandy.
A girl he liked and a girl he loved. Women that he couldn’t please. That ultimately couldn’t please him. Because he would never ask.
Jensen isn’t taking something from him—he’s giving. What Jared truly wants through the guilt, what he’s yearned after for time innumerable.
From his hang-ups and his notions. From himself. Jensen was right. Take Jared out of the equation and—he’s happy.
An additional shock of adrenaline courses through him and the clinging softness is urging him forward to the finish line, already hard as nails from the teasing blow job. Tell-tale tingle lighting up his entire body as his hands clamp onto Jensen’s waist.
But Jensen must know the signs because he leans down to pinch a nipple mercilessly. “Don’t come yet.”
Wow, he’s giving it his best but whatever Jensen is planning, he’d better do it sooner rather than later. He gives himself two, three minutes tops until he loses it without Jensen having ever moved a muscle.
Shifting from his crouching position to his hands and knees, Jensen stretches himself out on top of him, picking up a languid rhythm that slots Jared in and out of him sweet and easy, puts them face to face with nowhere to hide.
His rocking makes it difficult to sustain a kiss but Jensen tries anyway, Jared’s stale, morning breath and all. An abnormal stillness blankets the room, almost like a vacuum. Gentle, steady creak of the bedsprings and smack when Jensen’s lips find their mark. Fainter one when they connect with his chin or the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck,” Jensen mutters with lidded eyes when Jared goes particularly deep and they gasp in unison. Jared reflexively tightening his grip on his ass, where there will surely be finger-shaped bruises by the end of the day.
“Want to feel you,” Jensen whispers, kissing him, noses smashed together inelegantly.
The first thrust up draws an ohh of contentment from Jensen. After a few, he stops fucking himself back, allowing Jared to hold him still as he gains in assuredness and force. Jensen’s sweaty cock is trapped between their stomachs, friction of Jared bouncing him in time to his thrusts making him leak all over them both.
“This is how we did it. That night,” Jensen bites at his lip. “All this time I never—“ he breaks off on a moan as Jared pumps his hips into him, almost there. “—I never wished I could fuck someone raw. But I did then,” he laughs headily.
“Oh, jesus, fuck!” Jared yells at that, making Jensen wince for the death grip he has on his ass cheeks as he empties into the curséd condom. Taking a minute to hop off his cloud and reluctantly come back down to Earth.
“Was your world sufficiently rocked?” Jensen grins, still seated on his cock. Jared yanks him down into a crushing embrace, because there are a thousand ways to answer that question and none seem to fully cover it.
“Thank you,” he whispers. It’s not perfect, but he’ll settle. From the way Jensen tucks his face into his neck, he reads the message loud and clear though.
He starts to peppers kisses along it, motion causing Jared to slip out of him slightly. He shudders. “Can you go again?”
“Fuck yes. Give me a minute.”
Mike called him last night and told him to be sure to tune into their show this morning. Assuming the hesitance on Jared’s part, he pre-empted, “It’s good. Even Tom approves.” He hears a distant, distracted yell of assent from Tom in the background. Followed by muffled, obscene moaning.
“See, on the up and up.”
Jared pauses. “Are you guys watching porn?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ri-cock-u-lous,” he sounds out phonetically. “Anyway, I’d invite you but I’ve only got the two hands and I owe Tom a reacharound.”
He holds the phone away and shoots it a look like it’ll transmit his leery yet fond expression for his friend’s ubiquitous craziness. “No more disco?”
He makes a strained and exaggerated noise of torture before he agrees. “Alright, no more disco. This week.”
“Oh, dude, the time. Gotta go.”
Back in the present, he tunes into the radio station. Running scenarios through his mind for what he’s going to do if anything Village People related pops up. Possibly take embarrassing photos of Mike in his sleep. Tom would be all for it.
“Parking garage D is closed due to construction so if you’re circling around there, give it up. I know it looks like it’s open, but it’s not. There’s signs and everything. You’re only embarrassing yourself.” Mike snarks. They love employing the old good cop/bad cop routine on air. Only Mike’s more the deranged cop if anything.
“Speaking of embarrassing, we at KTXT want to congratulate our co-host Tom Welling for being smoke-free for one week. His oral fixation caused him to bite through only one pen this week, but the resultant ink explosion on his face more than made up for a lack of other incidents. Congrats Tom.”
Jared can hear Tom calculating. “—Still bald, Mike?”
“You bet your waxed ass. And the segues keep on coming. We came in this morning to find a very special request under our door. You might remember our birthday shoutout to our hunky bff Jared a few weeks ago.”
“Jared’s had a bit of a hard time since then,” Tom picks up, “But, from where we’re sitting, things are looking up for him. From you know who, Jared, this one’s for you.”
The crowd roars in approval from the live recording of Baby I Love Your Way and Jared sappily feels like they’re cheering just for him.
Jensen hadn’t been able to come over last night and though he didn’t spell it out for Jared’s benefit, he knew well enough where he’d be. He thinks back to that hamburger analogy and finds it fitting and true. Thinking about what Jensen’s still doing, that this could yet slip through his fingers like sand, wound him like he’s never come close to feeling if he has to watch him leave—it dims everything else.
So he doesn’t. They don’t talk about those things anymore. The future, the present, Jensen’s and maybe his own doubts about himself. Jensen still lets him know where he’s going like he does Chris and it’s a holding pattern. Things were moving so fast but ultimately the destination was unknown.
Questions like these can only be talked so far. The rest is doing. And showing. Showing Jensen he’s in this for the long haul. What he could have if he lets go. Like he helped Jared do. Times like these, driving to class with the sun gleaming on the horizon, Frampton dedication on the radio, Jared thinks Jensen’s a little closer to it than he was the day before.
“Get ready for this one,” Chris snaps his phone shut.
“You grew another inch?” Jensen intones dully, needing to get in the shower, dress and make himself up. Be ready to go out and make some money.
“No, smartass. I think I got us a regular gig.”
“No shit? Where?” He sits up in interest.
“OKC. Steve’s sister the slut is fucking the owner of the bar she works at. They need a new house band and he says she can get us in,” he beams. “I knew he’d come through for us. Think about it, Jen. We make this a full time thing, and we can live off the music like we always wanted.”
“Oklahoma City? When are you talking about leaving?” Jensen’s enthusiasm is almost imperceptibly daunted but he’s accustomed to concealing it, even from Chris.
“Hell, tomorrow? Scrounge up some traveling funds tonight then we’re ghosts.”
“Wow. Can’t believe we finally got a break.”
“These things are like catching lightning in a bottle. You gotta grab hold when they pop up ‘cause they might never come ‘round again.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He finds himself lifted off the ground in a twirling, bear hug that knocks Chris’ hat askew. “Whoo! This is it boy, I can feel it. You and me, Jen. We’re gonna show those Okies what it’s about.”
“Alright, man. Good stuff,” he smiles congenially.
“Go get ready and I’ll fill you in on the details on the way to the club. We want to catch the yuppies before they blow their wads on the girls.” Jensen pecks out a text to Jared about where they’re heading for the night and tosses his phone onto the table. Gives Chris a hollow, celebratory pat on the back on his way to the bathroom, face falling into uncertainty once his back is to him.
Chris gives it five minutes before he grabs Jensen’s phone and accesses the menu. Fortunately for his needs, Jensen’s phone had a blocking feature that didn’t require contacting the service provider if the person you wished to block was already a contact.
Down the road, Jensen would appreciate this. See it for what it really was: Chris having his back the way a best friend is supposed to. He found that kid dumpster diving for food behind restaurants, damned if he’s going to sit back and watch him get his heart broken now.
Guys like Padalecki weren’t pimps or unhinged customers but they could do their fair share of damage. Insidious and cutting for how unwitting it was. How they had every intention of making an honest boy out of a lowly whore but lost interest along the way. Oops. Not their fault. What idiot honestly expected otherwise anyway?
Jared was a bull in a china shop, searching and feeling out the merchandise, and before it was over he was going to leave more wreckage and carnage in his wake than he’d managed at this point. One day, Jensen will thank him for pulling him out of his path.
He inputs Jared’s number in the field to block his texts. Repeats the process for phone calls. Jensen won’t receive any messages that a blocked number is calling him. There’ll be nothing at all and they’ll be gone tomorrow.
Ten minutes later, Jensen steps out in a towel and immediately checks his phone for a return text from Jared, wishing him safety, wrapping him further around his finger. Chris sees the flicker of disappointment on his face before he sets it down and grabs a too-small t-shirt that he uses to play up his twink appeal, which he hates doing.
That means his game face is on and Chris couldn’t be happier.
At the bar, Jensen can tell he has a few interested eyes on him. Just a matter of waiting for one to get the stones to approach and sample the wares.
It’s going to be a long one. Or perhaps it just feels that way because he compulsively checks his phone every few minutes. Jared hadn’t texted him back and as pathetic as it is, it’s setting him on edge. On the heels of Chris’ bombshell, everything seems so urgent and big.
He could walk away from Jared for good tomorrow.
Never know if he just lost track of his phone, didn’t care enough to answer—could have eventually confirmed all of Jensen’s fears or been his one, if such a thing actually did exist. He imagines his sexy, come-hither stare is coming off more brooding and stand-offish at the moment. Coinciding with the slow loss of his resolve to not call Jared for sorely needed resolution, whatever it may be.
Chris is in a booth, chatting up a casually dressed guy with day old stubble but a visibly expensive watch, who, despite Jensen not being close enough to hear, is smitten by Chris’ drawl from the way he leans in expectedly, is angling his body interestedly.
Chris can shoot the breeze about sports, women, whatever, with the Johns. Part rugged appearance, no bullshit persona. A whole lotta the fact that he’s a straight boy that craves cock for money, so maybe they’re connecting on some hetero level he can’t reach.
Whatever it is, Jensen’s vibe doesn’t engender good, old-fashioned guy conversation. Apparently the only thing his face gives off is put cock here. A bad and far from unfamiliar taste blooms on his tongue.
“What’s your poison?” An admirer finally steps up to bat. Blatant businessman. Late forties, dark blonde, wavy hair. Not bad looking at all. Smarmy as fuck though.
“Smart boy.” Indeed. Accepting drinks from Johns is risky. Getting drunk around them, potentially suicidal. He signals the bartender and seats himself next to Jensen.
“What’s your name?”
“Well, Ross. We’re both entrepreneurs and I believe in getting right to the point.”
The bartender returns promptly with Jensen’s drink and he drains half of it in one go, agitated and desiring an expeditious end to the evening. Fuck it. Once he finished this guy off, he was calling Jared’s phone until he got an answer.
Morning would demand a decision. A choice he didn’t want to make without hearing Jared’s voice, staring him in the face one last time in the hope that the right path would reveal itself to him. Try and maybe fail or give up and be resigned to what ifs. Stay or go.
“How direct are you looking to be?”
“Completely. And rather quickly. But not here.”
Jensen lists forward, serpentine. “Meet me outside,” he breathes into the guy’s ear, tongue flicking against the rim.
“My pleasure,” he hums, Jensen snaking a hand into his pocket to extract his wallet and pay for the drink. Clandestine, he slips the man’s driver’s license out of it, shielding it with his hand. He gives over the wallet and makes as if he’s heading for the restroom, hooking a right to where there is noticeably less distance between Chris and his guy than there was a few minutes ago.
“I’m heading out,” Jensen notifies him, holding up the license. “John Schneider. 422 Beacon Avenue. You got it?”
Chris squirms a little, his guy’s hand doing something interesting under the table. “Say again?” he asks distractedly. Jensen sighs. “John Schneider. 422 Beacon Avenue. If I don’t call you, pick me up there in two hours, okay?”
“Like in Jaws, got it,” he mumbles, nuzzling the guy’s jaw. Jensen leaves him be, the sooner he gets outside and fucks this guy, John, ha ha, the sooner he can see Jared and settle the little things—like what he plans on doing with his life, and whether or not Jared will be in it.
Outside, John is idling at the curb. He’ll have to remember to slip his i.d. back into his wallet once they get to their spot. Jensen turns on the charm and lets him rest his hand on Jensen’s ass the whole walk to the car.
It’s a tiny, phallic, Italian sports car. Predictable and obvious. John is looking at him like he should be impressed, so he feigns it and tries to appear as turned on as possible. He waits for him to come around and open the door. Guys like him tended to get touchy when you did things without their permission once you were hired, specifically fucking with their pricey toys.
The drive to his place is quiet. The passing scenery enchanting and mesmerizing. He has a thing for lights at night. They’re gorgeous. Even in the skids, everything looks better in the dark. In an upscale neighborhood like this one though, he’s distracted enough to forget he should be acting sluttier.
“What should I call you?”
“God,” John answers simply.
They arrive at a gated, two-story, white Victorian. John inputs a code and steers them toward a mammoth-sized garage as the fence clatters shut behind them. More button smashing and the final door lowers itself, sealing them in.
Jensen licks his lips and reaches out a hand, massaging John’s cock through his dress pants. “So, God, will I be seeing stars tonight?”
“Oh, I think so.” From beside his seat, a heavy, police-style flashlight appears and Jensen can only widen his eyes in alarm before it connects brutally with his temple.
Jared closed alone tonight. Jensen and Sophia were off. Kristen, a new girl, worked the morning shift with him. Nothing to go home to, not much else to do but loiter and hope Jensen texted him again soon that he was finished for the night.
While he pointlessly checks his call list, someone clears their throat above him.
It’s Chad. With a box and a humble, forlorn expression. A pang of anger goes off in his chest.
“If you expect me to listen and feel bad about what happened between you and Sandy, you can forget it.” He’s pretty confident in his tone but Chad eyes him dubiously.
“You really are a bad liar.”
“Fine, whatever. I still meant what I said to you.” That one leaves no room for argument. Chad nods in understanding.
“I know. Don’t blame you.” He hovers wordlessly for a moment. “ I realized I didn’t get you anything for your—last few birthdays. So, I went all out on this. Bought it myself and everything. The guy told me it was good stuff.”
Jared’s curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls the box across the table. And freezes in absolute shock when he gets a glimpse of what’s inside. “You bought this. In person?”
Chad nods again sheepishly.
“This is like—six months worth of lube. And the stuff isn’t cheap.”
“It’s functional. I figured you’d want to make up for how long you didn’t get that you liked cock, you know?” It’s Chad’s version of an apology. And giving, like a good friend should. The idea of him going to a sex store and forcing himself to buy up this much lube is hands down the most considerate thing Jared has ever seen him do.
—He hopes to God he didn’t buy Sophia a dildo.
“When I thought about you going off on me, I knew I really fucked up. Seven years is a long ass time not to snap. Especially since I can think of more than one time you should have beat my ass.”
“A lot more than one,” Jared notes, albeit in a softer tone.
“Guess I kinda took some shit for granted. So, I don’t expect us to magically be cool again but for what’s it worth, I’m sorry. Happy birthday,” he gestures with his hands like that’s all he has left to give.
Jared is quiet. His natural impulse is to of course immediately offer his forgiveness but that seems to venture too far backward into pushover territory. “You know what would be awesome? If you did dishes and laundry for the next month.”
“Yeah. Total awesomesauce,” he grits out, accepting it nonetheless.
“And you could give me a ride home. Tom’s friend is fixing my brakes this weekend.”
“Want me to wipe your ass too?”
“What was that?”
“I said I’d be happy to give you a ride home,” he says louder and more robotic.
“That’s what I thought. Let me hit the lights.” He hustles behind the counter to flip the switches when the phone rings and he cringes.
“Let it go, you’ve been closed for like half an hour.”
Hanging back uncertainly, he agonizes. “What if it’s important?”
“It’s probably some stoned idiot asking if you deliver.”
“Exactly. You’d want me to pick up if it were you.” He snatches up the receiver before it cuts off and Chad rolls his eyes at how some things remained the same.
“Aaron’s Café, this is Jared speaking.”
“Jared, it’s Chris.”
Suddenly and violently, Jared’s heart seizes up. Only one thing could have precipitated the call.
“Where’s Jensen?” Visions of Jensen, beaten and bloody, lying in the street, swim through his mind. He grabs onto the counter to steady himself.
“I don’t know where he went. He told me but I—fuck!” Jared can hear him taking his guilt and worry out on an object nearby. “He told me the guy’s name and address but I—I can’t remember. He didn’t call when he was supposed to. When I called his phone back it went straight to voice mail. What if he—“ He can’t finish the thought, opting instead to wreck something else.
“Chris, you have to calm down. Think. Think about what he told you.” Carrying the phone with him, he dashes into the office and finds a phone book underneath the desk. Flips it open to the residential numbers.
“I have a phone book in front of me. We just need a partial and we can find him.” It’s confidence he’s not in full possession of but if Chris can’t remember—Jared has to think that they can do this. Has to believe or the possibilities will paralyze them both.
“Okay, the first name was definitely John.” Wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“What about the last name? Do you remember what it started with? How long it was?”
Chris blows air into the phone, wracking his brain. “Fuck, Jared. I don’t—“
“When he told you, think back to exactly what you were doing.” His heart is pounding clear through his ribcage but he has to stay in control. Intrinsic, bone deep urge to protect—what’s his, his mind offers—keeping him focused and sharp.
“Jen came up to the table and held up the guy’s license, right in my god damn face. If I don’t call you, pick me up there in two hours. This guy was touching me and I wasn’t listening. He said it again—“
Jared takes in a breath and holds it at the pause.
“Beecher? Beacon? I think that was it. Beacon Avenue,” he snaps his fingers. Beacon Avenue was less than fifteen minutes away from the campus. Sandy used to make him drive along it to ooh and aah over the houses.
Emboldened, he presses once more. “You gotta give me the last name.”
“It wasn’t common. Not one you hear all the time. What did I say—“
Chad starts toward him and Jared motions for him to be still. Chris is close, he can feel it. Grasping at the answer like smoke but something is coming down.
“Jaws! I said it was like Jaws. The star. Scheider! It reminded me of Roy Scheider!” He sounds adamant as Jared flips hurriedly through the pages. He stops at Sch- and scans through. There isn’t a Scheider but there is a Schneider. 422 Beacon Avenue. That son of a bitch is his.
“Got it! 422 Beacon Avenue. John Schneider. Call the cops. I’m going after him.” Slamming the phone down, he grabs Chad’s keys from the table. “It’s an emergency.”
“Of course. It’s by the Psych building.” Jared nods his thanks and starts off.
“Jared!” Chad yells, halting him. “Don’t do anything stupid, man.”
With a last glance, Jared barrels out of the doors and runs furiously to Chad’s car a few buildings away. Chad is right. The police are en route. Jared could just get in the way. Get himself hurt or killed by some psycho in the process.
And he could care less.
“You might be thinking that you’re going to die tonight.”
John makes another of the shallow cuts across Jensen’s thigh he’s been lining up into a row for the last hour. Fastens his mouth to it, intensifying the burn.
Jensen struggles against his restraints, deceptively delicate silk scarves tying him to each of the four bed posts, fists clenching ineffectually. Unable to vocalize beyond a muffled roar for the fifth one tied behind his head and gagging him quiet. Head throbbing dully from being knocked out in the car.
“You’re not going to die, Ross. If that is your real name. Which I doubt because—who would want to do what you do as themselves, hmm?”
“Fuck you,” his eyes blaze as he forces the words out as best he can.
“Precisely. I’m going to use you however I see fit and then throw you back into the urban jungle with all the other animals because—I can. People like myself count for something in this world. If I were to disappear, they’d notice. Miss my jokes at the water cooler, waving to me as I drive my daughters to school. I matter. And you—will shut the fuck up or I’ll cut where everyone can see.”
He rains a heavy blow on Jensen’s cheek, making his eyes glaze momentarily. John shucks off his pants and shorts, also silk, and starts stroking himself, eying Jensen’s bound, naked form hungrily. “But you are a sweet, piece of ass,” he coos in admiration. “No doubt you make quite a lot of money from weak and stupid men.”
If his mouth were free, Jensen would point out the irony in that, whether it earned him another pop or not.
“I was going to have you suck me to start off, wrapped up all nice and pretty. Just waiting with bated breath to swallow my cock.” He trails a finger lightly down the cuts on Jensen’s leg. “After that immense display of disrespect though, I think I’ll remind you of why you’re here.”
He lands on Jensen’s chest, knocking the air out of him, and walks forward on his knees until his cock is pointed downward towards Jensen’s face. He hates when they do this. He fucking hates it. Fuck getting in his dig, if his mouth were free, now would be about the time he bit this fucker’s dick off.
He snorts in rage, yanking on his ties because he has to put up a resistance, wants to be able to think back and say he didn’t just lie there and take it.
John shushes him. “It’s okay,” he soothes, voice a counterpoint to the rapid motion of his hand jacking himself. “You’re gonna get it. I’m gonna give it all to you so you can wear it for the rest of the night like a good boy.”
His head thrashes from side to side and John backhands him, wedding ring digging in and smarting like a bitch. It doesn’t stop Jensen from flailing so he leans forward and forces a forearm against his throat, still working himself to orgasm with his free hand.
His posture is putting a lot of weight on Jensen’s neck and almost immediately he’s struggling for air. “Stupid, fucking whore, you just don’t know what’s good for you, do you?” he pants, bead of precome flying onto Jensen’s cheek.
John laughs boisterously when Jensen’s eyes start to droop and his movements slow. The panic is receding as his oxygen starved brain begins to shut itself off, no air to fuel it on much further. The wet, fap, fap sound of John jerking off morphs fuzzily into a prolonged moan of triumph and he feels soft, warm wetness spilling onto his face.
As his eyes close completely, the arm is withdrawn from his throat and air comes rushing painfully back in. Gulping it in is a struggle, skin already tender. It’ll be black and blue before morning.
John is dragging his half-hard cock through the mess. Over Jensen’s nose, across his cheeks, slapping them with it and chuckling at it. The air is cooling it into disgusting, congealed blobs on his face that’ll soon turn tacky and hard and serve as reminder how helpless he really is.
“Bet you charge extra for that normally. Make yourself comfortable, it’s going to be a long night. I’ll be back in a little while.” Turning off the lights and blanketing the room in darkness, he starts to hum as he shuts the door and heads downstairs.
Jensen won’t give him the satisfaction of crying. Bastard would be able to tell from the disruption of the come trails on his face anyway.
Breaking a litany of speeding laws, Jared skids to a stop at Schneider’s address nine minutes after he hopped into Chad’s souped up Audi. There are lights on inside but he doesn’t know whether to interpret that as a good or a bad sign. Like most of the houses here, this one is gated, with no visible footholds and too high a clearance to take a running leap and catch the top.
The house next door has a rock garden with specimens of decent size. He contemplates using one to smash the electronic keypad but then rationality butts in and informs him that there is no reason for that to do anything but shoot off a bunch of sparks, much less open the gate.
Eyes flitting around for anything that can get him in, they swoop past Chad’s car and then snap back a moment later. With his height, he could get over the fence if he had a boost. An overpriced, metallic boost.
Not hesitating a second further, he goes back inside, leaving the door open as he backs out and pulls in so the car is parallel with the gate. He climbs onto the hood and steps carefully up the windshield until he stands atop the roof.
A short leap has him dangling from the gate, both hands firmly grasping the top. Grunting at the effort, he hoists himself up and over the spiky points, perching precariously before he drops ungracefully to the ground, twisting his ankle. It’s not enough to slow him much, and he jogs up a stone path to the front door, pounding it fiercely with the heels of his hands.
“Schneider!” he roars amidst the blows. “Open the fucking door!”
Bracing himself on a pillar, he kicks at it with his uninjured leg. When that starts to go numb, he switches to the other and notices absently in his assault that lights are starting to come on at the neighbors’ houses. Good. He wants them to see the cops drag Schneider off in shame. But not before he gets his crack at him.
The door rattles under another blow and finally swings open. Barefoot and in a robe, Schneider stands in front of him, glaring daggers. They’re matched for height but Jared has youth on his side. Youth and wrath the likes of which could blow this eyesore of a McMansion over like a cyclone.
“How the hell did you get in h—“ Jared shoves him into the wall by the collar of his robe and his tough façade crumples into typical spinelessness.
“Where is he?” Jared demands in a low voice. When he’s met with silence he happily slams Schneider’s head into the wall. Panicked, he glances toward the stairs and that’s all Jared needs. He can’t climb them fast enough. Pushes open the door to an empty bedroom and a bathroom before he steps into a room that’s occupied.
A form spread-eagle on the bed, lit in harsh shadows from the partial light filtering in from behind Jared and into the darkened room. Dread settles on his stomach as he flips the switch, clenching his eyes shut because he can’t look just yet. To see if he’s—
Muffled shouting forces them back open. Jensen is fighting the scarves tying him to the bed, trying to talk to him. Exhaling audibly, he rushes over, shaky and fragile. “Jensen, I thought you were—“
Realizing, he reaches over and hurriedly unties the gag and then one of his wrists. Jensen’s neck is beginning to bruise deeply. His face saturated with an unmistakable substance and like that Jared is seeing red again. Schneider catches up with him then, gazing fearfully at him.
“Look, I don’t know who told you what but I paid for him.”
Apparently that was supposed to make it better.
Jared tackles him to the ground as the last syllable leaves his tongue. Pins him and takes a swing, relishing the impact as his knuckles connect with bone. “He’s not for sale,” Jared spits, belting him in the mouth this time. Pulling up Schneider’s limp body. “You think because you live in this stupid house and work in a big office you can treat people however you want?”
Jared aims a knee to his groin, which promptly drops Schneider back to the floor, wheezing in pain. Making a feeble effort to crawl away. “Where do you think you’re going? Big man, right?” Jared steps on his fingers, holding his full weight on the appendages. Schneider howls in agony and it only makes him press harder.
“Jared. Stop. He’s not worth it,” Jensen rasps from the bed, pulling at the scarves with the hand Jared freed.
He does briefly, but with every impulse in his body screeching at him to continue, beat him until he stops moving. Casting a disgusted eye toward the floor, he goes to Jensen and gently works at the restraints until they loosen and fall away. Crossing to the bathroom, he returns with a wet washcloth but Jensen takes it away from him, scrubbing viciously at his face.
Jared finds his clothes strewn across the room and gathers them up. When Jensen moves to take them, Jared jerks him into a crushing embrace. “How’s your head? Don’t you ever do that to me again. You should’ve called.”
“Can’t a guy get held against his will without you going all mother hen? Besides, I did. I just thought you were busy or something when you didn’t say anything back,” he plays it off but Jared can read the hurt in the explanation.
“I did text you back. Jensen—” he holds him at arms length so he can see into his eyes. “I would never let you go off without saying I knew where you were.” He leans in to touch their foreheads and Jensen resists.
“Don’t. I’m fucking gross right n—“ Jared is kissing him quiet with everything he has to offer, framing his face with his hands and rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks. Outside, the sirens are approaching at long last.
“I should get dressed,” Jensen says, breathless. “The boys in blue don’t need a free show.”
He stands and slips into his clothes, Jared staring at him adoringly the whole time. “I know, I’m pretty.”
“Pretty awesome. And now you’re going to the hospital.”
Sweeping him off his feet, Jared carries him, squirming, toward the door, honeymoon style. “Fuck off, I am not Whitney Houston.”
“Of course not, you’re Debra Winger,” Jared responds like it’s obvious.
“Then where’s my Navy hat, you asshole?” Jensen sighs into his mouth as they leave Schneider curled up in a ball by the closet.
“Gonna be a long drive without you,” Chris notes indifferently, leaning against his loaded truck in a Denny’s parking lot with a toothpick protruding from the side of his mouth. An inauspicious parting of ways and Jensen is guilty as fuck about how ungrateful and disloyal it makes him seem. Truth be told though, he thinks both of them saw it coming.
“It’s like three hours.”
“And you’re like, still a punk,” he mocks, reaching out a hand to mess with Jensen’s painstakingly gelled hair. It ends up hitting him in his bandaged forehead, making him wince.
“I’ll be up to see you, man. Sit in on a few shows.” He means it. But it won’t be the same and they both know that too. Jared pulls up a few spots down and waves shyly, giving them their space.
“About last night—he had your back and I didn’t. I fucked with your phone like a jealous bitch and it could’ve gone real bad. Cost me your company and that’s fine, I accept that, but—I still don’t trust him, Jen.”
Jensen gives Jared a sidelong glance, standing by his car with his arms crossed awkwardly. “It’s not about last night. And you don’t have to trust him. Trust me. This is—where I need to be for a while.”
Chris nods reluctantly.
“Taking your advice. Lightning in a bottle?” he cajoles.
Staring off into the distance, Chris shrugs. “Had a lot of plans for us. Things were gonna get better.”
“We’ll still do ‘em. We’re not gonna be oceans apart or some lame shit.” The attempt at levity falls flat at Chris’ humoring expression.
“No. We won’t.” Which statement it’s a response to, Jensen doesn’t know. There’s a familiar creak as Chris opens the driver’s door. For the first time, Jensen won’t be riding shotgun as the old truck heads out of town and on to the next. Chris slams it and pulls the brim of his hat low to shield the sun. The engine rumbles to life.
“I’ll call you when I settle in. See ya.”
“See ya,” he answers quietly, stepping back as Chris eases out into traffic without a look back. Takes a corner and is gone from view like he was never really there, just passing through. Jensen shoves his hands in his pockets and despite it all a part of him can’t help but feel he should have gone. Stayed with his buddy, what he knows. Played it safe. As safe as hustling and rock and roll can be.
Jared startles him when he touches his back. “You’re still here. You know, you could always come back on weekends if you wanted to go? Or weekdays, since you’re playing at a bar.”
In his eyes, Jensen sees the same glint of uncertainty and funnily, it makes him feel better. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“I tried that before. It doesn’t take.”
“That’s right. You still owe me money. With interest.”
“Fine,” Jared draws him near. “I’ll pay you back with boyfriend favors. Let you have the remote, go out to get food. Learn how to give a blowjob?” he offers meekly.
“Jesus. What did I tell you about the cute stuff?” He adjusts himself as subtly as he can pressed up against a 6’4 dude in a Denny’s parking lot. “I’ve never had one of those, what do you call it—boyfriend?”
“Well, only one way to figure it out. Shut up and kiss me.”
“Lukewarm? Now you’re drinking it black and lukewarm?”
Jared sips his coffee placidly, disguising the bitter face he wants to make. Scoffing in disgust, Jensen sits down next to him at an empty table, café closed for the day. “At least you didn’t pay for it this time.”
“I’m not crazy. It was going to get thrown out anyway.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“It is now.” He takes a big gulp and grins in satisfaction despite the taste.
“Ugh. Come on, the game’s starting in an hour and we’re probably going to have to wait to get a table as it is.”
Emptying the rest of his cup in the sink, he grabs his jacket and starts after Jensen, passing Sophia at her usual seat several tables away. Waiting for whichever friend has been giving her rides since she broke up with Chad.
Jared hesitates and then strides over to her carefully. Almost like he would a wild cat that’s liable to scratch his eyes out. “Jensen is dragging me to a sports bar to watch the Rangers game and gorge on bottomless hot wings. If you’re not doing anything—“
“A homo pity date? No thanks.”
“Fine, Queen of Bitchington. Stay home and be pissy for a change,” Jensen interjects, grabbing Jared’s arm. “Let’s go.”
With a doleful glance, he lets himself be led off. Holds the door open for Jensen and strolls into the fresh air. The night is cool and breezy, sudden gust blowing his bangs askew. Jensen runs his hand through them, putting them more or less back into place behind Jared’s ear and stealing a dirty kiss when they get to the car.
“Wait!” They turn to see Sophia trotting over. “I like hot wings,” she says in a chastened, little kid voice.
“How convenient. So do we,” Jensen opens the back door for her, sighing exaggeratedly, and she settles in with a small smile. Everyone seats and belts up and soon the sights of the campus begin to glide by them in the moonlight.
“So,” Sophia begins conversationally, “What’s anal like?”