You Ain't Lonely

It's a sunny day in Vancouver and they're shooting the teaser for the second episode of the third season. They're lounging in the Impala, waiting for somebody to find new fill cards, when Jared decides to ask him.

"So," he says, trying to make it casual. "You going home for the weekend?"

"Course," Jen says, idly fucking with the rear view.

Jared picks at a thread on his jeans. "Got plans?"

"No, just screwing around in the land of green money. Why, you got something?"

"Well." Jared clears his throat. "Kind of. Some friends are doing a thing."

"Cool," Jensen says.

He's right to assume he's invited, and Jared debates for a second just springing it on him when they get there. Less chance to back out. But then he remembers he's a decent friend and a quality guy and plus he has to work with Jensen for sixteen hours a day when they get home. So he sighs a little, and rubs a hand over his face. "Before you decide you're gonna come, I need to ask you a favor."

"Sure, man, what is it?"

"Well. These friends, they're... Hollywood. You know."

Jensen smiles. "Dude, everybody we know is Hollywood."

Jared feels his cheeks go pink. "No, dude. Like. They're pretty West Hollywood."

Jen raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not getting you into anything crazy, I swear," Jared hurries to assure him. "It's just some friends of mine, most of 'em, anyway. I just, man, I really want somebody to come with me to this one. It's hell facing the wolves alone."

Jared smiles wincingly, and is relieved to see Jensen return it in kind. "No kiddin'," he says. "Certain parts of Dallas, man. Don't worry, I got your back. Besides, nobody knows how to stock a bar like guys from West Hollywood."

"True," Jared grins. "The two guys whose house it is - do not drink anything they serve you unless you wanna wind up poured into a cab at the end of the night."

"I'll keep it in mind," Jensen grins. "Anything else I should know about these friends of yours?"

Jared looks at him, a little startled. How did he know...? But he might as well get it over with, so he shrugs and clears his throat. "Well. They don't know I'm single."

"Ah, fuck. Sorry."

"Thanks. But, uh. They know I broke up with Sandy."

That gets Jensen's elusive attention; he turns in the seat to look at Jared and raise his eyebrow. "Wanna go over that one again?"

Jared looks away and shrugs his shoulders. "I, uh. Told them I was seeing somebody. Just so I wouldn't get hit on. Y'know, like... A guy."

"That's awesome," Jensen laughs. "Who's your boyfriend, baby?"

There's a guilty silence.

Jensen looks at him, blank. "You didn't."

"It wasn't my fault."

"You told them we were-"

"I said we were close, and Jack just sort of assumed-"

"Dude, I don't believe you."

"Please, Jensen, I swear I'll make it worth your while."

"Don't even start."

"I mean, I'll be your slave, you can order me around, I'll buy you a car-"

"You're such a bitch."

"I'll even tell everybody I'm the girl."

"That's it-"

The fighting is good, Jared thinks, fending off Jensen's punches and headlocks. The fighting means he's considering it.


"So," Jared says, smiling and unbelievably uncomfortable. "You guys do anything else this weekend?"

"I did," says a familiar voice behind him.

"Jensen!" exclaims Jared, full of relief. Jen slides under his arm, just like always, comfortable warmth against his side. "This, guys, this is the guy I was telling you about. Jensen, meet Hal, John and Marty. "

"Hey," Jen smiles, cool as anything. Against Jared's waist, Jen's hand falls maybe an inch, one little inch, to rest just over his hip.

Faces fall, but everybody chats socially for longer than strictly necessary. Jared is aware, peripherally, that they're all sizing Jen up, thinking he's hot. Fine by Jared; if he's gonna be dating a guy, he might as well be dating a hot guy. But as the minutes tick by, Jared keeps losing the thread of the conversation.

That hand is just above his hip. Not directly on it, nothing so obvious, but just that inch lower than it usually would be. It's awkward, a little. Any other time he'd just thump Jensen's shoulder and go for a beer, and it'd be forgotten the next minute, but this time, that warm weight is sending exactly the right signals to everybody watching, and Jared has to leave it.

And when Jensen curls his fingertips - holding a little tighter for a second - Jared finds himself staring blankly at the wall again. "What?" he asks. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

Marty raises an eyebrow at him. "I said, how're the property values in Vancouver?"

And then Jensen moves his fingers again, and the low, familiar sound of his voice picks the question up smoothly – it's a little high, but it's not like we're Malibu, blah blah equity - and Jared's back to staring at the wall.

It's just distracting. And unfair.

Jensen, after all, is utterly off limits, as he:

  1. does not fuck men,
  2. is Jared's best friend,
  3. is Jared's co-worker, and
  4. does not fuck men.
So for his fingers to be that good at whatever the hell it is that they're doing is just... something Jared will have to punch him in the shoulder for later.


Later, talking to Hal about Kevin fucking Willis, Hal laughs low in his throat and gives this look under his lashes. "You know, you're hot when you tell a guy he's a complete retard."

Jared spends maybe ten seconds eyeballing the guy, figuring out if that means what he thinks it means, before he doesn't have to - Jensen appears out of nowhere and drops down on the arm of the sofa, just exudes his presence enough to read fuck off, leave my boyfriend alone. Jared could swear there's some snide snub in his voice, something in his speech that's a bitchy little set-down, but damned if Jared can hear it for what it is.

Either way, Hal blushes and takes off, and before Jared can yell because Jensen's being an asshole to his friends, Jensen's wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in.

Jared has no idea what the hell is going on.

But then, in his ear, Jensen's low voice: "That guy would have let you fuck him given half a chance." Those full, serious lips brush against his ear.

Jared freezes.

They stand there for a minute, just waiting, and then Jensen lets go with a little smile. "Should be okay now," he says, and walks off like nothing's wrong.

Jared's left sort of half-staring at him. That was... also unfair.


Jensen is chatting up Marty and his boyfriend when Jared slides past and into the kitchen, nodding at Jensen subtly as he goes by. "Dude," Jensen says, when the door has closed behind them. "What's up?"

Jared lifts his hands and then drops them, frustrated. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Seems like you're... I dunno. Mad at me or something."

Jensen couldn't be more normal when he answers - same guy Jared sees on set every day. "I'm fine, man. What's the problem?"

"No problem," Jared says, and Jensen shrugs and turns to go back into the party.

It just ain't right.

The night goes like that, a dozen little hints and signals and touches whenever they're around people, things that throw Jared's sense of balance off-kilter, because Jensen shouldn't know them. But every time he gets Jen alone, it's just "I'm fine, everything's cool, dude, you worry too much".

It doesn't bug Jared too much, mind. That's why Jared brought him, after all, to fend off his friends - and exes. There are only a couple in the room, and it's not like there was dating to speak of, but seriously, some of these guys are people Jared could happily never talk to again.

And every time he comes too near one, every time he feels his shoulders tighten up, his wrist start to ache, every time his stomach twists - there's Jen. There's the hand on his shoulder, a little squeeze. The touch on his arm, hey, do you remember the time. Just enough of a slide of hip to hip when they stand together that Jared just forgets to be nervous and, well. Forgets.

By the end of the night he's bitchy and waspish for no good reason. The party's gone perfectly, everybody's smiling at him and congratulating him for having found such a great guy. All he wants to do is leave, but he can't seem to find his date.

He taps John on the shoulder. "Hey, man, have you seen Jensen?"


"...My boyfriend."

John grins. "Oh, yeah, man, right over there." He points across the room.

Jensen is standing by the buffet with somebody, chatting. He's leaning one hip against the table, flashing a smile at the guy in front of him. He's wearing a designer shirt that's open on his chest, his hair's roughed up and his jaw's covered in a light stubble, he looks awesome. And then the dude in front of him leans in and says something that Jensen leans in to hear, and they both laugh.

John leans in to Jared's side. "I'd watch that, if I were you, man. Pretty little thing like that, somebody'll snap him up in a second if you don't."

Deep in Jared's belly, there is a seething, senseless fury.

He doesn't exactly push people aside, getting to Jensen, but it's close. He wraps a hand around Jen's arm and steps up close - they're faking a date, man, it's totally in bounds. "Time to go," he says, paying zero attention to the son of a bitch Jen was talking to.

"Okay, Ike," Jensen scowls, shaking off Jared's grip. "Give me a few."

In the corner of Jared's eye, the random guy flirting with Jensen backs up a step, and he feels marginally better. "I'll get our coats."

He does that, and when he comes out of the bedroom with his own jacket on and Jensen's draped over his arm, he watches the son of a bitch give Jen his number.

Jared sees red.

Which is retarded. Jensen's a friend. Jared knows that, he's not stupid. But still he can't help walking up to them and pushing his nose right up against the curve of Jensen's ear. "Ready to go, baby?" he asks, too low. He expects Jen to maybe hit him for this later. That will be ultimately satisfying. He's already grinning.

What he does not expect is for Jensen to slide an arm around his waist and press up against him. "Any time," he says, and aims a polite smile at the guy who was talking to him.

Jared's too surprised to even enjoy the crestfallen look on the guy's face.

They leave together, and Jensen takes his hand, tangling their fingers together just like… Jared can't even think of a word. He just sort of stares, nods when Jensen nods, smiles when Jensen smiles, and blinks right past the knowing smirks and whispers that come from his friends. Hal leans close to John and murmurs, "Actors are frequently, secretly fond of each other."

John laughs.

Jared's known John and Hal since he first moved to LA; they rib each other all the time. Still, it's the little edge of envy in their voices that keeps Jared from hurting them.

And then they're out in the hall, waiting for the elevator to the parking garage, and Jensen's untangling their hands. "Dude, method acting only goes so far."

Jared allows that, and the elevator pings. Jensen pushes the button for the garage (level two) and then shoves his hands in his pockets, humming a little under his breath. Jared is uncomfortably aware that he can't stop staring, but Jen doesn't seem to notice. He just rocks on his Docs, fidgets in his pocket with coins that clink and shrugs the leather jacket onto his shoulders. The numbers click down, Jensen watching them like they'll suddenly drop six floors or start going back up if he doesn't.

Jared's mouth is dry.

The doors open on flat gray concrete, yellow stripes and letters. Jensen walks out, casual, pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flicks his wrist with that little Bogart move that makes one cigarette pop up so he can take it with his mouth. Jared's always been sure that Jensen practiced that for hours as a kid, that that might actually be the reason he took up smoking to begin with. He hates smoking, as a rule, but on Jensen it somehow works.

Zippo lighter, ching shing. Of course. Jared picked out that damn lighter a few days after the set almost burned down because Jensen knocked over an actual fire lantern in the mountaintop hunter cabin that one time. It has "Pyro" engraved across one side, and flames. It was a dumb little gag gift, but Jensen still uses it.

"Dude," Jensen says, waving a hand in front of Jared's face. "Earth to dingbat?"

"What?" Jared answers, reflexive.

"Oh, nothin'," Jensen says instantly, flippantly. "Just if you keep starin' at me like that, I'm gonna expect you to suck my dick... or at least ask for my autograph."

Jared shoves him, and he laughs. They walk together to the car, and Jensen drags off his cigarette with relief. Jared can hear it in the rhythm of his breath - how happy he is to be out of that party, how uncomfortable it was, how awkward.

Only it wasn't. Jared was there. Jensen was relaxed, if he was anything, and he is lying to Jared with his breath, which is, like, doubly offensive, because only Jared would understand that because they're such close friends. Jensen is lying to a close friend with close-friend-code. Criminal.

"You're a freak," Jared says, feeling it's warranted.

Of course, Jensen lifts an eyebrow. "You stare at me, and I'm the freak."


"What kind of sense are you using? 'Cause it's not the kind normal people use."

"Shut up." They find the car and get in, both of them automatically pausing long enough to shut the doors before continuing. Jared turns the key in the ignition and then turns to face Jensen. "You were all... casual up there."

Jensen rolls down his window to let the smoke out, not really concerned. "Thought that was the idea."

Jared just rolls his eyes, puts his arm behind Jensen's seat and turns to shoulder-check as he puts the car in reverse.

He doesn't miss Jensen's momentary wide-eye. But he lets Jen think that he does.

Jared's got a house in LA and Jensen stays there when they're in town. It's free and they go to the same airport at the same time for the same flight anyway. There's a guest room that's pretty much Jensen's now. Between them, they've figured that between this and all the times Jared sacks out on Jensen's couch in Vancouver after watching the game, they're pretty even.

Doors shut on Jared's pickup and they come in through the back door. "I'm just saying," Jared says, shrugging off his jacket as Jensen thumbs the button to close the garage door. "You were all... comfortable. And if you were avoiding telling me something, you shouldn't, because seriously, I'm cool with it."

Jensen just laughs as he kneels down to undo the laces on his boots. "Dude, don't be an idiot."

Jared tries not to notice where that move leaves Jensen's head in relation to Jared's body, and slides out into the kitchen with not a little relief.

"I'm just saying," says Jensen, padding through in sock feet as Jared fixes them toast. "I dated the Playmate of the Year." He grabs two beers from the fridge and then swings up onto the bar stools that line the kitchen island.

Jared butters, grabs a plate, and listens to him knock off the caps. "That doesn't mean you're not," he says, bringing the plate around and picking up a slice. He eats half of it in one bite and picks up his beer with the free hand. "I mean. You could tell me. I wouldn't care."

Jensen waves his hand in front of his face. "Spray it," he mutters.

"Fuck you," Jared says, being sure to breathe out crumbs on the table.

"I oughta kick your ass."

Jared swallows and grins, holds up his beer. "Beverage in play."

"That's all that's keeping you in one piece, asshair."

"Oh, I'm sure," Jared grins. They toast each other. It feels just like regular, so comfortable, and maybe it's that feeling that lulls Jared into it, but he shrugs. "I mean. I am."

He puts the bottle to his lips as Jensen looks at him, wide eyes. "You are not. Sandy. Adrianne. Sera!"

Jared shrugs. "Yeah, okay, yeah, but. Not always. I mean... Gabe."

Jensen's mouth drops open. "You fucked Andy?"

There is a moment's silence. Jared takes a slug of his beer, willing Jensen to be okay with it, hoping against hope that this is all gonna work out. Months, he's been thinking of a way to tell Jen this, but it's not exactly the kind of thing you interject into casual conversation.

But then, Jensen raises his eyebrow. "You dog."

And Jared busts out laughing, because what else can he do? Jensen laughs too, and then Jared steps around the table to shove at his shoulder. "So? Tell me. I know you are."

"I'm not, man, I'm telling you," he laughs, shoving casually back. "You been drinkin' the Kool-Aid."

"What ever," Jared insists. "I saw you at that party! You flirt like a fucking champ."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Yeah, it's called acting."

"Shut your face. You are, I know it, don't lie."

"Well you'll never know 'til you got an ass full of my cock, so unless you're dyin' for that tonight, shuddup and get me another beer."

Jared's first thought is that it should be awkward. Time should stop. Things should freeze, the funny should be gone. But instead, it's just him and Jensen here in Jared's kitchen, and Jared's getting hard, and that's all. "You want my ass," he says with a smile, "all you gotta do is ask."

Jensen laughs and sips at his beer. "Sure, buddy. Where's the candid camera?"

"Serious," Jared says, sipping at his own. "I will bend over this table for you. Right here, right now."

"Well, go on, then, big mouth." The only indication that anything's different is the little narrow of Jensen's eyes, the little hint of crow's feet. Anybody but Jared would get caught up in the casual tone, the casual set of his shoulders; anybody else would laugh it off as a tease. But Jared's known him long enough.

Jared puts his beer down, comes around to Jensen's side of the table and folds his arms on it, bent over at the waist. He aims a look at Jensen under his lashes, to the side, and sees the beer bottle stopped halfway to his mouth. "Come on, Jen. Or are you all talk?"

"Jared," he says. Just one word of warning. His beer meets the table, soft.

"I'm not fucking around, here, Jensen," Jared replies. He lets his head rest on his arms, feeling exposed but still relaxed - after all, it's Jensen. What's he gonna do? Nothing. Or maybe something. But whatever it is, it can't change anything. Jared still knows him better than anybody. They still work together. This barely even matters, in so far as what it is.

And then Jensen's hand reaches under him to press against his crotch, feel the hardness there waiting. And Jared can't think anymore. He just groans, low in his throat, and lets his cock throb against his best friend's palm. "That's good. Do it."

Jensen stands up. "Where's your stuff," he asks, low and rough and supremely stressed.

Jared almost laughs. Just like Jensen, to get all fucked up over something like this. He thinks he's so mysterious, but he isn't. He's obvious. "Right front pocket," he husks, and then groans when Jen's fingers shove inside and find the little tube, the hard square case.

"You slut," Jen growls, tossing the handful onto the counter. "A fucking condom case?"

Jared shifts impatiently when that hand starts opening his belt. "It's important," he mumbles. "So they... won't break."

"Whatever," Jensen says, pulling at Jared's button fly. "Only total players carry those fucking things."

Behind him, Jared can hear the jingling as Jensen opens his own belt. Sure enough, sure enough, he moves like a veteran, like somebody who's done this a thousand times. "Takes one to know one," he groans. "Quit mocking and fuck me."

"Talk like a whore, I'll fuck you like a whore," he murmurs, and Jared shivers top to bottom.

Then it's quiet for a bit, because Jared's jeans hit the ground and it seems like that might be the only important sound, the last word. The zip of Jensen's fly, oh, wait, maybe that. Jen takes the lube and there's a little squip, and then his fingers, fuck, fuck. Just right. Just exactly right. "Jensen, god."

"Why'd you bring this stuff?" Jen asks, low down dirty. "Gonna step out on me, get your cock sucked in the coat room?"

"No," Jared shudders, feeling the press and stretch and burn.

"Fuck some little twink in the guest bedroom, Jared, huh? When you're supposed to be with me?"

His fingers are heavy, wide, and Jared winces a little as they push. He brings a hand down to grip his cock, to stroke, but Jensen grabs his wrist and slams it back up on the table. It's not what Jared usually goes for, not like this, but fuck if it isn't hot when Jen does it. "No, I fuckin' swear," he growls, leaving his hand where Jensen put it.

And then Jensen leans over him, gets right up close so Jared can hear his whisper, feel the scrape of stubble on his shirt. "Weren't gonna cheat on your boyfriend?"


Jen twists his fingers hard. "Then you wanted me."

"Goddamnit," Jared shouts, slamming a fist down on the cutting board and making it rattle. It's good, it's really good, and his cock is throbbing for any kind of touch. "Don't fuck around with me, man -"

That's as far as he gets before Jen is wrapping a hand tight around his dick, holding him just right, but totally still. "You wanted me," he insists. "You put that shit in your pocket tonight thinking of me, you fucking admit it."

"Just... just once," Jared finally pants. He thrusts his hips desperately, but Jensen only rides it, his hand tight. "Just this one time, Jen, I swear, just cause of what we were doin', now you fuck me or I swear to God..."

"Okay," Jensen says, rubbing a hand over his back and pulling his fingers away. "Okay, you want it? You got it. Shut your mouth for ten seconds, Jared..."

The only thing that makes the snap of the condom bearable, the only thing that keeps Jared with his head down, waiting, willing, is the shiver in Jensen's voice. The little shudder on his words, the way he mangles them a little, letting the Texas edge in deeper, that's what makes it worth it. That's what makes Jared's cock throb in Jen's hand.

That, and when Jensen starts to stroke him.

His fingers slide soft over the head of Jared's cock, perfect, one-two-three and back again, and Jared can only groan and push and claw the table, and wait.

Finally, the slick head of Jensen's cock bumps up against Jared's opening, sensitive and ready. "Do it," Jared demands, ragged. "Do it, do it, Jensen, fuck..."

Before Jared can drag out another word, Jensen is pushing into him. He feels fucking enormous, it's been so long since Jared took it like this, but, but. But. He pushes back against Jensen's hips, hard. "More," he whispers. He means to shout. "More. All. All of it. Mm. Fuck me."

"Workin' on it," Jensen whispers back to him, softer now. Sweeter. "Open up for me, Jay, come on."

"Tryin'," Jared complains, but he shifts his legs apart a little more, and they both groan as Jensen slides deep.

For some reason, the sexiest thing about it is the softness of the skin that presses against his ass. Knowing that Jensen's skin is soft, right there, thin and blood-hot and pressed right up there, sweaty against him, as Jen's cock throbs thick in his body. That's the best part. One more thing he knows.

Jensen says nothing, just draws back enough to fuck back inside. It's a dirty thrust of his hips, smacking a little bit in the still night that shadows his kitchen, and he makes this little desperate sound.

Jared buries his face against his arms, feels his shirt gaping open and the cool air brushing his belly. Jensen starts stroking his cock on the drag out, on the shove back in, and Jared's body starts to move. It's like turning his face at just the right second so Jen's fist doesn't hit him, cameras watching. It's like saying the line at the same exact time, how he pushes back against that cock, lets it inside and shivers when Jen presses against that spot, "Right there, yeah, Jen, yeah, give it."

When Jensen rests his forehead between Jared's shoulder blades, hot breath bleeding through the shirt - when he groans, "God, Jay, god, god, yeah," - that's when it gets too much. That's when he clamps down, when he fucks Jen's hand and bites his own arm and can't hold it, can't, oh, fuck, and lets go, just like that. He can hear himself shout, feel the pulse deep inside, and is even dimly conscious of how his kitchen island cabinets will never be the same.

He just can't bring himself to care.

Shuddering, twitching, Jared drags breath back into his lungs. Jensen slips out of him and stumbles back against the cabinets, and Jared crouches down, shaking, to drag his jeans back up. When he looks, Jensen's flushed and fucked out, heavy-lidded eyes and high color. His cock is still part-way hard, shining and shivering, jeans and shorts tucked underneath so he's on display. Jared can see the herculean effort it takes for Jen to tuck himself back in, toss the condom in the trash - every move looks like he's dragging fifty pounds behind him. When Jen's fingers curl in Jared's shirt, it's not anywhere near as hard as he could hold. "Come on," he says, rough.

Jared allows himself to be dragged. He's carrying an extra fifty, too, and it's just not worth it to fight back.

Upstairs, they go straight for Jared's bedroom. His bed is bigger. Jen strips down to boxers and crawls into bed; Jared does the same. They don't curl up against each other, they don't cuddle or anything. Can't sleep like that. They sprawl out on their respective sides, mash into the pillows, and are five seconds from sleep when Jared remembers.

"Told you."

Jensen doesn't even twitch. "Doesn't count."

That wakes Jared back up. "What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It was just to shut you up. Now seriously, shut it or you're on the goddamn couch."

"It's my house!"


Jared plants back into the pillows. "I'll talk more."

"I'll shut you up again."

"You couldn't get it up again if you tried."

"So I'll use duct tape."

"I hate you."

"Good night, Jared."