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Five Times Jeff Knew Better But Said Yes Anyway
Five Times Jeff Knew Better But Said Yes Anyway
CWrpf
Pairing: JA/JP/JDM (and assorted subsets thereof)
Rating: Adult
A/N: Mild kink
Disclaimer: No, I don't really think this is going on. Do you?
Jeff's POV in and around and after Five People Jared Never Expected to Wind Up In Bed With and Five People Jensen Never Expected to Wind Up In Bed With and will definitely make more sense after reading them.
- i -
Saying yes when Jensen throws out a casual, "Hey, man, we're grabbing a couple of beers after all this, want to join us?" isn't, strictly speaking, a dumb idea, despite the definite interest Jeff's reading in Jensen's eyes, interest that he's not even going to pretend isn't mutual. It's a pilot, and he's done enough of those over the years to know not to count on it getting picked up. Even if the network does greenlight it, he's got a minor role. It's not like he's going to be spending weeks at a time pretending he's not checking out one of the guys he's working with.
So, no, winding up back in his hotel room with his dick down Jensen's throat isn't all that bad of a thing.
Pilot.
The WB, hardly the most stable of network options.
A mouth that's fucking-well made to be wrapped around his dick.
It's all good.
- ii -
The thing is, Jeff has entirely too much fun hanging around with Jensen to call things off just because the show actually does get picked up. And gets the backend order.
Jensen just… fits with Jeff's life these days, even before you start talking fucking. Laid-back, easy-going, doesn't really care if they're eating ribs or sushi or if Jeff's throwing steaks and whatever on the grill. And then, when you get to the fucking, well, seriously, seriously, Jeff is not going to be finding anything finer than Jensen Ackles spread-eagled on his bed, black leather around his wrists and ankles, voice hoarse and rasping, snarling curses and insults every time Jeff takes his hands off him, breaking ragged and breathless every time Jeff fucks into him.
So, yeah, it's never a good idea to fuck around with people you work with, but this once, Jeff's gonna pretend like it's not all that big of a deal.
- iii -
Jeff likes to think he's smart enough to have thought shit like this through on some kind of a rational level, but he's not sure what it says about him that it's not Jensen laying it all out but the way Jared's watching Jensen the whole time Jen's talking that makes him say yes.
Jared's wearing the same look as he kicks his jeans away and crosses over to where Jeff's holding Jensen steady across his lap, the one that acknowledges Jeff, but is focused so totally on Jensen.
"God," Jensen chokes out, grinding down against Jeff, while Jared takes his time, touches every bit of the skin Jeff's reddened, not at all tentative, but hard and assured, exactly what Jensen needs, Jeff thinks.
"Shh, baby," Jared murmurs against Jensen's mouth. "Not yet, not yet. Jeff's not done with you yet." His eyes flicker up to meet Jeff's, but only for an instant and then he's focused back on Jensen. "He needs to finish," Jared says, his hands shifting to trace light and teasing over Jensen's ass, his mouth moving equally as soft across Jen's cheekbones. "You need to take it a little while longer and then we can fuck you."
Jensen shudders hard against Jeff and it's about all Jeff can do to keep from coming right then. Jared sits back on his heels, long legs and hard abs, knees spread wide, and if Jeff's ever lucked into anything hotter, his brain is too fucking fried to remember. Get your shit together, Morgan, he thinks, and takes a couple of breaths to do just that. They're flying without a safeword and for all Jared's unexpected assurance, Jeff's not certain he knows how deep into this Jensen allows himself to fall.
He makes himself take his time; makes double-damn sure he knows how far he's pushing, because there's no doubt about it, this is farther than they've ever gone, he and Jensen. Something about having Jared there, too, is making it a hell of a lot easier to cross more than a few boundaries. Maybe it's that there's another pair of eyes keeping watch on Jensen, or maybe it's that Jensen seems to want it more, or maybe it's just that Jared's taking everything they're both throwing at him and bouncing it right back at them, as much a part of it as if it was his hand cracking down on Jensen's ass.
Jeff pauses after every slap to stroke and knead the heated skin under his hand, makes sure Jensen knows they can see how hard he's fighting to stay in control, promises him they won't stop until he falls apart, gives it up. Jensen's shaking hard on his lap, long, gasping breaths that sound more like sobs and Jeff thinks about stopping twice before he actually does.
Jared's right there to catch Jensen when Jeff finally lets him slide to the floor, easing him down and spreading him out to fuck him slow and controlled and it's Jeff's turn to watch.
Jared's full of surprises, Jeff thinks, watching Jensen's face as Jared pulls Jensen back onto his lap, big hands holding tight to Jensen's hips. Jeff's not sure what he expected, but it's sure as hell not the low, dirty whisper he's hearing.
"Show him," Jared's saying. "He knows what a whore you are for a cock up your ass, but have you ever let him see what it does to you, how much you like fucking yourself like this?"
Jensen's gone, so far inside his head Jeff knows he's not really hearing anything Jared's saying. Jared knows it, too; he's talking for himself, and maybe a little for Jeff--his eyes are locked on Jeff's even as he's urging Jensen to move faster, fuck himself harder on Jared. He never looks away, not until after he's come, hands tightening so hard on Jensen's hips that Jeff can see the marks they leave behind, not until he's pulling Jensen back into a slick, open-mouthed kiss.
"C'mon, baby," Jared murmurs as he bites one last kiss where Jensen's neck curves into his shoulder. "Jeff's turn now; be a good slut and then we'll let you come." He passes Jensen off, hands holding his hips steady until Jeff can take his weight.
Jeff can't think about how easy it is to slide deep into Jensen, only pushes Jensen's legs wider, pulls his hips higher and doesn't stop moving. Jared stays close to Jensen, fingers fucking deep into that pretty, pretty mouth, low murmurs and wicked smiles for every noise Jensen makes, and as much as Jeff fucking loves to make Jen whimper, he likes it even better with Jared's voice flowing over it all.
- iv -
The text catches him right as he's walking into the house and he has to admit, it surprises the hell out of him. Everything's been fine between him and Jensen, and hell, between him and Jared, even when the other two were doing their damnedest to not deal with each other, but fucking's been off the table for a good long while now.
Back when it was him and Jensen hooking up whenever one of them felt like it, Jen had a real thing for setting things in motion without actually talking, liked the twist of a text with only an address and room number. That's exactly what Jeff's looking at now, and it's enough to send a slow curling heat through his blood, even as he finds himself speed-dialing Jensen's cell.
"Ah, c'mon, don't tell me you're not in the mood," Jensen says, picking up on the first ring.
"Depends," Jeff answers.
"On?"
"On what's goin' on."
Jeff half-expects a flip, snide answer, but Jensen's quiet for a long time and when he finally starts talking, his voice is low, hushed. "He's so damn gorgeous, spread out on the bed, been fucking him all day, sucking him and riding him... We, it was good, the three of us, before." He pauses, long enough that Jeff answers, nothing much more than a soft hum, but it's enough. "I dunno, man," Jensen murmurs. "I just, wanted to share it with someone who got it. Wanted to share him."
Jeff counts to ten before he answers, forcing himself to breathe slow and steady, because he can see it, see Jared, big and lazy against the sheets, Jensen moving slowly over him. Hell, he can smell it, almost taste it.
"Twenty minutes," he says, reaching for his keys. "Fifteen, if I catch the lights. Don't touch him 'til I get there."
- v -
The knock comes a little earlier than Jeff's been expecting; it's been a damn long and not particularly easy day, with everything from craft services getting lost to having to reshoot almost every scene--in wet and filthy clothes--thanks to every technical glitch known to man. If someone had walked onto the set and announced they'd picked up a poltergeist, Jeff doesn't think anyone would have argued.
Finding only Jared in the hallway is more of a surprise than Jeff's willing to admit, especially a tired, somewhat subdued Jared juggling a six of Lone Star and brown paper bags of what smells like Thai. Jeff admires the compromise--Jensen's beer and Jeff's favorite take-out.
"You lose Jen on the way over?" Jeff asks, taking the bags and waving Jared over toward the sitting area. "Or did you trade him for food that doesn't come from room service?"
"He said to go ahead and eat," Jared says, rolling his eyes. "He's still at the gym. And seriously, dude, as pissy as he was today, no way was I getting between him and extra time on the heavy bag."
Jeff knows for a fact there have been some spectacular shouting matches since they started working things out--he usually gets the pissed-off phone calls from Jensen in the aftermath, even though he never does anything but tell Jensen to get the fuck over himself and stop talking to Jeff when he needs to be talking to Jared--but judging from Jensen actually letting Jared see that he was pissed and the lack of stress in Jared's tone at taking the brunt of it, they appear to have sorted at least some of their shit out.
Jared waits until they're settled on the couch, food spread out on the coffee table and half a beer each gone before he goes in for the kill. "We were serious the other night." His trademark grin is nowhere in sight, but he looks a hell of a lot more relaxed than Jeff would expect.
"I said I'd think about it." Jeff doesn't mean to snap, but from the steady way Jared's looking at him, maybe he isn't dealing with this whole insane idea quite as calmly as he keeps telling himself he is.
"Not pushing you, man," Jared says, raising both hands. "It's just..."
"Just?"
"I don't want you to think we're fucking around," Jared says, quiet now.
Jeff thinks about the two of them, how Jared's hands had settled on Jensen's shoulders, how he literally had Jensen's back while Jensen did all the talking and how they'd faced him calmly, uncertain only of his reaction, not of each other.
"It'd probably be easier if you were," Jeff says, scrubbing hard at the back of his neck, right at the base of skull. "Just fucking around."
Jared does smile then, and reaches over to twist the top off a new beer. "Have another." He nods as Jeff takes a long swallow. "It's a lot to wrap your brain around." Jeff rolls his eyes, but the silence between them is easier.
"Jen's been thinking about it," Jared offers. "For a long time, I guess." He picks at the label on the bottle, focusing on it to peel the paper off in one un-torn piece. "It was the last time, when you had to leave early... I mean, it's the business, you know we both get that, but honestly, I don't know which one of us was in a shittier mood the rest of the day." He looks up, laughing a little, but softly. "The next morning he said it'd be nice to know for sure you were coming back, and hell, Jeff, I couldn't argue with that at all."
Jeff's old enough to know better. He is, and that has nothing to do with his actual age. He's not sure why he's even considering this whole insane idea, except that, really, he does know why, and it has everything to do with the easy way Jared's sprawled out on the couch, the same way that he gets the door and kisses Jensen, stepping aside to let Jeff have him and digging the final container of spring rolls out of the bag.
They've both had early calls the whole week--Jeff's lucked out with not having to be on-set until after lunch--and Jensen's been front and center for the episode, so Jeff's not surprised when Jensen puts his feet up on the coffee table and lays his head back on the couch approximately three seconds after he finishes inhaling every last scrap of food.
What surprises him is hearing his own voice saying, "Tuck Sleeping Beauty there under the covers while I get rid of this trash. No sense in waking up smelling like old Pad Thai."
Jensen flips him off without opening his eyes, but Jeff sees how he smiles, slow and sleepy, as Jared hauls him to his feet and aims him toward the bedroom. Jeff takes a few extra seconds on the way back from dumping the trash, but his common sense is apparently still out to lunch, so there's nothing to stop him from following.
and because I'm a total sap at heart...
- coda -
Someday--and pretty soon, judging from the ever-spiraling local real-estate market--some developer is finally going to decide that it's worth the money and hassle it'll take to rip things down and re-build on the cliff-like hillside and the old condos will be gone and Jeff will be officially homeless in Seattle.
But that's not this weekend.
This weekend, it's still the same three cracked cement staircases up to the crappy furniture that's always been there, the futon and the crate tables and the faded rug on the cheap parquet floor. The cleaning service has been through, though, so it's clean, clean and aired out. Jeff props open the balcony door more out of habit than any need to clear a musty smell.
He doesn't keep much in the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner, but the Chinook are running and the long, gorgeous filet he got won't need much. A little honey and some balsamic, a dusting of dry mustard and a couple of grinds of salt and peppercorns, and it's planked and ready to go.
There's enough time for a shower, which is a far wiser use of his time than the infinitely more appealing single-barrel bourbon that's sitting in the cabinet. He can keep his brain turned off for at least a few more minutes without the kind of help that comes in a bottle--at least he'd better be able to, because it's way too fucking late to back out now.
He cuts it a little too close and ends up opening the front door in bare feet, with his hair still dripping into the towel looped around his neck, but that's what this is, he reminds himself. Normal life, real life; jeans and t-shirts and no time to shave, not hotels and sets and bars that cater to the tourist crowd; meeting in a too-small Seattle apartment because it's near the end of the season and getting to LA is too complicated.
Jared's laughing as Jeff opens the door, the big laugh that they can probably hear back in Vancouver, and Jensen has that look, the one he pulls out only when they're in private, the one that Jeff's pretty sure is a lot more revealing than Jensen realizes. Jeff expects it to disappear in a flash, but Jensen only shakes his head at Jared's foolishness and lets him take point on roughing Jeff up about giving the set designers tips on the finer points of tacky decor.
Jeff's heard it all before; the place is straight out of the 70s. He just smiles and steps back so they can come in, and lets the solid wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, Lake Union and Queen Anne and the Sound beyond it all, do the talking.
It's enough to shut even Jared up--well, that and a couple of beers. Out on the balcony, the noise from I-5 makes normal conversation almost impossible but it's easy enough to catch people's attention with a nudge or to lean close to not-quite-shout anything that can't be communicated with body language.
Jared never stops grinning, leaning over the railing to see the Space Needle, slewing around hard when a seaplane revs its engine and starts the long taxi up Lake Union for take-off. Jensen's watching him with something that's way past the look Jeff knows; Jeff's having a hard time tearing his eyes off Jensen; when he does, Jared's turned his smile on the both of them. They're all damn lucky that Jared's paying more attention to the planes than his feet and that kicking over Jeff's beer is enough distraction for Jeff to remember the five pounds of salmon and asparagus under the broiler before everything turns to charcoal.
Jeff doesn't bother with the table inside, or with dishing things up, just juggles plates and food out to the balcony.
"Good to know you've got the waiting tables thing to fall back on," Jared smirks, grabbing for a plate.
Jeff narrows his eyes. "Damn punk-ass kid, getting steady work right out of high school," he growls, but then sees Jensen grinning up at him, too. "Both of you."
"We'll make it up to you," Jensen says, and his smile takes on a wicked, wicked cast.
Jeff smiles back, slow and easy; lets his eyes slide over the faded t-shirt and jeans Jensen's wearing. Even in the darkening twilight, he can see the little hitch in Jensen's breathing and an answering hum starts whispering along his nerves.
"Promise," Jared says from Jeff's other side, and the hum settles itself more deeply under his skin.
He half-expects some kind of standard Texas-based objection to fish for dinner, but gets nothing other than appreciative moans and the added bonus of Jensen licking his fingers clean and Jared working the aw-shucks grin for thirds. And fourths.
All compliments to the chef aside, Jeff's a little embarrassed to admit how relieved he is that it's this easy between them. He's got that nasty pessimistic streak under control most of the time, but it's still there, and probably isn't ever going away. And hell, trying things out with an eye to making them permanent isn't exactly a walk in the park, so it's not as though he's flipping out over nothing. But, yeah, still glad that Jensen's stretched out on the balcony and Jared's messing around inside, washing dishes and concocting ridiculous drinks from the half-empty bottles he's finding in the cabinets.
In the end, he settles on amaretto sours, mostly, he says, because all Jeff has in the refrigerator are some lemons and that's the best he can come up with. Jeff's not going to complain about getting to lick the sweet-tart taste out of either of their mouths, but Jensen bitches for ten minutes solid about girly drinks, until Jeff swirls two fingers through the pitcher and pushes them into his mouth.
Jensen rolls his eyes, but his tongue curls around Jeff's fingers like a promise. Inside, with the lights off, it's still bright enough from the city spread out in front of them to be able to see how Jensen catches himself halfway between smiling and biting his lip when Jared steps up behind Jeff and slides his jeans down and off.
All this started with Jeff's dick in Jensen's mouth, but that had been a generic hotel room with nothing but a shower and a wake-up call for the morning once Jeff had come. Jensen's back on his knees now, and Jeff's a heartbeat away from twisting his fingers in Jensen's hair, holding him tight and just fucking that mouth, like he did that first time, but now there's Jared solid and warm against his back, big hands rubbing low on Jeff's belly, up and down Jeff's thighs, long fingers teasing at Jeff's cock and Jensen's mouth, low voice spilling pure and filthy over them all.
Coming this time means Jeff ends up on the futon, Jensen sprawled on top of him, breath hot and damp against Jeff's collarbone, Jared moving over him, fucking into him sweet and slow. Even with pillows and comforter shoved on the floor, the mattress is nowhere near big enough for that many bodies, arms and legs tangled together, but for tonight they can make it work and after tonight, well, after tonight there's tomorrow.
Thanks (as always) to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me for the beta; to hurricanemegan for reading a much earlier incarnation; and to wendy for talking through some things.
...and just for fun, Jeff was cooking this:
Planked Honey-Balsamic Salmon
fr. Michael Chiarello on the Food Network
1 whole side of salmon, or 4 (6-ounce) salmon fillets
1 tablespoon fine sea salt, preferably gray salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
Melted butter, for brushing salmon
2 untreated cedar planks, each about 5 by 12-inches, soaked in water to cover for at least 12 hours (available at hardware stores)
Extra-virgin olive oil, for oiling the planks
Preheat the broiler. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
If using a side of salmon, cut about halfway through the flesh about every 5 to 6-inches so there are some spaces for the glazes to sink in. If using salmon fillets, slice about 8 to 10 sliced angles into flesh, to help flesh more completely soak in the glaze.
In a small bowl or cup, mix the salt, pepper, and dry mustard.
In a medium glass bowl, heat the honey in the microwave for 30 seconds to liquefy further. Remove from the microwave and mix in balsamic vinegar.
Brush the top of the salmon fillets (not the skin side) with the melted butter. Season the flesh side with the spice mixture. Brush with the honey-balsamic mixture, reserving some for later.
Put the soaked planks under the hot broiler, about 5 inches from the heat source, until the wood is browned on top, about 3 minutes. With tongs, carefully remove the planks from the oven.
Immediately brush the browned surface with olive oil, then lay the salmon fillets on the oiled surface, skin side down.
Put 2 cookie sheets in the oven below where the planks will go to catch any glazes or juices that run off. Return the planks to the broiler and cook the fish for 10 minutes. Baste with honey-balsamic and place in oven. Cook until it is done to your taste, about 10 to 15 more minutes, or 20 minutes total for medium.
Remove the fillets to a platter, or immediately serve directly from the planks.
CWrpf
Pairing: JA/JP/JDM (and assorted subsets thereof)
Rating: Adult
A/N: Mild kink
Disclaimer: No, I don't really think this is going on. Do you?
Jeff's POV in and around and after Five People Jared Never Expected to Wind Up In Bed With and Five People Jensen Never Expected to Wind Up In Bed With and will definitely make more sense after reading them.
Saying yes when Jensen throws out a casual, "Hey, man, we're grabbing a couple of beers after all this, want to join us?" isn't, strictly speaking, a dumb idea, despite the definite interest Jeff's reading in Jensen's eyes, interest that he's not even going to pretend isn't mutual. It's a pilot, and he's done enough of those over the years to know not to count on it getting picked up. Even if the network does greenlight it, he's got a minor role. It's not like he's going to be spending weeks at a time pretending he's not checking out one of the guys he's working with.
So, no, winding up back in his hotel room with his dick down Jensen's throat isn't all that bad of a thing.
Pilot.
The WB, hardly the most stable of network options.
A mouth that's fucking-well made to be wrapped around his dick.
It's all good.
The thing is, Jeff has entirely too much fun hanging around with Jensen to call things off just because the show actually does get picked up. And gets the backend order.
Jensen just… fits with Jeff's life these days, even before you start talking fucking. Laid-back, easy-going, doesn't really care if they're eating ribs or sushi or if Jeff's throwing steaks and whatever on the grill. And then, when you get to the fucking, well, seriously, seriously, Jeff is not going to be finding anything finer than Jensen Ackles spread-eagled on his bed, black leather around his wrists and ankles, voice hoarse and rasping, snarling curses and insults every time Jeff takes his hands off him, breaking ragged and breathless every time Jeff fucks into him.
So, yeah, it's never a good idea to fuck around with people you work with, but this once, Jeff's gonna pretend like it's not all that big of a deal.
Jeff likes to think he's smart enough to have thought shit like this through on some kind of a rational level, but he's not sure what it says about him that it's not Jensen laying it all out but the way Jared's watching Jensen the whole time Jen's talking that makes him say yes.
Jared's wearing the same look as he kicks his jeans away and crosses over to where Jeff's holding Jensen steady across his lap, the one that acknowledges Jeff, but is focused so totally on Jensen.
"God," Jensen chokes out, grinding down against Jeff, while Jared takes his time, touches every bit of the skin Jeff's reddened, not at all tentative, but hard and assured, exactly what Jensen needs, Jeff thinks.
"Shh, baby," Jared murmurs against Jensen's mouth. "Not yet, not yet. Jeff's not done with you yet." His eyes flicker up to meet Jeff's, but only for an instant and then he's focused back on Jensen. "He needs to finish," Jared says, his hands shifting to trace light and teasing over Jensen's ass, his mouth moving equally as soft across Jen's cheekbones. "You need to take it a little while longer and then we can fuck you."
Jensen shudders hard against Jeff and it's about all Jeff can do to keep from coming right then. Jared sits back on his heels, long legs and hard abs, knees spread wide, and if Jeff's ever lucked into anything hotter, his brain is too fucking fried to remember. Get your shit together, Morgan, he thinks, and takes a couple of breaths to do just that. They're flying without a safeword and for all Jared's unexpected assurance, Jeff's not certain he knows how deep into this Jensen allows himself to fall.
He makes himself take his time; makes double-damn sure he knows how far he's pushing, because there's no doubt about it, this is farther than they've ever gone, he and Jensen. Something about having Jared there, too, is making it a hell of a lot easier to cross more than a few boundaries. Maybe it's that there's another pair of eyes keeping watch on Jensen, or maybe it's that Jensen seems to want it more, or maybe it's just that Jared's taking everything they're both throwing at him and bouncing it right back at them, as much a part of it as if it was his hand cracking down on Jensen's ass.
Jeff pauses after every slap to stroke and knead the heated skin under his hand, makes sure Jensen knows they can see how hard he's fighting to stay in control, promises him they won't stop until he falls apart, gives it up. Jensen's shaking hard on his lap, long, gasping breaths that sound more like sobs and Jeff thinks about stopping twice before he actually does.
Jared's right there to catch Jensen when Jeff finally lets him slide to the floor, easing him down and spreading him out to fuck him slow and controlled and it's Jeff's turn to watch.
Jared's full of surprises, Jeff thinks, watching Jensen's face as Jared pulls Jensen back onto his lap, big hands holding tight to Jensen's hips. Jeff's not sure what he expected, but it's sure as hell not the low, dirty whisper he's hearing.
"Show him," Jared's saying. "He knows what a whore you are for a cock up your ass, but have you ever let him see what it does to you, how much you like fucking yourself like this?"
Jensen's gone, so far inside his head Jeff knows he's not really hearing anything Jared's saying. Jared knows it, too; he's talking for himself, and maybe a little for Jeff--his eyes are locked on Jeff's even as he's urging Jensen to move faster, fuck himself harder on Jared. He never looks away, not until after he's come, hands tightening so hard on Jensen's hips that Jeff can see the marks they leave behind, not until he's pulling Jensen back into a slick, open-mouthed kiss.
"C'mon, baby," Jared murmurs as he bites one last kiss where Jensen's neck curves into his shoulder. "Jeff's turn now; be a good slut and then we'll let you come." He passes Jensen off, hands holding his hips steady until Jeff can take his weight.
Jeff can't think about how easy it is to slide deep into Jensen, only pushes Jensen's legs wider, pulls his hips higher and doesn't stop moving. Jared stays close to Jensen, fingers fucking deep into that pretty, pretty mouth, low murmurs and wicked smiles for every noise Jensen makes, and as much as Jeff fucking loves to make Jen whimper, he likes it even better with Jared's voice flowing over it all.
The text catches him right as he's walking into the house and he has to admit, it surprises the hell out of him. Everything's been fine between him and Jensen, and hell, between him and Jared, even when the other two were doing their damnedest to not deal with each other, but fucking's been off the table for a good long while now.
Back when it was him and Jensen hooking up whenever one of them felt like it, Jen had a real thing for setting things in motion without actually talking, liked the twist of a text with only an address and room number. That's exactly what Jeff's looking at now, and it's enough to send a slow curling heat through his blood, even as he finds himself speed-dialing Jensen's cell.
"Ah, c'mon, don't tell me you're not in the mood," Jensen says, picking up on the first ring.
"Depends," Jeff answers.
"On?"
"On what's goin' on."
Jeff half-expects a flip, snide answer, but Jensen's quiet for a long time and when he finally starts talking, his voice is low, hushed. "He's so damn gorgeous, spread out on the bed, been fucking him all day, sucking him and riding him... We, it was good, the three of us, before." He pauses, long enough that Jeff answers, nothing much more than a soft hum, but it's enough. "I dunno, man," Jensen murmurs. "I just, wanted to share it with someone who got it. Wanted to share him."
Jeff counts to ten before he answers, forcing himself to breathe slow and steady, because he can see it, see Jared, big and lazy against the sheets, Jensen moving slowly over him. Hell, he can smell it, almost taste it.
"Twenty minutes," he says, reaching for his keys. "Fifteen, if I catch the lights. Don't touch him 'til I get there."
The knock comes a little earlier than Jeff's been expecting; it's been a damn long and not particularly easy day, with everything from craft services getting lost to having to reshoot almost every scene--in wet and filthy clothes--thanks to every technical glitch known to man. If someone had walked onto the set and announced they'd picked up a poltergeist, Jeff doesn't think anyone would have argued.
Finding only Jared in the hallway is more of a surprise than Jeff's willing to admit, especially a tired, somewhat subdued Jared juggling a six of Lone Star and brown paper bags of what smells like Thai. Jeff admires the compromise--Jensen's beer and Jeff's favorite take-out.
"You lose Jen on the way over?" Jeff asks, taking the bags and waving Jared over toward the sitting area. "Or did you trade him for food that doesn't come from room service?"
"He said to go ahead and eat," Jared says, rolling his eyes. "He's still at the gym. And seriously, dude, as pissy as he was today, no way was I getting between him and extra time on the heavy bag."
Jeff knows for a fact there have been some spectacular shouting matches since they started working things out--he usually gets the pissed-off phone calls from Jensen in the aftermath, even though he never does anything but tell Jensen to get the fuck over himself and stop talking to Jeff when he needs to be talking to Jared--but judging from Jensen actually letting Jared see that he was pissed and the lack of stress in Jared's tone at taking the brunt of it, they appear to have sorted at least some of their shit out.
Jared waits until they're settled on the couch, food spread out on the coffee table and half a beer each gone before he goes in for the kill. "We were serious the other night." His trademark grin is nowhere in sight, but he looks a hell of a lot more relaxed than Jeff would expect.
"I said I'd think about it." Jeff doesn't mean to snap, but from the steady way Jared's looking at him, maybe he isn't dealing with this whole insane idea quite as calmly as he keeps telling himself he is.
"Not pushing you, man," Jared says, raising both hands. "It's just..."
"Just?"
"I don't want you to think we're fucking around," Jared says, quiet now.
Jeff thinks about the two of them, how Jared's hands had settled on Jensen's shoulders, how he literally had Jensen's back while Jensen did all the talking and how they'd faced him calmly, uncertain only of his reaction, not of each other.
"It'd probably be easier if you were," Jeff says, scrubbing hard at the back of his neck, right at the base of skull. "Just fucking around."
Jared does smile then, and reaches over to twist the top off a new beer. "Have another." He nods as Jeff takes a long swallow. "It's a lot to wrap your brain around." Jeff rolls his eyes, but the silence between them is easier.
"Jen's been thinking about it," Jared offers. "For a long time, I guess." He picks at the label on the bottle, focusing on it to peel the paper off in one un-torn piece. "It was the last time, when you had to leave early... I mean, it's the business, you know we both get that, but honestly, I don't know which one of us was in a shittier mood the rest of the day." He looks up, laughing a little, but softly. "The next morning he said it'd be nice to know for sure you were coming back, and hell, Jeff, I couldn't argue with that at all."
Jeff's old enough to know better. He is, and that has nothing to do with his actual age. He's not sure why he's even considering this whole insane idea, except that, really, he does know why, and it has everything to do with the easy way Jared's sprawled out on the couch, the same way that he gets the door and kisses Jensen, stepping aside to let Jeff have him and digging the final container of spring rolls out of the bag.
They've both had early calls the whole week--Jeff's lucked out with not having to be on-set until after lunch--and Jensen's been front and center for the episode, so Jeff's not surprised when Jensen puts his feet up on the coffee table and lays his head back on the couch approximately three seconds after he finishes inhaling every last scrap of food.
What surprises him is hearing his own voice saying, "Tuck Sleeping Beauty there under the covers while I get rid of this trash. No sense in waking up smelling like old Pad Thai."
Jensen flips him off without opening his eyes, but Jeff sees how he smiles, slow and sleepy, as Jared hauls him to his feet and aims him toward the bedroom. Jeff takes a few extra seconds on the way back from dumping the trash, but his common sense is apparently still out to lunch, so there's nothing to stop him from following.
and because I'm a total sap at heart...
Someday--and pretty soon, judging from the ever-spiraling local real-estate market--some developer is finally going to decide that it's worth the money and hassle it'll take to rip things down and re-build on the cliff-like hillside and the old condos will be gone and Jeff will be officially homeless in Seattle.
But that's not this weekend.
This weekend, it's still the same three cracked cement staircases up to the crappy furniture that's always been there, the futon and the crate tables and the faded rug on the cheap parquet floor. The cleaning service has been through, though, so it's clean, clean and aired out. Jeff props open the balcony door more out of habit than any need to clear a musty smell.
He doesn't keep much in the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner, but the Chinook are running and the long, gorgeous filet he got won't need much. A little honey and some balsamic, a dusting of dry mustard and a couple of grinds of salt and peppercorns, and it's planked and ready to go.
There's enough time for a shower, which is a far wiser use of his time than the infinitely more appealing single-barrel bourbon that's sitting in the cabinet. He can keep his brain turned off for at least a few more minutes without the kind of help that comes in a bottle--at least he'd better be able to, because it's way too fucking late to back out now.
He cuts it a little too close and ends up opening the front door in bare feet, with his hair still dripping into the towel looped around his neck, but that's what this is, he reminds himself. Normal life, real life; jeans and t-shirts and no time to shave, not hotels and sets and bars that cater to the tourist crowd; meeting in a too-small Seattle apartment because it's near the end of the season and getting to LA is too complicated.
Jared's laughing as Jeff opens the door, the big laugh that they can probably hear back in Vancouver, and Jensen has that look, the one he pulls out only when they're in private, the one that Jeff's pretty sure is a lot more revealing than Jensen realizes. Jeff expects it to disappear in a flash, but Jensen only shakes his head at Jared's foolishness and lets him take point on roughing Jeff up about giving the set designers tips on the finer points of tacky decor.
Jeff's heard it all before; the place is straight out of the 70s. He just smiles and steps back so they can come in, and lets the solid wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, Lake Union and Queen Anne and the Sound beyond it all, do the talking.
It's enough to shut even Jared up--well, that and a couple of beers. Out on the balcony, the noise from I-5 makes normal conversation almost impossible but it's easy enough to catch people's attention with a nudge or to lean close to not-quite-shout anything that can't be communicated with body language.
Jared never stops grinning, leaning over the railing to see the Space Needle, slewing around hard when a seaplane revs its engine and starts the long taxi up Lake Union for take-off. Jensen's watching him with something that's way past the look Jeff knows; Jeff's having a hard time tearing his eyes off Jensen; when he does, Jared's turned his smile on the both of them. They're all damn lucky that Jared's paying more attention to the planes than his feet and that kicking over Jeff's beer is enough distraction for Jeff to remember the five pounds of salmon and asparagus under the broiler before everything turns to charcoal.
Jeff doesn't bother with the table inside, or with dishing things up, just juggles plates and food out to the balcony.
"Good to know you've got the waiting tables thing to fall back on," Jared smirks, grabbing for a plate.
Jeff narrows his eyes. "Damn punk-ass kid, getting steady work right out of high school," he growls, but then sees Jensen grinning up at him, too. "Both of you."
"We'll make it up to you," Jensen says, and his smile takes on a wicked, wicked cast.
Jeff smiles back, slow and easy; lets his eyes slide over the faded t-shirt and jeans Jensen's wearing. Even in the darkening twilight, he can see the little hitch in Jensen's breathing and an answering hum starts whispering along his nerves.
"Promise," Jared says from Jeff's other side, and the hum settles itself more deeply under his skin.
He half-expects some kind of standard Texas-based objection to fish for dinner, but gets nothing other than appreciative moans and the added bonus of Jensen licking his fingers clean and Jared working the aw-shucks grin for thirds. And fourths.
All compliments to the chef aside, Jeff's a little embarrassed to admit how relieved he is that it's this easy between them. He's got that nasty pessimistic streak under control most of the time, but it's still there, and probably isn't ever going away. And hell, trying things out with an eye to making them permanent isn't exactly a walk in the park, so it's not as though he's flipping out over nothing. But, yeah, still glad that Jensen's stretched out on the balcony and Jared's messing around inside, washing dishes and concocting ridiculous drinks from the half-empty bottles he's finding in the cabinets.
In the end, he settles on amaretto sours, mostly, he says, because all Jeff has in the refrigerator are some lemons and that's the best he can come up with. Jeff's not going to complain about getting to lick the sweet-tart taste out of either of their mouths, but Jensen bitches for ten minutes solid about girly drinks, until Jeff swirls two fingers through the pitcher and pushes them into his mouth.
Jensen rolls his eyes, but his tongue curls around Jeff's fingers like a promise. Inside, with the lights off, it's still bright enough from the city spread out in front of them to be able to see how Jensen catches himself halfway between smiling and biting his lip when Jared steps up behind Jeff and slides his jeans down and off.
All this started with Jeff's dick in Jensen's mouth, but that had been a generic hotel room with nothing but a shower and a wake-up call for the morning once Jeff had come. Jensen's back on his knees now, and Jeff's a heartbeat away from twisting his fingers in Jensen's hair, holding him tight and just fucking that mouth, like he did that first time, but now there's Jared solid and warm against his back, big hands rubbing low on Jeff's belly, up and down Jeff's thighs, long fingers teasing at Jeff's cock and Jensen's mouth, low voice spilling pure and filthy over them all.
Coming this time means Jeff ends up on the futon, Jensen sprawled on top of him, breath hot and damp against Jeff's collarbone, Jared moving over him, fucking into him sweet and slow. Even with pillows and comforter shoved on the floor, the mattress is nowhere near big enough for that many bodies, arms and legs tangled together, but for tonight they can make it work and after tonight, well, after tonight there's tomorrow.
Thanks (as always) to
without_me for the beta; to hurricanemegan for reading a much earlier incarnation; and to wendy for talking through some things....and just for fun, Jeff was cooking this:
Planked Honey-Balsamic Salmon
fr. Michael Chiarello on the Food Network
1 whole side of salmon, or 4 (6-ounce) salmon fillets
1 tablespoon fine sea salt, preferably gray salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
Melted butter, for brushing salmon
2 untreated cedar planks, each about 5 by 12-inches, soaked in water to cover for at least 12 hours (available at hardware stores)
Extra-virgin olive oil, for oiling the planks
Preheat the broiler. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
If using a side of salmon, cut about halfway through the flesh about every 5 to 6-inches so there are some spaces for the glazes to sink in. If using salmon fillets, slice about 8 to 10 sliced angles into flesh, to help flesh more completely soak in the glaze.
In a small bowl or cup, mix the salt, pepper, and dry mustard.
In a medium glass bowl, heat the honey in the microwave for 30 seconds to liquefy further. Remove from the microwave and mix in balsamic vinegar.
Brush the top of the salmon fillets (not the skin side) with the melted butter. Season the flesh side with the spice mixture. Brush with the honey-balsamic mixture, reserving some for later.
Put the soaked planks under the hot broiler, about 5 inches from the heat source, until the wood is browned on top, about 3 minutes. With tongs, carefully remove the planks from the oven.
Immediately brush the browned surface with olive oil, then lay the salmon fillets on the oiled surface, skin side down.
Put 2 cookie sheets in the oven below where the planks will go to catch any glazes or juices that run off. Return the planks to the broiler and cook the fish for 10 minutes. Baste with honey-balsamic and place in oven. Cook until it is done to your taste, about 10 to 15 more minutes, or 20 minutes total for medium.
Remove the fillets to a platter, or immediately serve directly from the planks.
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