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Kisses Sweeter Than Wine, 4/4
The first time Jared calls after Williamsburg, Jensen isn't surprised--Jared wouldn't have asked to keep in touch if he hadn't meant to follow through--but he does assume that's going to be it. The conversation is short and about as awkward as they've ever been with each other.
The next time Jared calls, Jensen tells him he doesn't need to keep up the front. Jared goes quiet for a long time.
"Do you not want to do this?" Jared asks. "I know it's not the smart thing to do, but--"
"Oh, you're so right," Jensen sighs. "But no, I'm good. I just wanted to make sure you weren't doing it out of some weird sense of obligation."
Jared makes a rude sound, and that's that, enough that Jensen picks up the phone himself a few days later.
"Hey," Jared says, sounding a little preoccupied. "I'm glad you called."
"Always good to hear," Jensen says.
"I have--I wanted to ask you something."
Jensen waits for a couple of seconds, but Jared's quiet again. "Okay," Jensen says. "Ask away."
"Come be my sous-chef?"
"Come be your sous-chef?" Of all the things Jensen might have expected, that's probably not even on the list. "Don't you have someone to do that already?"
"Yeah, on the show," Jared says. "But I need somebody for a thing in a couple of days, and when I was in DC--" Jensen doesn't think he's imagining that Jared's delivery falters a little when he mentions his visit, but it's the first time they've even skated close to talking about it so he gives Jared credit for that. "Y'know, I got to watch you do your thing, and you do good live."
"You're serious," Jensen says slowly. "Start from the beginning."
"Right," Jared sighs. "Sorry--there was this auction, a couple of months back; the network sponsored it, to benefit Share Our Strength?" Jensen makes an affirmative sound; he vaguely remembers seeing a promo or two when he was zapping commercials through Jared's show. "Anyway, I was one of the lots--dinner for twelve at this place in Napa, with a couple of cases of Vinoce cab."
"Tell me it's not the Reserve, because Chris has been trying for six months to get his hands on a bottle of that."
"You want me to start lying to you now?" Jared says, laughing as Jensen all but moans at the thought. "Yeah, the 2006 Reserve. Anyway, we're set to go for next week, and I'm gonna need an extra set of hands. I can get somebody from the network, but, I don't know, I thought maybe you'd be interested..."
"What're you doing?" Jensen asks, and then sits through a long moment while Jared doesn't answer. "Wait," Jensen says, sitting up straight. "You have cases of the 2006 Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon from Vinoce and you don't know what you're going to serve with it?"
"I'll figure it out. I want to taste it first," Jared says, and Jensen can hear the whatever shrug in his voice. "I have a couple of days before the thing with nothing on the schedule. It'll be fine." Jensen doesn't say anything but he knows Jared can't be as nonchalant as he's trying to be, so he just waits until Jared sighs. "Okay, fine. We're supposed to be serving outside, so anything formal is out, which, y'know, is probably a good idea given that they've got me for a chef. I'm thinking about short ribs, braised in some of the cab. I can get my hands on some really excellent grass-fed beef."
"Thank you," Jensen answers. "I knew you had a plan in there somewhere."
"It could all change," Jared says. Jensen snorts. "Okay, probably not. I've had their non-reserve a couple of times. It should work well. The question is: are you going to come with me?"
A million Danger, Will Robinson alarms go off in Jensen's head: he doesn't need to be spending time with the guy he's lucky to even be speaking to, but he still barely hesitates.
"Yeah," Jensen says, ignoring every one of those alarms. "Sure."
"Awesome," Jared says, and Jensen really, really hopes he's right. Jared has an airline confirmation number to him the next day, and leaves a message saying he'll meet Jensen at SFO because he's planning to be in the city for a massive farmer's market shopping spree anyway. Jensen takes it as a good sign that Jared's at least thinking about what the hell he's going to be serving, even if it's only a day before the actual event.
Chris and Misha both think it's a stupid idea, and tell Jensen so in no uncertain terms. Misha's quiet, as always, but Chris gets loud enough that Jensen's upstairs neighbor pounds on the ceiling to let them know he's about to call the property manager and complain. Jensen finally gets them to shut up when he admits that he agrees with them, but he's still not going to say no.
After a long look between the two of them, one that makes Jensen think Mackenzie might not have been entirely wrong about some things, Chris sighs and says he'll come by and pick up the mail, and Misha tells him to take notes, and that's it. Jensen figures their good intentions won't last long and it's only a matter of time before they crack and start yelling at him, but with a little luck it won't happen until he's back.
It's a smooth flight, and Jared's waiting outside baggage claim in an enormous SUV with tinted windows and every bell and whistle Jensen's ever heard of in a car. More importantly, he's got lunch: vegetable spring rolls wrapped in rice paper so thin it's nearly transparent, with a shock of fresh mint tucked into the neat bundles of julienned carrots and peppers and a super hot and rich peanut sauce to dunk them in.
Jensen maybe makes an embarrassing noise at the first bite, but after a four hours on a plane plus the hellish hour in Dulles before they took off, he thinks he's entitled.
"It's just to take the edge off," Jared says, steering with his elbows for a second while he grabs one for himself. Jensen closes his eyes so he won't see himself die. At least they're in a big enough car that it'd take a semi to really flatten them, but he makes sure his seatbelt is latched, just in case. "I mean, I usually end up trying out pretty much everything I'm thinking about buying," Jared says. "If that's not cool with you, we can stop and get something more."
"'m fine," Jensen says quickly. He doesn't have any problem with that agenda, and if he had, he'd have shut up anyway just to keep Jared's attention on the road. He gets another spring roll and hands it to Jared, working the timing so that all eyes are kept on the road and he can relax and finish off the last few rolls.
The Alemany Farmer's Market is a good one; permanent fixtures and a friendly, comfortable vibe. Jared loads up with a stash of bags and sets off, just wandering at first. He's wearing sunglasses, aviators, but he keeps pushing them up on the top of his head to look more closely at things--and to steal glances at Jensen. Jensen manages to keep his mouth shut long enough that Jared finally caves and says, "Okay, I know this is killing you, but I really do have a plan."
"Hey, I'm just the assistant here," Jensen answers. "Nobody has any clue who I am, so if it ends up a mess I'm free and clear."
"Shut up," Jared mutters. "Okay, I'm sticking with the short ribs. The delivery came in this morning and they're gorgeous. I don't have to fool with appetizers or dessert; we're covered on those." Jensen arches an eyebrow and waits patiently, and Jared rolls his eyes and digs into his pocket, handing over a crumpled piece of paper filled with surprisingly legible notes. "They're starting with grilled watermelon," he continues, while Jensen scans the page. "And then some braised white asparagus and flash-fried quail, and ending with chocolate cream pie--"
"Valrhona crème pie," Jensen corrects in a distracted murmur, making note of the rest of the accents: black truffle and a chicken liver mousseline with the watermelon; a Meyer lemon sabayon and a chocolate merlot reduction with the asparagus; and nothing but the quail, which is a little surprising given the rest of the accompaniments, but Jensen definitely approves. All the quail needs is a few herbs--anything else would overwhelm it. Jared makes a rude noise and Jensen looks up to see him grinning.
"Yeah, yeah." Jared rolls his eyes. "Valrhona cream pie, whatever. It's still chocolate cream pie, like you can get in every diner in the South. Just amped up a little."
"That's kind of the theme of this dinner, right?" Jensen looks at the page of notes again. "Down-home, but upscale."
"Yeah." Jared shrugs. "We worked it out with the winner, and that was the deal. You'd think if you paid as much as he did for this thing, he'd go a little more exotic, but whatever."
"Do I want to know how much this went for?"
"You probably don't," Jared says. "It makes me freak every time I think about it. Like, seriously, somebody paid more than my mom makes in a year for dinner? For me to come cook them dinner?"
"Yeah, you're right; don't tell me," Jensen answers, trying to sort through what's already nailed down and what they can play with, how many different competing flavors they're going to have to juggle. "Uh, do we have a budget?"
"Nope," Jared snorts. "Or, well, we do, but I don't think I could actually spend that much if I tried, so whatever you're thinking, we got it."
"So... the short ribs, and the wine--stuff that good, we don't want to take away from it, right?"
"Yeah," Jared answers, drawing it out. "Meat and potatoes, right? Over the top, of course." He spins on his heel and starts down the first row, already calling out to the woman in the first stall. Jensen rolls his eyes and follows along.
"Really. Don't you have somebody to do this for you?" he mutters as Jared waits for the woman to check if she has the case of baby carrots he's decided he needs.
"That'd be you," Jared says, laughing. "Oh, yeah, nice," he says to the woman, taking a bite of the carrot she holds out to him, tiny and vivid orange, and so sweet it's like candy when Jared passes it along to Jensen. Cash changes hands and Jared promises to be back to pick up the case and they're off again. "Seriously, though, I don't. Have anybody to do this for me--I mean, I could, but this is half the fun, y'know?"
He flashes that million-dollar grin again and Jensen can't really argue.
Once Jared gets going, he adds ideas, layers on top of layers, until they barely make it back to the car with everything they're going to need. He goes with a shrimp and potato and corn soup, sort of a Frogmore Stew, to start, and hunts down turnip greens for the salad. Somewhere in there, he decided they could upgrade the ribs by enriching the sauce with foie gras, so they have to make a side trip to buy a cooler to carry that in, but finally they're loaded up and ready to go with the baby carrots, another case of haricots verts, and tiny pattypan squash with such delicate skin that Jensen thinks about packing it in cotton. They have about fifteen pounds of potatoes and parsnips, and then there's an armload of herbs cut fresh while they watched.
Jared drums along to the satellite radio, album tracks that were classic before either of them were even born, navigating out of the city to the quiet murmurs of the GPS. It's surprisingly peaceful--Jared's even keeping his eyes on the road--and Jensen finds himself relaxing into the leather seat.
"Sorry," Jared says, with a quick flickering glance. "For dragging you straight off the plane and into the whole thing. You look wiped out."
"No, it's fine," Jensen says. "It's what I’m here for, right?"
"It's only another hour," Jared says, and lets Jensen zone out until they're pulling into the estate--there really isn't any other word for it, Jensen thinks--and climbing past the main house and around to a low, one-story building on the edge of a pool and some terraces.
"The wine house," Jared says, dry and matter-of-fact, but his expression matches Jensen's frame of mind. This is about as far from people paying him and Kane and Misha to throw food on the table as Jensen's ever thought about getting. Farther. "I know," Jared says. "Three days ago I was in hip waders out on the Brazos, gutting fish with 70-year-old brothers, and then I get off the plane and pull in here."
"Hard life," Jensen says.
"Weird, anyway," Jared answers. "But I gotta tell you, you're gonna love the kitchen. Man, I almost cried when I saw it." He circles around to the back and grabs a box from their haul before leading Jensen in the front door. "The wine cellar is over there--" he nods to the left--"and the rest of this is the kitchen."
The room they walk into--floor-to-ceiling windows facing out over the terraces, cherry woodwork and acres of black granite counters, a table that'll seat at least twenty, dramatic lighting and an endless sweep of pots and pans hanging over the cooking island in the center--is straight-up kitchen porn, but Jensen has a pretty good idea that isn't why Jared so happy with it. Seeing that the pots and pans hanging over their heads are solid, heavy copper, well-used and polished to a blinding gleam, is almost as much of a relief as the eight-burner stove and the double convection ovens. It might be kitchen porn, but it's kitchen porn they can work in.
"I don't know," Jensen says. "I'm not sure I can function in conditions like this." He turns slowly on his heel, taking it all in. "I'll probably end up having nightmares about burning the place down or something."
"There's a pizza oven outside," Jared says. "We could--"
"No," Jensen says, as he starts unpacking the crate he'd carried in. "We can't. No changing of the menu. We've got everything we need already."
"Come on, it's an Acunto," Jared wheedles. "One thousand degrees of pure wood-fired awesomeness… Everything done and perfect in three minutes."
Jensen's tempted. Severely. Who knows when he'll get another chance at an Acunto. But--
"No," he repeats. "No pizzas. They don't go with the rest of the menu."
"It's a good thing you're so pretty," Jared says. "Because you are no fun at all." He goes back out to the car, leaving Jensen standing in the middle of a million-dollar kitchen, his hands full of organic parnsips and carrots, staring after him and wondering if he's hearing things. After a few seconds he goes back to laying everything out on the counter, deciding that he's reading way too much into how Jared runs his mouth.
"I am, too, fun," he mutters, though. It's the principle of the thing.
Jared actually does have a plan; one that coordinates with the other two chefs and their assistants, even, though with the size of the kitchen it's not really a big deal. He and Jensen are the only ones there early; the rest of the team isn't getting in until the next day. They start a stock for the base to braise the ribs in, Jared quick-roasting the bones while Jensen makes short work of the aromatics for the broth. Apparently from nowhere Jared comes up with sandwiches, and fires up a deep fryer to make them chips for dinner.
There's a small courtyard on the other side of the house, away from the pool, and they eat out there. The sandwiches turn out to be bacon, tomato, and arugula on a sourdough that pops off the plate, and the chips are perfectly done.
"They booked us into one of those all-suite hotels," Jared says while they eat. "It's just down the road, so we don't have to add an hour's commute onto whatever time we're gonna need to be here tomorrow morning."
"I'm just along for the ride," Jensen says, watching the shadows from the clouds play over the vineyards spread out in front of him. "But it's probably good not to count on me being coherent in the morning."
"Yeah, you seem to be more of a night person. Either that or you're really good at waking up to keep me entertained in the middle of the night." Jared's voice trails off, like he's just heard what he said. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah," Jensen says, losing the battle to keep a straight face.
"Okay, so there are times when I don't think before I speak," Jared says. "But I'd say we're doing pretty good, because this is the first really awkward moment we've had."
"I guess if we're looking at it like that, we're way out in front of the curve," Jensen answers.
"I don't usually hang out there. In the front, I mean," Jared says. "I plan to enjoy it while it lasts."
Jared's trying too hard, but instead of it being grating and annoying, Jensen's filled with a sort of grateful affection at the stubborn idiot who won't give up on them, even if he is breaking Jensen into tiny little pieces. The least Jensen can do is play along.
"I, on the other hand, actually do find myself on the high end of the curve," he says. "Too many years in school not to know how to play the game."
"Yeah? What'd you study?"
"Linguistics," Jensen says, and laughs at the expression on Jared's face. "Got a nice, shiny PhD and everything. Took a couple of months off after my dissertation defense to bum around France and ended up falling down the rabbit hole." He leaves out the part about Michael and Dr. Jonas's daughter, but more because his time in France feels less and less about them, and more like finding his own way for the first time in his life. "Figured out I could more or less make a living writing about food while I was eating it, too, and never looked back."
"Okay," Jared says. "That was about the last thing I expected to hear, but now it's not all that hard to picture you in a library all night long, studying 'til you fall asleep on your pile of books--"
"Shut up," Jensen says, laughing at how Jared's suddenly doing a pretty spot-on impersonation of Jensen squinting at an imaginary book. "God, you're an ass."
"I am," Jared says, suddenly serious, and they're not talking about school anymore. "I'm stupid and selfish way too much of the time, but I'm trying to be better."
"Jay," Jensen says, equally serious. "That was more about me than you, okay?"
"It's not," Jared says, leaning forward, not quite in Jensen's personal space but close. "It's not okay, because I need to think before I spout off, but we'll let it be for now."
"The way I remember, I was the one who jumped to conclusions," Jensen says.
"Yeah, and I ran right with you, so we're going to call it even, all right?"
"Fine," Jensen sighs.
"Good." Jared settles back in his chair. "Okay, so, linguistics to writing, I got that, but the underground restaurant?"
"That would be Misha's fault," Jensen says, gratefully going along with the change in topic. "And Chris's. But mostly Misha's. He is the master of insane ideas and the thing about it is, he always comes across as not-crazy."
"Yeah, he seemed pretty pulled-together when I met him," Jared says.
"Exactly. I've known him for years--he owns the building I live in, this converted warehouse, in what is thinking about being a revitalized neighborhood. A couple of years ago, it hadn't even started thinking about it, but--it was cheap." Jensen smiles, and shakes his head. "I had no idea what I was getting into with him back then, but I should know better by now--there's photographic evidence of him involving sparkly pink tutus and fucking tiaras, and even so I still have to remind myself that whatever he's got in mind, it's probably not a good idea. Except this time he was going on and on about underground supper clubs and… I tried logic, especially the part about how they're all kinds of illegal, but before I could really get going Chris, of all people, was figuring out how we could stage things and I was doomed. Metaphorically speaking."
Jared laughs, and Jensen smiles back at him, and it's time to go pack up for the day.
Jensen isn't kidding about not functioning well in the morning, but Jared came prepared with coffee and a set of whites for him to wear, and besides, a half-asleep and bitchy Jensen is still about twice as organized and on top of things as Jared is on a good day. He's got lists and notes--everything cross-referenced on his laptop--and if his tone's a little sharp, Jared can almost see the caffeine hitting his blood and getting him ready for the day. Jared actually has a checklist of his own--in his head, of course--and he's still a little fussed about Jensen not having clogs. It's going to be a really long day and he doesn't know if the sneakers Jensen's wearing are going to get him through it.
"I always wear these," Jensen says, shrugging. "I'll be fine--the kitchen floor's hardwood, right?"
"Well, yeah, but--"
"I'll be fine, Jared." Jensen looks pointedly at Jared's own boots, which are a different story, because they're broken-in and awesome and Jared could probably run a marathon in them if he had to. He settles for drinking his own coffee and promising himself he'll keep an eye out for if it starts to get to Jensen. Jensen glares like he knows what Jared's thinking, but then, once they get back to the wine house, there's a spread of breakfast stuff laid out for the teams, fresh-made doughnuts and eclairs, and Jensen starts to relax.
"Good to know you're not immune to the charms of sugar and grease," Jared says, watching Jensen demolish his second plate.
"Special occasion," Jensen says, making another one of those little noises, like he had the day before in the car. Jared ignores it as best he can. "I'm telling myself it'll counteract the jetlag."
"I'm not going to ruin your happy place," Jared says. He's also not going to go into how much he likes watching Jensen gradually re-enter the world of the awake and functioning; if he thinks about it, it's a little too close to how it might be to watch him wake up for real, and Jared's pretty damn sure that's not a good place for them to be.
"My happy place?" Jensen gestures to Jared's plate; his third--or maybe fourth? But who's counting, right?
"Hey, you never said anything about it being exclusive," Jared answers, with a smirk. "You'll share, right?"
"Sure," Jensen drawls. For a brief second Jared can hear the Texas in his voice, and he can't help smiling at it for real. Jensen shakes his head, like Jared's crazy, but Jared can see the answering smile in his eyes.
A timer goes off behind them--one of the dessert chef's--and it reminds Jared that they're here for a reason and it's not to see if he can tease a real smile out of Jensen. He's not supposed to care about whether Jensen's smiling. He wrenches his brain back to reality and reaches for a bandana and an apron.
"Nice touch," Jensen says, gesturing to Jared's pants--not white, of course, and they look checked, but they're really black with a pattern of white skulls.
"I have to get everything custom-fit anyway," Jared says, tying the bandana around his head to keep his hair back and then rolling up his sleeves. "I figured, why be boring?"
"God forbid," Jensen says, dry as the desert. He takes the apron Jared hands him--plain white, to go with the classic white coat Jared gave him earlier--and Jared's not thinking about how good he looks in white, how it sets off his eyes. Instead, he picks up the cleaver to start working on the short ribs.
"Please do not cut off any vital bits of your anatomy." Jensen eyes the cleaver with a disturbing lack of confidence in Jared's ability to use it. "I don't think we have time for a trip to the ER."
"No problem," Jared says cheerfully. "I have it on good authority that my assistant has mad skills at working around EMTs."
For all that they're cooking for people who spent a fortune on the dinner, Jared's main course is uncomplicated enough that Jensen's not sure why he's around. The stock they made the day before is the base for the liquid they're braising the short ribs in, and it doesn't take Jensen more than twenty minutes to reduce the wine and rough-chop the carrots and shallots and leeks to make up the rest of what they need. The only reason it even takes that long is that they're starting off with an entire case of wine; the first ten minutes are devoted to getting the bottles open, and it takes a good amount of time to bring all that liquid to a simmer.
"A bottle per person?" Jensen asks, as Jared wanders back over to the cooktop and takes over the rest of the burners to start searing the meat. "You don't think that's a little over the top?"
"Coming from the guy who cooks from the French Laundry for fun, I'll take that as a compliment," Jared says. Jensen snorts and keeps an eye on the simmering wine, trying not to get high off the steam. Jared makes quick work of the short ribs, searing them in batches with four saute pans going at the same time. Jensen finishes crushing the thyme and garlic right as Jared pulls the last round off the heat, and then it's less than five minutes to saute the vegetables and herbs.
"Smells awesome, doesn't it?" Jared shakes the pans, keeping everything moving enough to brown, not burn, timing it just right to deglaze the pans with the wine reduction and add the short ribs back. "Okay," he says, nodding to where Jensen's got the stock at a simmer. "Add just enough to cover the ribs…" He steps back to give Jensen enough room to reach all the pans. "And we're good to go for a couple of hours."
The guy who owns the place comes in then, and Jared goes off to talk to him. Jensen deals with the detritus from the morning--scraps of carrots and garlic peels and the trimmings from Jared's mad butchering spree--and it's a little pathetic how happy he is to discover that the kitchen is set up with multiple commercial dishwashers. Anything that keeps him from scouring pots and pans is a good thing, even if the view out the windows over the sink is a thousand times more spectacular than his usual one.
"Hey, man," Jared calls, sticking his head around the door to the outdoor kitchen. "We've got lunch going out here when you're done."
Jensen nods and finishes up hand-washing the knives and the cleaver before heading out to find Jared lounging against one of the pillars of the hardwood arbor and spinning a long-handled pizza peel like a bo.
"You were right about pizza not working with the menu," Jared says, grinning. "But no way was I going to miss out on playing with one of these babies." He waves the peel in the direction of the wood-fired oven. The interior is glowing from the heat.
"I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't," Jensen says.
"Wouldn't want to do that," Jared says. "You're my guinea pig, okay?" He slides the peel under the pizzas on the floor of the oven and shakes them off onto a cutting board on the table nearby. "I don't think I have the timing down yet, but these don't look too bad."
"They have things called timers," Jensen says. "Many people find them useful."
"Useful but no fun at all," Jared says, cutting the pizza with a couple of quick strokes and pushing half of it toward Jensen. Jensen watches skeptically as Jared tries to take a bite without burning his mouth. "'s good, ow, hot."
Jensen lets his half sit for another minute before giving it a try. Jared starts with the next round; between them they decide to let them go for another 30 seconds or so.
"What do you want on yours?" Jared gestures to the array of toppings he's got laid out on the granite counter next to the oven.
"You don't have to do this," Jensen says. "This and the coffee and the whites and dinner last night--you don't have to take care of me."
Jared finishes scattering corn meal on the peel and wipes his hands on the heavy black-and-white-striped apron he's got tied around his waist. "I know we don't really know each other all that well, but… It's what I do," he says, like he's feeling his way through the conversation. "I don't mean to imply that you're stupid or incapable, I just…It's what I do."
Judging by the look on Jared's face, Jensen's hit some kind of nerve he didn't mean to, which is typical of the two of them. Jensen's tempted to laugh at the sheer predictability of it all, except that laughing at Jared right now is probably a really bad idea.
"I'm supposed to be here to help," he says. "Not make more work for you."
"If it makes you feel better, I'm feeding the entire crowd," Jared offers, relaxing into a smile at Jensen's, "Yeah, okay."
Jared's not just trying to blow him off: for the next hour, any time someone wanders by, Jared feeds them, and cracks jokes and generally is the guy Jensen didn't believe was real when all he knew was what he'd seen on TV. In a way, he still thinks that's true: it's Jared, but it's not the Jared he's gotten to know. It's like a projection or something; not a lie, but not the truth either; something bright and shiny that makes everyone happy but keeps them away. Jensen probably should be worried about how much he likes knowing that there's more underneath, but he'll think about that later.
The team that's making the hors d'oeuvres has the kitchen first, but they finish with their set-ups about the same time the waiters and bartenders arrive, and Jared drops the attitude and kicks into gear. He has Jensen peeling shrimp and making a quick stock from the shells, while he deals with the parsnips they're going to mash with potatoes for the main course. The ribs are holding at a slow simmer, and Jensen's already cleaned the other vegetables so they're ready for their time in the sauté pan. The appetizer team clears out and Jensen lays the soup plates in rows down the counter. Jared keeps watch on the guests, and as soon as they start to straggle slowly toward the table, he says, "Go." Jensen adds the shrimp and corn to to the potatoes and broth, and then nearly drops the strainer as Jared slaps a timer on.
"Yeah, yeah," Jared says, grinning. "Timers are boring, but I hear they can be helpful."
Jensen rolls his eyes, but there's a lot going at the moment; he's sure as hell not going to say anything that will change Jared's mind. When the timer goes off, he gets the soup plated; Jared does the final garnish and okays the waiters to start serving. Jensen has the salad plates laid out as soon as the last soup plate leaves the kitchen; Jared dresses the turnip greens and starts plating the salads. Jensen looks up from checking the parsnips to find Jared smiling at him.
"What?" Jensen asks.
"Nothing--I just--I knew we'd work pretty well together," Jared answers, smiling even bigger.
"Not if we overcook the main course," Jensen says, gesturing to where the ribs are threatening to scorch, but he's smiling, too, and Jared knows it.
It's close to one in the morning by the time Jared walks back into the kitchen from doing his best meet-and-greet with the guests and the host. It's as big a part of what people pay for as the actual food, and he's fine with it, but still...
"I am done," he says, dropping onto one of the high stools around the island and stripping off his bandana. He scrubs one hand hard through his hair. "They're not going to stop out there until they pass out, but I've signed everybody's menu and all the wine bottles and told every embarrassing story about the show I can remember. I got nothing."
"Wow," Jensen says, looking up from his laptop. "Who knew it was actually possible to shut you up?"
"Aw, baby, why you gotta be that way," Jared says, with an automatic smirk that he thinks hides how happy he is that Jensen's relaxed enough to joke with him again. "And here I was gonna share and everything." He hauls himself back up again and takes a quick trip into the wine cellar, picking up the bottle set aside for him earlier, a very nice bottle of Screaming Eagle cab. He shows it to Jensen with a flourish. "A little thank-you from the group, and now it's looking like I get to keep it for my very own self."
"Well, you know," Jensen sighs, playing up the drama quotient. "I guess I could be nice for a little while."
"You're so easy. I knew it," Jared says, pulling his messenger bag off the counter and tossing the car keys in the air.
"And all it took was a $900 bottle of wine," Jensen says. He closes his laptop and stuffs it into his own messenger bag, and Jared feels a little guilty for having kept him half the night. The kitchen is spotless, and Jared hopes Jensen didn't do it all by himself, but he's not going to interrupt whatever easiness they've got going now to ask.
"Easy but not cheap, is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"You say the sweetest things," Jensen deadpans, following Jared out to the SUV.
"Dude, if the shoe fits…" Jared throws his bag in the back seat, but hands the wine carefully over to Jensen.
"Keep your eyes on the road, moron," Jensen says, cradling the bottle close. "Do not make me shake this up and bruise it before we even get it open. Some of us don't get handed tips like this on a regular basis. Or ever."
"Yeah," Jared snorts. "The last tip I got was a cooler full of fresh-butchered pork bellies. Good stuff, but not quite up to this level." He does pay attention to his driving, though, and they make it back to the hotel without any incidents.
"Okay, here's the plan," Jared says, digging through his messenger bag for a corkscrew. "We're going to open this and let it breathe. I'm going to shower and check SportsCenter and see what the Spurs have done, and then we are going to pour this outrageously good wine and drink all of it, just the two of us, even if we have to drink it out of water glasses."
"Oh, good, as long as we're not being pretentious about it or anything," Jensen says. Jared draws the cork, sweet and clean; extracts a promise from Jensen not to touch it until he gets back, and escapes into his room. Somewhere along the way, the part of his brain that reminds him that he and Jensen have agreed just to be friends has completely switched off, and he needs a little time to remember all the very good reasons they made that decision in the first place.
Even if he spent the last few hours sitting around, it's been a long day--a shower doesn't sound bad to Jensen either, and when he wanders back out, Jared's managed to find actual wine glasses. Stemless, and not just pressed glass, and Jensen's impressed.
"It's Napa," Jared says when Jensen asks how he pulled it off. "I think even the gas stations stock corkscrews. I called down to the front desk and all they asked was whether we were drinking red or white so they could send the right glass." He hands Jensen a glass that's a little over half-full and adds, "And they said they'd see what they had in the kitchen that'd work with it."
"I'm thinking whatever they send up might be a travesty," Jensen says, after the first sip. "We should have repurposed some of dinner. They wouldn't have missed a rib or two."
"I think we could have backed a truck up to the kitchen and nobody would have noticed," Jared says. "I did tell room service we had the good stuff, so maybe there's hope."
There's a waiter knocking on the door before they take more than a couple more sips, and maybe it really is just that it's Napa, but they have three kinds of crackers, and some local cheeses and sausages, and all of them are fairly decent. Definitely not travesties.
"Thanks for doing this," Jared says as he pours another round. "I mean, I know it was last minute and unpaid, and you spent a hell of a lot of time doing scut work--"
"I had a good time," Jensen interupts. "It's like another world."
"Yeah," Jared says, shaking his head. "For sure."
"You ever think about doing stuff like this full-time?"
"After the show? I dunno." Jared shrugs. "It's not like I've exactly planned any of the rest of my life, but--no. I don't think so. It's cool to do it like this, raise some money or whatever, but I don't think I'm built to deal with people who throw cash around like this on a daily basis."
Jensen nods and turns the glass idly in his hand, watching the way the low light hits the liquid, teasing deep red highlights out of the darker base. When he looks up again Jared is watching him, serious and intent.
"I didn't expect you to say yes when I asked you to come," Jared says. "I thought you'd tell me I was crazy."
"Everybody told me it was stupid to do this," Jensen says. "I couldn't argue."
"You came anyway," Jared says.
"You asked," Jensen says, simply, and he hasn't exactly thought about it, but that's what it boils down to. It's what almost everything between them has boiled down to. "I wanted to come, but yeah, you asked, even after everything."
"I wanted you to come," Jared says. "I thought--I don't know what I thought, I just--" He leans in close and kisses Jensen, light quick brush of lips, pulling back after a second and watching Jensen carefully.
Jensen hasn't eaten anything much during the day; the wine's hitting him a little faster than normal, but that doesn't have anything to do with how he tells the overthinking part of his brain to shut up as he puts his glass on the table, or how he takes Jared's glass out of his hand and sets it carefully next to his own.
"Jen," Jared whispers, right as Jensen lets his hand settle along the curve of his jaw, but if there's anything else he wants to say it's lost in the next kiss. Jensen knows he's the one who starts it, but Jared meets him halfway and doesn't let him go, big hands pulling him close every time Jensen shifts, never mind that he's sure as hell not trying to put any distance between them--not even when they have to break off the kiss to breathe, not even when Jared takes a shaky breath and says, "Maybe... maybe we should… I don't know, go slow?"
"Right. Slow," Jensen says, but he doesn't move, and neither does Jared. After a long few seconds, Jared smiles; small and lopsided, but real.
"Then again," Jared says. "For us, we are going slow. It's been more than a day."
Jensen smiles back. "True," he agrees. "We set a world record sometime in the middle of the farmer's market yester--" He loses the rest of what he's going to say when Jared closes the last few inches between them and kisses him again, but it wasn't anything big, certainly nothing more important than kissing Jared back, opening his mouth and letting Jared taste him, pressing closer and sliding his hands into Jared's hair.
"We're not doing this on the couch again," Jared breathes against Jensen's mouth, and when Jensen nods he hauls Jensen to his feet but then just holds him there. Jensen slides his hands up under Jared's shirt, warm skin and hard muscle, and Jared sighs into his mouth. "Yes, please," he whispers.
Jensen takes his time, lays his hands flat and smooths them in slow, measured strokes all along the long line of Jared's back. Jared stays still against him, so close Jensen can feel his heart pounding, his own hands hard on Jensen's hips. Jared tilts his head back in clear invitation, one that Jensen has no intention of turning down. Jared hisses, then moans quietly as Jensen bites where his neck curves into his shoulder, and that's even more of an invitation. He licks over the mark he's left, and bites down again, and then one more time, and Jared stands there and takes it.
"Bed, Jen," Jared gasps. "I don't want to do this on the floor, but I can't--I need--" Jensen nods, backing him toward the room he's been sleeping in.
"Want you so much," Jensen whispers, and Jared's fingers tighten on Jensen's hips, keeping him close as they stumble through the living room of the suite, ruining Jensen's plan to get rid of as many clothes he could, as quickly as possible. As if he understands, Jared stops them before they crash down on the bed and skims Jensen's t-shirt up and over his head.
"What do you want?" Jared murmurs, his hands back on Jensen's hips, thumbs slowly stroking in circles that dip below the waistband of Jensen's track pants, mesmerizing, teasing, so close to where Jensen wants. "The first time you asked me, and the second time I just did what I wanted--"
Jensen manages to choke out an objection, because he certainly hadn't minded that what Jared wanted was to suck him off.
"No, I did," Jared insists, smiling. "I did exactly what I wanted." He stops the movement of his thumbs, watching until he has Jensen's complete attention and then stripping Jensen's pants and boxers down and off with a smooth, quick motion, leaving Jensen naked in front of him. "I want to know what you want this time," he says, his hands back on Jensen's hips, skin to skin now, and if it made Jensen want to squirm before, now it's all he can do to keep from writhing.
"Tell me," Jared repeats, not giving an inch, though he lets Jensen take his hands and lace their fingers together, and lets him step up close enough that Jensen can feel the heat of his body, see the pulse beating hard at the base of his throat. "Please."
"I want you to fuck me," Jensen says quietly, every word dropping clear and precise into the silence of the room. "I want you flat out on that bed, and I want to ride you until we're both screaming."
"See?" Jared says. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" His mouth crashes down on Jensen's and his hands clutch greedy and rough at the back of Jensen's thighs, his ass. "Stay right there," he adds, turning and digging through the overflowing duffel bag on the floor, dumping it out in his impatience but coming back up with a triumphant grin, a travel-sized bottle of hand lotion, and a strip of condoms. "I knew they were there somewhere."
"Boy scout," Jensen teases--or at least tries to, because it's close to impossible with the way Jared's eyes sweep over him, never breaking contact as he strips off his shirt and pants and finally, finally is naked, too. Jensen swallows hard and takes the condoms out of Jared's hand. "On the bed," he whispers.
The bed is neatly made, deep-blue comforter folded back to show the crisp white sheets, and Jared rips it apart with one sweep of his arm. He drags Jensen down with him, twisting so they land on their sides, bellies and legs and cocks pressed close, until Jensen bites the curve of Jared's neck and Jared rolls them so Jensen's straddling him. Jensen rocks down on him, one slow press of his hips and then another, cocks sliding together, hot and slick with pre-come, and Jared's hands are back on his hips like they can't stay away. Jensen can feel the bruises starting, one for each one of Jared's fingers, and the thought of it makes him move again, push against them to try once more to grind his cock into Jared's.
"Jen," Jared half-gasps, half-laughs, his fingers tightening until Jensen moans. "If you want to get fucked, you have to stop that."
Jensen nods and makes himself relax, leaning down so Jared can kiss him, shivering a little as Jared slides his hands back to tease him open. "Don't stop," he whispers, and Jared works one long finger into him dry, moving carefully and never taking his eyes off Jensen's face. It hurts a little, the stretch and burn sharper without lube, but Jensen can't help pushing down on it, taking it into himself. "So fucking good, Jay," he says, barely recognizing his own voice.
Jared works him open, pulling out to fumble with the lotion, going back with three fingers once his hand is slicked, never once looking away from Jensen's face--and that, that shouldn't ground Jensen; it should make him crazy, has always made him want to run and hide, except it's never been like that with Jared, even in the beginning when they were nothing more to each other than a quick, nearly anonymous fuck. Jensen keeps his eyes open, lets Jared see everything, and Jared does the same, his eyes dark and hungry as Jensen tears open the condom and smooths it on him. Jensen loves the first press of a cock inside him, his body opening to take it in, the first few seconds when it only barely seems possible, the heavy fullness edging deeper.
"God," Jared groans, as Jensen slides down onto him. He holds Jensen steady, his hands strong and careful now, and lets Jensen set the pace, holding back until he's shaking under Jensen. Jensen keeps it slow, but he takes Jared deep on every thrust, losing just a tiny bit more control every time. "You feel so good, like that, God, don't stop."
Jensen tries not to stop, tries to stay with the slow, rocking pace--but it's too much, Jared's cock so deep in him, his own aching and hard, and he needs to come, has to come. He reaches for his cock but Jared's quicker, grabs his wrists and holds them tight, panting, "Keep going, you wanted it like this; keep going."
Jensen holds onto his voice like a lifeline and moves faster, wilder, all finesse gone. Jared doesn't let go of his wrists, and he starts moving with Jensen, rough and hard, every stroke pushing Jensen closer to the edge, to where he's going to have to beg, to plead with Jared to let him come. Jared knows how close he is, though; knows just when to let go of Jensen's wrist and wrap his hand around Jensen's cock; knows how Jensen likes it, two long, hard strokes, nails dragging in a twisting path that all but rips the orgasm from Jensen, slamming up into him at the same time, coming with a hoarse cry that echoes Jensen's own keen.
Jared doesn't let go of Jensen except to deal with the condom and grab a t-shirt off the floor to clean them up a little. Jensen doesn't seem like the type who likes to cuddle, but he doesn't pull away or stiffen up when Jared keeps touching him, so Jared doesn't stop. It's late, almost three in the morning, and Jared's fucked out, practically boneless, but he doesn't want to sleep, not while Jensen's still awake and he can still kiss him and taste him and find more places that make him shiver. He could keep on like that all night, but Jensen yawns finally, and that sets Jared off, too.
"Sorry," Jared whispers. "I'll stop now."
"No problem," Jensen murmurs. "'s nice."
Jared takes Jensen at his word, which works out well since it's exactly what he wants to be doing anyway, but eventually despite himself the touches slow and he's almost drifted off when Jensen stirs against him.
"What do you want from this?" Jensen asks, and Jared can feel the tension creeping into the muscles under his hand. He doesn't have be able to see Jensen to know this is it; this is what he needs to get right.
"You," he answers, keeping it as simple as he can. "I don't know how it's gonna work, but I want you."
"Me too," Jensen says, but the tension under Jared's hand doesn't go away.
"Good," Jared says. "I'm--it's what I've wanted for a long time."
"Right. After Williamsburg, I knew that, but--" Jensen shrugs, and Jared stays quiet, and after a long few minutes Jensen continues. "When we fought about it, in the car--I wanted it, too, but I couldn't see any way it was going to be right, any way that it wasn't going to play out like it had before." Jared starts to say it's okay, but Jensen shakes his head. "Just--let me say this, okay?"
"Sure," Jared says. "Whatever you want to tell me."
"I really don't want to tell you this, but I--you probably deserve to know." Jensen's even more tense; Jared concentrates on keeping physical contact.
"When we fought," Jared says quietly. "You told me it never worked out any way but badly."
"Yeah," Jensen says. "Poor little me. Except--What I didn't tell you was that I knew Jeff was married; I just told myself it wasn't a big deal."
Jared makes his hand keep up with the same slow pattern he's been tracing over Jensen's hip; no falter, no hesitation. There are a million things racing around in his head, but none of them are important right now, not with how flat and lifeless Jensen's voice sounds, and all the bad stuff Jared can sense underneath. "When you say you knew, you mean he told you, or--"
"No," Jensen says, with a laugh sharp and hard enough to cut glass. "No, he told me he traveled a lot for business, and I told him I liked having the breathing space. I--when I was in grad school, the guy I was with decided it was easier to get ahead by proposing to the daughter of one of the department heads, and I managed to miss every single sign, right up until their engagement announcement showed up in the paper. It was a very nice picture of the two of them." Jared does miss his rhythm there, but only because he can't help pulling Jensen closer. "So, yeah, I was pretty stupid then, but at least I recognized all the same BS when Jeff started with it. He was the one who called me, never on the weekends; I only had his cell number, not his office, never met his friends... stuff like that. I just told myself it wasn't my thing to worry about, played along like I was dumb, right up until the end."
"You didn't know for sure--" Jared starts, but Jensen interrupts him.
"No, I knew, and I got it confirmed for real when his kids, his kids saw us making out outside of a gallery in Kalorama." He shakes his head, and his voice is bitter when he continues, "I thought I had it all worked out, but I never thought about something like that. Never thought about anybody but myself."
"What did you do after?" Jared asks. "Did you keep seeing him?"
"No," Jensen says. "I--there was a taxi on the corner and I flagged it down and got into it and never talked to him again. He called, left messages, told me he could explain, that I was just running away, but--"
"I swear to you," Jared says, furious with the assholes of the world, and himself, too, for what it's worth, for being such a fucking baby about it all. "I swear that Katie and I have never had anything going on, and, and Sandy and I really are done--like she probably never wants to speak to me again done--and, God, I'm sorry, but you're going to be stuck with Chad at least for the next couple of years, and Rafe's going to try to scare you off, but if you just act like you're hungry he'll get distracted and start feeding you--"
"Jared," Jensen says, leaning up on one elbow and covering Jared's mouth with his hand. "Jay. I know, okay? I know that's not you--I--Nobody else knows about Jeff, the kids. I just wanted you to know why I flipped out."
"Thanks," Jared says around Jensen's hand, catching hold of it when Jensen moves it away. "For telling me." For trusting me, he means. "I meant what I said, too. I want you, in my life. Which is currently complicated and crazy and sucks for whoever I'm trying to be with, but I love it."
"I'm good with loving your life, whatever it is," Jensen says. "We can figure it out."
Jared's not sure which part makes him happier: the part about figuring things out, or the part where Jensen said we, but whichever it is, he's suddenly aware that he's gotten through this without screwing it up. He tugs Jensen closer, letting go of his hand only when he can cup Jensen's face in his palms. Jensen lets him, rests his forehead against Jared's and Jared can feel the tension draining out of him.
"We should sleep," Jared murmurs. Jensen nods, but his breathing doesn't change. He's relaxed; Jared's relaxed; neither of them are even close to sleep again. "Or," Jared whispers, his mouth suddenly dry. "You are really good at entertaining me in the middle of the night."
"Why, yes," Jensen says, in a low purr that ebbs and flows over Jared's skin. He traces a path with the tip of one finger along Jared's collarbone and down the center of his chest to tease at his navel. "Yes, I am good at that."
Weird life, Jared thinks, trying not to gasp and squirm. But good. Very, very good.
Recipes
Also, last winter, while this was still just a couple of pages of notes, I wrote what is essentially the epilogue to this story, Sugar Shock, which I link here for continuity. Lana even made me a pretty header for it!
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