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Caught Inside, 2/4
-- 2 --
"Surf report says it's gonna be flat tomorrow," Steve says, on the short drive down to the cafe. Most of the time, they walk, but Steve's playing tonight. Hauling guitars and amps definitely means the van.
"Clear, too," Steve continues. "It'd be a good morning."
"For what?" Jensen asks, at the same time Chris groans. Steve smiles. "What?" Jensen repeats.
"Tourist crap," Chris says.
"Sunrise up at Haleakala," Steve corrects. "And fuck off with the tourist-crap-whining; you love it."
"Yeah, well, I don't love getting up in the middle of the goddamned night to beat the buses up there. I'm guessing Hollywood back there isn't gonna be real wild about that part either."
"So we don't go to sleep." Steve pulls the van around behind the cafe. "Simple." He kills the engine and turns around to look at Jensen. "You up for it?"
"Yeah." Jensen shrugs. He isn't excited about anything that has anything to do with sunrise, but Steve is, so he'll play along. "Sure."
Chris rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about New Age, touchy-feely bullshit, but Steve smiles and elbows him out of the way. Jensen follows the two of them into Jeff's, and can't help shaking his head about how he's apparently turned into the tie-breaker.
Once Steve mentions the plan, Jeff tosses him the keys and the word gets out that they'll be hanging out later than usual. Sandy leaves around eleven amid wolf whistles and proposals, all dressed up because the boyfriend is taking her to some party at one of the seriously high-end hotels in Kaanapali. Dani rolls her eyes and drops catty comments about pretentious corporate types, but she sends Sandy back twice to redo her hair before granting approval on her appearance, and swears it's no problem for her to fill in for a couple of hours. Steve jams for a while and Chris picks it up when he takes a break. Jeff disappears sometime after three and Jensen ends up behind the bar, pulling beers for the five or six people who hang on until the bitter end.
It's not quite four when Steve throws the last stragglers out and locks the doors behind them. Chris lights up almost before they're out onto the street, slanting a glance at Steve and putting his feet up on the dash. "No fucking way I'm dealing with all the hippie tourist freaks without a little help." He holds the joint out.
"Later, man," Steve says, waving him off. "Don't need me trying to drive those switchbacks fucked up."
Chris shrugs and passes it back to Jensen. Jensen takes two quick hits, and then slouches down in the back seat. It's pitch black outside, nothing but the headlights of the van picking up the road ahead of them. He's a little buzzed and a little drunk and a lot relaxed. Steve laughs at him in the mirror, the easy laugh that says I know you, I remember you, you're such a fucking lightweight, and Jensen's a little surprised how easy it is to take it for what it's worth and smile back.
Sunrise is everything Steve said it would be--and everything Chris had been muttering about, too, with the added bonus of huddling under a blanket for an hour before the night sky starts fading toward light. On the plus side, Jensen's stone-cold sober for the show, which is really goddamned spectacular, the light moving over the crater, clouds drifting far below, beautiful and other-worldly enough to make him wish for a decent camera.
On the minus side, his ass is about frozen solid, and his balls aren't far behind, and if he never hears another word about sacred spaces as interpreted by a bunch of sorority girls, he'll be the happiest guy in the world. There's a particularly excited group off to one side, and Jensen can't help rolling his eyes at the chatter.
"Careful, man," Steve says, grinning at him. "I can hear the internal snark from here; you let it build up any more and you might blow the top of your head off."
"It'd be totally wasted on this crowd," Jensen says, grinning back. "They're here for peace and light and harmony."
"Yeah, but they've got that already. Don't deny them the glory of that internal monologue I know you've got going."
"Yeah, it's in there," Jensen admits, something twisting a little in his gut when he thinks about how well Steve knows him. "But I'll spare you the details."
Steve shakes his head, but doesn't stop smiling. Chris comes up then, handing over the thermos of coffee they brought up with them. Jensen opens it gratefully; his hands are still fucking freezing.
"38 degrees in paradise, my ass," Chris grumbles. "No fucking idea why I let you drag me up here, Carlson."
"Whipped," Jensen says, once he can breathe again because, shit, the coffee tastes like it's been brewed in whiskey rather than water.
Chris eyes him, long and thoughtful. "At least I'm not snorting saltwater every goddamned morning."
"Point." Jensen knocks back another swallow and passes the thermos over, a little surprised that Chris hadn't added that he was getting laid for his trouble.
Jensen thinks about it all the way back down the mountain, ninety minutes' worth of twisty roads and little towns that pop up out of nowhere, and takes it with him when he staggers into his room and drops onto the cool sheets.
The vibe in the cafe that night is laid back, mostly locals, friends. Jensen can feel a thrum of anticipation--expectation--as Steve and Chris start fiddling with guitars and amps, unlike other nights when there are more tourists.
"We started off this morning at Haleakala,” Steve says, grinning at the reaction from the crowd, hoots and catcalls and cheers. "Didn’t completely freeze our asses off, so we’re gonna finish it here with you, and I gotta tell you," he glances over at Chris and his smile shifts, becomes more personal, "that’s just about the definition of a perfect day in my book."
Jensen watches from his usual spot, and it's all right there in front of him. Chris and Steve are tight and solid, and Jensen isn't gonna be that guy, the one who fucks with things just because he can. Not this time.
"Hey, gorgeous." Danneel drops into a chair and puts her feet up on another. Under the long sarong she's got wrapped around her waist as a skirt, her legs are scratched all to hell and back and even her freckles are looking wan and washed out.
"Hey yourself," Jensen answers, sliding his beer across the table and catching Jeff's eye for a refill. "Rough day?"
"I'm getting the shit kicked out of me this week." She puts her head down on the table. "Got caught up in a rip and dragged over the reef. Tore the fucking sail, too, and oh, my God, you do not want to know how much one of those things costs."
"Maybe you could take a break," Jensen starts, but Danneel sighs and Jeff, bringing over his beer, is shaking his head.
"Grand prix is here in a month," Danneel says. "And I haven't done jack this year--I don't do halfway decent, I'll lose the two damn sponsors I have left and be back here full-time." Jeff lays down the fresh beer and Danneel smiles up at him. "Not that I don't love you, Jeff."
Jeff taps her gently on the top of her head. "Quit forcing it out there. You can fly on those winds and you know it, but not when you're trying to make it happen."
"Yeah," Danneel sighs. "I know--no, really, Jeff, I know--it's just… hard." Jeff snorts and she smiles, a real one this time, and waves her hand, shooing him away. "Yeah, I know you know. Okay, go on and go. Take care of your place."
She drains the beer with practiced ease and Jensen can't resist playing with her a little, clutching the refill Jeff had brought him with exaggerated horror, but before she can do much beyond smacking at him, Steve calls over to him.
"Hey, Jen," Steve says. "This one would sound better with a little extra harmony--you up for it?"
Steve's voice is casual, cool, the same as how he'd intro'd the set and maybe it really is that easy to him. Jensen should be at least thinking about this--he hasn't sung in longer than he can remember, and that's even before you add in Chris and all that singing with him entails--but he's pushing back from the table and rolling his eyes at Danneel's go, Gorgeous, go.
Steve's smile slides into the one Jensen remembers, the one that feels like home. Chris shifts over with zero complaint and it's really not that hard at all.
Danneel grins at Jensen as he comes off stage, dropping her feet to the floor and sliding the chair she's saved for him over.
"Oh, sweetheart," she says, handing him her beer. "I sure as hell hope you can run in those cute Hollywood flip-flops, because I don't think the piranhas in this town are going to care which team you're batting for."
Jensen shakes his head at her, but takes care not to make eye contact with anyone. "It was three songs, Danneel. Harmony. You know, where I'm the guy standing in the back."
"Steve and Chris are all wrapped up in each other." Danneel shrugs. Jensen keeps his face as blank as possible; she isn't saying anything he doesn't already know, even if it does suck to hear it out loud. "Even the ones who stay stoned all the time have figured that one out. But you're new. It's a small town. You're driving them crazy."
"Peachy," Jensen says, standing up to go get another beer. "You want another one?"
"Oh, hell yes," she says. "But I'm officially trying not to flame out this season, so I've hit my limit for the night."
Jensen tells himself to remember that; anybody who's working her ass off the way Danneel seems to be doesn't need to be sabotaged by her friends. Jeff hands him a beer and some kind of a protein shake. Danneel snorts when Jensen hands it to her, flipping Jeff off over her head without even turning around, but she drinks it obediently, and later, Jensen sees her stop to give Jeff a hug on her way out.
Jared wanders in for a little while, long enough to grab a beer and say hi, but ducks back out again with a girl Jensen doesn't recognize, other than that she doesn't quite fit with the rest of the crowd. He catches Jeff watching them leave with a long, thoughtful look; if Danneel had still been around, Jensen doesn't doubt he'd be getting an earful on the whole pick-up, but as it is, he files it away for later.
It's an early night--it usually is when it's mostly locals--so it's not all that much past one when Jensen gives Steve and Chris a hand breaking everything down and getting it back in the van. He's not quite ready to call it a night, though; he tells them to go on without him.
"You okay?" Steve asks.
"Yeah, man, fine. A little wired, that's all."
"Alright," Steve says, after exchanging a look with Chris that Jensen isn't even gonna try to figure out. "Later."
Jensen thinks about walking down to the edge of the bay--the moon's almost full, the view is probably awesome--but ends up going right back inside.
"You want something else?" Jeff asks, and Jensen realizes he's the only person left.
"Oh, hey, no. I'm just wired tonight, didn't want to go stare at the ceiling." It's more that he didn't want go watch Steve finish off the day with Chris, but that's not something he's going to say out loud. "I can hang out down on the beach or whatever."
"No problem," Jeff says, sorting through the bottles behind the bar. "Here," he says, pulling out a tall, slender one. "Rum. Kimo makes this from the sugar cane they grow up Haleakala."
"Yeah, okay." Jensen rolls his eyes. "It's definitely a theme. I can work with that." The rum's smooth and golden and rich on Jensen's tongue, washing away the last bitter aftertaste of the beer he'd been drinking. Jeff pours himself one, too; Jensen finds himself watching how the pale amber catches the light. When he looks up, Jeff's eyes are on him, curious and maybe a little speculative, and he smiles when Jensen doesn't break the contact.
"Steve doesn't say much," Jeff begins, and Jensen can't help snorting at that, because, no, Steve doesn't ever say much about anything. Jeff grins. "Yeah, no shock there. I just meant... I don't know what's going on, but Steve talked about you, some. When he first got here, before he was set on sticking around. There wasn't much else he missed about LA."
Jensen nods, but doesn't trusts himself to speak. He knocks back what's left in his glass, and it's way too good to be treated like that, but it's better than throwing it against the wall.
"Steve and Chris--they do their own thing, but they're solid, for all that it's not the white picket fence." Jeff pours a little more into Jensen's glass. "You don't seem the type to ignore that--"
"Oh, I am," Jensen says. His voice is sticking somewhere in his throat and it's coming out hoarse and soft, but he meets Jeff's eyes again. "Or I was--I've been known to..." He tells himself to shut up, but his mouth doesn't quite seem to be getting the message. "I'm not doing it this time, but let's be really clear about prior convictions, okay?"
"Well," Jeff says, his voice equally soft. "Seems to me there should be a little positive reinforcement going on then."
Jensen looks up and Jeff's eyes are dark and intense, but clear and focused on Jensen, nothing in them but appreciation and maybe the beginning of a smile.
"That an offer?"
"Hell yeah."
Jensen doesn't need to think about it much--or at all, really. He slides off the bar stool, brings his glass with him and takes the bottle from Jeff while he flips the deadbolts on the front door and turns out the lights. The kitchen's quiet and already dark and it's not more than ten steps out the back across to the small stucco house that sits on the corner of the property.
There’s not much to Jeff’s place, other than a solid wall of glass that faces the bay. Jensen has the feeling that Jeff doesn't need much more. Besides, they’re not there for the house and garden tour. Jensen wanders over to watch the moon catch the crest of a wave, out past the breakers. Jeff comes up behind him, quiet and still, and it's been a long time since Jensen's let things play out at their own pace but Jeff seems to be on the same page. When Jensen finally turns his head and lets Jeff's mouth find his, the rum tastes spicy and rich on him, deeper, more complex than what Jensen just tasted in his own glass. Jeff's skin is smooth and warm under Jensen’s hand, his back strong and arms open and easy.
He thought it would keep on with the same slow intensity--there’s no rush, they’ve got all night--but when Jeff breaks the first kiss, Jensen catches his face in both hands, pulling him right back in for another, and slow can go fuck itself. Jeff gets him up against the wall and works a thigh hard between his legs. Jensen moves into him; a practiced roll of his hips that has Jeff growling into the kiss even as he's pulling back.
"Good?" Jensen smirks, then groans as Jeff scrubs the heel of his hand down over Jensen's dick.
"Too smooth, and you know it," Jeff breathes. "Want to hear what you sound like when that gloss you wear like armor's gone and you're begging for my dick." He slides his hands up under the t-shirt Jensen’s wearing and breaks the kiss long enough to get it over his head and off.
"Yeah," Jensen mutters, laying his head back against the wall, daring Jeff to mark his throat. He hisses as Jeff takes the opening and bites, quick and sharp, along his collarbone. This time when he moves, it’s a little rougher, a little less rehearsed, and Jeff smiles into his skin.
The bed's a wreck when they're finished, pillows scattered across the room, quilt and sheets stripped off onto the floor. Jeff rolls off the bed and stumbles a little on his way to the bathroom; Jensen's not so fucked-out that he can't smile with a certain well-earned sense of gratification and, okay, smugness, even if he doesn't really feel like moving himself. Now that his blood's stopped pounding, he can hear the ocean through the open windows and doors, different than the night noises at Steve's, quiet and hypnotic. He's half-asleep when Jeff comes back, startles awake at the wash cloth Jeff drops on his thigh.
"Thanks," Jensen mumbles. "Clear outta here in a sec..."
"Easier to stay," Jeff answers, words almost obliterated by the yawn that overtakes him. He yanks a sheet up off the floor and throws it half over Jensen as he flops down on the mattress.
It's not; Jensen knows the better option is almost always to fuck and go, but something in his subconscious takes Jeff at face value and he's asleep before he takes two breaths.
He wakes up to a slap on the ass and Jeff laughing in his ear, "Out of bed, pretty boy."
Jensen manages to flip Jeff off and simultaneously pull the quilt over his head. "Go catch your wave, man, I'm fine right here," he mumbles.
"Flatter than flat today, junior," Jeff answers, the tips of his fingers running light and teasing over the fading sting of the slap. "Calls for a road trip. Hana."
"Later?" Jensen groans and he's not sure how much of the groan comes from being awake in the dark and how much comes from how Jeff's thumb is rubbing circles into the top of his thigh.
"Need to be rolling by seven," Jeff says. "It's the journey, not the destination and all that deep, philosophical shit, but it's tourist season so haul that fine ass out of bed so we can let them eat our exhaust."
"Fuck, it's 5:30. In the morning. It doesn't take me an hour to shower."
Jeff leans into Jensen, hard muscle pinning him to the bed, and pulls the pillow off his head. "Depends on how long I feel like fucking you first."
He's still a little sore from the night before and Jeff doesn't bother with much prep, just pushes Jensen's thighs apart with his own and eases inside, a long slow push that leaves Jensen digging his hands into the mattress.
"Shit, Jeff," he hisses when Jeff stills deep inside him. "C'mon, quit teasing; move, dammit."
"Greedy," Jeff laughs, pulling out fast enough to make Jensen's growl catch in his throat. "You'll get yours, don't worry." He slaps Jensen again, two quick smacks that barely have time to register before he's fucking back into Jensen, the hard burn of being filled overlaid with the sharp sting of the slaps. Jensen pushes back, gets his knees under him and lets Jeff use him however he wants, wraps his hand around his own cock and jerks himself off. If he has to be awake at dawn, it's not a bad way to go.
Jeff makes fucking awesome coffee. It's the only thing that's keeping Jensen from strangling him and turning the Jeep around to head back toward Paia and the bed Jeff had dragged him ruthlessly out of.
He clutches the travel mug protectively and tries to brace himself against the non-stop twists and turns Jeff's flying through.
"Tell me why I care about this again," Jensen shouts, over the rush of the wind and the growl of the Jeep.
"Road to Hana, dude." Jeff takes his eyes off the road to roll them at Jensen; Jensen closes his own so he doesn't have to see how he's going to die when Jeff runs them off the road. "Wailua Falls? The Seven Sacred Pools?" Jensen opens his eyes and shakes his head, but then the road curves down into the rainforest and Jeff slows enough that Jensen can stop visualizing his death and really pay attention to the lush green that's surrounding them. "Any time you want to stop, hike up to a waterfall or something, lemme know."
The voice in the back of Jensen's head, the one that belongs to his inner bitch and still isn't happy about, well, any of this, sneers that it's a bunch of trees, whoopee-shit. The rest of him is feeling like breathing deep and letting Jeff's voice wash over him isn't such a bad idea at all.
Thankfully, there really is a Hana at the end of the road. Or, well, not really at the end of the road, because it keeps going, but at least the two hundred or so switchbacks Jeff's just rocketed through are there for some reason, not just because somebody thought it would be fun to cut a road through a rainforest and see how many times they could make somebody puke on the way. The road smoothes out and stops twisting; Jeff drives past a school and the police department and a firehouse, everything a town might need, perched right there on the edge of the island, and pulls in past the gas pumps to park at the general store. Jensen follows him out of the Jeep, stretching out the kinks before climbing up the wide stairs and into the store, sidestepping stacks of merchandise--baby food and CDs and chips and surfing stuff, all jumbled together with cases of canned fruit and bottled water and Spam and bags of fresh-ground coffee.
Jeff doesn't get two steps into the place before the guy behind the counter starts laughing. "Morgan! I should have known you'd be the one they suckered into this run. The kids are around somewhere; been hanging around, getting in the way all morning." He turns around and picks up a phone, hesitating a little before he thumbs it on. "You going straight back or you got plans before you leave." His eyes, when they sweep over Jensen are curious, but not unfriendly. "You got plenty of time; the kids don't need to be in Haiku before tonight."
"Gimme a couple of hours then," Jeff says. "It'd be a shame to have gotten him," he nods at Jensen, "all the way out here and skip out on the full experience."
Jensen snorts. "If you mean seeing how many more times you can make me think you're trying to off me, why don't we just save it for the trip back."
The other guy grins. "Nah, we got more here than twisty roads."
Jensen would roll his eyes, but it'd be rude, considering the guy lives here and all, so he settles for arching an eyebrow and smirking at Jeff.
"I'll pass the word on for the kids to be here around one, if that works for you."
"Yeah, that'll get us back down-island before dark," Jeff says, and Jensen is a little bemused at how wandering back into the bar last night turned into a quick fuck is turning into full-scale spending actual time together. He hasn't done anything even close to that since, well, since Steve left. He's more surprised at how he's okay with it.
Jeff starts piling shit onto the counter--water and fruit and sandwiches from a cooler--as though they don't already have stuff in the Jeep. When Jensen cocks an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. "No sense wasting time inside."
"Sure," Jensen agrees. He drops some candy on the counter and pulls his wallet out, paying for everything and not letting Jeff elbow him out of the way. Jeff's muttering under his breath, but Jensen ignores him.
"Lead on, man. Let's go have the full experience."
Jeff really doesn't like it when people don't do what he wants--Jensen's no end of amused by how torqued Jeff is that Jensen paid for a pile of crap that he himself is going to be consuming. He doesn't even bother not grinning outright as they dump everything in the Jeep.
"Beach or something else?" Jeff finally gets over himself enough to ask.
"You tell me," Jensen says, easily. "I mean, there's a beach right outside your house, but if this one's all that much better..."
"Maybe," Jeff says, relaxing a tiny bit. "Later, okay?"
"Fine by me." Jensen leans back and gets comfortable, or as comfortable as he can get in the damn Jeep. Jeff manages to drive like a normal person, not the maniac Jensen knows him to be, which Jensen takes as a sign that he likes the people in the town. Either that or the local cops know him. The road keeps them right along the coast, more of the Pacific reminding Jensen how far he's come from Richardson and, hell, from LA, for that matter. Jeff pulls off after a bit, no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and Jensen should have known that the "full experience" was going to include a forced march up what looks like a goddamned ravine.
Jeff's smirk tells Jensen that Jeff knows exactly how hard Jensen's biting his tongue, but whatever, he's not going to back down now. Jeff sets an easy pace, but Jensen doesn't get the feeling that it's to humor him, more that Jeff's in the mood for it. The path follows a stream that widens into a pool fed by a waterfall, and then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, Jeff stops and eases the pack off his shoulders.
"We're about halfway up," he says. "Figured this was as good a place as any."
Jensen looks at the ridiculously gorgeous pool, sun-dappled and still, and the equally photogenic waterfall, and laughs. "Romantic picnic?" He manages to get one hand up to snag the backpack when Jeff slings it at him, tsking at the potential waste of food. He isn't sure what time it is--his watch is back on the floor next to Jeff's bed--but the sun is edging high behind the blowing clouds and he's starving. It's not really all that private; there's a steady stream of hikers passing by, but it's quiet enough that it's not a problem to find a curve of rock to sit on and eat while the waterfall crashes nearby.
Jensen leans back, propping himself up on his elbows and has to laugh again. "So not my normal deal," he says, when Jeff cocks an eyebrow at him.
"'s Maui," Jeff says, as though that's supposed to mean something. "Surfing wasn't your deal either, yeah?"
"I don't even fucking know anymore," Jensen says, and he doesn't mean for it to come out the way it does, sharp and frustrated.
"Why are you here?" Jeff asks, after a bit. "On the island, not just here with me."
"Ran away from home," Jensen answers, after a long couple of seconds. "Left a couple hundred bucks in an envelope for my roommate and ran for Steve. Didn't that work out well."
"You're still here."
"Nothing much to go back to."
"Job?"
"Auditions for stuff I couldn't give a shit about." The water in the bottle's a little warm, but it eases the tightness in Jensen's throat.
"Family?"
"Still in Texas, and man, I love them, but...That's not really a place I want to be. Can be." Jensen swallows down another mouthful of tepid water before he adds, "I have a return ticket, but I don't think I thought I'd be using it. Except I didn't think about a lot of things, apparently."
"There are worse places than here to be figuring out if you need a break or a break," Jeff says, quietly.
"Yeah," Jensen answers, leaning back on his elbows and focusing on the water spilling over the stones and crashing into the pool. "That's the big question, isn't it?"
Jeff laughs, nothing much more than a quick exhalation, but doesn't answer otherwise. Jensen closes his eyes and listens to the water for a while, letting the quiet and the peace sink into him. "Why are we here?" He opens his eyes and pokes at Jeff, half-asleep next to him, with one foot. "Here, at the end of the island--and seriously, don't give me another round of the journey-is-the-destination crap."
He might be imagining things, but he's pretty sure Jeff's turning a little red under the tan.
"A lot of the kids down here--the ones without the millionaire parents--it's pretty hard for them to make it to anything that's down-island. No cars, or no one to take them… If I have the time, I'll come up and run them over to Haiku, so they can be ready to go in the morning. Or I get them after the competition and bring them back. Whichever way they need it. It's kinda loose, but it works."
"So what you're telling me is that you fucking dragged me out of bed for a babysitting run?"
"Figured they could give you some pointers on how not to drown when you get off Baby Beach and out to Ho'okipa." Jeff's smirk is back in full force.
"Christ, all right, I get it; I'm paying attention when I'm out there." Jensen rolls his eyes.
"Can't say it too many times." The smirk's gone and Jeff's eyes are serious. "Small town, remember? We hate getting used to having someone around and then losing them."
"You say the sweetest things," Jensen says, keeping it light, but he can't remember the last time anyone beside Steve's given a flying fuck whether he's around or not.
The kids are waiting for them on the porch of the general store, their wetsuits and surfing paraphernalia spilling out of cheap, nylon ripstop bags. Jeff waves them down to the Jeep while he and Jensen head inside to use an actual bathroom. Jeff, of course, gets sidetracked on the way back out, which leaves Jensen to face them down alone.
"Where do you surf out of?" the girl asks, joining her brother in giving Jensen the once-over with the special intensity of teenagers assessing anything outside their tribe.
"How do you know I surf?" Jensen might be the outsider, but he knows how to counter that status. Besides, Christ, they're just kids.
"You know Jeff," the boy says.
"Yeah?" When Jensen shrugs, the kids eye him curiously. "I must be one of his other friends, then."
They look at him like he's from another planet, and the girl says, "You hang out with Jeff Morgan but you don't surf?"
"I guess once or twice doesn't count, huh?" Jensen grins at their horror, and then has to ask, "Why?"
"Cause, that's like, what he does." The boy leans forward, forgetting that he' s supposed to be cool. "He was on the WCT, dude. Hard-core, until he blew his knee out on a wave. My uncle saw him almost win the Eddie."
Jensen blinks a couple of times, trying to make the words make some kind of sense, but finally says, "I grew up in Texas. We didn't really pay much attention to surfing." He leaves them to their shock and dismay, and heads back inside. Jeff's finishing up his gossip session with the guys who run the store, so Jensen grabs another bottle of water and pokes through the snacks.
"Sorry, man," Jensen says, when Jeff finishes with the news and comes up behind him. "I think I just tanked your street cred with the junior set." Jeff arches an eyebrow at him. "Not only do I not surf any place that actually counts--which is an offense punishable by death, from the look in their eyes--I have no idea who Eddie is."
The guys behind the counter laugh. "It's not a who, it's a what--big invitational, over on Oahu. North Shore, big waves. Bigger money. Hellman rights for-fucking-ever."
"Yeah?" Jensen slants a look at Jeff, who's gotten more quiet than Jensen's ever seen him. "Imagine that. And the WCT?"
"World Cup," they chorus, the younger-looking one continuing, "Glam circuit. Sports Illustrated covers and all that. Holy grail for kids like that."
"It was a long time ago," Jeff says, and Jensen's never seen him force a smile the way he's doing. "Another life." He drops some cash on the counter and starts edging toward the door. "Catch you guys on the next trip."
Jensen catches up right as Jeff gets outside. "Well, isn't that interesting."
"Not a big deal," Jeff says. Jensen's seen better acting in a suburban Texas dinner theater, but he figures now probably isn't the time to mention it.
"Sure," Jensen says, after a second. He nods toward the Jeep. "You better go start damage control. Sorry?"
"I'm sure I can think of a way for you to make it up to me." It's still not Jeff's usual easy delivery, but it's closer.
"Hell, yeah," Jensen snorts. "And, hey, if I wasn't saddled with a couple of kids, I'd be getting right on that on the way back." Jeff flips him off, and Jensen grins. "Nah, none of that either. Impressionable minors, remember?"
The kids are draped over the back seat of the Jeep, dark and tan and looking like they fit a hell of a lot better than Jensen feels like he does.
Jeff looks back at the kids and grins as he and Jensen get in the front. "Which way should we go? Back down the way we came or over Piilani?"
"In this?" The boy thumps his hand down on the back of Jensen's seat. "Piilani! Awesome!"
Jeff throws his head back and laughs, full and deep. "Thought so," he says. "Buckle up." Jensen thinks he probably should be worried at how quickly the kids do just that, but he has to grab for the dashboard to balance himself as Jeff goes tearing out of the parking lot, the kids whooping and screaming the whole way.
Piilani turns out to be somewhat less nausea-inducing than the trip out on Hana Highway, but it definitely has its moments, especially with Jeff behind the wheel. It's shorter, though, spilling out onto an actual normal road somewhere in the middle of the island. That, of course, means Jeff can drive faster, but at least Jensen's not looking over the edge of a cliff at the same time. Jeff's plan--communicated at the top of his lungs so Jensen can hear him over the wind and the Jeep's engine, because God forbid they actually stop and be able to speak--is to drop the kids at their coach's house, where they're spending the night, and then get on back to Paia.
It kind of goes without saying that Jeff goes way back with the coach, so there's no real way to turn down the invitation to dinner. Jensen half-expects to be bored out of his mind with more gossip about people he doesn't know, but it turns out that Alex, the coach, who's more like a camp counselor than any coach Jensen's ever seen, pays the bills by working alongside his father and brothers in their construction company. Once the kids get settled in the big, open-plan living room with the rest of the kids who're spending the night, he and Jeff start sketching out some work Jeff wants to have done at the café. It's nothing major, nothing that'll change the vibe of the place, but stuff that'll open the room up a little more, give Jeff enough space for a few more tables.
Jensen isn't sure what's weirder: being included in the give-and-take of the brainstorming, like he's a part of it all; or being interested in the discussion to begin with.
Steve's van is already parked behind the cafe when Jeff finally pulls in; Jensen has a couple of seconds to make sure he's got his game face on before they walk in through the back door. He doesn't really have a fucking clue what's going on, or what he's supposed to do about it. Except for the times where he's had Jeff's dick down his throat or up his ass, the two of them have been pretty much like normal.
Steve's under the bar, cursing steadily at the beer tap; Chris is in the far corner with his guitar and a couple of notebooks. Jeff hangs over the bar and starts offering advice, backseat driving until Steve rolls to his feet. "All yours, man," he says, and if it'd been anybody but Steve, Jensen figures the wrench in his hand would have gone right at Jeff's head. As it is, Steve drops it on the bar with a little more force than necessary. Jeff laughs, but tosses Steve a bottle from the cooler before he ducks down and starts working on the tap himself.
Steve drinks half the bottle in one long swallow, head tipped back and the long line of his throat clean and pure, like Jensen remembers, and when he finishes up and looks at Jensen, it's clear and direct, no BS, no crap. Jensen's almost a little ashamed that he'd thought he'd need to pretend.
"It being Jeff, the message was pretty bare-bones, but… Hana?" Steve says, smiling when Jensen rolls his eyes, but following along when he heads out the front door. Jeff's doing his share of cursing now, and Chris is still heads-down in whatever song he's working out, and that's more than fine with Jensen. He doesn't particularly want an audience for this.
"Yeah, the journey's the destination. All that crap and a baby-sitting run, too." Jensen steals the beer out of Steve's hand and finishes it himself. "Why? Is that the standard operating procedure for new fucks?"
Steve laughs. "Way the hell on the other side of standard, as far as I know." He eyes Jensen curiously. "Don't think I've ever seen him go home with somebody from here. Maybe once or twice from Lahaina or Kaanapali, but nobody local."
"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly local, now am I?"
"Close enough," Steve says, smiling. "Close enough."
Steve's taken to waiting for Jensen before he heads out in the morning; most days, Jensen goes with him. That first morning aside, Jensen figures trying to surf with Jeff is a one-way ticket to traction and physical therapy. He can't really keep up with Steve either, but he can usually find a break or two not far off from wherever Steve settles in that works for him. What's really fucking weird is that he's gone out once or twice on his own, too--he tells himself there's not all that much to do and it's easy enough to walk down to the beach from town.
Chris rolls his eyes every time he sees Jensen propping the board up against the back of the house, but after the second or third time, Jensen notices that the coffee's always fresh-brewed, even on the mornings when it's only him coming back to the house.
The big news in town is that the local crunchy, indie bookstore's doing well enough that it can expand into and take over the cafe next to it. Jensen doesn't think the place was ever much competition to Jeff, but he catches a flicker of something in Jeff's eyes when the deal's done and it's clear they're at a completely different crowd, still locals, but people who can stop during the day, linger over lunch, but not cut into the dinner and night-time crowd. It's like Jeff's relieved he can be happy for someone and not be dicking himself over at the same time. Jensen still gets his coffee at Jeff's, because Jeff's addicted to Kona and there's never a question about what's brewing there, but he finds himself wandering around the shelves at the other place more often than not.
They don't care if he stays for hours, but he tries to buy something, even if it's small, just to throw some business their way. Besides, he kind of likes the place. There's no telling what he'll find on the shelves, and new stuff shows up on some kind of schedule that makes sense only to the owners. He finds a book on shiatsu stuck in randomly with the DIY stuff and is paging through it when he hears his name being called.
"Hey," Sandy says. "I didn't know you were into massage."
Jensen shrugs. "I always told my folks that if the acting didn't work out, I was gonna do physical therapy." Jensen thinks it might be time to admit that the acting pretty much hasn't worked out, but that's honestly not why he picked up the book.
"Oh." Sandy's voice falls a little. "I just, I have some friends, who've started this incredible spa and clean house, you know, no chemical processing, so it's safe for people who have systemic allergies, who are poisoned by how everything, fabric and carpet and, and even the wood for the floor is treated with toxic chemicals... anyway, I do food for them sometimes, and I know they're looking for a massage therapist, so I thought, you know, synergy, like maybe you were looking for something and it would all flow together..."
"I'm not exactly certified," Jensen says. Or even vaguely qualified, he thinks.
"That's okay," Sandy laughs. "They're kind of under the radar themselves, so they wouldn't mind."
Jensen puts the book back on the shelf and walks out with Sandy. "How do you manage?" he says, his mouth running way in front of his brain. "Living around here, I mean. I didn't think much was worse than LA, and unless everyone's forgotten to mention something about you, I can't quite figure out..." he asks, more surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth than Sandy looks to be hearing them. "I'm sorry, that was rude--"
"No, it's okay," she says, smiling. "Sometimes, I'm not sure myself. Jeff pays fair, and the tips are good there, enough that I can share a place and pay my part. It's small and nothing fancy, but I've lived in some scary places before, the kind where you wake up and wonder if paradise is worth it." She rolls her eyes. "Don't tell Jared I said that, okay? He wants to take care of the world, even before he had the money to do it, but I'm not real big on taking things from friends. It's pretty much the only thing we fight about."
"Yeah, sure," Jensen says.
"What I said before, about synergy? It really does work." She's so earnest, Jensen bites his tongue to keep from laughing. "When you're open to the possibilities in life, it's amazing how many times things just fall into place." She eyes him through narrowed eyes, so maybe he needs to work on his poker face. "I know, it sounds stupid and naive, but I'm here, working for a guy who's not only not a sleaze, but who never blinked when I started catering on the side. I don't make much at that, not yet, anyway, but it sure as hell beats where most of the girls I knew when I first got here are now."
"I'm glad everything's working out for you," Jensen says, honestly.
"It will for you, too," she says, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Just thinking about it--it gets things started. You'll see." She starts off down the street and then turns back to add, "And my friends, with the spa, they're for real; it's not code for turning tricks, okay?" For a second, Sandy looks as old as Jeff, as old as Jensen feels some days.
"What?" Jensen grins, deliberately lightening the mood, because, yeah, he's been there, too. "I'm not pretty enough?"
Out on the water, Jensen falls all the time--he's lucky if he gets two or three clean rides a morning--but the first time he really buys it, cuts it too fine on a wave that's too big for him to handle in the first place, he finally gets why Steve and Jeff have been nagging at him. In the end, it's nothing more than getting slammed down into the sandy reef hard enough that half the skin on his right side is scraped away and then catching the next wave full in the face when he breaks the surface, so that he goes right back down, but it's enough to have the adrenaline screaming through his veins.
The second time, he comes up far enough inside that he doesn't have all hell breaking on top of him, and hauls his board back by the leash. His knee twinges a little as he treads water and the salt stings like hell in all the scratches, but everything still works and somehow he hasn't even lost a contact. He catches sight of Steve, already up on shore and lets himself drift in. Steve comes out in the shallows to give him a hand when it's clear his knee would much rather not take his weight for at least a couple more minutes.
"Well, that was fun," Jensen says, dropping down onto the sand, still panting a little. Steve laughs, but it sounds shaky and Jensen looks up in surprise. "C'mon, man, it wasn't that bad."
"Did I forget to mention the part where you're supposed to stay on top of the water?" Steve says, digging out a bottle of water and handing it over. "Idiot."
"No kidding, really?" Jensen answers, rinsing some of the salt and grit out of his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind tomorrow."
"Oh, your ribs are gonna love getting out past the breakers again." Steve presses gently, looking for breaks or cracks. Jensen hisses at the pressure on the scrapes, and really could live without getting poked on what's likely to be some spectacular bruising, but nothing else turns up. "You might want to give it a rest tomorrow," Steve says.
"Aw, honey, I didn't know you cared," Jensen cracks, and then wants to kick himself. He could use the excuse that he's just been scraped along the bottom of the Pacific and is still a little loopy, but the God's honest truth is he hadn't thought before the words came flying out. He's almost afraid to look at Steve--doesn't actually, for a few seconds--but when he finally drags his eyes off the sand, Steve's looking at him steadily, waiting for him.
"Always," Steve says, sitting back on his heels. "Always."
"Yeah," Jensen answers, and he's able somehow to let go of that last stubborn bitterness that kept the 'just' in front of 'friends.' Steve sees it, Jensen thinks, which doesn't surprise him, but he is grateful for it.
"C'mon," Steve says, standing up and hauling Jensen to his feet, too. "You're done for the day, and I'm not in the mood to fight the windsurfing crowd for drop-ins."
Jensen's knee protests and the adrenaline is finally gone, which makes the hike back up to Steve's van really not much fun--but for his first near-death experience, it's not all that bad.
Jensen has no idea how Danneel figures things out--he and Jeff are both all for keeping things low-key--but it only takes about a week before she wanders over while she's waiting for her next order, a knowing, evil grin out in full force.
"Do us a favor and let the piranhas know you're off the market," she says, perching on the extra chair at the table and stealing Jensen's beer. "It gets old, fast, listening to them churn and burn."
"How about I just give you PR rights to the story and let you take care of things?"
"Brave boy," Danneel says, laughing. "You sure there aren't any details you'd like to share, so I don't misrepresent you?"
"I'm sure it'll be much more entertaining if I give you full rein." Jensen grins at her.
"You know it, gorgeous." She finishes with his beer and hands him the half-empty bottle. "Doesn't mean the first-person account would go unappreciated..."
"Down, girl," Jensen says. "And why the hell is it that you work in a bar but you always end up with my beer?"
"Because it's not that wheat and blackberry swill Jeff keeps around for Jared. Plus, I like watching you get all hot and bothered about it." Danneel grins, jumping up from the chair as Jeff calls her with her order. "On my way, stud," she answers him, only loud enough to be heard by half the bar.
Jensen's in the middle of a swallow; he's lucky he doesn't choke to death, especially when he gets a look at the pained expression on Jeff's face.
"I guess we're lucky she's mostly living out on the water," Jensen says to Sandy, when she brings him another beer to replace the one Danneel drank.
"It had to get out sometime," Sandy says, looking at him thoughtfully, not playing along at all. He wants to ask what's up, because he's never seen her stand on ceremony with Jeff before, but the moment passes and she doesn't treat him any differently, so Jensen lets it slide.
Steve's cool with the whole thing; Chris, obviously, doesn't have much to complain about--it's all so easy, Jensen almost doesn't trust it.
He doesn't say that out loud, of course. He just goes with the flow, which is, he's coming to realize, what he always does. At least this flow is a good one. He's getting fucked on an almost nightly basis by somebody who isn't out to screw him over in the rest of his life even if nobody's kidding themselves that they're not treating as anything more than a good, old-fashioned buddyfuck.
The afternoons when Jensen's too lazy even to walk up to town, he ends up more often than not hanging out around the house with Chris. They have an unspoken agreement not to actually talk about the fact that they're spending time together, because any way Jensen spins it, it remains fucking weird and he doesn't think Chris sees it any differently. They generally stick to music, because even if Jensen grew up singing in church and Chris was more the type to be talking his way into bars before he was old enough to vote, there's still enough common ground that they almost lose the awkward silences that have been such a special part of their relationship.
Chris has an acoustic guitar that fits Jensen's voice like it was made for him; it's been a long time since Jensen's paid attention to music like that guitar makes him want to. There are days they don't stop until Jensen's fingers are bleeding, and even then his voice can hold out longer.
There's a song Chris keeps coming back to, one he says he and Steve started early on but can't quite find the right path for it to take. Jensen keeps quiet while Chris pokes at it; he'd started to leave once, but Chris had muttered something about working better with somebody else in the room and Jensen had been startled enough to stay. Now he just kicks back on the couch and lets the buzz of an afternoon of beer and a little weed float him along.
Chris gives up again and starts playing randomly, like that first day, and Jensen hears himself say, "You knew who I was."
"Come again?"
"When I showed up here." Jensen tells himself he really needs to stop smoking up with Chris. He's vaguely curious, granted, but there's no way in hell he'd have brought the subject up without being under the influence. He'd blow it off, but Chris has that look that says he's not letting it go, even if it's only because he knows Jensen would rather not have opened his mouth. "You knew who I was as soon as you saw me."
"Wasn't really anybody else you could be," Chris says, shrugging. "How many people you think Steve lets in, anyway? And once you're in, you're in. You should know that."
Jensen does; he's just not exactly sure what it means.
Steve kicks Jeff out from behind the bar once or twice a week, usually with a "Oh, for fuck's sake, Morgan, go, it's what you pay me for." Most of those nights, Jeff will arch an eyebrow at Jensen and they'll end up making the rounds in Lahaina or Kaanapali.
Jeff's mostly checking out the competition and he's not kidding either one of them, but it's not like it's a chore for Jensen to spend time with the guy and they always do get around to fucking. The fact that on those nights it's usually fast and hard against a wall in an alley isn't a big negative either.
Ending up in the Jeep heading the wrong way down Hana Highway, away from Lahaina and Kaanapali, is kind of a surprise, but before Jensen is convinced that Jeff has a death wish and is exercising it on driving out to Hana at night, Jeff's turning off on the ocean side and snaking his way through open, rolling fields, wild mangoes and avocados spaced between other, more manicured plantings. The houses Jensen can see are the kind that come with the word "estate" attached to them, and the closer the Jeep gets to the ocean, the bigger they get. The driveway Jeff finally turns into is one of the places set furthest back, right along the edge of the cliff. Jensen's ready to ask if his usual combination of board shorts and t-shirt are gonna cut it wherever they're going--not that Jeff's wearing anything different--when the drive ends in an open field, with trucks and Jeeps parked haphazardly, and a tiki-torch-lit footpath heading down along the cliff at the far end.
"Hear that?" Jeff asks, as he cuts the engine. Under the sounds of a party in full swing, Jensen can hear the surf pounding at the base of the cliff, deeper and rougher than the quiet rhythm of the bay outside Jeff's windows. He nods and follows Jeff out of the Jeep. The moon isn't quite full, but out here on the headland, with only a few lights from the other houses in the background, it's bright enough that he can see the spark in Jeff's eyes. "First storm of the season," Jeff says. "Not really big enough to fuel the break, but it's coming."
The path that Jensen assumes leads to the house is crowded, people standing with bottles and glasses in their hands, kids weaving in and out, shrieking with laughter and excess energy. They make it less than ten steps toward the house before somebody recognizes Jeff and the greetings go up as though he was the prodigal son. He exchanges a few back-slapping hugs and shakes a lot of hands, but always keeps moving, so Jensen sticks close. He gets some curious looks, but nothing unfriendly. Then again, he's pretty curious himself. Jeff doesn't seem to be in an enlightening mood, though, so Jensen's fine with doing his own good bit of looking. Jeff breaks away from the crowd and cocks an eyebrow at him.
"For a place that has to rate a seven-figure price tag, easy, this crowd looks like half the regulars at your place," Jensen says.
"Surfers look the same pretty much anywhere," Jeff says. "Drink the same shitty beer, talk the same trash."
Jensen gets a good look at the house, all modern angles and huge windows, big enough to see inside to the lofts and skylights, and shakes his head. "Most of them don't exactly live like this, though."
"Some of them don't fuck it all up," Jeff says, as he's being pulled into a group who've evidently just flown in from Africa. Jensen moves off to the side, but before Jeff can get loose, he hears a familiar voice.
"Jen!" Jared calls, and Jensen finds himself being pulled into a slightly-drunken hug. "What're you doing here, dude?"
"I have no idea," Jensen mutters, before nodding toward Jeff and adding, "Tagging along with Mr. Popularity."
"Oh," Jared says. "Yeah, that's cool." He grabs a couple of beers from one of the tubs filled with ice that are sitting around everywhere and hands one to Jensen. "Awesome place, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jensen agrees, and then stops short. "Please don't tell me it's yours."
"Nah," Jared laughs. "I don't quite live like this. Not yet, anyway. They just let me in when they party."
"It's the smile," a passing girl says, stopping long enough to drape herself on Jared. "It's irresistible, even if he won't come over from the Dark Side."
Jared laughs and blows her kisses as she continues on her way. "Windsurfing," he explains. "Doesn't really count for much in this crowd."
"Who knew the surfing world has cliques," Jensen says, and Jared shakes his head.
"Like you wouldn't believe," he says. "You've got the purists, who only ride the longboards and sneer at the shortboarders and don't want to have anything to do with the tow-in guys and all of them get spastic about the windsurfers and don't even get them started on the kite-boarders."
"From where I stand, you're all fucking insane," Jensen says. "But I guess I shouldn't really say that out loud around here."
Jared throws his head back and laughs big. "No, probably not. C'mon, Jeff's not gonna get loose from those guys for a while. You gotta see the ocean from up at the house, even if you do speak sacrilege and heresy."
Jensen lets himself be shepherded through the crowd and up into the house, with plenty of stops and starts as Jared sees people he needs to talk to or hug or exchange insults with. It's slow going, but it's not like Jensen has anything better to be doing. They finally make it through to the other side and Jensen agrees that the view is spectacular. He doesn't add that it's pretty much a given that a house like this would have a great view, and it's actually surprising how easy it is to keep his mouth shut. He decides he'll follow what the girl outside said, and blame it on Jared.
"Where's your girl?" Jensen asks, after another run-in with a couple of laughing, half-drunk girls, who drape themselves all over Jared and all but pinch his cheeks.
"Oh," Jared says, ducking his head. "Um, not so much mine? Just, y'know, a thing. Kinda one-time?"
"Sure," Jensen answers, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. It's been a long time since he's hung out with anyone who's embarrassed by a one-night-stand. God help him, but it's kind of cute.
When they come full circle, Jeff's still where they left him and the crowd he's with shifts over to let them slide in with an easy welcome. Jensen assumes it's for Jared--the guy wears the 'never met a stranger, only friends he hasn't spent much time with' attitude like he invented it--but it mostly extends to Jensen, too, even before people figure out he's there with Jeff. A couple of them actually recognize him from Days being syndicated overseas--American daytime TV for the worldwide win, he guesses--and he feels like an ass that he can't quite be easy with it, that he's standing there waiting for the cut, the knife twist under the smiles. He leans back against a low wall, and idly watches Jeff down Red Bull-and-vodkas like they're water.
"So," Jared says, sliding in next to him. "Uh, you and Jeff?"
"More or less," Jensen says, a little surprised, because it's been long enough that he thought the topic had dropped off the current conversation list in town. Then again, Jared's barely been around, so Jensen guesses this is the first chance he's had to get up to speed.
"That's, yeah, cool," Jared says. "Jeff's a good guy."
"Fucking hazard behind the wheel," Jensen says, and Jared laughs. "But, yeah, a good guy."
"We hooked up once," Jared blurts out. "Like, a while ago. My eighteenth birthday." He drinks his beer and doesn't quite meet Jensen's eyes. "I mean, I'd had a crush on him, like, before I even figured out I liked guys, and my buddies got me good and drunk on my birthday and I was stupid and pretty much wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Oh, man," Jensen says, trying not to laugh, because the kid's hanging onto his nonchalance with the desperation of mind over matter. "Been there, done that." He smiles when Jared finally looks over at him.
"Yeah?" Jared half-smiles in return. He shrugs and looks like he's trying to pretend he doesn't know his face is beet red. "I pretty much wanted to crawl under a rock every time I saw him after that. For, like, a year."
"That bad?"
Jared shrugs. "I was eighteen and wasted. It can't have been all that great."
"Not bad enough that you guys don't still hang out."
"I'm not around all that much. I mean, yeah, right now I'm here, but the season's kicking into gear and I spend the rest of year on the road. It got easier after I'd been away." Jared relaxes a little and Jensen wonders how long ago he's talking, how old Jared is now. 21? 22? Old enough to get served, but probably not by a lot.
"It was stupid," Jared sighs. "Just a dumb thing to do. I don't even know why I told you; nobody else knows."
"Really," Jensen says. "You managed to avoid the express gossip line that's Danneel on a slow day?"
"Yeah, well, I guess we got lucky. And, seriously, there was no reason for Jeff to be telling anyone." Jared shrugs. "It happened and it's done and I was, just, I heard you guys had hooked up and, y'know, that's cool."
"Okay," Jensen answers, slowly. "It was... kind of a surprise, but, yeah, it's been good."
"Good."
"Great." Jensen's missing something, he's sure. "We done here?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jared answers, grinning. "Sorry, man--it's just, y'know, small--"
"Small town, yeah, heard that before," Jensen says. "Not sure why I ever left Texas..."
"C'mon," Jared says, his smile even bigger, if that's possible. "Let me introduce you to some more people; this is an awesome crowd, mostly guys who go for the big waves. You think I'm nuts, wait 'til you see these guys."
"Awesome," Jensen mutters, ducking the good-natured smack Jared aims at the back of his head, but letting himself be pulled back into the crowd.