Entry tags:

chicagoland, fic, going to hell, project mayhem, rps

Big Bang Fic: Last Stop: Chicagoland | Part 1 | Jensen/Jared | Adult

Last Stop: Chicagoland, Part 1
by phaballa



Jared has only cheated twice in the entire time they've been together and never since they had the girls. Besides which, those times don't even count because they were right at the beginning, before they had officially decided to be together, forsaking all others and all of that. And now it's been six years and Jared is almost thirty, and he's only had sex with Jensen since then. It's been only Jensen for so long now, Jared's sort of forgotten what other people are like. Jensen's the only guy Jared has ever been with.

He's tempted sometimes, but he's not a dick and he loves his kids. He loves Jensen, too, but sometimes that gets harder and harder to remember, especially when they only see each other on weekends if Jared is working, and then it's mostly family time. Lizzie isn't even four yet and Jared freaks out sometimes. He's sure that one day he'll come back from shooting and she won't remember him. She'll hide behind Jensen's legs and shake her head and stick her fingers in her mouth like she does when strangers come by, and there's nothing he can really do about it. Jensen just laughs when Jared tells him.

"She's not a cat, dude, she's your kid. She's not gonna forget you if you're gone for a few weeks."

"Does she ask about me?" They're getting ready for bed, brushing teeth, flossing, exfoliating. Jared has to exfoliate every night now, and sometimes use a moisturizing mask. It makes him feel like a total fag, but then again, he kind of is, so. Sometimes Jensen does it with him, and after, the skin just under his jaw is sinfully smooth. Jared hasn't been with another person in six years, and usually Jared doesn't care. He has Jensen. He loves Jensen. It's hard to think about other people when Jensen's in the same room.

"All the fucking time, man. It's so annoying. 'When's daddy coming home? Why does daddy have to work so much? When's daddy gonna buy us that new electric BMW we really want?'"

Jared laughs. "Lizzie wants a BMW, huh?"

Jensen pretends to ponder, sticks his toothbrush inside the medicine cabinet. "Now that I think about it, maybe Charlie was the one who mentioned the new car. Something about fuel efficiency and protecting the environment for future generations."

Jared frowns and follows Jensen into the bedroom, stripping as he goes. "I thought we were calling her Lottie?" Charlotte's been demanding a nickname lately, because they never call Lizzie 'Elizabeth' and she has to have one, too, has to have everything Lizzie has. Charlotte is almost five and it's sort of annoying, because they can't even spell out words they don't want her to understand anymore. She's too smart for them, she can even spell 'fuck' and she'll say it over and over again in her little girl sing-song voice if they try to spell it out. She knows those are the words she's not supposed to understand.

"Dude, fuck that," Jensen says. "I told you, Lottie is the chick from Phantom of the Opera, which is just an excuse for—"

"Anti-feminist patriarchal propaganda, blah blah, yeah, I know. You need to stop reading the Naomi Klein, dude."

"Do you want your kid to grow up with daddy issues?"

"That's sort of a given, man. 'Lottie has two daddies.'" He pauses, scratches his stomach and watches Jensen slide into bed. Jensen still looks good to him after six years. Jensen still looks good period, maybe better than he did when they met. He's slimmer now, less bulky muscle because he spends so much time with the girls instead of working out and he gave up his trainer when he stopped going for auditions. He does yoga now, or something. It's a change. "She's your kid, too, you know."

Jensen sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "I know, okay. I know. Let's just. I'm tired. Can we just sleep now?"

Jared drops it. He doesn't say what he wants to say, about how DNA has nothing to do with fatherhood, about how he loves Lizzie just as much, about how Lottie—Charlie, Charlotte, whatever—doesn't even know whose sperm she came from. Hopefully, she doesn't even know what sperm is yet, and if she does, he and Jensen need to have a serious discussion about television and what their kids are allowed to watch. But not tonight, not now. Every sentence feels like a fight these days, like they can never just be happy or whatever. Content. Jensen says it's because he's tired. He's tired and Jared's never home, which is true.

The solutions are things Jared won't think about. Jared's always working, he's always on location and the weekends he flies home inevitably end up making him feel like he's just a visitor here. And it's not Jensen's fault, it's just the way it is. They agreed that this was how it would work because Jensen was only doing theatre at the time and it just turned out this way. It just happened, they agreed this is how it would be until the girls were older, and Jensen used to be okay with it, happy even. Jensen used to feel the same way, but lately. Lately everything is a fight, and everything is hard. Jensen is moody and bored and he doesn't say anything, but Jared knows the look in his eyes. That discontent.

But yeah, the solutions are things Jared doesn't let himself think about. Jared doesn't want to give up. He loves his kids and he loves Jensen, and he doesn't want to give up, but sometimes, he's tired, too.

*

Jensen's week has a routine. He has a regular routine now, day by day, and he finds himself strangely resentful when it gets interrupted for doctor's appointments or yoga getting canceled or really bad weather. He thought when they first moved to Chicago, when they first bought the condo on the quiet little tree-lined street off Belmont that's permit-parking only, that he would be incredibly bored. The condo has an association or whatever, but it's more like a co-op; there are twelve other families living in four separate buildings and they share a small, walled-in courtyard in the center with a swing set and a sandbox and a grill and a couple of picnic tables.

The buildings used to be mansions and they've carved them up into condos, all of them owned by a Rockefeller who went rogue in the 60s, smoked a lot of pot, had a wife and girlfriend and a boyfriend and who knows what else, probably a horse and llama too, and created this co-op just on the edge of Boystown. And it's a nice place even if no one who lives there is a hippie anymore and they don't smoke nearly enough pot, but they all have kids and more than half of the owners are gay, so it's pretty cool. It's nice. Jensen doesn't worry about his kids here, about what the other kids will say to them, because some of them have two daddies, too. Some of them have two mommies, which Jensen personally thinks would be a fucking curse for a kid. One mother is bad enough.

So Jensen has a routine. Jensen and the girls have a routine, and he thought he'd be bored here because, well, the people are pretty boring, all do-gooder activist types, and Jensen isn't. He cares about shit, about the environment and animal torture and things, and he wants the girls to care about that stuff too, but he had his turn trying to change things and anyway, it's Chicago. Daley has his stranglehold on the city so it's pretty useless trying to get involved or whatever. He thought he'd be bored but he's not, not really, and having a routine is nice. Doing the same thing at the same time on the same day of every week is hypnotic in a way, relaxing, and Jensen is happy. He likes his life. He does.

Every other morning he works at the small co-op daycare his neighbors set up. Everyone takes shifts and it works really well, because Jensen can go to yoga the mornings he doesn't work, or take an afternoon off from the girls to drive out to the Whole Foods without Lizzie whining that she doesn't like real macaroni and cheese, she wants Kraft, even though she's never had Kraft in her life because Jensen is convinced that whatever chemicals they put in that powder has to kill brain cells. He goes to the grocery on Wednesdays because that's when they put out the free samples. Jensen's tried every flavor of Odwalla in existence. He only really likes the strawberry, though.

So it's yoga three mornings a week, weekends too if Jared is home, the daycare two mornings, and time with the girls for the rest. He tries to take them someplace once a week—a museum or down to the lake or Navy Pier if it's not too cold. The girls are allowed to take out three books each from the library every week, and they always get them finished before the next visit. There's a library branch two blocks away so normally it's a short walk down Belmont past the painted glass windows of the sex stores and the boys with Mohawks making out on street corners, which never fails to make Charlie giggle and squeeze Jensen's hand and say, "Daddy, daddy!" Sometimes the downtown library has famous authors in for storytime and Jensen tries to hit all of those. He wants his kids to be educated. They're smart, they deserve the best of everything.

They get home around 3:30 from whatever they've done that day and Jensen makes dinner. He only shops at Whole Foods or Trader Joe's and he only buys organic food. They only eat meat when Jared's home, because once Jensen read that the average human being has up to a pound of undigested red meat in their intestines at all times. Jensen made the mistake of googling it and ended up on PETA's website watching videos of chickens getting their beaks cut off, so yeah. He doesn't want to participate in that and he thinks he wants his kids to care about animals. Plus, the whole idea of having a pound of undigested hamburger just sitting in his intestines is really disgusting. Jared thinks he's insane.

"We're from Texas, Jensen," he says as he flips the steaks over on the grill, prodding at them a little with his long grilling fork. "If you don't eat meat, you ain't right."

It's a Saturday and it's hot outside, July and things are finally starting to heat up here. If there's one thing Jensen will never get used to about Chicago, it's the weather. Texas was always hot or at least mild. They had ice once or twice a year, and even snow once, but it never stayed cold for long and when it did get cold, everything shut down. Here, it's winter nine months of the year and nothing ever closes or cancels, except for his yoga instructor who insists that she can't harness her chi during a blizzard. Jensen just thinks she's too damned lazy to haul herself through a foot of snow. Then again, so are most people.

But it's summer now and it's finally starting to feel like it, too, and Jared is home for a while. His movie just wrapped and he doesn't have anything big now, just some little voice work jobs he can do here in the city. It's nice to have him home and the girls love it. They sit as close to Jared as possible and laugh when he gives the steaks names and voices and makes little screaming noises when he slaps them on the grill, "Oh no, I'm dyyyying!" Jensen should maybe be worried that his kids find that so amusing, but they're sort of bloodthirsty little freaks and that's okay with him. They'll play Lacrosse, maybe, or Charlie will grow to six foot two and join the WNBA.

It's nice to have Jared here for a while instead of just weekends, it's always nice, but it's weird too. It breaks up Jensen's routine and he feels itchy, like there's something he should be doing. He doesn't say anything though. It would seem ungrateful, and he's not, really, so he doesn't say anything. Jared takes the girls some afternoons and Jensen has all this free time. He reads a lot, reads Dan Savage's latest book, tries to feel at least slightly political. He goes to yoga every day and tries to live only in the now.

And then James Cameron calls, totally fucks over Jensen's chi, and ruins everything with three little words: I want you.

*

"I want you," James Cameron says. Jensen just stares at his phone for a second, because first off, gross, and secondly, James Cameron is calling him. They've met. Jensen was on his show a million years ago and all that, but like. He didn't think Cameron even liked him. This is, well. Weird. Surreal.

"I didn't know you swung that way," Jensen says. And fuck it, he just made a gay joke to James Cameron. James fucking Cameron. Jensen's an idiot. And possibly retarded. No, definitely retarded. His mother maybe dropped him on the head as a child. Repeatedly.

"Cute, Ackles. Listen, I'm sending you a script. Van Sant is directing, and I want you for this part. You'll know which one."

"Man, you know I'd die for you, but I'm not. I have a kid now, Cameron. I'm not working anymore."

"You're not saying no, either, so that's something you'll have to work out. I'm calling back in a week, and I expect you to be ready to sign contracts."

Jensen doesn't have time to say anything else before Cameron hangs up, but he gets the script the next day, delivered by courier while he's trying to get Lizzie to eat her oatmeal without cinnamon today, because they're out and they don't have any cereal either since Jared ate it all. Jensen thinks he should send Jared to the grocery this week since he's the one who eats everything, but Jared will go to the Dominick's and buy frozen pizzas and cokes and white bread and a bunch of other crap Jensen doesn't let them eat. If Jensen let him, Jared would buy meat in a can and try to eat it straight. Jensen loves Jared, he does, but that doesn't change the fact that Jared's pretty disgusting.

Jensen has to sign for the script and Charlie is all over him, hanging onto his pant leg as he shuts the door and flips through the pages, letting herself get dragged across the wood flooring as Jensen stops in the office and shoves the script in his desk drawer. He grabs Charlie around the waist to hold her like a football and tickles her with his free hand until she's shrieking, saying, "Daddy daddy, I have to PEEEE!" and she probably will, so he stops quickly and sets her down, grinning when she runs straight for the kitchen. He can hear her telling Jared, "Daddy, come ON, I have to go now and you have to help!"

The kitchen is a mess. In the time it took to answer the door, Lizzy has managed to get oatmeal on every available surface imaginable, but she's eating it now, too, so at least there's that.

"Daddy," she says sadly, sighing a little and staring miserably at her spoon. "'S no good without the cimmonan."

"I know, baby," Jensen says, rests his hand on her head for a minute, strokes the silky blonde curls away from her forehead. "But if you eat it now, we'll get ice cream when we go out later."

"From the good place with the singing?"

"Yeah, baby. The one with the singing." Lizzie really means the Coldstone with the hot twinky gay boys and the tattooed punk girls who sing along to Ani Difranco or Placebo or, inexplicably, old Britney Spears songs. They always make a big fuss over the girls and Lizzie loves attention, loves being the center of everything and sometimes she can be a real brat about it, but mostly it's still cute. She's going to be the actress, Jensen thinks.

Jared and Charlie come back and Charlie's holding her hands out in front of her, saying, "All clean, Daddy says I did awesome!" which makes Lizzie frown and fling a spoonful of oatmeal at her. It's a long morning and they're going to have to clean the girls up and get them changed again before they head downtown, but it's good, too. Jared grabs him on his way out of the kitchen to help the girls, flips him around and presses him up against the fridge. When they kiss it's always like the first time, always hot and fierce and Jared likes to use his teeth, likes to scrape them along Jensen's bottom lip, likes to lick across the marks as he pushes his tongue inside Jensen's mouth.

And then Charlie's giggling and tugging at Jensen's pant leg again, saying, "No kissing, Daddy, kissing's gross! Ew!" and he has to go help her. Jared just smiles and swipes a thumb across Jensen's bottom lip, mouths "later" to him. The girls are staying with Mackenzie tonight; Jared and Jensen are supposed to go out to dinner and then some music thing. And fuck. Not that they don't when the girls are in the condo, but they have to be quiet and careful and yeah.

Jensen follows Charlie down the hall to the girls' bedroom, thinking about dinners and the way Jared looks when he's spread out on the bed, all hot and desperate and sometimes he begs. And then it's summer dresses and getting oatmeal out of Charlie's hair, and Jensen doesn't think about the script, or James Cameron, or his week deadline. He has a lot here. He has everything. He doesn't need more.

*

The American Girl Place is possibly the most horrific store ever constructed. Just walking inside makes Jared want to throw up, but Lizzie loves it and she brought her doll, who's Native American and from New Mexico and needs to have her braids redone before Jackie Taylor's birthday party next week. Jensen got the good deal, Jensen gets to take Charlie to Millennium Park to see the Bean and run around in the fountain, but Lizzie is afraid of the giant faces and starts crying whenever she sees them, so it's the American Girl Place instead. Not that Jared really blames her. Those faces are fucking freaky.

The store looks like it's puking up little girls. Little girls in little dresses with really scary moms in really high heels and lots and lots of make up. Jared grabs Lizzie's hand, and it's not because he doesn't want to lose her. He's pretty sure she knows where she's going. Jared doesn't want to get lost in this sea of scariness. At least no one here will recognize him. They're mostly tourists or suburbanites, and besides which, Jared is pretty sure they don't fit his demographic. It's not like people really know who he is anymore, anyway. He hasn't done a mainstream movie in years, but sometimes he gets that thing, that, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" deal, and he just smiles and shrugs. Usually they don't push it, unless they're like, an old Supernatural fan, or worse—Gilmore Girls. Then it's all, "Oh my god, I miss that show!" or "Rory was such a bitch for breaking up with Dean, he was my favorite!" and "Do you still talk to Jensen?"

That's always the easiest question to answer. "We're still best friends," he says, and he's not lying. Jensen's still his best friend. It's the most important thing he'll ever be.

"Daddy," Lizzie says, tugs hard on his hand. "Daddy, come ON, stop lolly… lollything. Josefina needs her BRAID, Daddy!"

Jared grins and lets himself be led, up the escalator to the second floor, where they push their way through the aisles of dolls and doll clothing and little girl clothing that matches the doll clothing until they find the line for the salon, which turns out to be two teenage girls wearing red smocks and manning two small salon chairs. Well, one small, girl-sized salon chair, and one tiny, doll-sized salon chair that really freaks Jared out. This is. It's weird. It's fucked up that there's this whole store dedicated to these dolls, and they're not even fancy dolls, as far as Jared can tell. They're made of plastic and the whole thing is seriously creepy. Jared maybe has a slight doll fear, but dolls are scary, they really are. He's glad Charlie isn't into them and Jensen is against Barbies and Bratz, because twice as many dolls in the house and he probably wouldn't be able to sleep.

They get in line and Jared watches over the tops of parents' heads as doll-girl pairs get their hair styled. Mostly it's French braids, which Jared can do himself. He doesn't understand paying thirty-five dollars to have someone braid his kid's hair when he can do it himself, but Lizzie is really into it and she's pretty insistent that he'd mess Josefina up. Jared picks Lizzie up and holds her high so she can see the kids in front of her getting styled, but she gets bored really quickly, so he lets her wander over to the clothing display cases while he stands in line with the doll, feeling ridiculous.

The mothers smile at him and Jared smiles back, shrugging. It doesn't make him feel less silly, but it's for his kid, so he's willing to do it. It's important to her, and he gets to be here and spend this time with her and maybe buy her some of the ridiculously adorable little dresses and shit they have, so that'll be fine.

It's finally their turn and Lizzie jumps in place, fidgeting as she watches with narrowed eyes while the teenaged stylist straps Josephina in. "Be careful," Lizzie says seriously, then, "and I know she only has one but we want two braids, okay?"

"Is that okay with your daddy?" the stylist asks, snapping her gum and smiling at him. She's flirting, he thinks, which is pretty funny. He's way too old for this, but it's funny. She's the kind of girl he would've jumped at back in the day—skinny, nice tits, all dark hair and big eyes. Jensen is better. He gets Jensen tonight. Mostly, Jared thinks as he lifts Lizzie into the chair, mostly he doesn't miss women. Mostly he doesn't even think about them like that because he has Jensen, and Jensen's better. So mostly he doesn't miss women, but sometimes he thinks about what his life would be like if he and Jensen never got together.

He doesn't think about it too long, though. He can't really imagine his life without the girls and he never really had much of a choice about Jensen. It was just sort of inevitable, so. He doesn't want to think about the what-ifs, not really.

"I really liked your show," the girl doing Lizzie's braids says after a minute, giving him a quick, furtive glance like she thinks he's trying to be undercover or something. He's not, he doesn't do that shit. He really doesn't get recognized very often.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Jared says. Lizzie watches the girl with her doll, eyes practically slits. Jared can't help but think they're raising a very suspicious kid.

"Josefina is very sensitive," she announces loudly, and the hair girls laugh. "You have to be careful, okay?"

"Is she yours?" the girl asks Jared.

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, this is Lizzie. She's mine." But not really, Jared thinks. He tries not to think about it too often, actually, because it's hard and it sucks that he can't. That he's not legally anything to her, not really. His cousin carried her. Anne was Lizzie's surrogate, but she's Jensen's, legally. And, Jared thinks, DNA, too. She's Jensen's, and Charlie is his, at least on paper, but that's never really mattered before. Jared doesn't like to think of it that way, they're both his. Theirs. They're both theirs, his and Jensen's. He loves them the same, so. It doesn't matter what it says on paper.

"She's adorable," the girl says, finishing up Lizzie's braids while the other stylist hands Lizzie her doll back.

"Thank you," Lizzie says. "I look like Daddy, and he's the prettiest ever."

Jared coughs and pays the ridiculous hair styling fee and distracts Lizzie with the clothes in the next room over. The girl is looking at him funny, staring after them and Jared hates that. He's not paranoid, he doesn't care what shop girls and doll hair stylists think about his kid or whatever, he doesn't care if they wonder, but he doesn't want them to say something in front of Lizzie. Lizzie's almost four but she hasn't started asking questions yet. She looks like Jensen, that's what she means. She has his eyes and his hair and she doesn't look anything like Jared, she's just repeating what other people say. He just doesn't want any questions.

Mostly, he doesn't really know what he would tell her. They haven't talked about it, really, him and Jensen. They probably should, they need to decide what to say. She feels like his kid though, he thinks of Lizzie as his. He loves her as much as he loves Charlie and she's his, she's just as much his. He doesn't want her thinking something else.

It's a problem, maybe, or it will be. Another thing that they don't talk about because they both know they're going to disagree, and it's hard. Everything is always so hard, lately, when it's supposed to be easy. Love was supposed to make things easy.

*

They end up going to Schuba's to see this guy play. It's date night and the girls are with Mackenzie, so they're supposed to go out even though Jensen thinks Jared would rather stay in. But Jensen knows what'll happen if they do that. He knows they'll fuck and take a nap and fuck again, shower, and fall asleep until Mac brings the girls back tomorrow morning. They won't talk and they won't, you know, connect. Sex is good, it's always good with Jared, but they hardly ever have the kind of sex that feels like connection. They're just not like that, Jensen thinks. They're not the kind of people who fuck to feel closer to each other or whatever. It's always hot, that's never been their problem, but they need actual intellectual interaction to really connect, Jensen thinks.

It didn't used to be so hard. But they didn't used to have kids, either, and they didn't used to have to hide. Not like this, really, and Jensen's mind turns to the script shoved in his desk. He hasn't read it yet. He's maybe not going to. It'll just make him want things. It'll make him feel dissatisfied and he's already itchy. He doesn't need that, too.

So they end up at Schuba's to see this guy play, this friend of a friend of Chris's. Chris told Jensen about him forever ago, but Jensen can't really remember the conversation. All his conversations with Chris are like that, they all kind of bleed together into one long string because things with Chris never really change. Chris is still the only other person Jensen's ever been in love with, besides Jared. He never slept with Chris though. Chris doesn't love him like that and now there's Jared, so.

The guy is good. Jensen's age, maybe a year or two older, and it's just him and his guitar. He's pretty, a really pretty guy, and Jensen thinks maybe he used to be famous. He's not now, though, just some guy with a nice voice playing nice songs. The cover is only fifteen and the place is packed when they get there. It's Schuba's so it's just standing room, but Jared brings him a drink, stands behind him with one arm around Jensen's waist, chin resting on Jensen's shoulder. It's good. It's perfect, almost, and the guy sings with his eyes closed. Jensen closes his eyes, too, lets Jared sway them back and forth a little to the rhythm of the guy's voice. Jensen's always liked singer/songwriters best.

The singer takes a break between sets and Jared goads Jensen into taking a shot. Tequila, because it's tradition, and Jensen shivers a little when Jared licks the salt off his wrist. He wants to take Jared home now, wants to bend him over the dining room table and push into him, wants it hard and fast and deep. Jared can do him later, slow, however he wants, but that. Jensen wants that. Yes.

Instead, Jared gets him another drink and they stay for the second set. The guy plays a few songs that Jensen maybe recognizes if he squints, but they're arranged differently, better, Jensen thinks, sparse and kind of haunting, and he can't quite come up with the way they should sound with this new way stuck in his head. Jared sings along in his ear, smiling a little and he won't say who sang the songs back when. Jared's a tease, a really big tease sometimes, not just about the music, but in the way his fingers spread out against Jensen's hip and he presses up against him from behind so Jensen can feel him, hard and ready and yeah.

Jared isn't a very good singer and he really just mangles everything he tries to sing. He shouldn't even try. This is what Jensen tells him when they finally gets home, when he's backing Jared toward the table, the long, mahogany dining room table that his mother gave them when they moved here for when they have dinner parties, even though Jared told her they'd never use it because, yeah, they're gay, but they're not wine-and-cheese, dinner party gay.

His fingers fumble with Jared's belt, Jensen's a little drunk, maybe. His tolerance level is shit now because he never drinks anymore, so it's three, or maybe it was five, but it's a stupid number of drinks and yeah, he's a little gone. A little fuzzy, and everything is good, perfect. Even better when Jared yanks his own pants down to his thighs and hops up on the slick, shiny surface of the table.

"You’re a kinky guy, you know that?" Jared says, gasps a little and lies back, fingers going white on the table's edge when Jensen goes straight for his dick, mouths the tip and licks at it, soft little licks that make Jared's thighs tense and try to spread but they can't, he's trapped by his jeans and that's what he gets, Jensen thinks, for being so hasty.

"And you can't sing," Jensen says, dipping his head down, down, taking Jared's dick in his mouth as far as he can, which is pretty far because Jensen's had a lot of practice with Jared's dick. Jared still has the nicest dick Jensen has ever seen. It's almost pretty, Jensen thinks, and he never gets tired of touching it. Sucking it, fucking himself on it. Never.

Jensen hums a little, low in his throat like he's trying to prove his point about the singing, but Jared's pretty much beyond caring. Instead, Jared cups a hand around the back of Jensen's neck and squeezes just a little, just enough to make Jensen slightly crazy. It never fails, really, the neck thing. The light squeeze, a sort of gentle shove, the way Jared's hips push up just so and his dick slips in, in, just a little bit further than it's really comfortable for Jensen to take. And fuck, Jensen loves it, loves Jared like this, knows that if he looks up, Jared will be lifting his head up, staring down at him with dark eyes, watching his own dick sliding slick and slow, his teeth pressing hard into his bottom lip.

Jensen doesn't look up though. He closes his eyes and swallows around Jared's dick, slides one hand up Jared's chest, his neck, pushes two fingers into Jared's mouth. It's hot, too hot almost, Jared sucking on his fingers, Jared's dick twitching a little against his tongue until Jensen pulls his fingers away, touches them against his own lips, stretched around Jared's dick so perfectly. Down, down, pressing against Jared's hole. It's tight and Jared's jeans are in the way but Jensen does it anyway, presses in, hard, feels his fingers slide in and Jared around them, tight and hot and perfect. And then Jared's hands are in Jensen's hair and he's pressing down, hard, Jensen's fucking his fingers deeper inside, twisting just so and letting Jared push until his dick slips into the back of Jensen's throat and it's. It's too much, too much, Jared's whispering, "Fuck, fuck yeah, Jenny," and coming hot and thick in Jensen's mouth.

Jensen swallows around him, sucks at Jared a little more and works his fingers in deeper, grinning and licking Jared clean when he tries to bat Jensen away. "Stop, Jen. Stop," he says, soft and weak-sounding, and Jensen licks at his hip instead, twists his fingers back and forth inside Jared, slow, like it's almost incidental. Jensen leans up and kisses him, finally, rubs his fingers just so. He wants to push another one in, wants to keep doing this until Jared comes again, maybe, but he's greedy too and he still wants. He still wants to fuck Jared on the table. He's maybe a little kinky, he wants to fuck Jared on the table his mom got them for dinner parties that they only ever use for doing those gigantic 5000-piece puzzles. His kids kneel on this table sometimes to fit the pieces in and he wants to fuck Jared on it. Jensen's okay with being a little kinky, though. That's what Lysol is for.

Jensen pulls his fingers out slow and Jared moans and laughs a little, says, "Jen, Jen. Come on," like he's not really sure what he wants. Jensen pulls Jared's jeans off the rest of the way, fishes in Jared's pocket for the tiny tube of lube he knows Jared has in there because he saw him steal it from the bathroom at Schuba's. Well, not steal it, but take it from the basket where it was thoughtfully provided. Jared's always prepared, he's perfect that way. He's perfect in a lot of ways, really, Jensen thinks, and pulls Jared off the table, turns him around and presses up against him. Jensen's still got all his clothes on and he loves this, loves Jared all naked when he's not.

"Bend over, baby. Come on, come on."

Jensen unzips his jeans, slicks himself up and it's perfect, perfect. Jared's so open from all the fingering, open as Jensen slides inside, so easy. So hot and tight and yes. It's not—it can't last long, but that's okay, they have all night, and Jensen wants to get fucked, later. Soon. But for now, this is good. This is right.

"Fuck," Jared says, soft and whisper-low, Jared's sex voice. He spreads his legs wider and Jensen pushes all the way in, just twists his hips and shoves, hard, until they're pressed tight together and he can feel Jared's legs shaking just a little against his. "Fuck," Jared says again, "Jen. Yeah. 'S good."

It's not just good, Jensen thinks as he pulls out and fucks back into him in short, fast strokes, deeper and deeper until Jared's gasping, his fingers clenched along the edge of the table, knuckle-white. It's not just good, Jensen thinks, it's fucking perfect.

*

Jared wakes up slow, the sun bright in his eyes and hot on his skin, Jensen half on top of him, both of them sweaty and sticky and kind of gross. It doesn't stop him from brushing his palm down Jensen's back, between his legs to touch him, still wet and open from the night before. It's early still, pretty early, and the girls won't be back for a couple hours yet. They have time.

This is what Jared tells himself when he pushes a finger inside Jensen, slow, slow, so he doesn't wake up, but his breath hitches and his hips stutter a little. His dick is hard and pressing against Jared's hip, and it's pretty nice. It's pretty wow, he thinks, and pushes in a little more.

But the angle's all wrong, he can't get far enough in so he kisses Jensen instead, kisses him awake, fingerfucks him slow and teasing until Jensen pulls Jared's hand away with a little moan and climbs on top of him instead, straddles him and sinks down just like that. It's a little dry and tight, but Jensen's making these little noises and grinding down, running one hand over his chest and jacking himself slow and easy with the other. It's almost a surprise when Jared comes. Jensen's just so tight around him and Jared never really lasts long when he's watching Jensen touch himself, but it's good, so good. It's even better when Jensen comes a second later, somehow gets even tighter around Jared's dick, comes shuddering and hot on Jared's stomach before he pulls off slow and leans down to lick Jared clean.

They shower after and it's nice, it's always nice when they have time like this. Jensen can't seem to stop touching him. Jared's dick twitches like he maybe wants to get hard again, but he's pretty sure that's not going to happen. He's sore, even, thinks Jensen is probably a lot more sore. They finish washing and Jensen leans against him from behind, wraps one arm around his chest and the other across his hips, rests his cheek against Jared's shoulder. He squeezes tight and he's shaking a little, Jared thinks, but when he tries to turn around, Jensen won't let him, just tightens his arms and breathes into the back of his neck.

"Jen? Are you. What's up?"

"Nothing," Jensen mumbles, and Jared can feel his lips moving against his skin. "It's. I just love you. I'm. It's good you're here."

"Me too," Jared says, "I mean, I love you, too. And it's nice being home." But he's frowning. It's not easy, he thinks. Jensen's not easy. But he's worth it.

*

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