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“Once upon a time, this older guy saved an overgrown ball of energy who was clumsy and extremely shy, and it was good. They were both gay, and the sex was fucking amazing. A relationship. The end.”
Jensen is quite pleased with himself, despite the derisive snort thrown his way. Jared walks into their living room, trying to mask the pained hitch of his breaths. It’s five measly feet to the couch, yet Jared still manages to bump into their oak side-table and steps on a dog toy. The canvas plaid Scottie toy mocks him with a hi-lo squeak as he plops down.
The lack of grace does things to Jensen, company be damned—it takes every bit of restraint not to rip the pj’s right off Jared’s sweet little ass. He wants to spend serious quality time kissing the bruises down the long length of his boy, and the only reason he heels the urge isn’t that their neighbor sits across from them; rather, that Jared is feeling downright miserable.
There’s more to focus on: he and Jared are well fed, classic rock is playing in the background, and Chad is stuck holding their spoilt, gassy terrier, Chewie.
“Screw you and your stupid model face, Jensen. Jared, make your dirty old man stop with the lies.” It’s Christmas Eve, and all he wants is the truth behind the headlines. Red meat was his ticket into their home, but as so often happens where Chad is involved, food might not be enough of a bribe. The evening’s discussion, or talk of gossip, goes south. Apparently, somewhere straight down Jared’s drawers, and Chad’s not here for all that, thanks.
Swamped in a dark blue hoodie they gave him for an early Christmas gift, Chad’s face is barely visible as he peers at them from the comfort of their recliner by the tree. “I brought you both the perfect cut of steak. I sold my soul to find you your favorite micro brews that Jared drones on and on about in class. You owe me this. ”
His put upon face, his dejected manner gives Jensen life, and Chad knows it. Jensen belches at him, sits with elbows on knees, hands together. “We don’t owe you anything, Murray. As far as I’m concerned, you can believe what they wrote. You know what, why are you still in my house?”
Jared can’t laugh at them, exhaustion warring with his good mood. His asthma is flaring—pine trees in their high-rise lobby, neighbors with new pets with new pet dander, a myriad of holiday fragrances at each studio holiday party they attend. His mouth is around the adaptor of his nebulizer, but his eyes spark hazel golden, fond look on his face in the flickering candlelight of the room. Jensen cows under that amused stare. He can’t help for his heart to lodge in his throat and his eyes catch Jared’s in quiet question.
Any summer tan is lost to hues of blues and a ghostly pallor that will stay with him on into spring. It scares the hell out of Jensen. On Jared’s reassuring nod, though, Jensen forces his thoughts on how he wants to tell this tale. The seams of his tee strain as he lazily stretches, joints popping with his arms above his head, and he demands Chad fetch him one more peppermint bark chocolate piece as payment for story-time. Jared shakes unruly bangs out of his face and sinks back into the corner of their sectional; the tall, lean frame of him swamped in a mountain of comfy green cotton blankets. He stretches (and stretches) across the couch to prop one foot on Jensen’s thigh, soft denim and hard muscle to rub along.
“Okay, okay. Settle.” Jensen reaches to the coffee table and grabs a beer. Pops off the cap and looks down into the neck towards the swirling fizz of liquid. It’s such a simple story. It’s everything. “It was just me. Content. Good gig. But then there was this stupid shopping and this younger guy. And he was this unstoppable force of nature, I don’t even know. And I just. I had no idea… ”
******
The story starts likes this:
It’s not that Jensen actually wants to strangle the cashier.
To be sure, Jensen Ackles has always taken pride in his ability to keep his wits about him in hostile environments. It is, after all, two weeks into December. Prime holiday shopping season for various finery that neither he nor his family and friends need, and every calm sensibility he has is under fire. The fight over a Betsy Johnson purse in Accessories left him vaguely nauseous. Five people deep in line, the cashier rolling her eyes at each and every inquiry, Jensen inhales deeply—air laden with spicy cider and sugar cookie fragrances—and allows his eyes to close. A visual block of the line stretched ahead of him to save his sanity.
“I’m trying, ma’am.”
He hears the young cashier’s voice break through the steady buzz of overhead fluorescents. Her tone is exhausted and is as fed up as the customers’ murmurings. The strain of it creeps under Jensen’s skin. He seriously contemplates putting on the cheetah print ear muffs he’s buying for his niece.
“Our network is slow tonight, and I’m sorry, but no, we can’t take a photo of the stockroom suit’s barcode. Men’s Department will be here in a moment with the correct tag.”
Adjustments, Jensen thinks, are to be made for technology and management. Everyone is to be throttled.
Air vents circulate heated air that’s near to uncomfortable. People in line remove their jackets. He notices, with an odd disquiet, that they all have someone to lean on, to share their own warmth. Jensen’s fine. Really. Christmas doesn’t need to be a together event. These people around him, they swap frustrated whispers. Share knowing, loving smiles. A mother and a teen daughter at the counter; a frazzled elderly couple behind them, holding hands; a man in a suit, tapping away at his phone as he ignores his wife; best friends forever in matching grey leggings and Hans Solo boots who giggle non-stop; a twenty-something brunette, curvy hips and cherry lips, eyeing…him.
She mouths an obscenity; Jensen making out crass and brazen pieces. His lips are suckable. All things he’s heard in every casting call, situations he prefers to forget. A light tap to his shoulder provides him a distraction, one well-manicured finger in his periphery as he turns.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you that actor?”
Jensen fidgets in his layers—denim button-down shirt over a white tee, black leather coat. The wrap of his scarf shifts as he does, catches along the scruff he’s allowed himself during hiatus. It smells of woodsy cologne and a tinge of sweat. At 6 ft., he’s able to see over the heads of weary shoppers and quickly makes a mental map of the quickest exit to the parking lot. One aisle to the right, swing past the perfume, dart around the sprawled form of a toddler who’s gurgle-snot crying all over the hem of a high-end cocktail dress that’s stretched from one tiny little hand to the dress’s own display stand. Cut a swath through some severely bland lingerie and he’s free. Jensen has had a terrible time of fully adjusting to public encounters. He’s still too small a fish, an actor with a breakthrough role on a low-budget Nat Geo style show. He bites down on the old, familiar twinge of anxiety and slips effortlessly into his public persona.
At his smiling response, “Depends on which actor,” the girl freezes. She laughs, breathy. The phone in her hand just about creaks with the restraint of an unspoken picture request. On autopilot, Jensen simply shifts his gift items to his other arm, out of picture frame.
“That won’t make a difference you know. Your fans will see one corner of that box and know the make and the date the watch was manufactured on within the day. Ohhh, and look at your freckles. Your hair has a lot more red in it than on the show. I can’t even—holy crap, the girls are going to be so jealous.” Poised, ready, snap, and the girl begins to furiously scroll through her filters.
The picture will be plastered all over social media, no doubt, and a few people in line watch on, interest piqued. Jensen means to ask her to hold off on posting until he’s gone from the parking lot, to ask that of any others who are looking to while away their wait with questions of ‘that actor’ from ‘that show.’
Minutes fly by, soft drone of classic Christmas music over the department store’s speakers a back-drop to the little flurry of activity. Overheated, tired, and ready to go home, everyone starts at the sound of squeaky shoes rounding the aisle behind them. The person running is hauling ass, and worse, in the middle of a nasty coughing fit.
“About time, Jared.” The cashier could not be less enthusiastic.
And it’s this moment, the one Chad will question them about some two years later, where Jensen’s version varies from every local headline, subsequent fan lore, and bullshit eyewitness accounts…
******
As the entire line turns to look at the poor guy, several things happen at once: First, there’s a renewal burst of apple and vanilla fragrance, and it wafts thickly around them. Twenty-something brunette’s phone rings, blaring the chorus to a pop music riff that Jensen despises on principle alone. And Men’s Department—Jared, apparently—startles at the noise, sucking in all that air freshener as he pants for breath.
Jensen sees the destruction and ruin before it pans out, and he’s prepared because dear lord help him, but the kid is stunning. Jensen wants to be the hero here, doesn’t know a thing about Men’s Department other than he looks younger than Jensen’s thirty years. Chestnut hair that’s long enough to fall in the guy’s face and tuck behind his ears. Broad shoulders and slim hips. Jensen’s dizzy with envisioning the boy’s frame maturing, and it surprises him, the level to which he wants.
Jared though—oblivious. As are the other customers, a fact the online reports will later play upon. No one but Jensen sees the loose Christmas card on the floor. No chance in hell that he can help other than yell a warning, but it’s too late. He sees hazel. Horrified hazel eyes find the group of observers as he slips. The slick tile and his momentum propel him forward like a slingshot. The roped line divider, all four stands—victims of a frenzied, last ditch effort.
There’s zero pride in Jensen’s heart when he proceeds to lose himself in the blotches of a rouged face, the miles of limbs grasping out in air as Jared entangles himself into the ropes and sends a display of teddy bear ornaments crashing to the floor. Not an ounce of pride in the way he doesn’t want to let go of the crumpled rag doll that winds up beneath him.
*******
Jared puts his small nebulizer down and shakes his head. “You are such a dirty old man. Damn.” The same blotchy blush paints Jared’s face, fades down his neck to the collar of his t-shirt. He can feel the heat of it spread across his chest, and he squirms under Jensen’s attention as Jensen locks on knowingly and smirks.
Jensen grabs one of Jared’s feet and presses on the arch with his thumbs. Tight circles that make Jared go all limp and fuzzy in the brain.
“Two feet of golden divider rope along with the broken purse strap from the woman behind me. All wrapped around your lower body. Pretty certain it was a disaster.” Jensen’s face crinkles in remembrance.
Jared is worse the wear for those lines; each and every one make him stupid pliant. The flannel hem of his pajama bottoms rides up past his ankles, itchy, when he lifts his foot off Jensen’s lap and prods Jensen’s chest with a big toe. “Rub. And I can breathe a little better, so let me finish.”
Chad’s hooded figure slumps tiredly down into the recliner, and he waves them on impatiently.
*******
So there’s this first act:Jared doesn’t remember grabbing hold of anyone, but there’s a person—muscular large—sort of, kind of propping him up off the store’s tiled floor. He’s an expert on falling and knocking his head on various items on the way down. This time, there’s none of the painful telltale throb.
Chest on fire from running and coughing, Jared can barely talk. He tries though, needs to stand, so he makes to tell the muscular person that he can let go now. What his mouth fires off is, “I think I’m fired.” He blames peering up through sweaty bangs into heated green eyes for the following, “Uh.”
Because he’s smooth like that.
Untangled, standing, Jared looks steadfastly down at his own shoes. Management pops up virtually out of thin air, a polished woman whose impeccable pinstripe suit remains unrumpled while firing Jared with flourish. The man who caught him, Jared can feel him tucked in close. Almost pushes Jared behind him and an ill-timed, funny thought occurs to Jared: that he can see the exit out into the main mall area over the top of the guy’s head. His hero is shorter, and several mechanical snap sounds from customer phones capture just that.
The man half in front of him riles on Jared’s behalf. Literally tenses at management’s words, ‘fault’ and ‘overgrown idiot,’ proceeding to use his own colorful language about lawyers and such. No one will hear that though. The reports all say that Jensen was laying into the store’s lack of security. They will gossip on to say that Jensen was attacked. Assaulted.
For now though, Jensen escorts him hastily towards the employee backroom. Navy peacoat and car keys retrieved, Jared finds himself fumbling for words of gratitude as they walk to his car. The parking lot is jam packed, not a spot left. The lot lights mix with the moisture in the air and illuminates aura halos around their heads. Shoppers make their way towards the mall entrance, pass by with an occasional whispered, “I know that guy. He’s on that show.”
“Thanks. Seriously, I can’t apologize enough. You’ve gotta be pissed.”
“Jensen.” Jensen pauses, as if Jared should know this. Jared hasn’t a clue. Judging by the others’ comments, he’s an actor. College courses and several part time jobs (minus one as of this night) to make ends meet keep Jared from indulging in TV. Jared’s confusion though, that puts a huge smile on Jensen’s face. And that’s where life gets interesting.
*******
“And now you know the actual story. Not the one in the headlines,“ Jared says, and he yawns as he pushes himself off the couch.
The group of them moves to the kitchen, packing leftovers for Chad in a huge plastic container. Jared leans against the wall beside their kitchen window, tilts so he can take in the high-rise view of the city below. It’s dark out, barely a hint of moonlight. Universe of stars blanked out by cloud cover. The Christmas décor though. Holiday cheer is splattered over every available surface: red and green trimmed wreaths mounted on sidewalk lampposts and classic warm lights strung along the storefronts.
Downtown has been their home for a year—Jensen had asked Jared to move in after their third date. Their first date was unremarkable. Third one, though. That was the same date in which Jared had excused himself from their table and slipped on ice from the lemon water he’d spilt. The same lemon water that had soaked his pants which is why he was headed to the restroom in the first place.
His life in a nutshell.
That night resulted in a maître de sporting a black eye (no charges pressed) and one doozy of an entertainment section headline the following day in the city’s largest paper. Jared not only declined Jensen’s offer, he flat-out refused all of Jensen’s calls for a month solid.
No point in denying that Jared felt out of sorts. At the time, he hadn’t been hardened to the public eye, being exposed as the shy, clumsy non-celebrity half of a celebrity couple. Jensen’s career was taking off with meatier bit parts from shows filmed on East and West coasts, and he auditioned constantly. Red carpet events, possible press junkets for an indie film lead role, schmooze fest business trips that would leave Jared reeling.
Jensen’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “Yep, now you know.”
Plastic container in hand and Chewie the traitor snuggled tight against his chest, Chad comes to stand beside Jared and leans his head against the cool pane of glass. “Just to get this out there, ’Employee Assaults Local Star’ never clicked with what I know of you. Merry Christmas, man.”
They spend a few seconds in silence, watching an ambulance barrel down the street below, sirens blazing. “Merry Christmas, Chad. Try not to let him get to you.” Jared spins and slaps his hand on Jensen’s shoulder in a silent plea to behave. It doesn’t work.
“You really should. Worry. Get out.”
Jensen finishes filling Chewie’s bowl of water from the tap, setting it down gently so that it doesn’t spill over. The tiny dog yips and jumps from Chad’s arms, fur sticking in every direction. She runs ahead of them, skidding into the unit’s foyer and narrowly misses slamming into the entranceway desk. Jensen is hot on her tail, seeing Chad out the front door.
Chewie finds a canvas squeaker in the shape of a car somewhere under the desk. She makes a terrible ruckus as the complex’s foyer elevator doors close—Chad smirking and on his way.
******
The last act ain’t the end:
The decision to move in together happens over a hurried lunch on a Tuesday, a few months after that fated third date. Tuesday traffic to the airport is a bitch thanks to summer construction. Jared doesn’t mind. He’d make the commute daily if it meant Jensen were home more often from filming.
Jensen walks out of the terminal starving and his mood wound tight, so the concession for what kind of place to eat at is a trusted no name taco stand. He holds his quesadilla wrap hostage in a death grip, a warring look of concern for the way Jared had to duck from paparazzi at the airport as well as what Jared has come to recognize as plain old horny.
Jared can’t… he can’t deal with Jensen’s hand on his thigh, fingers rubbing maddening circles. He coughs around verde sauce as he blurts out randomness: he hates the cruelty and sexualization of the comments on Jensen’s twitter page.
They both snap as soon as they pile back into Jensen’s new Sequoia. Tinted windows hide them as they meet over the console, Jared’s face in Jensen’s hands as if he’ll disappear at any moment.
“Please.”
Jared loves the word on Jensen’s tongue, eventually folding back into his seat when his lips are kissed swollen. He reaches across the center console after the click of both their seat belts. Rain pelts the windows, stores flying by as they speed home. Pops the snap on Jensen’s jeans, takes the hot length of him in hand. Jared ignores his own need in favor of watching his fingers work Jensen’s dick so good that he floors the gas. When Jensen comes, he swears aloud that he loves Jared. That he kept the key he originally wanted Jared to have.
They mesh. Life on fast forward. Movie roles and college courses, a directing gig, and it may not be grand, but they’re happy. What else could they need?
For as shy as Jared is in certain situations, he’s equally unabashed when it comes to his love for animals. Jensen swears Jared is far too nefarious for his own good. Jared thinks his boyfriend should stop complaining and enjoy the bribery and blowjobs. Or blowjob bribery. Semantics.
The problem: Templar Complex does not allow for pets. Their housing has a stringent code. The rules do not bend for celebrities. Regardless, many shelters are visited despite the huge expense to Jared’s airways. Jensen presses kisses of promise into the dimples of Jared’s hopeful face. “If you won’t consider your lungs, at least respect our apartment rules.”
“Please.”
Their new terrier puppy becomes queen of the castle, looking precious as she stumbles about in their new high-rise apartment.
******
“I am spoiled.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“Jensen, you’re not supposed to agree with me!” All the candles are long extinguished. A glow from the string of Christmas lights around their window quiets the room. Faint huffs of breath fill the silence as Jensen wrecks him. Powerful biceps hold his wrists together and raised above his head, plush lips soften the nips of teeth that graze along his shoulder. Bowlegs between Jared’s own, spreading his thighs wide.
“I love you so goddamn much.” Jared comes, words like breathless prayers. Jensen yells out his release, damn near sobs as he spends inside Jared’s heat.
Jensen tidies them both, Jared having passed out. He takes his time with the cloth, places barely there kisses along where he cleans. For the first time since they’ve known one another, Jensen has a rare Christmas morning planned as neither of them have anywhere to be.
Jared wakes at dawn. His stomach rumbles loudly, and he can imagine Jensen will be ravenous. He’s efficient with prep work—he’s going to make use of their waffle maker if it kills him. Given that he breaks a coffee mug trying to get the waffle maker box from the back of their pantry, he doesn’t want to challenge that thought and sets up for toasted bagel sandwiches.
Chewie greets Jensen in the kitchen with the bacon off of Jared’s bagel. He can hear the shower running and assumes that any eggs on the sandwich are gone as well.
Steam creeps from under the bathroom door, and the apartment smells of the hypoallergenic shampoo Jared swears by. Jensen is lost in that scent when the door buzzes. He pads to greet who he knows to be FedEx delivery. A tad rife with guilt, he invites the delivery person in for mimosas. The guy deserves a promotion for his respectful refusal, albeit amused, at the offered champagne flute.
Breakfast is saved with a few turns of the skillet, egg whites on toast and a side of pineapple and honeydew. Jared sits next to him at their kitchen bar, toasty warm from his shower and a soft knit V-neck sweater.
As Jensen slides the specialty box towards Jared, Jared tsks. “You didn’t have to. I’m going to thank you, of course, but you really do spoil me within an inch of my life.”
The ring’s inner platinum is engraved. Jared silently rubs his finger across the ‘J+J.’ When he looks to his side, hands trembling and positively huge around the ring’s box, Jensen is down on one knee.
“Will you give me this honor?”
This is their story. The box in Jared’s hand, the whispered ‘Yes’ against tear-stained cheeks, the truth in their smiles and held hands later that evening amidst the blinding flashes as they head out to a Christmas party screening of Jensen’s newest indie film.
This is their story, the drawn out sighs and pleads late at night, under the privacy of their own roof. A dog and a home and a fierce protectiveness with one another.
“Merry Christmas, Jensen.”
“Sleep. Now.” Forty years ahead of them, this is their beginning. Jensen can’t stand the distance between them, draws Jared in close to him, chest to back and legs spooned. He pulls him closer still, arms encircling as if it could fade away at any moment, lips against chestnut hair.
“Merry Christmas, Jared.”