They say dress up goth for the photo shoot. They say think Robert Smith. Jared looks at them blankly. He has oversized belt buckles and hiking boots. He might have a Metallica t-shirt somewhere, but it’s got white stains on it that look suspiciously like jizz.
“Is this some life requirement I missed? Goth apparel hidden in the back of the closet?” Jared says, staring at the rows of button downs and distressed jeans folded perfectly on their hangers.
Jensen makes a noncommittal noise. When Jared turns to look at him, he finds him lying on Jared’s bed, shoes on top of the covers reading the Arts section of the paper. Jared wads up a pair of boxers and tosses them at him. “Hey asshole, I need some help here.”
Jensen raises his eyebrows above the paper. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Jared makes a disgusted noise and flops down over Jensen’s legs, pulling the paper out of Jensen’s hands. “This is the stupidest photo shoot.” He stares at Jensen pleadingly.
Jensen glares at him and huffs, “Can’t do anything yourself.”
Jared laughs and rolls to the side so that Jensen can hoist himself up off the bed to inspect his clothes. Jensen leafs through the hangers, making hmming noises. It’s boring, he could be working out right now, or playing with the dogs, or turning cartwheels down the hall. He leans back against the closet door frame, tries to imagine what his cast mates will look like. It’s a hilarious image. He chuckles out loud picturing Travis with a spiked collar around his neck and a mournful expression. Jensen, well used to Jared's foibles, does not react.
He tosses stuff around in Jared's closet. It makes him cringe. He'll probably have to spend an hour getting it back the way he wants it, but he’d rather deal with it than show up looking like an idiot. Stylists across the galaxy all agree he can’t dress himself.
“Take your time,” he says sarcastically, leaning up on his elbows, “I only have to be there in an hour.”
“Shut up, tardface.” Jensen has a pair of jeans draped over one arm and a black dress shirt. 'Tardface' Jared mouths at him and Jensen points an imperious finger at him. “Go get one of your tiny wife-beaters.”
Jared blinks. “But that’s like 90s preppy.”
The expression Jensen shoots him has him scrambling for his dresser. “Yes, fairy godmother, I shall never disobey you again,” he says. He’s got piles of them folded in his dresser. “What color?”
“I don’t suppose you have red,” Jensen says behind him. Jared turns and shoots him a look. He’s starting to think Jensen is dicking him around. Hard to tell because he’s a subtle bastard, after years spent inured to Chad, subtlety is kind of lost on him. Jensen shakes his head, fondly exasperated, as if Jared and his wardrobe have failed Jensen yet again. “Just go for white.”
He fishes out a white one and unceremoniously tugs his UCLA basketball shirt up over his head and tosses it at the laundry basket. Jensen coughs when Jared unbuttons his faded jeans and reaches out for the black ones Jensen holds. “You’re such a prude,” Jared says, smiling.
“Fuck you,” Jensen says and tosses the dress shirt at him.
Jared catches it and sets it aside. He steps out of his pants and pulls up the other pair. His spine tingles and he says without looking up, “I can feel you watching me.” He puts the shirt and button-down on and makes a face at Jensen as he buttons the middle three buttons per his direction. He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows because he hates it when stuff hits his wrists. Jensen leans back against his closet door, assessing. Jared spreads his arms. “Now what? Is Marilyn Manson going to run from the sight of me?”
Jensen snorts. “Do you have eyeliner?”
Jared stares at him. “Oh no.”
Jensen crosses his arms.
“No, uh uh,” Jared tells him, shaking his head. “Are you insane?”
Five minutes later he finds himself watching impotently as Jensen tears the first floor bathroom apart. “I swear Danneel left some the last time she was here,” he says. He’s down on his knees peering under the sink now. “Don’t know where I put it.”
He pulls open a drawer and glances down at the contents. “Ahah!” He pulls a pencil out a bright red box of Durex, suspiciously low.
“Have I ever told you that I hate you?” He says when Jensen presents it to him. He eyes it like Jensen is trying to hand him a large spider. He finally takes it with a sigh. “I don’t know how to put it on.”
Jensen makes a disgusted noise and pulls the pencil from between Jared’s fingers. “Go sit on the toilet, you baby.” Jared rolls his eyes and sits down, Jensen steps between his thighs and looks suddenly nervous. “You know, I’m not a genius at this.”
Jared shrugs. It’s somewhat strange to have Jensen this far into his personal space, towering over him, when there isn’t an audience. He stares at Jensen from under his lashes, waiting for him to make a move.
Jensen cups Jared’s chin in his fingertips and tilts it up. “J-just keep your eyes open. If you blink I’m more likely to jab you.”
Jared stays as still as he possibly can as Jensen hesitatingly underlines his left eye. Jared can’t keep his eyelashes from fluttering. He wets suddenly dry lips. He’s not sure how girls do this every day as easily as they sign their names. When Jensen gets too close to the cornea, Jared flinches back. “I’m not going to poke you,” he says softly. Jared inhales. Jensen’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth and he bends down even closer. Jared has to direct his gaze over his shoulder because it’s getting too intimate. Jensen’s breath smells like coffee and cigarettes.
Jared’s eyes start watering when Jensen lines the right one. Jensen smoothes a thumb over his cheek, catching the excess moisture and wiping off bleeding color. Jared darts his eyes to Jensen’s face before looking away again. Jensen looks solemn and concentrated, but color is rushing into his cheeks.
“Close ‘em,” he says to Jared. Jared stares at him for a second, uncomprehending before finally shutting his eyes so that Jensen can do the top lid. Suddenly he’s conscious of the inside of his thighs brushing against Jensen’s legs and the calluses on Jensen’s fingertips as he keeps Jared’s chin tipped to the right angle. He can feel a flush start to rise up in his skin.
When he opens his eyes again, Jensen’s cheeks are a deepening red and his chest is rising and falling. His thumb strokes over Jared’s jaw line almost unconsciously. It dips under the bone, skimming the vulnerable skin of Jared’s throat. “Jared,” he says slowly. “You look—” he breaks off. Jared didn’t even notice his hand had come up to palm Jensen’s hip.
Jared tilts his head further back on his neck and Jensen leans down to kiss him. His lips are smooth and cool, just as plush as they look, and he tastes like he smells: black coffee and nicotine. He would like to say he’s never thought about this, but he’s spent five years being told he’s gay married to him. Of course he’s thought about it. Jared kisses him until all he tastes is his himself. Jensen pushes him back against the toilet tank as he leans more of his weight on him, only the arm Jensen has looped around the back of his neck keeps him from hitting his head against the mirror.
Jensen’s bent at an awkward angle, but he keeps sliding their lips together, flicking his tongue just past Jared’s parted lips and moaning into his mouth. Jared widens his thighs and angles his hips up, subconsciously seeking friction. His dick presses distressingly against the zipper. Jensen tumbles into his lap when Jared tugs on his belt. He makes a small sound and slides his mouth over Jared’s pulse. Jared’s breaths come hard, when he turns his head to allow better access he knows he’s fogging up the mirror.
“Have to leave in fifteen minutes,” he says, eyes fluttering open as Jensen presses wet kisses into the hollow above his collarbone. Jensen grinds down into him and he feels his dick against his stomach. “Not the time—” he tries to say.
Jensen catches his cheeks between his hands and runs a finger just under Jared’s eye so that it drops closed. “Go then,” he says and doesn’t stop.
Jared clenches his fist in Jensen’s worn t-shirt and kisses him, hand sliding up Jensen’s spine to clutch the back of his head. Jensen resettles himself so that he can unbutton Jared’s fly. He pulls Jared’s dick out with eyeliner-smudged fingertips. His hand is a cold shock against Jared’s blood hot skin, but when his fingers tighten around Jared’s dick, Jared finds his head lolling loosely against the mirror. Jensen leans in again and nibbles on his ear lobe. Jared chokes and thrusts up hard into Jensen’s hand. Jensen makes a hungry sound and starts stroking him faster. They’re both panting like they’ve been running marathons.
The callus Jensen has on his thumb from holding a pen brushes over the head of his dick and Jared thunks his head hard back against the mirror. He’s uncomfortable and overheated, but Jensen’s hands and mouth on him make his nerves fire very different sensations. Jared doesn’t say that he’s getting close, he doesn’t tell Jensen it’s good, it’s beautiful, it’s perfect. He jerks his hips up one last time and then stills in Jensen’s grip, fingers biting into the muscles of Jensen’s shoulder.
They don’t move for a second. Jensen lips whisper over the swell of his cheek bone. Jared swallows and shifts under him. “You have two minutes,” Jensen says, slowly extricating himself.
Jared stands to look at himself in the mirror. The eyeliner is smudged all over the place under his eyes and his cheeks are still flushed from exertion. He looks like a rent boy. He could wipe it off, maybe he should, but he remembers the way Jensen looked at him. Jensen meets his eyes in the mirror and deliberately washes his hands in the sink. Jared sees that his dick bulges underneath the fly of his jeans.
“I have to go,” he says, quietly. Jensen continues to look at him intently. Jared licks his lips again and takes a deep breath. He wants to stay and finish what they started, but he’s thinking with his dick again, and he needs to get paid. He pushes past Jensen whose eyes close as their arms brush. He pauses and then keeps walking.
“Later,” Jensen says firmly to the mirror when Jared is five steps away. Jared gets it.