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Kisses Sweeter Than Wine, 2/4
Being on the road is one of the best and worst things about the life Jared's currently inhabiting. For a guy who'd never been, well, anywhere before he'd left home on a lark to go do a reality TV show, he's a little surprised at how much he loves rolling into someplace new fifteen times in five months. It amps him up and gets him excited, and most of the time people are excited right back at him.
It wears him out, too, but it's the kind of worn out that means he doesn't have time to think about might-have-beens or all the ways he's not doing things how they're supposed to be done. He's lucky with his crew--he's known that all along and he says it every chance he gets. That's mostly Chad's doing: as obnoxious as he is, he rocks as a producer, somehow managing to find the talent, and then taking care of all the shit and making it so everybody can focus on doing their job.
So, yeah, the crew is great and all, no doubt about that, and Jared is having a great time, but occasionally, he misses being home. Of course, whenever he goes home, then he's supposed to be the same Jared he's always been, the guy who was everybody's friend but was wasting his life cooking in a dive bar. He is that guy still, except for the part where doing what he likes isn't such a waste--and, if you ask him, it never was.
He might be getting a little too much satisfaction from knowing that, but since he'd just sort of accepted the judgment at face value for years right along with everyone else, he doesn't feel like he can really let loose with the I-told-you-sos.
He kind of feels caught between two lives with no idea how he's supposed to navigate them.
"Christ," Jared mutters to his reflection. "Could you be any more melodramatic?" It's dim and quiet in the stateroom at the back of the bus; he needs to get out into the lounge and out of this emo mood. He grabs a t-shirt and runs his hands through his hair in the usual useless effort to get it under control.
"Yo," Chad says from where he's crashed out on the couch, as Jared wanders in. The TV is on mute, a DVD that for once isn't porn frozen on the screen, and Chad's got his laptop balanced up against one knee. "I fucking hate the long hauls."
"And you're bitching to me, why? I'm not the one who planned the itinerary," Jared says, detouring into the kitchen area to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Take it up with, oh, right, you're the one who figures this shit out."
"Watch it, Diva Boy," Chad answers. "I'll have you investigating the joys of New England cooking in the winter so fast you won't know what hit your Boston-baked beans."
"That'd be a scary threat if I hadn't seen you turn pasty white at the thought of snow," Jared answers. He drops into the captain's chair in the lounge and props his feet on the ottoman. "I hate the long hauls, too."
"Here," Chad says, throwing him the courier bag from the network. "Make yourself useful and go through the letters from your adoring fans while I try to figure out who fucked up the advance arrangements in Little Rock. Jesus, I can't believe I give a shit about anything in fucking Arkansas."
"Sucks to be you," Jared murmurs, dumping the top third of the letters and crap out of the bag.
"Remember, I get first crack at any of the chicks propositioning you," Chad says. "Perks of the job."
"Such slime, man," Jared answers, on automatic. For all of Chad's attitude, he's pretty well-behaved enough in public. "Don't we pay you enough to make use of more professional services?"
"Waste not, want not," Chad says, but then turns his attention to whatever poor moron who had the misfortune to have answered the phone. Jared shakes his head and flips idly through the mail. It's almost all fan mail and Megan will help him go through it, and take care of requests for autographs and stuff, but the PR department at the network always sends along copies of anything that he's mentioned in, which is yet more weirdness. In fact, Jared thinks it might be the weirdest of all the weirdnesses, but here he is in the middle of it all. This time, there's a copy of Saveur and from the cover--The Toxic Cult of the TV Chef--Jared can tell it's not going to be a fun one.
He sits there with the magazine on his lap for a long time and finally makes himself admit that it's not so much that there's yet another article tearing him down (really, his favorite one is the one that blames him and his kind for the death of honest cooking in society today), it's more that he doesn't want to open the stupid thing and see how much he'd fucked up trusting Jensen.
It's not like they're best friends or anything--hell, it's been three months and they haven't even talked--but it still bothers Jared.
It's more or less the middle of the night, but Jensen gets some of his best work done then and everybody knows it, so it's not odd for his phone to ring. Misha's at that stage of just-short-of-obnoxiously fussing because Jensen hasn't come up with a menu for the next restaurant night yet. They have the wine--Chris called a week ago about picking up a couple of mixed cases from some of the smaller Russian River vineyards, mostly gamays but at least few of bottles of pinot--and Danneel has already nailed down dessert.
"It's October, babe," she'd said to Jensen. "That's autumn and nothing says autumn like tarte tatin." Jensen isn't stupid enough to argue with the woman over apple pie.
So they had a start and it isn't the first time Jensen's picked a menu to go with the alcohol or the dessert, but he hasn't quite found the right thing yet. The phone ringing is a good excuse to swim up out of the stacks of cookbooks and take a break. He doesn't bother to look at the display--it isn't going to be anyone but Misha--just thumbs the phone on and starts talking.
"Would pot au feu be too retro-precious?" he asks, in greeting.
"I, uh, guess it depends on how far you'll go to channel Julia Child," answers a deep, vaguely familiar voice that definitely isn't Misha's. Jensen pulls the phone away from his ear and no, the number on the display isn't familiar at all. "--m sorry; I know it's kind of late," the voice is saying when he gets the phone back to his ear. "This is Jared."
Jensen's brain is still running a little bit behind, so the voice and the name click into place right about the same time as Jared adds, "Padalecki," sounding really uncomfortable.
"No," Jensen says. "I mean, yeah, I'm with you and no, it's no problem. I'm--I was expecting it to be someone else."
"Sorry," Jared says, still sounding stiff and awkward, but before Jensen can think of something to say, he takes a deep breath. "You, uh, you left your contact info with Meg; I was just calling to, um, the issue with the interview you did with me came out this week, and--uh..."
"Let me guess," Jensen says, sighing. "They put together the whole thing as a hatchet job."
"Yeah, pretty much," Jared answers. "But I'm the only guy they didn't completely eviscerate, so, you know, thanks for that."
"You shouldn't have to thank me for anything," Jensen says, leaning back in his chair and stretching the kinks out of his back and shoulder muscles. "I wrote what I saw."
"Yeah, well, I know a couple of the others who were profiled and I think there's a pretty good chance you were the only interviewer who didn't write what they expected to see, even before we get to the stuff that happened between us, so I figured I could at least call and tell you thanks."
"You're welcome," Jensen says, and there's another second of quiet, like neither one of them is ready to hang up but nobody's quite sure what to say, and before it can get any more painful, Jensen says, "But you didn't answer my question."
"Pot au feu?" Jared asks. "Seriously? For what? Francophile Day?"
"That's what I was afraid of," Jensen sighs. "What can I say? I have these slightly insane friends, and I'm shit at saying no to them, so I need something that works with a gamay. Oh, and tarte tatin, because trust me, that is not changing."
"I figure you for the kind of guy who knows when to fight and when to just let it be, so I'll take your word about the dessert," Jared says, not quite teasing. "I think you're on the right track, but do you seriously want to serve boiled beef? I mean, yeah, it's classic and all that, but--"
"Yeah," Jensen agrees. "Which sends me back to my thirty cookbooks with nothing."
"What about coq au vin?" Jared suggests, and that's--Jensen can't believe he didn't think of it, but he'd been stuck in the red-wine-equals-beef rut. "Use the wine to braise the chicken and it definitely won't clash with the tarte tatin..."
"That is, yeah, that could work," Jensen says, his brain skipping ahead to what else he can serve with it. He's sure it won't be a problem finding tiny red-skinned potatoes at the farmer's market, and if he does a separate course with a green salad and cheese, it'll add a little bit extra to the whole dinner without being a huge hassle. "That could definitely work."
"Hey, even us dumb Texas boys get lucky every now and then," Jared says, and his voice is mild enough, but Jensen thinks there's a little bit of an edge under all that good humor.
"Yeah, don't lay that shit on me," Jensen says. "I'm the one who didn't trash you, remember?"
"Really? You sure you weren't thinking that even a little bit?" The edge is a little more pronounced now, but Jensen isn't sure if Jared even knows it's there.
"No more than you were a couple of months ago when we established that I'm not an idiot in the kitchen," Jensen answers. It's not the most tactful thing he's ever said, but he's pretty sure Jared'll give him points for honesty. There's a couple seconds of silence where Jensen isn't thinking about why he even cares if a guy he fucked around with once thinks he's a stand-up guy, but then Jared half-laughs, half-sighs, and that little bit of tension eases.
"Okay, yeah," Jared says. "We're even."
"No," Jensen says, as his call waiting beeps with Misha's number on the display. "I think I might owe you for the coq au vin." He should really take the call, but Chris might have a point about letting Misha stew for a while. It's always entertaining. "So what else is going on?" he asks, leaning back in the chair.
It never fails that if they have an outdoor location shoot it ends up raining. Especially if they're already behind schedule. The first season, they usually just hung around for half the day and then said the hell with it and shot in the rain. Jared doesn't want to know how they didn't end up electrocuting themselves those times; he's just grateful they didn't.
The second season is going a lot better, though, because Katie, the new supervising producer, disguises her iron will with a cute ponytail and keeps everybody happy and on track and ready to go in the narrowest of weather windows. Even then, though, it's good when they catch a break--the worst week of storms ends up blowing through when they're shooting at a little diner in Georgia. It's hotter than hell and humid enough that Jared walks around with damp shirts and jeans for days, and the diner itself is so small that they're practically standing on top of each other, but at least they're all inside.
The second day they're shooting, the storm takes out the power in the late afternoon. Jared ends up squashed at the end of the counter with Katie, watching giant streaks of lightning and counting one-Mississippis like they're kids until the thunder crashes down. Katie jumps every time.
"I swear, if you tell Chad about this, I'll… I'll… I will do something you won't like," Katie threatens. She has a pretty credible fierce expression but it's ruined by the lightning striking right outside the diner. Her shriek is lost in the almost instantaneous boom of thunder, but since Jared practically levitates off the stool himself he's not going to give her any grief about it.
"I know who makes sure I get breaks at reasonable times," Jared tells her, a little breathlessly, because that last one was seriously close. "And who keeps track of the candy bowl."
"Not that it's going to matter," Katie squeaks, as another flash and boom hit just as close. "Even if we don't die right here, our equipment is going to be fried."
The next round is a tiny bit less intense, though, and the one after that is definitely moving farther away. Katie still looks freaked, but she sounds more like her normal self when she hisses, "Okay, next time we do this, we need someplace that has a liquor license."
"We'll just have to make it through with sweet tea," Jared says, laughing and pushing his glass over toward her.
"That's not tea," Katie says, making a face. "That's sugar syrup tinted brown."
"Welcome to the South, California Girl," Jared says and swallows half the glass, smirking at her while she shudders.
His phone vibrates on the counter with a text; he smiles when he sees it's from Jensen. Jared isn't sure what he expected when he'd ended up impulsively calling Jensen after reading the hatchet-job-that-wasn't, but it's not this offbeat thing they have going where they call and text at random times. Sometimes it feels like the guy's in the next room, yelling things out as they happen, except for how Jensen is entirely too polite to yell.
Cooking in a ship's galley: not all it's cracked up to be. Jared can almost see the exasperated roll of Jensen's eyes.
Wuss, Jared texts back, and looks up to find Katie watching him.
"Sorry," he says. "That was rude of me."
"I'm fine," Katie says, waving her Blackberry at him. "It's the life. It's not like I'm not glued to this thing 24/7."
Jared's phone vibrates again. Yeah, I'd like to see you do this. We'd have to hack you off at the knees just to get you in here.
"It's about the only way I manage to keep in touch with people," Jared says, while he texts back to Jensen, Threats? That's cold, man.. "That and calling in the middle of the night." Sandy had hated that, never being able to talk at normal times. Jared couldn't blame her; they'd been together a long time, and then all of a sudden, everything changed. Doing Celebrity Chef had been one thing--that was a game, an adventure. Short-term and exciting. But then he won, and and it wasn't even that he'd been on the road half the year, it was that his whole life was running at opposite times from hers.
"Yay for technology?" The lights flicker on; Katie perks up immediately, holding her breath until they stay on for more than a few seconds. "Okay, everybody," she yells, scrambling out from behind Jared. "Let's see if we can get going again. We have NO TIME on the back end of this shoot. Jared and Chad are on a plane to New York in less than 24 hours."
Jared gulps down the rest of his iced tea and goes to find somebody from make-up to fix everything he's messed up during the rain delay. Right before they're ready for him and the diner owner back in the kitchen, he gets one more text from Jensen. shit. crabs escaping. two bushels of hard-shells all looking for freedom. He doesn't have time to text back, but he's grinning like a loon when he walks into the kitchen.
Jensen has been faithfully calling Mackenzie every week since his visit. They mostly chat about Mackenzie's life, because that's what Jensen wants to hear about--what classes she's taking and where she's going on her final tour of colleges and why it doesn't really matter because she's 99% sure she'll end up a Pi Phi at UT. Jensen gets a little terse when she says stuff like that, but when he calls her on it, she only says, "It's fine. It'll make the whole entire family happy--God, I'm like a quintuple legacy, between Mom and all the cousins--and then it'll be easier to do what I really want."
"That sounds familiar," Jensen tells her quietly. "I think I told myself the same thing when I was your age. I said it for a lot of years and I was… God, I was wrong." He doesn't mean to be quite that blunt, so he adds, "But that was me, and you're you, so just… think about it, okay? Don't wake up and realize you're living somebody else's life."
"I will," Mackenzie says, after a few seconds of silence. "I don't really know what happened, though. With you."
She says it as though she knows exactly what Jensen's been doing, letting her talk about herself and never letting the conversation turn back to him; and she says it as though she's fine with it, but Jensen suddenly isn't. That doesn't mean he doesn't choose his next words carefully.
"I… needed some time after I finished my dissertation," Jensen says, searching for the right words, the ones that are honest even if they're not the ones that will spill the whole ugly story.
"Right, you went to Paris," Mackenzie says. "I know all that; I mean, how could I not know--Mom told, like, everyone, all about how it was like the Grand Tour or something. You know how she gets."
Jensen does, indeed, know. Occasionally, her talent for spin has helped--the face she put on accepting Jensen coming out was nothing short of incredible--but mostly it's just exhausting.
"It was more like I was running away," Jensen confesses. It's been a long time--years--and the gut punch of finding out that the guy he'd been in love with, the one he'd thought was it, forever, had other plans that included the daughter of Jensen's doctoral advisor and an overdone white dress, has faded, but it's still not fun to think about. Especially since, in hindsight, Jensen can see all the things he'd missed.
"That sounds like Dad," Mackenzie says, quick and sharp. She's not wrong, but that doesn't mean Jensen doesn't agree with his father on this one. "Going someplace I know you'd always wanted to visit, living on the money I know you'd saved and not bothering anyone doesn't really sound like running away to me."
"I did a lot of thinking," Jensen says, sidestepping her unspoken question, which is an answer in and of itself, one he knows she understands. "I was writing, too, and right before I came home, I sold a couple of articles." Three, to be exact, and every editor had asked him if he had anything more he thought they might be interested in. It wasn't much, but he remembers sitting in Charles de Gaulle Airport, waiting for his flight back to Dallas and realizing that the whole trip had been less about getting away from Michael and more about how very much he didn't want the adjunct professor position he'd worked his ass off to get.
"I know Mom and Dad weren't happy when you got back and told them you weren't going to be following their master plan, but… you came home for Christmas and I thought everything was going to be okay."
She sounds young and uncertain, suddenly, and it's the one thing about the break that Jensen's always regretted.
"I'm sorry I didn't say good-bye," he tells her. "I thought everything was going to be okay, too, but…" There hadn't been a fight, or even any raised voices. That's never been the Ackles way. His father had--very calmly and rationally--laid out all the ways in which Jensen was disappointing his family, how he was letting them down, how extraordinarily difficult it was for them to see him throwing his life away. They were concerned that he was hiding other things from them, possibly even using drugs. The coup de grace had been that they worried he might be a destabilizing influence on Mackenzie. She was, of course, at a vulnerable age and they had to be extremely vigilant in who she associated with.
"Dad told me you needed to leave, and you know, I think he was in denial enough to think I believed him." Mackenzie makes a sound that would have their mother in a dead faint from how vulgar it is.
"I actually did need to leave." Jensen's not sure whether not telling her that she was the proverbial straw that day is fair or not, but he is sure that he's still not quite ready to talk about it, if only because he still gets a savage sense of satisfaction when he remembers how the calm, careful smile on his father's face had faded as Jensen had assured him that he wouldn't be bothering the family further. "It was my decision."
"Jensen," Mackenzie says, with another rude noise. "I'm number three on the list. I might have been really young when they blew it trying to run Josh's life, but I had a ringside seat to the stuff they did with you. I'm not stupid, okay?"
"No, princess, you definitely are not," Jensen says. "But…"
"But we're still not talking about it," she mutters. After a second, she adds, "Okay, fine. I'll drop it, but can I see you when I do my Georgetown interviews? I looked up your address and I know you're kind of on the other side of the city, but--"
"Absolutely," Jensen says, firmly. "Are you sure about--"
"Leave Mom and Dad to me," Mackenzie says, breezy and casual. "Really. I'll call you when I know more. Bye!"
"Seriously, man," Chad is saying as they get off the elevator and work their way through the crowded lobby. "We need to get you laid or something. You are strung way too fucking tight."
Jared's tired and ground down, and wired at the same time. Everything around him is a blur, but he makes himself pay attention because Chad's just spent the last week covering his back, putting the attitude to work to keep the show--and by extension, Jared--a working entity. The least Jared can do is listen to him.
They're a victim of their own success, Chad says. When they were just the unlikely winner and the loud-mouthed producer, nobody gave a shit what they did. The winner of Celebrity Chef gets his (or her) own show, but that didn't mean anyone ever expected them to succeed. Now that they have, everybody wants a piece of them, and nobody gets what makes them work.
"No," Jared says, absently, holding the door for a pair of older women. They recognize him, but they don't say anything and he doesn't think he's ever been more grateful to just keep walking. "We need to get you laid. I'm too beat, dude."
"Don't say that," Chad hisses. "That's, like, a jinx or something." He walks next to Jared quietly, but that only lasts for a few seconds, which isn't a surprise. "I'm not kidding, Jared. You sure you and Sandy aren't going to give it another go? Because we can fly her up here, no prob--"
"No," Jared says. "She wouldn't take my call anyway."
"Yeah, probably not," Chad sighs. "But it'd solve a lot of problems."
"Could you give it a rest?" Jared tries to be forceful and firm, but he's pretty sure he's pleading. "Besides, getting laid is what works for you, not me."
"Getting laid is what works for everyone, padawan," Chad says, serenely. "Booze and blow are just stops along the way to sweet, sweet fucking. But while we're on the topic, I would like to register my thanks for you not fucking around with the crew."
"You're welcome." Jared rolls his eyes. "Like I'd do that."
"Well, while you were being your chaming good ol' boy self, I was hanging out with the PAs and they all--girls and boys--want to come work with you because they have it on good authority that putting out is not a part of the unwritten job description. I think I can have my pick of the lot, professionally speaking, so we're sitting pretty for filling in any gaps around the edges. We should set up some interviews--"
"Chad, man," Jared interrupts, laughing. "I love you, but I'm beat. Go have fun or set up interviews or whatever is going to make you happy." A cab pulls up in front of them, letting out a couple of hipsters, and Jared flags it down before anyone else can snatch it away from him. "I'm going back to the hotel."
"Okay, well, I didn't want to say anything before, on account of how delicate you are and all, but you and those bags under your eyes could probably do with some sleep."
"Right." Jared climbs in the back seat. "Sleep. Wasn't that my idea in the first place?"
"Details," Chad says, as Jared slams the door. The cab pulls away before he can say anything more, but Jared's phone rings ten seconds later. "Call me when you're finished with your beauty sleep and we'll go see if your name is good enough to get us into Nobu or if you really are nothing but a D-List wannabe."
"Ass," Jared says, hanging up and leaning forward to give the driver the hotel address. He showers when he gets there and wanders around the room for a while, still restless. It's never a good idea to let on that Chad might be right about his personal life, but he's maybe not so wrong. Except that Jared doesn't want Sandy. He knows who he wants, even if he's too scared to do anything about it.
"Hey," Jared says when Jensen picks up the call. He sounds like he's sleepwalking, and Jensen doesn't think it's just that it actually is the middle of the night. For whatever reason, that's about the only time he and Jared ever talk, so he's used to the sound of Jared being tired, and this isn't that.
"You sound like shit," Jensen says. "Did you burn down another kitchen?" Jared swears the whole episode with the gas-fired cookers deep-frying catfish out on the Cannelton Dam tailwaters of the Ohio River was cursed from the start, but even he has to admit that letting a couple of vats of oil catch fire was pretty spectacular.
"It was a shack," Jared says. "Not even a shack--a lean-to. It was built to be burned down. And it wasn't me; it was Chad."
"Yeah, yeah," Jensen says. Jensen thinks he saw where it was their highest-rated show, but he still likes to give Jared a hard time about it. "He's your producer, right? Same thing."
Jared snorts. "Dude, what you see on the show is exactly what you get with Chad--you don't really think he pays attention to me, do you?"
"I'm still trying to figure out how he manages to run your dog-and-pony show without ever wiping that smirk off his face."
"He's gifted that way," Jared says. "But man, don't tell anyone I said this, but I'll totally take having to explain a small brushfire to the volunteer fire department of Hawesville, Kentucky over these last couple of days."
"I told you you sounded like shit," Jensen says.
"I'm okay," Jared says. "Just tired of trying to make people understand that if they want me to be the Offbeat Guy, they probably should stop with the stylists and the demographics."
"Well, you know… Losing the ugly shirts probably wouldn't kill your creativity," Jensen says.
"Maybe," Jared says. "But working out of the studio in New York would."
"Yeah," Jensen says. "It would. That would suck--you really can't do that."
"That's what I keep saying. This time they made me come up and say it in person about a hundred times."
"How'd it go?"
"Okay, I guess," Jared says. "I still have a show, and it's still going to be me running around the country. I'll take it as a win." He gets quiet for a second but then says, "You know what? Scratch the whiny shit, okay? I'm getting paid to run around the country and play with my food."
"Just because it's a cool job doesn't mean it's not hard sometimes," Jensen offers.
"Thanks," Jared says. "I'm fine. Really. What's Misha's latest scheme?"
Jensen snorts at the lack of finesse in topic-changing, but it's Jared. He's kind of getting used to the fits and starts and unsignaled left turns that conversations with Jared always take. "Well, after the near disaster that was crab feast on that boat out in the Inner Harbor, he's back to letting me pick the menus."
"Dude, that's too bad," Jared says, laughing. "It was like my own private comedy show, getting your texts that night."
"Yeah, well, I guess having to chase the damn crabs down after the cooler got knocked over triggered some childhood trauma or something," Jensen answers. "I'm threatening to retaliate with something impossible--something from Alinea or Le Champignon Sauvage--"
Jared groans. "Forget my number if you're planning on feeding a crowd with anything from either of those two guys. There's having fun watching somebody in the trenches and then there's sadism, and last time I checked, that wasn't what was floating my boat."
"I said I was threatening, not that I'm insane," Jensen answers. Someday, he's going to clear his schedule for a month and see what it would take to do a menu from either place, but he's not crazy enough to try it out for anyone but friends. "I sent Misha copies of both cookbooks. He hasn't said a word since. It's been very peaceful." He saves the article he's been working on and gets up from his desk, working out some of the tension in his neck and shoulders before he stretches out on the couch.
"You sound like you're itchy for something complicated," Jared says. "I'll bet you have fifteen cookbooks on your desk. Sticky notes all over everything. Different-color pens."
"You don't have to make me sound like an addict," Jensen answers, avoiding the rest of the comment, but only because there's no need to mention the twenty books on his desk. They're completely necessary, but it's late and he's too tired to get into it.
"Yeah," Jared says, laughing. "Sure. So what's the real plan?"
"Cassoulet," Jensen answers, propping his feet up on the back of the couch. "Do the confit and everything myself." He has a plan of attack already laid out: he's set to try the confit recipe already--he's never made it before and there's always the chance he might be the one burning down a kitchen. There's a lot of fat to render before he can preserve the duck legs. So if he does it early and it doesn't work, he can try it again. And he knows exactly where he's going for the sausage and the pork--there's a farm outside of Fredricksburg that makes their own sausage onsite. He's been itching to have a reason to try them out.
"That'll take you at least a couple of days, so yeah, sounds perfect," Jared says, still laughing. "Tell Chris to get you a decent pinot and you're good to go." He hesitates for a second, and when he starts talking again his voice is serious. "This is for next week, right?"
"A week from Thursday, yeah," Jensen answers. "How'd you know?"
"I'm--I think I'm going to be in town then. Can I--would it be weird if I came?" The words rush out, as though Jared's expecting Jensen to cut him off. "I mean, I found your website and it says you're sold out, but if there's a cancellation--"
"Of course," Jensen answers immediately, so quickly he surprises himself. "Don't worry about it; I'll tell Misha," he says, more quietly. "We'll make it work for you and a guest…" he doesn't want to sound like a stalker and he doesn't know her name, but generally, every time Jared shows up in a gossip column there's someone--usually someone small and petite and very female--with him.
"If you're sure," Jared says. "I don't want to put you guys out any more than I have to."
"No," Jensen says. "It's no big deal; don't be leaving your girl at a hotel or anything."
"Okay," Jared says. "Thanks, man. I--I'm really looking forward to this."
"Me, too," Jensen says.
Jared manages to sound casual enough about taking a quick detour before he joins back up with the crew.
"Yeah, sure," Chad says, distracted by whatever disaster has happened most recently. "As long as you can meet up with us, I've got everything I need from you for the next couple of days."
Jared never even thinks about going alone--he's going to need some kind of moral support to not make a complete idiot of himself. Katie's fine with going with him, though he realizes that she doesn't get that it's a big deal until right before they leave. Him asking for opinions on shirts is the tip-off, he guesses. She manages not to fall down laughing and Jared gets them out of the hotel without her calling to rat him out to Chad.
Luckily, she's intrigued enough about the whole underground restaurant thing that he can distract her on the cab ride over to the address Jensen had texted to him.
"They do this every month?" she asks, and Jared can almost hear the wheels in her producer-brain engaging. "No advertising, nothing?"
"Word of mouth," Jared says. "And trust me, we're only here because I know one of the guys who runs it."
"Good," Katie answers. "We won't just be guests, then. You can get us a little bit of a behind-the-scenes look."
"Katie--" Jared starts, panicking at the thought of Katie in full research mode meeting up with an unsuspecting Jensen. The possibilities of humiliation are endless, but the cab is pulling up in front of a small, meticulously restored townhouse a few blocks off the Potomac and there's not much Jared can do. Katie's out of the car in a flash; Jared takes a deep breath and follows.
They're the first guests to arrive, and Katie takes the opportunity to find her way around and check everything out, Jared trailing helplessly behind her. Jensen's in the kitchen, of course, surrounded by controlled chaos and and about a dozen perfectly dressed white-haired ladies--the kind who scare the crap out of Jared, because sooner or later he's going to knock something over or trip over one of them.
"They come with the house," Jensen mutters. He sounds a little spooked by them, too. "They raised the restoration money--I swear to God they think I'm going to burn the place down around them." He flashes them a blatantly insincere smile right about the time one of them recognizes Jared and they all descend on him in some kind of fluttering rush. Jared has to steel himself not to take an involuntary step back.
Katie smirks at him from across the room, which means she's going to give him all kinds of shit about it later, but he doesn't much care because he also catches a flash of relief in Jensen's eyes as they suddenly have something other than keeping watch over him to keep them busy. It's ridiculous how much that little smile in Jensen's eyes makes it perfectly okay for Jared to switch on the charm and take them off his hands.
Katie flits around being her usual chipper self, introducing herself to the other guests like it's no big deal that Jared's dragged her here, but Jared knows that look in her eye and knows she hasn't forgotten his little freakout earlier. Luckily, there's some pretty decent sparkling wine for an aperitif, and she's semi-distracted by flirting with the guy who's acting as bartender. From the bits and pieces Jensen's mentioned, Jared's going to assume that's Chris.
Jensen comes out of the kitchen once or twice, but leaves all the talking to a dark-haired guy who by default has to be Misha. Jared and Katie look to be the only first-timers; the rest of the guests have clearly done this before and, in a lot of cases, know each other well enough to make the whole thing feel like hanging out with friends rather than dinner out at a restaurant. Just, you know, hanging out with friends who cook as well as most chefs Jared's met, because the dinner is outstanding, starting with the crudites scattered around the room, every bite simple and perfect, so fresh-tasting that Jared would be surprised if they weren't picked that morning, and moving straight through to the cassoulet. Jared's only had it once or twice before and he can see where it could turn into a greasy pile of pork and duck and beans, but Jensen's is rich and decadent without being overwhelming. Chris pours a pinot noir from a small vineyard in Oregon good enough that Katie gets him to hold a bottle out so she can take a picture of the label. Jensen comes back out with a light salad, citrus and beets, just enough to clear the heavier flavors of the main course in time for Danneel's sorbets.
Katie moans, all but licking her plate clean. "I may not move for a week." She pokes Jared in the shoulder. "It's your fault that I'm here--you better put in a good word for me tomorrow when I'm moving like a sea turtle, right?"
"Lightweight," Jared tells her, with a little more sympathy than usual, because Jensen's on his way over and at least if Jared's joking with Katie, he isn't looking quite as obsessive as he really is.
"How was everything?" Jensen asks, and Jared tells himself that he's only stopping at their table first because it's one of the tables closest to the hallway to the kitchen.
Katie whimpers again, and Jared rolls his eyes at her. "Dude, you really do like to channel Julia Child, don't you."
"WWJD," Jensen says, solemnly. "What Would Julia Do?" Jared snickers and Jensen's serious face cracks into a brilliant smile. Jared has a little trouble breathing for a second; he doesn't think Jensen notices before he moves off to talk to the next table, but Katie totally does.
"Whoa," she says. "And here I thought it was the dessert girl you were after."
"Oh, God, am I really that obvious?" Jared says, wondering if he can just sink into the floor, but Katie waves him off.
"Well, I was looking for it," she says. "I knew there was something up, but who knew I was gender-limiting myself unnecessarily."
"Oh," Jared says, and his face has to be flaming what with how hot it feels. "I, um, yeah."
Katie laughs, one long peal of utter delight that has heads turning across the room. She leans in and kisses Jared affectionately. "You're cute--when I took this job, everybody told me you were a good guy, and Chad, too, even if he is a pain in the ass, but nobody told me what a dork you are."
Jared shrugs, a little sheepishly, and she smiles at him again. "I'm going to go ahead and take a cab back to the hotel and not wait up for you. See you in the morning?"
"Yeah," Jared says, not looking across the room to where he knows Jensen is talking to a little cluster of guests, because he'll lose it if he catches Jensen's eye in the middle of all this. "See you in the morning."
Jensen really is pleased with the menu and how everything comes together. Misha's so happy not to be dealing with a menu from Alinea that he went out and found some old wooden boxes just the right height and depth to hold the crudites. They're perfect--Jensen loves how the colors of the baby vegetables pop against the linen napkins they line the boxes with, enough that he almost doesn't care about the dozen white-haired ladies keeping an eagle eye on every single move he makes in their--thankfully not period-accurate--kitchen. Of course, once Jared shows up Jensen doesn't much notice them.
Jared's in his usual jeans and boots, but his shirt is an almost normal blue-and-white stripe, which Jensen counts as a win even if it is a little on the bright side. He charms the historical society ladies with little visible effort, and manages to deflect attention from himself with the rest of the guests. Katie is a good match for him, just as outgoing, and more than capable of of keeping up with him.
Jensen privately admits that he spent extra time on the menu once he knew Jared was coming, but he doesn't think he's gone overboard. The only thing that's a little over the top is dessert: they end up with a half-dozen flavors of sorbet. That's all on Danneel, though Jensen hadn't done a thing to stop her.
Jensen will also admit that he's probably paying a little bit more attention to Jared than to the rest of his guests. He's not going to admit it to Chris or Misha or Danni, but he can be honest with himself. He probably needs to be honest with himself, because Jared and Katie are obviously very comfortable with each other, lots of little touches and laughs and a few quick, affectionate kisses.
In the rush of cleaning things up and clearing out (still under the watchful eyes of the white-hairs), Jensen misses how and why Jared ends up still hanging around, but he's the one helping carry the last box of shit out to Jensen's car and he's the one with the bottle of ice-cold water that Jensen always needs after a gig.
Chris is back on the road in the morning, so he's gone, and Misha always saves a bottle of whatever Chris has found so he and the partner du jour can properly finish off the night. Jensen usually just goes home and watches whatever trashy reality show is on his DVR, but tonight there's Jared, and Jensen's honest enough with himself to admit he doesn't want the night to end just yet.
It's not really quiet or peaceful--they're only a few blocks off the main drag, and the party people are out in full force--but Jensen leans against the trunk of his car, and breathes and lets the buzz of the day go, keeping only the high of pulling everything off again. Jared hangs out with him, leaning back, long legs crossed in front of him, close enough that Jensen can feel the heat he puts out. He's not quiet, of course, but most of what he's saying only requires Jensen to nod, or hum in agreement, and it's nice not being totally alone at the end of everything.
"That was good," Jared says. "Kind of crazy--is it always like that?"
"That was about as smooth as it has ever gone," Jensen says, laughing. "Nothing caught on fire; all the deliveries came in on time; there weren't any suddenly discovered food allergies among the guests--"
"Ouch," Jared says.
"Yeah," Jensen says, with feeling. "Working around EMTs in the kitchen is one of those things I never gave much thought to before I was trying to flash-fry scallops for twenty while stepping over two guys and all their equipment."
Jared laughs again, but then gets quiet. "I'm really glad you were okay with me coming--I mean, I know we've talked some, but--"
"No," Jensen says. "It's cool that you wanted to come. This--it's not anything big, but it's still a lot of fun."
"I had a really good time," Jared says, his voice trailing off, and before Jensen knows it, there's a hand on his jaw, and Jared's mouth is on his. "I--God, I keep thinking about you, about being with you." He kisses Jensen again, harder this time, rougher. "Can't get you out of my head."
"Yeah," Jensen whispers, getting his hands up and into Jared's hair, like they've been itching to do all night. "Can't stop thinking about you, either."
Jared groans at that, pulls Jensen closer so that he's half-sprawled on top of Jared, one hot kiss after another, hands roaming everywhere, like he can't get enough and doesn't want to miss anything. "So fucking much I want to do to you."
They're in public, practically out on the street, nothing but the curve of the alley hiding them from people walking past, and Jensen should stop this, should step back and catch his breath, get his brain back online, but Jared's sliding to his knees, hands working at Jensen's waistband and there's not a chance in hell that Jensen's going to say no.
"Can I?" Jared breathes. "Please, can I?"
"Fuck, yes," Jensen chokes out and then shoves his fist in his mouth as Jared licks across the head of his dick, then traces along and under the crown with just the tip of his tongue. "Jesus, like that, yeah," he babbles, trying hard not to shove his dick down Jared's throat.
Jared makes an encouraging noise and his hands tighten on Jensen's hips and Jensen can't help pulling Jared's hair, not when every time he does it Jared whimpers around his dick like it's the best thing he's ever felt. Jensen forgets how tired he is and how strung out he is from the dinner and just lets everything go, nothing but Jared's mouth and Jared's hands and how fucking good they're making him feel.
"Go on," Jared says. "Let it go, fuck my mouth." His voice is shaky and rough-sounding and when he swallows Jensen back down Jensen does exactly what he says, even when he knows Jared's gagging and half-choking, because Jared never lets go of his hips, never lets him stop until Jensen's coming, Jared's throat working frantically around his dick, milking him dry, and Jared's hands the only thing holding him up.
It takes Jensen a couple of seconds to get back to breathing normally, get to a place where he can offer to reciprocate, but before he can do more than take a deep breath Jared sits back on his heels and takes his dick out and Jensen loses whatever small amount of brain power he'd managed to recover.
Jensen tears his eyes away from Jared's hand and how it's working his dick, flicks a look at Jared's face and finds him watching Jensen, his eyes hooded, shadowed in the near-darkness. "Jen," he whispers, as though he's asking permission again, as if he's not sure that Jensen is with him. "God, I'm so close already, so close just from sucking you."
"Slow down," Jensen says, and it's amazing how calm he sounds. Jared breathes in, quick and sharp, but he does like Jensen wants, long, slow strokes that make Jensen want to scream. He's not sure how Jared isn't. "Good--fuck that's so good, Jared."
Jared spreads his knees more and pushes up into his fist, almost groaning with every stroke but still keeping that slow pace. Jensen can see the strain in his muscles, and when he reaches out and lays his hand along Jared's jaw, Jared turns his face into it desperately. He doesn't ask for more, even though Jensen can feel the need shuddering through him.
"Easy, yeah," Jensen murmurs. "You like to be teased, don't you." Jared shakes his head, gasping, but Jensen laughs softly. "You do."
"Jen," Jared pleads. "I can't--please--"
"Go on," Jensen tells him, stroking with his thumb along the curve of Jared's jaw. "Let me see you." Jared makes a quiet sound, raw and helpless, and comes. Jensen finally lets himself admit he's the most fucking beautiful thing Jensen's seen in a long, long time.
"I was thinking," Jared says a little later, after they've cleaned up as well as they can and Jensen's driven him back to his hotel. The lights from the marquee spill into the car, throwing shadows on Jared's face but leaving his eyes dark. Jensen gets a little thrill at how hoarse and used he sounds. "I--we're on the road for a couple of more weeks, almost done with the show this season… Maybe you can come hang out with me?"
Somewhere inside Jensen, a lot of things feel like they slot into place, but then he remembers pretty, outgoing Katie, and he can't pretend any longer.
"Jare--" he starts, shifting the car into Park, setting the parking brake for no reason other than to give himself something to do, something to give himself a little time to think what to say. Jared rushes to interrupt.
"I mean, I know you've got your life and all, and I'm not saying it's not important and I don't know what your schedule's like, I just thought maybe it'd be good, even if it's only for a couple of days--"
"Jared," Jensen says, and Jared shuts up. Jensen could let it ride, let Jared think it's because he's too busy or whatever, but he's not really thinking straight, half fucked-out and stupid, half hating himself for that little hum of satisfaction, at how easily he'd forgotten how much of a shitstorm being the piece on the side always brings down on people who aren't at fault. "I can't--I'm not gonna be that guy again."
"What guy?" Jared goes still in the seat, and Jensen knows without looking that the lazy glint in his eye is gone. It's quiet around them, nothing but their breathing and Jensen's heart slamming hard in his chest. "What guy, Jensen?" Jared asks again, but sharper, with an edge, like he's so fucking offended at Jensen's morals and how they're messing with his nifty little plan.
"Your dirty little secret," Jensen snaps, jerking around to face Jared, even if they can't really see each other. "The guy you fuck on the side while the pretty girl's at home missing you."
"My what?" Jared sits up straight and runs his hands through his hair, every movement as stiff and furious as his voice. "That's what you think this is?"
"I don't know, Jared. You tell me what I'm supposed to think, when you have a date inside." Jensen's so angry--at Jared, but mostly at himself, for doing this again--that his hands are shaking as he fumbles to turn the fucking radio off, because the last thing this scene needs is some country singer whining about how his woman did him wrong.
"Oh, yeah, because the only possible answer is that I'm enough of a sleaze to want a little fucktoy on the side." Jared's getting louder and louder with every word, and Jensen is just tired of it all, just fucking sick and tired of trying.
"Maybe it's not the only possible answer," he says, holding on tight to the steering wheel, trying not to think how it hasn't even been an hour since he had his hands tangled in Jared's hair. "But it's the one that pretty much always seems to be the truth."
"And what if it's not?" Jared demands. "What then?"
"I really wouldn't know," Jensen says, finally looking back at Jared, and not doing anything when Jared gets out of the car and slams the door hard behind him.