||[Feb. 28th, 2008|06:45 pm]
Pairings: MR/JA (with a side of MR/TW and JA/JP)
Disclaimer: Not a word of truth in it! Make-believe from start to finish.
Plot: As the writers' strike draws to a close, Michael and Jensen discover they have something in common....
Jared calls this his "Limbo party". It fits; Jensen thinks that "Limbo" is the perfect way to describe this week, this moment in time. The strike is officially over; they're due to be summoned back to Vancouver any day now. And Jensen isn't sure how he feels about that. An extended season will mean a shorter hiatus, which means that he may not have enough time to squeeze in a play or a movie.
He surveys the room; Jared is mixing drinks, surrounded by his usual circle of admirers, and is talking non-stop. Jensen hasn't been able to get near him all night. Michael, on the other hand, has been oddly subdued tonight, propped on the periphery of the party instead of being at the centre of it and Tom…..well, it's remarkable that Tom is here at all, let alone chatting amiably with two people he doesn't know. Tom's idea of a social occasion is playing golf or having a drink with a friend or two; he doesn't do parties, unless his wife coaxes him. And his wife isn't here tonight.
Is his presence a concession to Jared? Not likely; Tom turns down Jared's invitations all the time. Jensen watches as Tom's glance flicks across the room and rests briefly on Michael. Okay: Mystery solved.
But no, the mystery actually deepens because there goes Michael, slipping quietly out the door - which is highly out of character. Michael doesn't leave parties early; he closes them down. Jensen frowns. This development must be investigated.
He finds Michael pacing the driveway, scrolling through the numbers on his phone. He looks up as Jensen approaches:
"Knew I should have driven. There's a cab company in here somewhere but I'm fucked if I can find it."
"I can drive you home," says Jensen.
"You ready to leave now?"
"If you are."
Michael's unusually quiet in the car, leaving Jensen's radio alone for once, gently drumming his fingers against the window.
"So…." says Jensen. "You want to tell me what's up?"
Look of wide-eyed surprise:
"Pull the other one," says Jensen. "Since when do you leave a party before midnight?"
Michael shrugs. He's clearly aching to talk about it. This reluctant act is just a companion piece to his non-Life of the party routine back at Jared's. He wants his mood to be noticed.
Jensen waits, patiently. Finally, Michael says:
"They're on me, non-stop. Al and Miles."
"To sign on for another season? Dude, you told me that was settled."
Another shrug from Michael. Jensen says:
"You've been bitching non-stop about the writing since I was on Smallville. You've hinted publicly that you're leaving and you've sworn to me over and over that no amount of cash would lure you back – what's going on?"
Silence. Michael looks out the window, seemingly lost in contemplation of his own reflection. Jensen says:
"Does this….does this have anything to do with Tom?"
The result is instantaneous and scornful. Michael tosses – actually tosses – his head and snorts. This is when Jensen knows he's hit a nerve. After a moment, Michael says:
"You've missed the turn."
"That's because we're going to my place."
Michael flutters his eyelashes:
"Ackles, I'm flattered but-"
"Shut up. We're having a drink and you're going to tell me about it."
But when the drinks are poured, Michael neatly skirts the topic and gets Jensen laughing instead, trading set stories. One drink turns into three and before Jensen knows it, Michael is slumped against his shoulder, fingers prodding uselessly at the TV remote.
"Stupid Ass Thing….doesn't work."
Jensen gently takes it from him and sets it aside. Then he waits. Michael and Jared have this in common, they don't bottle things up. You give them enough time, the discontent inevitably bubbles to the surface.
After a pause, another sip of Scotch, Michael says:
"Don't tell me you wouldn't stay if Padalecki asked you. Even if you were ready to leave. More than ready."
"Did Tom ask you to stay?"
"He does everything but ask: "It won't be the same without you…..It’ll be hard to find a good part after the strike….too many projects in turnaround…."
"That's rough," says Jensen, not knowing what else to say.
"You know. You understand. Because of Jared."
Jensen shifts uncomfortably. How did Jared get dragged into this?
There's a silence. Jensen is aware that Michael is looking at him. Not just any look: it's his sidelong, under-the-eyelashes look, which is step one of Michael's formidable seduction technique. Jensen laughs:
"Are you kidding me?"
He gets an innocent look in return; Michael bites his lower lip:
It couldn't be any more obvious; Michael's pissed about Tom and is seeking consolation. Jensen can't say he's averse to the prospect. He's barely seen Jared during the strike hiatus. He hasn't been celibate but he's missed Jared. There's definitely been a few lonely moments.
And conveniently, here is Michael, watching him, all sleepy-sexy eyes and hands curled on his thighs. Jensen thinks, what the hell, and decides to get the ball rolling. He tugs Michael close and kisses him. Michael, surprised, loses his balance and tumbles into Jensen's lap.
"Shut up," says Jensen and Michael does, fighting to control the kiss.
There's not enough space to wrestle for dominance on the couch so they progress towards the bedroom; Of course, Rosenbaum tries to lead the way but this isn't his house and he doesn't get to boss things. Jensen pushes in front of him and Michael promptly jumps on his back, insisting on being piggy-backed to the bed. This works to Jensen's advantage; he throws Michael down on the bed and pounces, before Michael can launch his own retaliatory tackle.
It's nice to honestly pin someone to the bed. When Jared and Jensen wrestle, Jensen knows that Jared lets him win, rolling over and submitting like an amiable puppy. Jensen and Michael are more evenly matched, close enough in height and weight to share stunt doubles. It feels good to have that long slim body, so similar to Jensen's own, wriggling frantically beneath him.
He bends down to whisper in Michael's ear:
"Has Tommy spoiled you? Does he let you run things in bed?"
Michael growls; flashes those green-blue eyes. Jensen laughs. Fuck, he's so hard right now. He says:
"Or do you like to act up and have Tommy put you in your place? Is that how it works?"
He's surprised by a lunge from Michael, who's evidently been biding his time. There's a confused swirl of limbs and blankets and when it's over, Jensen finds himself very much pinned, with a triumphant Rosenbaum looming over him. He tries to throw him off but Michael only cackles evilly, settles his ass right on Jensen's groin, damn him, and says:
"Is this how it works with you and Jared?" Michael adopts a horrendous Texas falsetto. "Oh, Jared, JARED. Take me Jared! Remember the Alamo!"
Infuriated, Jensen surges upwards and Rosenbaum is airborne for a moment. They land in a confused tangle of limbs and there is kissing and hands going under t-shirts and Rosenbaum muttering threats and orders in his ear. He's a good kisser, Mikey. Jensen decides to stop fighting and lie back and enjoy it. His hand finds its way to the front of Michael's jeans, causing Michael to thrust into his fingers. So Jensen strokes him again.
Michael bites his neck.
"Behave," says Jensen, sternly. "Or I'll swat that ass. Surprised Tom wants you back at all, with manners like these."
He rolls Michael underneath him, and this time Michael doesn't fight, just splays himself out on the bed, all long arms and skinny legs, watching Jensen intently.
Jensen undoes Michael's fly and takes out his cock. Big thick cock for such a slender guy. He hikes down Michael's jeans and boxers to see a bit more skin, kisses Michael's belly, then starts jacking him off. Michael, rather sweetly, reaches up and strokes a hand across Jensen's cheek, then up into his hair. His other hand grips the duvet.
He closes his eyes when he comes and arches upwards, his hand tightening in Jensen's hair.
Jensen cleans him up with a corner of the sheet but sneaks in a lick of his own knuckles too, just a little taste test. Rosenbaum snorts with laughter at this, lying back on his pillow, watching Jensen with sleepy eyes. Jensen eases in behind him, and blows a raspberry into the back of his head.
Michael says, softly:
"If it was you. If Jared wanted you to stay…."
Jensen shifts; his cock is still hard. He says, truthfully.
"I don't know, man. I really don't know."
Rosenbaum's back is exposed, a slim arc of white, but he's still in his jeans. His ass is right there. Jensen thrusts towards him, not asking exactly, just hinting. Michael goes very still in his arms, considering.
Jensen nudges him again and this time Michael grunts and turns around to face him. Making it clear his ass is a "no fly" zone. (Except for Tom, perhaps?) Jensen, a little regretfully, accepts a kiss instead and lets Rosenbaum roll him onto his back.
Any residual regret evaporates when Michael's mouth closes around him because – fuck, Rosenbaum gives great head. Tongue teasing everywhere, finding the sensitive spots on the underside of Jensen's shaft, gently circling round the head with a lollipop "pop". Jensen holds on like he's riding a rollercoaster: clasps Michael's shoulder, clasps a fistful of duvet, then practically lifts them both off the bed when he comes.
When he's with Jared, it's always an awkward time, afterwards. Jensen finds himself counting down the seconds until Jared will glance at the clock and start gracefully making his exit, making Jensen feel (absurdly) like the girl who just wants her one-night-stand to stay and cuddle.
However his relationship with Jared can be described, Jared's certainly not a one-night-stand. Michael, who possibly does qualify, is showing no inclination to leave and is, in fact, sitting up in bed making demands. He wants a toothbrush and a clean t-shirt to sleep in, which Jensen supplies. He also seems to want both pillows and when denied, settles his head on Jensen's shoulder instead and tries to claim most of the duvet for himself.
Jensen lies there, listening to Michael breathe, feeling over-crowded, over-heated and happier then he's been in days. His last thought before falling asleep, just as it is every night, is a quick flash of Jared's face. This time, Jared is squinting into the sun, a random memory culled from months ago, on the set. It'll be okay to get back to Vancouver again, Jensen thinks. It'll be okay.
Michael mumbles something in his sleep. He sounds discontented. Jensen rubs his back and pulls him a little closer. He's very warm in bed, Michael. It's comfortable.
* * * *
Jensen is dimly aware that background noise has been happening for some time: the buzz of cell-phones, the chirp of Blackberries. But this is a proper ring, his land-line, a number that very few people are allowed to have. It's past three in the morning - it could be his parents calling. A half-dozen Texas disaster scenarios instantly scroll through Jensen's mind.
Ignoring Rosenbaum's sleepy protests, Jensen pushes him aside and races to the living room. Please let everyone be okay. Please let everyone be okay.
"Hey, is Michael there? He left the party…"
The last voice he was expecting to hear is Tom's. How does Tom even have this number? Jensen says:
Pause. Tom says:
"I'll come round and get him."
"Okay," says Jensen, aware that his voice sounds thick and stupid. He walks back to the bedroom. What just happened? He nudges Michael:
Michael grunts and hunkers down in the bed. Jensen prods him again.
"Hey. That was Tom. He says he's coming to pick you up."
Michael lifts his head, sleepy eyes fixed on Jensen, trying to focus. Then suddenly he's out of bed, a little whirlwind rushing around the room. Looking for his clothes, tripping over a shoe, bumping his hip on the dresser and cursing.
"What the fuck just happened?" says Jensen to himself, as Michael charges past him. There's running water in the bathroom, more swearing, then the doorbell is ringing.
Jensen hesitates before opening the door but, hell, it's not like Tom intends to fight him over Michael's virtue or anything? "Pistols at pre-dawn?" Surely not.
And when he opens the door, there is Tom, same as he ever is, composed and contained and acting like middle of the night house calls are nothing out of the ordinary. He accepts Jensen's invitation to come in but doesn't venture past the door mat. They're talking about golf when Michael emerges from the bathroom.
"….I can book us green time a week from Saturday," says Tom. "You'll be back in Van, by then?"
Jensen nods; this is all so surreal. If Michael is trying to look like they've been innocently playing Halo for the last four hours, he's not succeeded. Despite splashing water on his face, he looks well-fucked and Tom can hardly miss it. Still Tom's amiability doesn't waver. He says to Jensen:
"So, I'll see you next week."
And they're heading down the front path, side by side; Tom puts a hand on Michael's shoulder as they're coming up to his car, then turns and flashes Jensen a brief look. Then they're gone. Not back to Tom's place, surely; not with a wife in residence. Back to Michael's? Where Tom can reclaim his property and Michael presumably will be very happy to be reclaimed?
Did Rosenbaum use me, wonders Jensen. Was I just a way of getting Tom's attention?
He imagines Tom pushing Michael down on the bed, pulling his clothes off and thoroughly (for Tom is always thorough) re-possessing every inch of him, fucking away every last trace of Jensen.
A rogue thought crosses his mind: would Jared ever do the same for me? Jensen dismisses it and staggers back to resume his interrupted sleep.
* * * *
A few hours later, the phone wakes him again. Jensen swears at it heartily, then throws a shoe. It keeps ringing. When he finally picks up, he's greeted by a Texas boom:
"You left the party! C'mon. We're going for pancakes."
Jared is absurdly alert on three hours sleep, chatting about the party, about moving back to Vancouver and ever so subtly, Jensen notes with amusement, trying to pump him for information about last night.
"So Rosenbaum seemed a bit moody…"
"He's just taking stock of things," says Jensen, blandly. "As one does."
Narrow-eyed look from Jared.
After a third cup of coffee, Jared stares down at his plate and says:
"We didn't see much of each other during hiatus."
And whose fault was that, thinks Jensen. He answers:
"Guess we didn't."
Jared makes fork-tracks in his syrup, then glances up:
"Do you want to make up some of that time today?"
* * * *
A few hours later, Jensen is sitting up in bed checking his messages. There's a new one from Rosenbaum, who is long-winded even when texting:
"Just got the latest script. Fuckin' kill me, Ackles. FuckFuckFuck! Kill me now!"
Jensen texts back:
"HA HA HA."
Jared grunts in his sleep and rolls over, landing in a sun beam. Jensen looks at him, gilded and golden, eyelashes casting delicate shadows across his face.
"So why do we stay again????? Remind me?????"
But Jensen - looking at Jared, bathed in sun, lips still sticky with syrup - needs no such reminder.