It's the middle of March in Vancouver, and Jensen's at the airport in a raincoat and a soaked-through pair of jeans. So much fucking rain it might as well be monsoon season, but it's hard not to grin when he hears, "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" from behind him. He turns and there's Jared coming out of baggage claim with an enormous duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Dude, you're not Bruce Willis. You will never be Bruce Willis."

"What the fuck kind of hello is that?" Jared says. "And come on, what do you mean I'll never be Bruce Willis?"

Jensen looks him over and snorts. "Bruce Willis wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt."

"What's wrong with the shirt?" Jared says, glancing down.

"You might've missed this, I don't know, but it's got pink flowers on it."

"Nice to see you too, asshole." Jared pulls him in for a hug.

"Okay, honey," Jensen says against Jared's shoulder. "How was your vacation?"

Jared ignores him to sniff Jensen's neck. "What the hell! You've been in Vancouver all day and you're not drunk yet."

"Hi, I'm driving." Jensen pauses, then adds, "Retard."

Jared shakes his head. "Could've caught a cab, man. I'm disappointed in you. Actually, no, I'm disappointed in Rosenbaum. I'd have thought he'd have gotten to you by now."

"He tried," Jensen says. "He and Welling came by a couple hours ago with coffee. Except Mike put half a bottle of vodka in it."

"That's because Michael Rosenbaum is a smart man," Jared says. "Vodka's tasteless!"

"If somebody puts eight shots of vodka in a cup of coffee, it's kind of hard to miss," Jensen points out.

Jared shrugs. "Whatever. You're still sober! We've got to fix that."

"What, you drink on the plane?"

"Complimentary drinks in first class, bitch!" Jared yells, then cackles the rest of the way to Jensen's truck.

It's eight o'clock and Jared's on his way to drunk already. Tonight's going to be awesome.

*

Mike and Tom are at a bar downtown. Nowhere classy -- Rosenbaum wouldn't know classy if it bit him on the ass -- and it looks like they're having one of those conversations where Tom does all the talking and Mike just laughs at him for three hours. They don't notice Jensen and Jared until they're pretty much on top of them, but Mike bellows, "Jensen! Jared! Get your asses over here!" in their ears anyway.

"Hey guys," Jared says. "You got enough booze there?"

There are maybe three square inches of the table that aren't covered in empty and half-drunk bottles. Tom reaches out and carefully pulls an armful towards him. "These are mine," he says solemnly. "Those are yours."

Jensen's kind of afraid to ask. "What are?"

Tom flings his arm toward the back of the booth, where there's a small mountain of untouched beers and a full bottle of tequila.

"We ordered you all the booze you've missed," Mike explains. "Drink up, bitches!"

Tom giggles into an empty beer and Jared grabs the unopened bottle of tequila. He holds it like it's one of the prop guns, slips into Sam-voice and says, "We've got work to do."

"Damn straight," Jensen says, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig.

*

Catching up goes really quickly, actually: couple of beers and some tequila shots and they're golden. They lost Rosey and Tom at some point -- Rosey's probably off hooking up with a girl and Jensen's money is on Tom having wandered home. Dude does that sometimes, got to start keeping a leash on him or something, like one of those child leashes you see parents holding onto in malls, except bigger, because Tom Welling, he's fucking Superman.

Jared's coerced Jensen into playing darts. Jared lines up and hits his third bull's eye in a row. "Dude, I'm amazing. I'm like, a genius."

"A darts genius?" Jensen says.

"Naw, a sex genius. I am a fucking god."

Jensen groans. "You didn't just say that."

"Yeah, except for how I totally did." He throws another bull's eye. "See? I can't freaking miss tonight!"

"Yeah, because you're a genius."

"A sex genius. I lost my virginity to Lauren Graham, man. I'm a total sex genius."

Jensen lines up his shot carefully and throws. It catches the very outermost edge of the dartboard, just barely not falling off the edge entirely. He curses, then says, "No, you didn't. You lost it to Suzie Chambers after junior prom. In your pick-up truck."

Jared groans. "Fuck, who told you that?"

"You did, dude. Like, twenty times."

"Fuck," Jared says with feeling. He takes his last shot -- another bull's eye, motherfucker -- and goes to retrieve the darts. "Yeah, well, I still slept with Lauren."

"You're full of shit," Jensen tells him. "You were dating her daughter."

"Her character's daughter, and that was only because Lauren turned me down."

"How many times?"

Jared misses his first shot by a good two feet. "Three."

"Ha!" Jensen says.

"Dude, whatever. At least Alexis was hot. Kind of a bitch, but hot."

"Alexis is smaller than Sandy, man. I don't think that shit's anatomically possible."

Jared grins. "Hey, Jensen, are you saying what I think you're saying? You saying I've got a huge dick?"

Jensen tries to catch it before it goes too far. "Naw, I'm saying Alexis and Sandy are so freaking small that--"

"Jensen thinks I've got a huge dick!" Jared announces to the bar.

Too late. Jensen groans and makes a wild grab for the bottle of tequila. He's going to need it.

And then Mike shows up out of nowhere, slings his arm around Jared's shoulders and bellows, "I take a look at my enormous penis, and my troubles start melting away . . ."

Jensen swallows that tequila down, catches Jared's eye and figures he's pretty much screwed anyway; there's nothing for it but to go along with them now. He joins in a couple lines later: "And the happy times are comin' to stay!"

*

It's later. The music's louder, there's an empty bottle of rum on the table and Jared's talking shit.

"Yeah, okay, so you got me on Lauren Graham. I totally slept with Sandy on the Cry_Wolf set, though."

"She was your girlfriend," Jensen says.

"Not then!" Jared says.

"And not now. Remind me why she still puts up with your ass?"

"Same reason you do! Because I'm awesome."

"Actually, I hang out with you because I'm stuck in Vancouver. You know, for my job. They pay me to hang out with you."

"Oh," Jared says. "Okay." For a moment it looks like he's trying to think too hard, but then he perks up. "Hey, where's my beer?"

"It's on the table," Jensen says patiently. "It's empty. You drank all of it."

"Huh," Jared says. "Hey look, there's another one!" He wanders away after another beer, off on the bar somewhere.

Jensen doesn't have to get up to drink more beer. Jensen's beer isn't empty yet. It's awesome.

"So anyway, I slept with her on the set, dude. Like, on the set," Jared says, walking back up and waggling his eyebrows.

"Why are you telling me this again?"

"Because I don't think you fully appreciate my sex genius."

"Oh, okay," Jensen says. "Go on, then."

"So yeah, Sandy, both Olsen twins--"

Jensen laughs. "At the same time?"

"You wish."

"You wish," Jensen says. His beer is empty again. It's kind of a tragedy. He's going to need a new one, but then he'd have to move. Yeah, that's not happening.

"See, that comeback right there? That's why I'm the genius in this relationship. Anyway, House of Wax, right, that was Chad."

There's a beer on the bar maybe five feet away from him. It's not really that far to move, Jensen thinks, and then what Jared just said gets through his brain. "Wait, whoa, time out. You slept with Chad? Isn't that pretty much statutory rape by association?"

"Kenzie was eighteen when they started fucking," Jared says. "I think. Anyway, I don't like to talk about it, because then Chad said he wanted to sleep with Paris."

"I think I just puked in my mouth," Jensen says.

"Yeah, it was very traumatizing," Jared says solemnly. "Just think if they'd actually done it. Their STDs would have come together to form super mutant STDs. Like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but STDs."

"This time I really did puke in my mouth," Jensen tells him.

"Here, have a beer, that'll make it better."

Jensen stops watching him for half a second and Jared's back with a beer. Jared actually is a genius. Jensen's just going to pretend that he never mentioned sleeping with Chad.

*

It's later, because the beer is gone again. Jensen thinks that might be Jared's fault, because the bottle is in Jared's hand and it's empty. "Hey, I have to pee, come help," Jared says, tugging Jensen toward the bathroom.

"Are you really that drunk?" Jensen asks.

"Yep!" Jared says cheerfully, pushing through the crowd. It's dimmer in here now, lots of people to shove past and pulsing music and strobe lights. It's easy to follow Jared, though, it's like he's a motorboat motoring right through all the people, probably making motorboat noises while he's at it. Brrrrrr, brrrrr, Jensen thinks, and then Jared's stopped by bathroom door, fumbling with his wallet.

"Here," he says, handing it to Jensen. "Give the guy a twenty."

Jensen pulls one out and stares at it. Andrew Jackson looks like he's constipated. He holds it up to see if it looks different in light.

"Dude, I meant sometime this year." Jared snatches the twenty from him and hands it to the attendant. "Keep the change," he says, which doesn't make any sense at all. Jensen's totally about to tell him that, but then they're inside the bathroom and Jared's shoving his tongue down Jensen's throat.

Jensen stands there and lets him do it for a minute, until it gets hard to breathe, and then he pushes back and says, "Huh?"

"Uh," Jared says. "You wanna?"

Jensen tries thinking for a minute, but it's pretty hard to concentrate. The bathroom's decorated in all silver, so it's really shiny and reflecting a lot of light and making Jensen pretty dizzy, and Jared's standing right there in front of him and he just had his tongue in Jensen's mouth. "Huh," Jensen says again. "Okay."

"Awesome," Jared says, and goes for Jensen's fly. It takes him a couple tries to get it unzipped, and somehow Jensen ends up with his back against the wall, which is hard and made of cold tiles, but then Jared is grabbing his cock and Jensen really doesn't give a shit about the tiles at all.

Jared's hand is bigger than Jensen's, and he doesn't have a ring or guitar calluses but he flicks his thumbnail over the head on an upstroke and his grip is just this side of too-tight. It's either over really quickly or it takes a long time, Jensen's not sure -- the silver's really throwing him off -- and then Jensen comes all over his jeans and Jared's hand.

Jared laughs a little, pulls his hand out, wipes it on some paper towels, then leans against Jensen. It's a good thing the wall's behind Jensen, because otherwise he'd probably fall over. He's a little boneless and Jared's cock is making his jeans jut out. Jensen licks his fingers and sticks his hand down Jared's pants. It definitely doesn't take long to get Jared off: a few hard pulls and reaching for his balls and he's done for, creaming his jeans. Jared looks down, a little sheepish, hair covering his eyes, and then Jared's helping him clean up.

Jensen stares down at where Jared's wiping his cock off with one of those paper towels that feel like they're made of cloth. Jared got it a little wet first too, so it feels pretty much awesome, and Jensen watches the movements of Jared's hand, then follows the arc of the paper towel as Jared tosses it in the trashcan. Jensen thinks he's maybe supposed to be freaking out right now. He's not sure. The bathroom's too shiny for that.

He gives in to the urge to laugh a little, though, and then something occurs to him. "Hey," he says, looking at Jared in the mirror. "When you talk about your sex genius, you're actually talking about your dick, aren't you?"

"Now that you've touched my sex genius, you can be one too!" Jared says. "Come on, I want another beer."

*

Jensen remembers being in a cab and Jared talking about saguaro cacti, except he can't remember the context for the life of him, and that's all he's got until he wakes up on his own couch sometime after noon the next day. The bathroom trashcan is empty next to him and his mouth tastes like an ashtray.

"Motherfucker," Jensen says. He gets up carefully and moves into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He manages three sips before he feels like he's going to be sick. He lies down on the couch and drinks the water really slowly so his body won't revolt -- seriously, it feels like his liver is trying to escape. He's not sure he blames it. He thinks he remembers most of last night, including the part where he and Jared jerked each other off in the bathroom, and Jensen is way too hung-over to think about that right now. He stabs the remote until the TV gives him infomercials, and watches them until he passes out again.

*

Sometime after three in the afternoon Jensen wakes up to his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He digs for it and answers without opening his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Hey, I'm outside your door, open up," Jared yells in his ear.

"Jesus, fine," Jensen mumbles, hanging up. He gets to his feet, more by rolling off the couch than standing up, and rubs at his eyes. He's pretty sure that his contacts have permanently melded themselves to his eyeballs.

It takes him a minute to get the door open, and there's Jared, huge and bouncy and way too awake to exist. "Dude, it's four in the afternoon and your ass still isn't out of bed?"

"I'm going to puke on you," Jensen informs him.

Jared pushes past him into the apartment, then turns back to take a look at him. "Man, you look like shit!"

Jensen groans. "How is it that you don't?"

Jared holds up a thirty-two ounce bottle of water that Jensen swears wasn't in his hand a minute ago. "Because I drained one of these before I went to bed. Come on, drink up!"

That's what Jared said last night, and look how well that worked out. Jensen takes the bottle from him. "I hate you."

"Yeah, no you don't," Jared says cheerfully. "Hey, where's your remote? We can probably catch the rest of the game."

"Which game?"

"Mariners versus Padres." Jared locates the remote and hits the power button. It's the bottom of the eighth; the Padres are up 4-2.

"Dude," Jensen says. "Did you really come over here just to watch the last inning of a spring training game?"

"Your TV is bigger than mine!"

"Yeah, by an inch."

"It's a very important inch," Jared says. "Also to make fun of your hangover. Don't forget that. Hey, have you got any beer?"

Jensen moans.

"Best hangover cure is to keep on drinking." Jared digs around in the fridge and comes up with a longneck, triumphant. "Ha!"

"The other best hangover cure is to puke on your face," Jensen says, and sinks back into the couch to watch the game.

*

By the time the game's over, Jared has finished his beer and is sprawled out all over Jensen's couch. Jensen has never met anybody who can take up space the way Jared does, spread out like milk spilled on the floor, getting up under the refrigerator and probably growing all moldy before anyone gets around to cleaning it up. Jensen would have sworn they were on opposite ends of the couch when Jared turned the TV on, and he doesn't think Jared has moved, but somehow Jared's leg is pressed all along the length of Jensen's and Jensen is all too aware of it. He's doing his best not to look down, so he's staring at the Campbell's Chunky Soup commercial like it's actually fascinating the eighty-third time he's seen it.

Then Jared says, "Hey," and Jensen makes the mistake of looking at him.

It's not just Jared's leg that's gotten closer. His whole body is right up next to Jensen's, and Jared puts his hand on the back of the couch, behind Jensen's head. Jensen has plenty of time to get out of there, if he wants to. He doesn't move, though.

"You okay with this?" Jared asks.

"Um," Jensen says. There's still way too much booze sloshing around in his skull and not nearly enough thoughts. He should be freaking out about this, he definitely should, but when he opens his mouth again, "Yeah," comes out.

Jared doesn't waste time, just shoots him a grin that Jensen feels all the way down to his guts and goes for it.

It's not a good kiss. Jensen tilts his head up at the last second and Jared hits him more on the chin than on the mouth. It's been a couple of days since Jensen shaved -- Jared's lips catch against the stubble.

A short burst of laughter and Jensen's tilted his face down and Jared's moved his mouth up and they've got it right, lips pressing together and rounding so their tongues can touch, a slide of muscle and heat. Jared cups Jensen's jaw in his hand, thumbs at the roughness of his cheek, and that's what does it: that's what makes Jensen pull back.

"Jesus, Jared." There's a line of spit hanging down from his mouth. Jensen wants to reach over and wipe it away. Jared has dropped his hand from Jensen's face but it's on the armrest of the couch, still boxing him in -- there's really nowhere for Jensen to go but backwards, and he's only got a couple of inches there unless he's planning on jumping off the back of the couch. He's not going to do that, but he's got this sudden compulsion to know: "Why are you doing this?"

Jared wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then bites his bottom lip. "Are you not cool with it? Because if you're not cool with it, we can stop. Anytime, Jensen, I mean it."

"No!" Jensen says quickly, unthinking. "It's not that. It's just -- what are you doing here? You know" -- he makes a vague gesture with his hands -- "doing."

Jared stares at him for a minute, puzzled. Jensen's just starting to think that either he or Jared is actually clinically retarded -- probably both of them -- when Jared smiles.

"Are you asking what my intentions are, Jensen?" he says, delighted. "Are you asking if I'm going to make an honest woman out of you?"

"No," Jensen says emphatically.

"Can I call you Mrs. Jensen Padalecki?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"Aww, come on. Jenny Padalecki! It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

It's not even worth interrupting the guy once he gets going, so Jensen just waits until he's cackled himself out, swallows and says, "Seriously, man, what are we doing here?" He watches the way the mole at the edge of Jared's mouth moves as his face twitches before he starts talking.

"I don't know, man," Jared says slowly. "But I was thinking maybe first we could order some pizza, and then we could watch Lethal Weapon, and then I could kick your ass at Guitar Hero."

Jensen snorts. "So not going to happen," he tells him, but he can tell from the look on Jared's face that Jared knows what he means: Yeah, that sounds about right.

*

So ordinarily, when you start fucking around with your co-star, who is also your best friend, who is also a guy, it'd probably be worthwhile to talk about it at some point. But actually, Jensen's pretty sure Dean's got a point about that whole 'no chick flick moments' thing, because not talking about it? Actually working out just fine.

A week into filming, they're in Jared's trailer between takes. David's directing, and maybe he's been in the cold rain too long without coffee: he sent Jensen and Jared away because, "More mud, there needs to be more mud," even though Jensen's pretty sure they're going to float away if the rain doesn't let up soon. Jensen's hoping David keeps on waiting for mud for as long as possible, though, because this way Jensen gets to keep kicking Jared's ass at Super Smash Brothers.

"Dude, would it kill you to buy a Playstation for the trailer?" Jared says. "I'm pretty sure N64 came out while I was still in the womb."

"Yeah, if you were born in 1996," Jensen says. "Oh wait." His Kirby picks up a baseball bat and thwops the shit out of Jared's Donkey Kong.

"How many hours of your life have you spent playing this game?"

"You're just pissed because your hands are too big for the controller."

Donkey Kong does some kind of flailing sideways crabwalk that gives Kirby the opening to kill him for the seventeenth time in a row.

"Damn," Jared swears. "I'm getting beaten by a freaking puffball."

"Picking the biggest character in the game doesn't mean you're automatically going to win, dude." Jensen waits for Donkey Kong to drop back onto the platform and immediately hits him with a fan, which is about the most demeaning thing ever. Seriously, a paper fan.

"Actually, bigger is better," Jared says, and tackles Jensen backwards onto the couch.

"Lamest line ever, dude," Jensen starts to say, but Jared cuts him off by trying to touch Jensen's tonsils with his tongue. Jared's got a freakishly long tongue, and Jensen likes the feel of it sliding in and out of his mouth.

Jared pulls back for a second, to breathe maybe, and Jensen doesn't even have to think about it: he slides down to the floor.

"What are you -- oh," Jared says as Jensen pushes his knees apart and kneels between them. The couch is a little too low for the angle to be right; Jensen pushes Jared sideways until he gets it, shifts sideways to make it work.

"Have you ever done this before?" Jared asks.

"Um," Jensen says, unbuttoning Jared's fly and shoving his pants down. He isn't wearing any underwear. He's already hard, cock thick and red -- like Jensen's, straining against his jeans -- and pre-come is leaking from the tip.

"You have!" Jared says gleefully. "Who was it? Was it Rosenbaum?"

"Gross, dude," Jensen says, and sucks Jared's cock into his mouth. And yeah, he's done this before -- you can only hear about your cocksucking mouth for so long before you start to wonder -- but he's never done it with anyone he knows, and he's never done it sober. Also, he's not going to tell Jared this, because he's pretty sure Jared is already aware of it and if he isn't, he totally doesn't need his ego to get any bigger than it already is: Jared's cock is freaking huge. He only gets about half of it in his mouth on the first try. He wraps his hand around the base, though, and strokes Jared's balls.

"Ahh, never mind," Jared groans. "You were on Days."

Jensen pulls back and looks at him levelly. "Do you want me to suck your dick or not, dude?"

Jared shrugs. "Eh."

"Right, cool, I'm out of here," Jensen jokes, and moves to go. Jared, though, he's got those crazy Stretch Armstrong arms: he reaches right out, grabs Jensen from behind and pulls him back in.

Jensen arches an eyebrow at him. "You gonna apologize for that shit?"

Jared maneuvers Jensen onto his lap and shoves his hand down Jensen's pants. "Sorry?"

Jensen swears, fights his pants off and bucks against Jared's stomach. "Shittiest apology ever," he moans.

"What if I suck you off, will that make it better?"

Jensen rocks down on Jared's cock, considering. "Maybe. If you swallow."

"I think that can be arranged."

Jensen groans as Jared pushes out from under him and flips him over, settling between his knees. Jensen's been leaking pre-come for what feels like a year. He kind of hopes that when he jizzes, it gets in Jared's eye.

"So how do you feel about a little teeth?" Jared asks, breathing down on Jensen's cock.

"Teeth?" he says stupidly.

Jared sucks his cock down and grazes teeth along the underside, the slightest amount of pressure, the line of where Jared's bottom teeth aren't quite straight. And yeah, Jensen's done this before, but Jared has too: he's got all the moves right, the sharpness of his teeth just this side of painful, and then he's moving up to suck the tip, lick all along the vein, and this whole thing is going to kill him before it's over, it really, really is.

Jared sucks him all the way down, deep into his throat for a moment, and it's embarrassing how quickly Jensen spurts into Jared's mouth. Jared swallows most of it, but some dribbles onto his chin, and Jensen pulls him up, licks it off him and kisses his mouth.

Jensen is too lazy to move, too pliant and sinking into the couch, but he can reach for Jared's cock without having to get up.

Jared sucks in a breath and says, "Yeah, like that but a little harder on the upstroke, come on," and Jensen goes for it: pulls him hard and fast. Jared arches his back as he comes, letting Jensen kiss his neck. Jensen wants to mouth bruises there, hard enough that make-up couldn't fail to notice them; the suddenness of the urge takes him aback. He doesn't do it, and it's over then, anyway.

Jared pants against the couch. "Hot damn," he drawls. "You think we got time to shower before we've got to be back out there?"

Two sharp knocks on the door, right on cue. "Jared, Jensen, you both in there? David wants you back out in five!"

Jensen sighs heavily. Toweling off it is.

*

The first thing Jared did when they got back from winter hiatus during the first season was drag Jensen to a cell phone store and buy the cheapest pre-paid cell phone he could find. It didn't make sense at the time -- he and Jensen both already had cell phones -- but after a few hours and a few beers, Jared had explained, "It's for prank-calling Kripke." Jensen was pretty sure it was the best idea ever.

It turns out that Jared's got a hidden paranoid side, or else he just really wants to be a spy, because they've changed the SIM card after every call. It's a pain in the ass, so Jensen doesn't let Jared prank-call Kripke often, but it's a Saturday night and they're a couple of beers in, and when Jared rummages around in a side-table drawer and comes up with the cell phone, triumphant, it's hard to say no.

"All right, Jensen," Jared says, setting the phone between them. "Moment of truth. Who are you going to be this time?"

Jensen swallows his sip of beer, considering. "Chewbacca." He throws his head back and bleats.

"Dude," Jared says. "You're scary-good at that."

"Luuuuuhll," Jensen replies. "So what are you?"

Jared jumps up and gets on his toes, then hunches his back, makes his hands into claws and trills through his wide-open mouth.

"And you make a ridiculously good velociraptor," Jensen says. "Somehow this is not surprising in any way. You do know Kripke can't see the full effect through the phone, right? Like, unless we sent him a video, but that would kind of kill the whole anonymous thing."

"You know what?" Jared replies. "Ultimate death match, velociraptor versus Chewbacca? Chewie would be toast." He hits the speaker button and speed-dial number one -- Kripke's the only one programmed into this phone -- and they wait.

The helpful thing about Kripke is, the dude always picks up his phone. Like, always. Jensen is reasonably sure Kripke has never missed a phone call in his life. Sure enough, two rings and Kripke's voice comes through: "Hello?"

"Braaaaaaahl," Jensen says.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Ka-kuh-kuh-kuh," Jared says.

"You're breaking up," Kripke says.

"Mruuuuuh," Jensen says insistently. "Mraaaauuuh!"

"I think you have the wrong number," Kripke says.

Before he can hang up, though, Jared tries for the high-pitched velociraptor battle cry and lashes out at Jensen's arm with his claws. The line goes dead in the middle of the move -- Jensen sees the screen light up blue as Kripke disconnects -- and it's probably a good thing that he's off the line, because the velociraptor turns back into Jared midway through the lunge and he cracks his shit up.

"That was awesome!" he crows. "You know Kripke's gonna be standing there for the next three minutes, just staring at his phone all confused."

"Bet you ten bucks you can't keep a straight face when Kripke brings it up on set tomorrow," Jensen says.

"Bet you ten bucks I can make you come in less than two minutes," Jared replies.

Jensen's been half-hard since the moment Jared walked in the door, but it's pretty ridiculous how fast the rest of his blood rushes south. "What was the point of you doing the full-body velociraptor again?"

"I was getting in character," Jared says. "Really, you know, feeling the dinosaur." He growls, loose-faced and making a valiant and unsuccessful effort at unhinging his jaw, then licks at Jensen's mouth.

"Dude. You say you think you're a dinosaur and then you want me to make out with you?"

Jared trills in his throat and sucks on Jensen's tongue and huh, suddenly Jensen's completely all right with that after all.

*

The second Saturday in April, Jensen drags Jared with him to Fraserview Golf Course. It's in the sixties today and the air is heavy with moisture; the trees lining the fairways recede into the fog. Jensen bends to place the ball on the tee and flexes his fingers around his 3-wood, lining up the shot.

Jensen's halfway through his swing when Jared interrupts him to say, "You know what the best part about golf is?"

Jensen lowers the club. "Dude, do you mind?"

"Golf carts," Jared continues. "Hey, you wanna race? I bet if we call the club house we can totally get you your own."

Jensen ignores him and lines up the shot again. He takes it a little too quickly, which is all Jared's fault; he's got to get the shot off before Jared distracts him again. It's not an awesome shot, but it's on the fairway at least. He'll take it.

"You want a turn?" Jensen asks.

"Nah. I'm just here to make sure you don't lose your balls or anything." Jared grins and takes a sip of Powerade.

Jensen watches his Adam's apple work as he swallows. "How badly do you really need that when you've been sitting on your ass all morning?"

"Watching you play golf is strenuous," Jared says. "So is driving the golf cart zero-point-two miles per hour."

"You've been showing remarkable self-restraint in not flooring it," Jensen agrees.

Jared tips the Powerade at him. "See? Totally necessary. Do we get to go play find the ball now?"

"The only reason you aren't playing is because you're afraid I'm going to kick your ass," Jensen tells him. "Which is a valid point. I'd be afraid of me, too."

"Are you challenging me here?"

"Nope. Go fetch, ball boy."

"Fine," Jared says, pulling a ball out of his pocket and selecting a putter out of Jensen's golf bag. "Is this the one I want?"

"Yup, totally," Jensen says. "Awesome choice. Line your shoulders up and step when you--"

"Can you just let me swing? This requires a lot of concentration." Jared has a death-grip on the club and he's staring at the ball like he's willing it to move with the power of his mind.

"I'm sure it does," Jensen says. "It looks very strenuous."

"I think I'm gonna need another Powerade after this."

"Good thing you brought eight of them."

"No kidding." Jared winds up for a full swing. His form's not actually that bad, except for the part where he's trying to drive with a putter: the ball shoots about twenty yards and dive-bombs back towards the ground.

Jared stares down the fairway. "Huh. That's not what it was supposed to do, is it?"

Jensen makes it to a count of five before he cracks his shit up. "It's okay. It's just that it was the worst drive I've ever seen. We can give you a handicap, though! Of like, ninety billion."

"I'll handicap your ass."

"Weak one, dude, fucking weak."

Jared swats at him with the putter and Jensen dodges out of the way. "Hey, you're pretty spry for an old man!"

"Hey, you're pretty bad at golf! Actually, what I really mean is, you're terrible at it."

It takes half a second for Jared to go from gaping indignantly to shoving Jensen against the side of the golf cart, hand fisting in Jensen's shirt. "Can we give up on the golf thing already?"

Jensen splutters. "We're only on the fourth hole!"

"I kind of don't exactly care." Jared presses into him, hardening against Jensen's thigh. It's a warm day in April, Fraserview is crowded and he and Jared haven't been moving that fast. The group behind them is going to catch up any minute now, is going to see Jared pushing against him and Jensen--

--is getting hard just thinking about it. Jesus Christ.

"How many holes do you have left? Fourteen?"

"Five," Jensen says. "Never planned on doing a full eighteen with you along. It would've taken me a week."

"You sure you're even going to finish out these last five?" Jared breathes on Jensen's neck. It's like the nerves there have a direct line connecting them to Jensen's dick -- it twitches in his pants.

"Yeah, okay," Jensen says, voice gravelly and low. "Let's go."

They make it back to Jared's house in one piece, but it's a close thing. Jensen shoves the putter back in his golf bag and lets Jared gun the golf cart on the way back, totally ignoring the Speed Limit 5 signs posted all over the course. Jared speeds on the way back, too, ten over on roads that usually have Jensen going the limit or less, but any slower right now and Jensen wouldn't be able to handle it. He digs his fingers into the upholstery of the bench seat and doesn't look at Jared the whole way.

Jensen has no idea how long the drive from the golf course lasts, only that there is something thrumming in the air between them, stretching tight and contracting, and the moment Jared pulls into his driveway they're pushing at each other, mouths hot and kisses more like bites. They barely make it out of the truck. Jared scrambles for his keys as Jensen tries to unzip his fly on the front stoop, and then Jensen nearly breaks his leg tripping over the dogs.

"Jesus, shit," Jensen swears, regaining his footing.

"Hey, I gotta -- let me let them out, okay?" The dogs whine and nudge at Jared insistently. "Just give me two seconds."

"Okay," Jensen says.

Jared pushes his hair off his face, shoots him a quick smile and follows the dogs towards the back door. Jensen's got a second to think what this is that they're doing here, but then the door slams closed and Jared is back in his space, too quick for thinking -- but need is moving urgent through Jensen's gut and there's no reason to over-think this.

"Bedroom," he says.

Jared's eyes go dark. "Yeah. God, yeah."

Somehow they make it down the hallway -- Jensen doesn't really know how, other than that it involves a lot of groping. Then they're in the bedroom, and maybe Jared really can move things with the power of his mind, because Jensen blinks and they're both naked on the bed. It feels like he's four tequila shots in, the warmth of liquor pooling in his gut, but there's none of the haziness. Jensen's blood seems to follow Jared's hands as they move across his body, heavy and light touches, down the edge of his hip and the curve of his ass and then freezing.

There is a moment where Jared hesitates, breathing against Jensen's mouth -- a moment when this could still go another way, where Jensen could still panic and bring it all down. But Jared's breath is light against Jensen's mouth and there isn't even a decision to make, not really.

"Yeah, go ahead, do it," Jensen says. "You got stuff?"

Jared nods, reaching for the nightstand and tearing the foil of the condom with his teeth. He slicks his hand with lube and pushes his index finger into Jensen's ass. It's tight but Jensen can take it; he arches his back to let Jared go deeper, then fit a second finger in along with the first. Jared curves them upwards as he pushes, deliberate in his movements. He's got to have done this before, no way this can be the first time Jared's fingered a dude, and then the realization hits -- Chad -- and Jensen really wishes he hadn't remembered that, because seriously, that's pretty much number one on the list of things he does not want to be thinking about during sex. Which is what this is about to be, sex: different somehow from everything they've been doing before, different from anything Jensen's ever done. The thought makes Jensen's mouth go dry.

His face is smushed against Jared's bed, and he's got the smell of Jared's laundry detergent in his nose when Jared pushes bluntly in. Jensen is over-full, the ring of muscle in his ass stretched beyond where it should really go.

There's a moment of sharp pain and Jensen bites out, "Ah, hold on a second."

Jared stops. "You okay?" His voice is tense, and God, Jensen knows that feeling: if you don't move right that instant, it's going to kill you, and he's impressed at how still Jared's staying.

"Yeah," Jensen says, breathing. "Yeah. Go ahead."

And then Jared is all the way in. It still fucking hurts, but Jared starts moving and it's crazy how quickly it builds to good and more than good: Jared fucking into him with the rhythm of Jensen grinding against the bed, Jared swearing steadily into his ear, Jared's hair dripping sweat on Jensen's neck.

"You're good at this, Jensen, so fucking good," Jared says, mouthing at Jensen's throat. Jensen twists to expose his neck further, ends up kissing him instead, slack-mouthed. They keep forgetting they're kissing, because Jared is still fucking him, hot inside his ass and Jared's sheets feel awesome against his dick.

Jared bites Jensen's ear and says, "You gonna come all over my bed?" and that does it: four thousand billion thread count sheets and Jensen just jizzed all over them.

Jared's still riding his ass.

"You gonna come sometime this week?" Jensen asks.

"It might help if you moved a little more."

Jensen's blissed out and lazy, though. "Nah. I think I'm just going to lie here and think of England."

England's a long way away, though, and Jared's right here saying, "Fucker," and spurting hard into him on a down stroke, fucking him all the way out until he slumps down on Jensen's back.

"Oof. That was strenuous," Jared says, rolling off.

Jensen's ass twinges as Jared pulls out. It's not a bad twinge, though; more like a reminder that they just did this. That tequila warmth is in his gut again. "More or less strenuous than golf?"

Jared considers. "About equal, really." He tosses the tied-off condom toward the trash can, then shifts up against Jensen's side and exhales.

Jensen pokes him in the rib cage. "Dude, are you going to sleep? It's not even noon yet."

"Exactly. Nap time!"

Jensen sighs heavily, but there are issues that are worth pressing and then there's the fact that he's actually kind of sleepy and hey, at least Jared's already sprawled all over the wet spot. He'll take what he can get.

*

They get the better part of a week off for Easter, so Jensen and Jared fly to L.A. Jensen hasn't been there since before Christmas, but it's easy to slip back into the familiarity of the city: tiny bars and crazy homeless people on Hollywood Boulevard, everyone bundled up in sixty-degree weather and endless spans of freeway.

The first night they're back, Jensen drags Jared to one of Steve's shows. Jensen wears a baseball cap, leans against the wall and watches Jared flirt easily with the women beside him. He's standing with his body angled between Jensen and the rest of the bar, and Jensen relaxes at the feel of the music moving through his ears and into the rest of his body. He watches the reflections of Steve and the band on the glass front of the bar, cars moving down the street behind it, then grins at the feel of Jared's arm pressing against his own.

After the show they go back to Steve's place. There are close to a dozen people there already, mostly women, all tanked. Jensen finds a pair of longnecks and pops the caps on the counter. Jared has already taken over the couch. There's a girl perched on the edge of the armrest and eyeing him like she's waiting for him to fling his arm out in excitement and knock her out any second, which, okay, not exactly unlikely, because Jared's watching Trinity Broadcasting, "Raise your arms to the Lord and pray with me, people!" and Jared's doing all the motions, like it's televangelist aerobics.

Jensen prods Jared's leg with his foot and sinks onto the couch in the space Jared makes for him, handing him one of the beers.

"To the healing power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ," Jared says, clinking his bottle against Jensen's and tipping it up into his mouth.

"You know what would make this better?" Steve says, leaning over Jensen's side of the couch and nodding at the TV. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together and presses them to his lips.

"Awesome," Jared says, folding his hands to pray along with the TV.

Steve comes back with a Zippo, a coconut with string hanging off it and a massive boob-shaped bong. "Boys, meet Charlotta and Christine," Steve says, pointing at the left boob then the right.

"Nice to meet you," Jensen says.

"But where's the dick-shaped one for the ladies?" Jared asks.

Steve grabs his crotch. "Right here."

Jared nods. "You are a wise man, Steve Carlson."

"I know." Steve passes the bong off to Jensen and palms the coconut. "Watch this." He flicks a latch on the side and the coconut opens in two neat halves with what looks like a solid couple ounces of pot inside. Steve snags the baggie and says, "Also, it's a bra." He holds the two halves of the coconut to his chest.

Jared ogles it. "That is amazing. I have no words."

Steve grins. "Let's light this shit up." He packs the bong, takes a hit and passes it to Jared.

The boob bong gives freaking enormous hits. Jensen traces circles on Charlotta's nipple before he exhales, bumping his knee against Jared's leg. He's baked. Jared retrieves the coconut bra off the floor and tries to tie it on himself. The strings are tangled, though; he just drapes it over his neck instead, and the coconuts knock together when he moves.

On the screen, the televangelist with the pink hair is saying, "Do you feel it, brothers and sisters? The spirit of Our Lord Jesus Christ is coming down from on high to save even the most wicked of sinners--"

"I feel it," Jared says, pressing his hands to the TV screen. "Don't you feel the Holy Spirit?"

Jensen shifts forward. The screen is warm to the touch and not quite solid, like he could maybe push his hand all the way through it.

"Do you feel the power of the Lord?" the televangelist cries. "Do you feel it?"

"I feel it!" Jared yells. "I feel it!"

Jensen moves his hand so it's right up next to Jared's. He thinks maybe their hands will meld together if they keep them there long enough, push right through the TV screen and into the Trinity Broadcasting studio.

"You know what would make this even better?" Steve says from the floor. "Waffles."

*

Jared drags Jensen to the Grove a little after noon on Saturday because, "It's almost Megan's birthday! I need to get her something."

"You just want to see the jumping fountains."

"They also have stores, you know," Jared says. "And a trolley."

Jensen raises an eyebrow at him. "You want to ride the trolley?"

Jared looks shifty. ". . . No."

They do stand in front of the fountains for a few minutes, watching the sunlight glint off the water. It's clear today, the sky free of clouds or the tan-gray tint of smog. Jared is leaning over the railing towards the fountain. Next to him a toddler is reaching his hand out and saying, "Wa-wa! Wa-wa!"

Jensen glances between the two of them and says, "Hey look, it's you and mini-you."

"Huh?" says Jared after a beat, turning away from the fountain.

"You really are two years old, aren't you?" Jensen says, amused.

"Aww, come on, give me a little credit," Jared says, holding up three fingers. "I'm twee!"

Jensen sighs.

Jared grins. "Anyway, I'm hungry! I want a kielbasa."

"And you think I'm gonna buy you one because . . . ?"

"I'll make the puppy-dog face if you don't."

Jensen sighs again.

Jared pumps his fist in the air. "Victory is mine!"

They wander through stores afterward. Jared ends up buying Megan a new video iPod at the Apple store, which he could have just as easily ordered online -- but right, then there wouldn't have been jumping fountains.

They end up heading down toward Fairfax with no real objective in mind. A pre-teen recognizes Jared outside of the American Girl store. "Oh my God, it's Dean!" she squeals, and they both turn, but of course it's for Dean Forester and his never-changing hair. Jared smiles for her and even lets her friend snap a camera-phone picture of the two of them. As soon as they're gone Jared turns and says, "You know what? Let's get out of the Grove. You hungry?"

Jensen eyes him. "Dude. You had a hot dog, what, an hour ago?"

"Yeah, an hour ago. That's a long time! I'm starving, let's go."

There's a long stretch of Ethiopian restaurants a couple blocks down from the Grove, interspersed with $5 shoe stores and laundromats with grates over the windows. The place Jared picks proclaims International! Organic! Vegan! on the window, but Jared swears it's good. "I used to come here with Sandy all the time. Well, like, at least twice."

"So pretty much all the time," Jensen says.

Inside it's more L.A. than Ethiopia, bright white walls and pale wood tables. Jared asks to sit next to the window so they can watch the cars inch down Fairfax. Jensen orders #14, which turns out to be a lot of vegetables and rice in a rich thick sauce. Across the table Jared is telling a breakneck-speed story about his brother Jeff and bass fishing, mostly with his mouth full. Jensen's more listening to the cadence of the words than to the speech, and maybe it's something about the rhythm of the words, the up-downs of his speech, but it's then that Jensen gets it, what the warm twisting in his gut means.

He's in love with Jared.

It happens right in the middle of the punch line of Jared's story, something about Jeff pulling too hard backwards and falling off the back of the boat. It's the part where Jensen's supposed to laugh, but instead he's just staring dumbly at Jared.

"Hey, you okay there, man?" Jared asks. His voice goes straight to Jensen's dick -- has done for a while -- but the sound of it makes him want to grin at Jared too, maybe hold his hand and kiss him on the mouth. He's completely and utterly fucked.

"Yeah, I'm good. So did Jeff knock himself out on the side of the boat or what?"

A beat and then Jared says, "Yeah, man, knocked himself out for a second there, but he was fine. We gave him shit for ages, though. Seriously, a freaking bass."

Jensen shreds his napkin in his lap and tries to relearn how to breathe.

*

Jared's meeting up with Sandy at the Coffee Bean later, so he drops Jensen back at his apartment. "Call you after we're done?" Jared says.

Jensen nods at him. "Yeah, sure."

As soon as Jared is gone, Jensen goes upstairs and pukes the entire contents of his stomach into the kitchen sink. He rinses his mouth out with water, then sits very still on the couch and tries not to think about anything at all. He's successful for approximately fifteen seconds.

It wasn't ever like this before. He was in love with Christie Denslow in high school, or at least it seemed a lot like love when she was rocking against him, wide-eyed, in the back of his truck after cheerleading practice, whispering how much she loved this. And with Joanna for a while, thin and pretty on his arm in public; at parties a couple lines and she was golden, slipping her hand down his pants and giving him practiced blowjobs in dark bedrooms (Jensen never asked whose). Others too, shorter-term and less memorable and none of them a damned thing like Jared sitting across the table from him and cracking up talking about bass fishing with his brother; Jared calling him thirty seconds after he leaves Jensen's apartment to say he stuffed his dirty socks down the bathtub drain and turned the water on because, "I'm the Wet Bandit, bitch!"; Jared passing out on the couch beside him over Madden and smiling slow and wide as Jensen strokes his dick awake.

None of the others has been anything like Jared.

*

Jensen spends half of the afternoon unpacking clothes that he's just going to have to repack in the morning, and the other half trying to get in touch with Chris before he realizes that Chris is out of town. Jensen's antsy, needs something to do, so he calls his mom. He remembers why that's a bad idea about two minutes later when his mom says, "Is everything all right, Jensen? You sound kind of funny," and he has to pretend there's someone at the door and hang up before she starts really asking questions.

After that he gets in the car and buries himself in traffic. He takes the 10 out to Santa Monica and catches PCH north towards Malibu. He inches back through Burbank, barely moving at all for miles upon miles; he's still back at the apartment by seven. He thinks he's maybe going to go insane if he keeps this up.

Jared comes by a little after eleven. He doesn't knock, just lets himself in with his spare key. Jensen doesn't turn until Jared lays his hands on Jensen's shoulders from behind the couch, and then he pulls Jared around the side and down. He kisses Jared's mouth and fucks himself open on Jared's fingers and hisses needy gasping sounds but no words, no words at all.

*

They fly back to Vancouver on Monday. Jared passes out the moment they get on the plane and Jensen doesn't wake him up, even though he has to piss the whole time.

*

It's better once they're back. Only a few episodes left to film, and they're in make-up, waiting for Jeannie to finish creating a bruise on Jensen's cheek. Jared's telling a story while they wait, and bends over mid-sentence to play with his shoe. Jensen has met mosquitoes with a longer attention span.

"Hey, watch this!" Jared says, sitting back up. His voice is oddly-pitched, like he's holding his nose; Jensen's still trying to figure out what's going on when Jared flings his head forward and shoots a pair of gummy bears out of his nostrils.

"Oh shit!" Jared crows. "Did you see that?"

Jeannie lets out an enormous sigh. "And you put up with this guy for how many hours a day?"

"They pay me overtime after the first four," Jensen stage-whispers. "Hazard pay."

"I can also stick a sour straw all the day through my nose and pull it out of my mouth," Jared says happily. "Have I ever shown you that? You have to make sure you lick all the sour stuff off first, though, because otherwise it really hurts."

Jensen rubs his thumb and forefinger together. "World's smallest violin, dude."

Jared rapid-fire reloads his nostrils and shoots gummy bears in Jensen's face.

"Dude, no fair! Jeannie would have killed me if I'd moved."

"Damn right I would have," she says. "I'd have killed Jared first, though, if he'd messed up this bruise."

"Death by blush brush," Jensen says. "Very messy."

In response, Jared pulls a gummy bear out of his mouth and stuffs it in Jensen's ear. "You know what I call this?" he says, sounding insanely proud of himself while Jensen splutters. "Wet teddy."

Jensen flicks the gummy bear back at Jared's face and Jared catches it in his mouth. And swallows.

Jensen groans. "Please tell me you didn't just do that."

"Oh, but I did. See you on set!" Jared flashes his teeth and heads out.

"So on the grossness scale from one to ten," Jensen begins.

"Maybe a four," Jeannie says. "You're forgetting about that time he hacked up a loogie that looked just like a used condom, aren't you."

"My life was infinitely better before you reminded me of that."

Jeannie shrugs. "Eating a wet willy gummy bear? That's really pretty standard."

"And that is the saddest true statement I have ever heard."

Jeannie pats him on the shoulder and puts her brushes down. "There, all bruised up. Go get 'em, tiger."

They're filming an aftermath scene in Impala #4 this morning: Dean nearly got himself killed, Sam wants to talk about it, the usual. Jared's bellowing about hockey with Camera Guy Kyle one minute, getting in the car and becoming Sam Winchester the next. Watching Jared make that change will never stop being weird.

Jensen can usually get into Dean from one moment to the next, but today he's having trouble with it. The whole time they're shooting he keeps thinking about how he could lean across the seat and kiss him, right there. Sam, his fictional brother; Jared, his best friend -- it doesn't matter. It'd be Jared once he was kissing him, Jensen knows that much, but the fact that he's thinking about it right now, in the middle of filming, is just a whole new level of fucked up.

He doesn't do it. He makes it through the day and tells Jared he's got a headache, after, that he's going to go to bed early.

"You all right, man?" Jared asks, his hand on Jensen's arm. It's nothing Jared wouldn't have done before, and no one can see them anyway, but Jensen's pretty sure they can hear his pulse in Kalamazoo.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jensen says, swallowing, "totally fine," except for how he isn't.

*

They finish filming on a Thursday at the end of April. They've been on set since five in the morning, and it's after midnight now: trying to nail the very last take of the second season, maybe of the whole show--

But Jensen's not thinking about that right now, just pushing through the bone-deep weariness to the other side of it. Sam grins at him, but it's Jared under there, more Jared than it ever usually is, and that makes it click: Jensen can feel the smile lighting over Dean's face, small and then slow-growing -- "We've got work to do" -- slamming the trunk down and Robert yells, "Cut, that's it! That's the one!"

One of the camera guys says, "Shit. We're actually done. Holy shit."

Kripke walks up to the two of them and says, "Hey. Good job, you guys. That was -- yeah. Uh, you can head home now." The dude's actually wringing his hands; Jensen's never seen a real live person do that, but then if anyone would, it'd be Kripke. "I'll be in touch, I guess. Good luck."

Jensen's not entirely sure if he's talking to them or to himself.

After Kripke's gone, Jared shifts from one foot to the other and says, "Hey, do you want to go, I don't know. Not home?"

"Yeah," Jensen says immediately. "Definitely, yeah."

Jared gets Rob to drop them off at the first twenty-four hour diner he sees. It's got faded yellow wallpaper and Formica tabletops; just the kind of place Dean would stop.

The adrenaline finally hit in the middle of that last take, and Jensen's got Dean Winchester just under his fingers. He feels like he could shoot him out at any second -- Dean Winchester is his superpower, he thinks dizzily, and then realizes that maybe, kind of, he should get a little more sleep than he's been getting lately. It's been a hard stretch these past couple weeks, but it's been good, too, the kind of stress that has him scarfing down second helpings between takes and passing out the moment he lies down; no time to get caught up in worrying about the future or anything at all.

But they're done now. It doesn't feel like they're done. It doesn't feel like Jensen's going to be able to sleep anytime before June.

He orders the biggest breakfast platter on the menu and a coffee. Jared orders the same. Jensen shreds a napkin onto the table while he waits for the coffee to come.

"So," Jensen begins at the same time as Jared says, "Hey," and breaks off with a bark of a laugh.

"Go ahead," Jensen says, letting the last of the napkin fall to the table.

"What are you going to do after this? I mean, if -- you know." No one's been saying it out loud: if the show doesn't get renewed, if Season Two is it. They've all been doing their best to not even think it, as though if they tiptoe around the idea, the possibility that they might not be back in the fall won't even exist.

But suddenly it does exist, in the Dean Winchester-diner with coffee thick as used motor oil. This time next year, they might be anywhere. They could still be in Vancouver, working on this show or another one; they could be in L.A., negotiating movie deals; they could be in Texas.

They might not be in the same place at all.

"Jensen?" Jared's looking at him funny, and only then does he remember there was a question.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly. "Go back home for a while, maybe? Take some time off?" He swallows a sip of coffee too quickly; it burns on the way down his throat. "I don't know, man. What about you?"

"Rodeo," Jared says immediately. "Amateur rodeo."

Jensen laughs but he's kind of choked up too; he doesn't really want to think about why. "You'd be crap at rodeo."

He's waiting for Jared to crack a joke -- "Are you doubting my rodeo skills?" -- but instead he just says, "Yeah, I know," his voice smaller than Jensen ever remembers having heard it.

It's a good thing that their food comes right then, so neither of them has to say anything for a while. Jensen's not really hungry anymore, but he eats everything on the plate anyway, for something to do with his mouth and his hands.

Jared's still pushing his home fries through his fried egg yolk when Jensen finishes eating. "It's just," Jared begins. "It's not just about the show. It's the whole thing." He gestures vaguely at the diner, the window, Jensen. "I didn't ever think it was going to be over."

Jensen scrapes the butter off the edge of his knife with his fork. "Yeah. Me neither."

*

Jensen's in the UK for the Asylum convention and Jared's filming The Christmas Cottage in Vancouver. Jensen feels like he's in limbo, stretched all over the place and not sure what to hope for, so it's pretty anti-climactic when Kripke calls at the end of the week and says the CW has picked up Supernatural for a third season. There's an odd taste on his tongue, definitely not joy or relief; it's not until after Kripke hangs up the phone that he realizes he's scared shitless.

About three seconds after that, Jared calls. "Dude, we've got to celebrate. We're going to get so wasted we can't remember our names."

"We're not even in the same country, dude," Jensen reminds him.

"Sure we are!" Jared says. "I'm at LAX. You're in L.A. right now, right?"

"Yeah, through the weekend." Jensen grips the phone hard. "What the fuck are you doing at LAX? Aren't you supposed to be filming Eight Dozen Paintings of Snow-Covered Houses?"

"Shut up." Jensen can hear him cracking his knuckles over the phone. "They gave me the weekend off. You want to come get me?"

"You better be waiting at the curb when I get there, is all I'm saying," Jensen tells him.

"Nah, I think I'm going to ride the baggage carousel around all night. See you soon!"

Jensen's grinning when he hangs up the phone, but it dies pretty quickly. They've been renewed for a third season. They're going to be back in Vancouver the fall, and for the rest of the year after that, and Jensen's going to be with Jared that whole time -- it's too much to take, suddenly. The thought of being apart from Jared was one kind of too much, but the thought of being with him is worse, somehow, a totally different kind of more-than-he-can-stand, and he's fucking terrified of seeing Jared again, all of a sudden.

Jared really is waiting on the curb when Jensen gets there, though. It's got to be the first time in his life that he hasn't had to make at least four passes through LAX. "Let's get this show on the road!" Jared yells, tossing his duffel in the back.

"You want to stop by your apartment before we go out?" Jensen asks.

"Um," Jared says. "About that. I might have maybe sold my apartment."

Jensen gapes. "What? When?"

"As soon as I found out Supernatural got renewed." Jared shifts from one foot to the other. "I figured we were going to be in Vancouver most of the time anyway, so what was the point of having an apartment I wasn't going to use?"

"So where exactly are you planning on staying while you're here?"

Jared stares at him like he's a little bit retarded, and yeah, Jensen probably deserves that. "Your place, dude. I mean, if that's all right."

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. It's just--" Jensen hesitates the barest of seconds to think. "I promised I'd hang out with Chris a bunch this weekend. You know, I haven't seen him in a while, and I told him we'd catch up, so I'm probably not going to be home much at all."

Jared's got his number on this one. "Really? Why didn't you mention it before?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be in The Christmas Cottage until three weeks after you got the part?"

"Because I knew you'd mock me until the end of time," Jared replies immediately.

Which, okay. He's got a point. "It just didn't come up," Jensen says. "Look, it's fine, you can stay at my place. For sure."

"Okay," Jared says cautiously, like there's something more he wants to say and is holding back.

Jensen doesn't push it.

When they get back, Jensen locks himself in the bathroom and runs water over his face. He can't deal with this. He comes out of the bathroom, picks up the duffel bag he never unpacked and grabs his truck keys from the hook beside the door.

"I'll just, uh. I'll be back," Jensen says, not even waiting to see how Jared's going to react, not listening to what he's saying as Jensen closes the door behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time in case Jared's trying to follow him in the elevator, and he's in his truck and down the street without looking back at all, turning his cell phone off as he goes.

When he gets to the apartment complex and Chris's truck is there, Jensen exhales, relieved, and knocks.

Chris answers the door in a pair of ratty jeans and two days' worth of beard. "I don't want any, come back tomorrow," he slurs, trying to shut the door.

Jensen wedges his foot in before he can manage it. "Dude, are you that hung over?"

Chris squints at him. "Jensen? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you in a while, and I was in town, so I thought we could hang out--"

Chris gets his eyes to open a little wider. "With a duffel bag? What, you get kicked out of your apartment?"

"Um," Jensen says. "Can I come in?"

"You did," Chris says, suddenly looking way more awake. "Damn, boy. What'd you do?"

"I didn't get kicked out of my apartment! I'm just letting Jared stay there right now because the moron sold his place here after the show got renewed."

Chris scratches his bare belly absently. "Oh yeah, congrats about that. Hey, you want a beer?"

"Yes," Jensen says emphatically.

Chris grunts and wanders into the kitchen. He tosses a Budweiser at Jensen. It's warm. It says a lot about today that Jensen pops it open and drinks it nonetheless.

Chris kills his own beer in two chugs, crushes the can on the counter and belches. "So what's Jared doing in your apartment when you're here?"

Jensen swallows. "Um."

The good thing about having been friends with Chris for this long is, Chris can probably figure out a whole hell of a lot of what's going on just from the way Jensen's flushing right now. "Huh," Chris says.

"You gonna make me talk about this?" Jensen asks cautiously.

Chris just looks at him. "You want another beer?"

Jensen hasn't even finished his first one yet. "Yeah." He figures he's probably going to need it.

"So," Chris says, taking his second beer a little more slowly. "I'd give you the sofa, but you'd have to fight for it." He nods toward the other room. Steve is sprawled with his legs hanging off the couch, which is kind of amazing, since Jensen's slept on that couch comfortably before and he's got a good six inches on Steve. There's a line of drool running down Steve's chin, and he's clutching his own wadded-up jeans like a teddy bear.

"That's okay," Jensen says. "He'll be out of here by tonight, right?"

"We were up until five this morning, boy. I doubt it."

Jensen sighs, opens his second can of Bud and settles in to wait.

*

Jensen's planning on leaving his cell phone off for the rest of the day, or possibly the rest of his life, but he breaks a little after midnight when Steve finally drags himself off the couch and heads home.

Jensen claims the sofa the moment Steve's out the door. He lies down with his head at the end. He feels off-kilter; that's when he realizes the couch is shorter than it used to be, more of an oversized love seat than a couch.

"Hey Chris, what happened to the old couch?" Jensen asks.

Chris frowns. "Someone pissed on it a couple months ago and it was starting to reek. Steve thinks it was me, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't."

"Ah. That explains it."

"Yeah. Hey, I'm gonna go watch lesbian mud wrestling porn. You in?"

Jensen bends his knees, trying to wedge himself all the way onto the couch. "Nah."

"Your loss, dude."

Chris closes the door to his room, and Jensen gives up on trying to fit on the couch. He lets his feet hang off the end and pulls out his cell phone. He flips it open, then closed. Open, closed. He doesn't really mean to hit the power button, but his thumb catches it by mistake. He's just going to look at his messages, he tells himself. Just see what's on there and turn the phone right back off.

Eight missed calls, all from Jared. Four new messages. He's three letters into typing in his password before he thinks about the sound of Jared's voice in his ear, low and concerned, and his guts clench up. And then the phone buzzes in his hand with an incoming call, and his stomach rolls right up into his throat because it's Jared -- he doesn't even have to see the name on the display to know it, and he can't stab the power-off button fast enough. He doesn't turn the phone back on again.

*

Jensen spends the weekend drinking a lot of beer, eating a lot of pizza and playing a lot of guitar. He stays up too late and doesn't shower, and he leaves the cell phone off the entire time. He thinks about turning it on, but he never actually does it. He's maybe being a little ridiculous.

"So hey, you still going to the Upfronts or are you too busy waiting for your balls to drop?" Chris asks on Wednesday.

Jensen is methodically eating the olives off his slice of supreme pizza. He wants to make sure he doesn't miss any. It takes a lot of concentration, so he gives Chris the finger without looking up.

"Jared stopped by earlier, by the way," Chris says. "He said he's not coming."

Jensen can't seem to swallow the olives in his mouth. He pushes them into the side of his cheek with his tongue. "Why not?"

"Said they were going to kill him if he didn't get back to filming that shitty Kinkade movie. Speaking of which, why the hell did he take that part again?"

"Who the fuck knows?" Jensen says, swallowing. "So he's not coming to the Upfronts?"

"Sounded like not."

"Okay," Jensen says, and opens Chris's laptop to reschedule the flight he'd cancelled.

Chris looks over his shoulder. "Jesus H. Christ. You were gonna skip out?"

Jensen flicks a piece of burnt crust at Chris's head. Chris doesn't bother deflecting it. Chris definitely doesn't catch it in his mouth and eat it.

"Can we maybe not talk about this? Y'know, at all, ever?"

Chris shrugs one shoulder. "Sure. You want a beer?"

"Yeah," Jensen says gratefully. "Two?"

Chris nods and brings over both. They're even cold this time. "I still think you're kind of an idiot, just so you know."

With effort, Jensen doesn't clock him over the head with a Budweiser.

*

To be fair, it's not entirely Jensen's fault that he falls for it. He was too jittery to eat breakfast and going out into New York City -- where he might run into people -- wasn't sounding too awesome, either, so he ordered from the in-room menu. They've been taking forever, though: it's been a solid hour since he put in the order and since the last thing he ate was a dethawed cannoli that had probably been in Chris's freezer since 1996, Jensen's really freaking ready for his eggs, bacon and toast. When someone knocks on the door and announces, "Room service!" Jensen is thinking about toast that's browned exactly right, dark but not quite burned and with butter already melted on top; greasy, crispy bacon with the bite of fat and salt; fried eggs over-easy with pepper and a parsley garnish. He's thinking about bitter dark coffee, hot enough to burn; freshly-squeezed orange juice in a tumbler; well-polished silverware and a red cloth napkin on the side of the tray. He's not thinking, "What if I open the door and it's Jared on the other side?" except maybe he should have been, because that's what happens.

Jensen doesn't even think to shut the door until Jared's already in the room, and by then it's way too late. He's wearing jeans and what is quite possibly the ugliest shirt Jensen's ever seen -- which, considering what Jared usually wears, is saying a lot. He's got way too much hair and he rivals the Jolly Green Giant for size and when Jensen's around him, he cannot actually breathe.

"Hi," Jared says, looking Jensen in the eye. "We need to talk."

"Sure," Jensen says. "About what? How about the fact that you're supposed to be in Vancouver right now?"

"Or maybe about the fact you left me in your apartment and took off for a week," Jared says. "How about that? I've got your key, by the way." He pulls it out of his pocket and dangles it toward Jensen.

Jensen doesn't take it. He's watching Jared's pissed-off facial tick: the corner of his mouth twitching out to the side. "What happened to you being in Vancouver?"

Jared ignores him. "What the hell are you doing, man? You turn off your phone for a solid week and tell Chris not to let me in?"

"I didn't actually tell Chris not to let you in. He just, uh. Didn't let you in."

Jared's face goes from a mix of confused and pissed-off to pure pissed-off. "I don't fucking get you right now, Jensen! What happened? What did I do?"

"Nothing! You didn't do anything."

"Okay," Jared says slowly, "so if I do this--" He reaches for Jensen's face; Jensen flinches backwards. "Yeah, that's what I thought. What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Jensen insists. "I'm totally fine. I've just got to be somewhere. Urgently."

He doesn't even get all the way turned around before Jared grabs his shoulder. "No, you don't," Jared says. "You don't have anything to do before that stuff at one, so seriously, don't pull this shit. Talk to me, man."

Jensen lunges forward and kisses him instead.

"No no no," Jared says, pulling back. "Seriously, what the hell's been going on with you?"

Jensen thinks fast. "I just needed a little time to think about the whole, you know." He curls his fingers and pumps his hand in the air, like he's giving a handjob. "Having sex with a dude thing." He does his best to ignore the twinge of guilt in his gut when Jared buys it, hook, line and sinker.

Jared gapes. "Seriously? You mean you'd never--"

"Um," Jensen says eloquently. "Not as such?" He's not lying. He might feel guilty about not answering Jared's question if he were, but he's not lying.

Jared bursts out laughing. "Dude, you were on Days and you never--"

"Blowjobs," Jensen mutters. "I gave a couple blowjobs, when I was trashed. But uh."

"Holy shit," Jared says. "So you mean when we-- That was your first time?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"Holy shit," Jared repeats. "I guess I'd panic about losing my ass virginity too."

"Dude, I'm not a girl," Jensen says irritably. It's weird -- he would have thought that that would have been the thing to panic about. It's weird that he didn't panic about that. Shouldn't he have?

But then he gets sidetracked, because Jared is shoving him back against the wall and scrambling to get Jensen's pants open, going to his knees and sucking Jensen's cock into his mouth. "Is this a prize or something? Congratulations, you got fucked up the ass, have a blowjob?"

Jared grins around his cock. "Maybe. Pretty good prize, huh?"

"Decent," Jensen pants.

Jared swallows when Jensen comes shuddering, knees gone rubber, and thumbs the excess off the corner of his mouth.

Afterward, Jared fucks him over the edge of the sofa. Jensen claws for purchase on the heavy gold brocade, slipping forward as Jared drives in. He can feel the soreness building in his muscles as Jared slows his strokes down, laying teeth to the skin at Jensen's shoulder, just low enough for a shirt to cover the bruise. Jared strokes Jensen through his orgasm as he shudders and pants.

"It's a good thing the couch is already kind of come-colored," Jared says.

Jensen laughs and says, "Fucking ugly couch. Fucking itches."

Jared grins and then his body clenches up and he comes, resting against Jensen's back for a moment before pulling out and pulling the condom off.

"Shit," Jared says, panting. "I've got to get going."

"Where?" Jensen asks.

"Vancouver. I'm supposed to be back there already. I kind of maybe told The Christmas Cottage people there was terrible traffic in L.A. and I missed my earlier one."

Jensen sighs. "When's your flight?"

"It leaves JFK at two."

Jensen checks his watch. "You serious? You've got to get going if you're going to make that, dude."

"Yeah, I know." He's already zipping his jeans back up. "Hey, I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Sure," Jensen says. He's pretty sure he's lying through his teeth.

After Jared leaves, Jensen heads downstairs. He hangs around behind the scenes of the Upfronts for a while, but he's not really up for dealing with the whole thing after all, it turns out. He heads back to the room to sleep for a while and catches the early morning flight to Dallas. He doesn't think about Jared at all.

*

Texas is enormous, sprawled out perfect under wide skies. The show sticks him in a hotel near Casa Maņana for the month. It's smaller than his suite in Vancouver, but at least it's got a kitchenette; it'll do.

His parents drive in from Richardson the first weekend he's there. They bring barbeque. His mom wants to know about his personal life, why he's acting so strangely. Jensen tells her he just broke up with somebody, it was messy and he doesn't want to talk about it. It doesn't entirely feel like he's lying.

He's in rehearsal all the time. It's probably not more hours than he's on the set for Supernatural but it feels like it is somehow. He's going to be on stage doing the whole thing every night, one chance to nail the lines and no retakes, and the script gets in his head to the point that his dreams are nothing but lines of A Few Good Men dialogue scrambled up, out of order. Lou Diamond Philips is kind of insane, but the good kind of insane, except Jensen thinks maybe there should be a ban on the line, "You can't handle the truth!" outside of actual performances, because the dude loves yelling it at Jensen a little too much.

It's different from Supernatural but not that different, really: he still spends all his time yelling at someone named Sam. It doesn't matter that it's not Jared; the name still comes out the same every time. He tries to say it differently and fails. He tries not to think about it after that.

He picks up Jared's calls sometimes, when he's not in rehearsal. It's killing him how every word out of Jared's mouth is like sex -- he could make Jensen come reading the freaking phone book if he wanted to -- and there's an ache in Jensen's gut every damned time he calls. He still picks up, though. He's pretty sure that if he doesn't, Jared is going do something stupid like show up on Jensen's doorstep again, and if that happens a second time Jensen's not entirely sure that he's going to survive it. So yeah, he picks up the phone.

Jared sounds happy when he calls. Harley and Sadie are chasing squirrels in the backyard, Chad's coming up to visit and when he's filming, he's walkin' in a winter wonderland: two feet of artificial snow on the ground at the end of May, in sixty-degree weather. They make him wear beanies all the time too: tan, white, red with snowflakes--

"You've got to be shitting me."

"Oh, and a matching sweater-vest, did I tell you that part?" Jared adds. "They were going to give me snowflake socks too, but I vetoed that shit. Nobody was even going to see them!"

"What happened to the whole getting in character thing? Y'know, really feeling the velociraptor?"

"Matching snowflake socks, hat and sweater," Jared says pointedly. Jensen can hear his shudder over the phone.

"When it comes to getting in character," Jensen says, "I have one word for you."

"Yeah?"

Jensen gives it a second to build the anticipation, then: "Codpiece." He hangs up cackling. It kind of hurts too, though; his laughter's closer to a wheeze. He puts the TV on and runs lines he's had down since the second rehearsal. It doesn't matter that he already knows them. There's still the chance to fuck them up once he's live.

*

Two weeks into rehearsal, he gets a call from Danneel Harris. It's been a couple months since he heard from her last. She's in Dallas visiting a cousin and heard he was there for the show -- did he want to meet up?

They go to a bar not far from his hotel. Jensen's relieved when no one recognizes them, although he's not sure why he thought anyone would; it's not like either of them is really that famous.

Jensen liked Danneel from the start of filming Ten Inch Hero, and now he remembers why: she buys the first round -- Bud Light longnecks -- and beats him in a round of pool, barely. He gets pleasantly drunk and they talk about jobs they've been doing, jobs they want to do. Danneel's taking some time off right now -- "Just needed a break," she says, sinking the four in the corner pocket -- and she's sticking around Dallas for another couple of weeks at least.

"We should do this again while you're still here," she says. "It was good to catch up with you!"

"For sure," Jensen says. "I'll call you tomorrow."

They go out for steak, and Danneel downs a whole T-bone and half a pitcher of beer.

"You sure you're actually a girl and not a force of nature?" Jensen asks.

"My metabolism is probably going to die when I'm forty, and then I'll be a blimp." Danneel sighs. "Tragic, huh?"

"Definitely," Jensen agrees.

The night before the show opens, they go to some country show. Jensen can't remember the name of the band. They're not bad. They make him miss Chris and Steve. He orders a pitcher of beer and drinks most of it himself by mistake, then gets another. He's not really hearing music anymore, just noise and drums, the smell of sawdust and old bar in his nose. He rests his chin on Danneel's shoulder.

"I think it's time to get out of here," she says, pulling him by the hand.

Outside the bar Jensen trips on the sidewalk as Danneel turns toward him. They're close in together, Jensen most of the way to falling on her already, and it's an easy thing to tip his face down -- except that Danneel puts her hand up between them, backs half a step away.

"I really don't think you want to be doing that," she says.

Jensen sticks his hands his jeans pockets. "Why not?" Even through the drunkenness, he can tell he sounds like a sullen toddler.

She pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Oh, honey. You know why not." He keeps on staring at her until she says, "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"Yup," he says.

She sighs. "Because you're in love with Jared."

He splutters, "I -- but, how did--"

Danneel smiles at him a little crookedly. "He's pretty much all you talk about."

"Oh," Jensen says. "Did I. I mean, I'm sorry if I--"

"It's fine, Jensen, don't worry about it. We're good."

There's an awkward silence.

"So," Danneel says brightly. "If I call you a cab, can you get yourself home without choking on your own vomit?"

Jensen laughs and the tension breaks. "Yeah, I think I can manage."

*

Jensen spends half of the day wanting to puke because he's hung-over and the other half wanting to puke because the show opens that night and every nerve in his body knows it. They've got a last short rehearsal that morning and then it's the real deal. He calls Danneel at lunchtime to say thanks for getting him home last night.

"Don't mention it," she says. "So hey, about that thing we talked about last night. You planning on pulling your head out of your ass anytime soon?"

"Um," Jensen says.

He can hear her smiling over the phone. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Good luck. And hey, break a leg tonight! I'll catch you after the show, okay?"

Opening night is fucking terrifying. The show's not perfect. Jensen screws up what feels like at least a quarter of his lines, and his movements feel mechanical, like he's going through motions he learned by rote. He sets up Lou Diamond Philips's big line all right, though, and by the end he doesn't feel entirely terrible about it. His parents and Danneel swear it was awesome, and he tells them that maybe after a couple of beers he'll believe them.

The next night and the next are better. It's starting to work. Jensen's starting to feel the crackle of Lt. Daniel Kaffee under his skin. It's not like being Dean Winchester, but nothing's going to be like that -- and this isn't about that anyway. He'll get back to that in the fall. For now he's doing this, and it's starting to feel like maybe he's getting it right.

*

Danneel calls and says she's coming to see the show the next night.

"Um, okay. You've been at every show so far," he says.

"Hey, if you don't appreciate my moral support--" she begins.

"No, no, I definitely do," Jensen says. "Really. It's vital to the show."

Danneel snorts. "Obviously."

"What I meant was, is there some reason you're specifically telling me you're coming tomorrow?" he asks.

"Shit, sorry, gotta go!" she says quickly, and hangs up.

Jensen pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it confusedly for a second. "Okay, random," he says. Danneel can be freaking weird, though, so he stops worrying about it after a couple minutes. Except maybe he should have, because the next night after he says hi to his parents, Danneel nods towards the back of the theater and says, "There's somebody else here to see you."

On some level Jensen knows who it's going to be before he ever gets there. He definitely knows once Sandy says, "Hi Jensen," but the sight of Jared leaning against the wall of the theater still floors him. Jensen broke his collarbone once playing lacrosse in high school, and it felt a lot like this: something hard and heavy slamming into his chest and plowing all the way through, never meeting resistance.

"Hey," Jared says. He's staring at Jensen's mouth. When he meets Jensen's gaze, Jensen's stomach rolls over slowly.

"Hey," Jensen says. Details filter into his mind: Jared's wearing a baseball cap, like he thinks that'll camouflage the fact that he's eighty feet tall. "I have to, you know. Go in there now."

"Oh, right! Right." Jared laughs, shifting his weight. Jensen's mildly gratified that he's not the only one who's acting eight kinds of awkward here. He's never seen Jared this awkward, though. He wonders if maybe his awkwardness is contagious, but if it were, Jensen's parents and Danneel and Sandy would be acting awkward too, and they're not. So it's just them.

"So anyway," Jensen begins.

"Yeah, I'll see you after, okay? I know you're going to be awesome."

"Uh-huh." Jensen swallows. "See you!" He heads back toward the door. He remembers how to speak English in time to tell his parents and the girls he hopes they like the show and he'll see them afterwards. Sandy and Danneel look entirely too amused for their own good.

"You going to pony up here, Ackles?" Danneel mutters as he passes her.

He's pretty sure she's not talking about the show, but it works for that too: the second he's through the door and in the theater, he's got his shit together; he can breathe normally again.

He's in a zone tonight on stage. He barely notices intermission, he's so into it. He fucking ratchets up the tension for the finale, digging at Col. Jessup until he snaps, and it's like a recoil going through the whole place. Jensen can feel the snap in the air. Standing ovation and he's off the stage, riding so fucking high he's barely even aware of what he's doing: he's backstage saying goodbye to his parents, who are telling him the show was great; Danneel is grinning at him and he's hugging Sandy, who is so impossibly small; and he doesn't really know how it happens, but it's down to just Jared and him standing outside of his dressing room alone, and that high from before is gone now, totally gone, and he's back to awkward now, fly by night and the seat of his pants.

There's about half a second where Jensen thinks to do like he's been doing for the past two months and get the fuck out of there, push this whole mess down and hope it goes away. It might, he thinks. If he never saw Jared again, it probably would.

But he's going to see Jared again. Maybe not this summer, but they'll be back in Vancouver in the fall, living in each other's pockets, and he's sick of running anyway.

Time to pony up.

"Do you want to come inside?" Jensen asks.

"Yeah," Jared says. "Yeah."

Jensen's got a half-formed plan for how the rest of this is supposed to go. It starts with breathing and counting to ten and breathing some more, and it falls apart the second Jensen locks them in the dressing room.

"I think I'm in love with you," he blurts out.

Silence. Complete and utter silence. And then, from halfway across the room, Jared starts to laugh.

"It's not funny!" Jensen says, starting to turn toward him and thinking better of it halfway through the movement. "I'm serious. It's fucking killing me and you think it's funny?"

"That's because it is funny."

"How?" Jensen snaps. He turns toward Jared for real now and meets his eyes. Jared's got a little half-smile on his face. "Tell me in what way this is funny."

"I can't fucking believe you," Jared says. "That whole time you were acting all weird and shit, I thought you were off panicking about what we were doing. But you were in love with me."

"I'm still not seeing the funny."

Jared grins. "You were panicking because you were in love with me." He says it like it should be something obvious, and Jensen's still not getting it.

Jensen scowls. "You're repeating yourself."

Jared takes a step toward him. "You were panicking because you thought you were the only one."

"Dude, I know you're in love with yourself," Jensen says, starting to back up but Jared doesn't let him.

Instead, Jared rolls his eyes, grabs Jensen's shoulders and kisses him. Somehow Jensen's hands end up on Jared's hips and Jared has his hands splayed across Jensen's face, huge and thumbing the stubble of his jaw.

"You're not the only one," Jared says.

"Oh," Jensen says. "Oh."

"Are you still going to panic about this?" Jared asks. He's still got his hands on Jensen's face; Jensen leans in toward him.

"Probably," Jensen admits.

"That's okay. At least we can panic about it together."

Jensen eyes him dubiously. "That makes it better?"

"Definitely," Jared says, kissing him again.

And huh, Jensen's got to admit that it kind of actually does.

*

When they're back in Vancouver for the start of Season Three, it's awkward. Jared tries to open doors for Jensen, like he's a girl or something, and Jensen's stubble leaves Jared's cheeks ruddy and chafed. Jared drools on the pillow and tangles his legs up with Jensen's and he fucking won't share the covers. Half the time Jensen wakes up to the slickness of a tongue on his face and it turns out to belong to one of the dogs.

But the first day they're back on set they nail their scenes, fucking nail them. Jared's whooping when they wrap for the day, yelling, "We are fucking awesome, man!"

Jensen agrees, says, "Yeah, we pretty much win at life," but he's quiet on the ride back, mostly just watching Jared. He can't seem to keep a private little smile off his face at the sight of Jared grinning like a wild thing.

Jared catches him at it and says, "What?"

Jensen ducks his head. "Never mind, tell you later." He's not going to say anything while they're still in the car, but after they get inside and fight the dogs down, Jensen says, "I was just thinking about how much better we've gotten since the beginning."

"Of what, Supernatural?"

"Nah, that other TV show we're on," Jensen says. "The one with Clark Kent?"

Jared smacks his forehead comically. "Oh, right. I knew that was secretly you playing Lana Lang."

Jensen punches him on the arm. "Anyway, you didn't used to be as good as you are now, dude."

"Actually, I've always been the best actor in the world," Jared says. "You know, since birth."

"Oh, right, I forgot. You totally were." Jensen pauses. "No, what I meant was -- you and me both, man. We're good now."

Jared walks up behind him and puts his hands on Jensen's shoulders. "You still talking about Supernatural?"

"Yeah," Jensen says. "No."

Jared kisses his neck. "If I say I love you, will you put out?"

Jensen considers. "Probably."

"You're easy." Jared turns him around so they're facing each other and rests his forehead against Jensen's. "So hey, I love you."

Jensen kisses him slowly, with a bit of tongue, then palms Jared's dick through his jeans. "Yeah, I know. Can we fuck now?"

Jared laughs. "You're totally easy."

"That's why you love me." Jensen works Jared's pants open and jacks him over the edge of the couch, kissing his mouth as he comes, and yeah, this is how it's supposed to be.