Archive of Our Own

It’s really hard to look as cute as Jensen does every morning.

He wishes more people appreciated this fact.

Tom – Tom kind of appreciates it, because he works almost as hard to look almost as cute. But Tom’s not as committed as Jensen is. Tom has Mike, and they’re basically married, so. They fight all the time like a bunch of infants, but still, Tom doesn’t have to work as hard. It’s one of the bonuses of being in a long-lasting relationship – apparently when someone likes you enough to actually date you for longer than one night, you get to stop paying attention to things like whether your underwear matches your socks, or whether your hair is parted cute and not fugly.

Tom doesn’t have his wardrobe programmed into his computer or videos of himself modeling all his clothes posted on YouTube. Jensen does. Jensen’s videos get a lot of hits. He’s not sure if that’s because there are a lot of old pervs on the internet, or because he’s just really smoking hot. Either way, people like watching Jensen model clothes. It’s pretty much a win-win.

Jensen’s dad appreciates how cute he looks – not, like, in a gross incesty way, but in a, “Wow, I’m sure that took some effort” sort of way. Jeffrey Dean has a general sort of appreciation for hard work, especially if it involves people taking notice and paying attention. He’s all about work ethic, and negotiating, and getting people to do what he wants while making them think they’re doing what they want. Obviously he and Jensen connect on a lot of levels.

Jensen’s dad is a lawyer – one of the best. He wears nice suits, and Jensen makes sure he eats right so he can continue to fit into them. Jeff bitches about the protein shakes and the lectures about vitamins, but deep down Jensen knows his dad understands the importance of a healthy diet. And Jeff is totally lenient about letting Jensen stay out late and using the Black AmEx, and really, what more could a boy want?

It’s not like what Jensen had with his mom, but every boy has a special relationship with his mother. They read some Greek play about that last year in English class, but he didn’t pay much attention. It was right after the Oscars, and Jensen doesn’t pay much attention to anything right after the Oscars. There’s so much to do, like figure out how to duplicate Johnny Depp’s hair or Brad Pitt’s cufflinks, and it’s this whole thing.

Sometimes Tom makes him watch the actual movies that win, which is so boring it kind of makes Jensen want to vomit just to have something to do, but Tom’s a good friend, so Jensen puts up with it. Even if he thinks he could do without ever seeing another movie about a retarded hustling drag queen transgender crackhead single mother who loves Jesus.

But, right, boys love their mothers. That’s what he got out of that play. The play was written by Sophomore, or something, which was way weird, because why would someone ever name their kid after that year in school? Everyone’s all pimply then, and no one can dress. It makes Jensen sad just thinking about it.

Speaking of making Jensen sad, you know who really doesn’t appreciate how cute Jensen looks every morning? Jared. Jared absolutely does not appreciate it.

What the hell does Jared know, anyway? For a college boy, he’s awfully stupid.

And god, his clothes. Jensen’s fingers itch every time he sees him just having to be in the same room as all that flannel. Lately Jared’s been growing some very icky facial hair, too; Jensen feels like telling him it’s 2007, for god’s sake, and goatees are so ten years ago, but he doesn’t think it would make any difference. Jared’s hopeless. If Jensen could figure out how to make Jared abandon the pink and the poly-blends, he’s almost certain he could bring peace to the Middle East.

Besides, Jared doesn’t care what Jensen says or thinks about anything. He’s made that abundantly clear.

“Jensen,” he says one afternoon as he raids their refrigerator, “just because you’re my step-brother doesn’t mean I have to pay attention to anything you say.”

“Why are you here?” Jensen asks. “You don’t live here anymore. Your mom isn’t even married to my dad.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I know that, you idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot! Just because I don’t spend all my free time reading stupid shit like…Nitch-a and ranting about the patriarchy doesn’t make me an idiot.”

He lets his eyes flick over Jared’s long, lanky frame.

“At least I can dress myself in the morning.”

“You don’t even dress yourself,” Jared tosses back. “You have a computer that does it for you.”

“Computers are only as good as the people who program them,” Jensen retorts.

“So your computer is as good as the comp-sci guy you flirted with to get him to install the inane and complex program you use to indulge your superficial obsession with physical appearance?” Jared asks. “That’s awesome, Jensen. Congratulations.”

Jensen pauses. His jaw aches from clenching it. He’s going to get wrinkles or break out from stress and it’s going to be all Jared’s fault.

“I hate you,” he informs him.

Jensen’s really popular. He can’t help it, he just is. People like Jensen because he dresses well and has exceptionally pretty hair and eyes and lips and just everything, really. Jensen’s exceptionally pretty all around. He has green eyes, right, that are this color not found in nature, and sometimes they change depending on what he’s wearing, which Tom says is super-sexy.

Plus his hair is this blonde-ish color – Mike calls it dirty blonde when he wants to make Jensen upset, because Jensen will insist until his dying day that nothing about him is dirty, ever – and it’s all spiky and a little long around the ears and soft because Jensen believes in the power of conditioner.

And his lips – God, Jensen’s so grateful for his genes sometimes, he really is. Because he’s got these lips that look like he had plastic surgery, but he didn’t, they’re just naturally that pouty and perfect and made for cocksucking.

So boys fall all over him, and girls love his shoes and ask him for fashion advice, and he gets invited to all the cool parties, even college ones where the alcohol is actually legally purchased, which is just, omigod, so cool.

But even though Jensen’s really popular, he’s not a bitch about it. Not at all. He and Tom both believe that when a person is popular, they need to use their powers for good and not evil. It’s the right thing to do, and Jensen believes in karma. He’s a little paranoid about it, but whatever. People should be good to other people. That’s what Oprah says.

So when Jensen gets a C in Debate that he can’t talk his way out of (and seriously, it’s so not Jensen’s fault that he’s as shy as he is; he freaks in front of people, okay, and he forgets what he was going to say and starts rambling about Dolce & Gabbana – it’s ugly and more than a little sad and nobody cares how cute your shoes are when you can’t remember how to pronounce the name of the country you’re supposed to be talking about) he starts thinking…creatively.

Clearly Mr. Kripke – his debate teacher - needs to get laid, because when people get laid, they’re just way more agreeable. And from the look of him, he hasn’t been laid in awhile. Possibly decades. Mr. Kripke is a serious fashion disaster of Titanic proportions. He wears jeans with suit jackets – EW – and he’s balding and a tiny bit chubby.

But still, doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? Jensen thinks so. Jensen thinks everyone deserves to be happy, especially if it could potentially benefit his GPA.

Tom and Jensen spend one entire lunch hour contemplating the choices of people to fix up Mr. Kripke with so he’ll stop being such a hard-grading party pooper.

It’s their good deed for the week. Jensen is so racking up the positive karma points. He should get an award, or something.

“I was thinking maybe Ms. Mack,” Tom suggests, helpfully. “She’s way cute.”

“She’s way gay,” Jensen says. “You seriously have no gaydar, Tommy. It’s sad.”

“Wow, is everyone in this school gay or something?” Tom wonders aloud.

Jensen shoots him his patented Get with the program, Welling look.

“What? She’s a P.E. teacher! I thought P.E. teachers were all really straight.”

“Male P.E. teachers, maybe,” Jensen sighs.

Tom is so dumb it hurts sometimes. It does.

“What about Ms. Gamble? She could be totally fuckable with a little help. Her hair’s all curly and shiny,” Jensen suggests.

Tom wrinkles his nose. “Hmm. Well, I guess. If you got rid of the glasses. And those skirts – they’re, like, floor-length, and made of wool or something. Gross. Did she not get the memo about us living in Southern California?”

“You know what I say,” Jensen says cheerily. “I do like a challenge!”

Tom tilts his head to one side. “You do?”

“Daddy?” Jensen shouts as he pushes open the front door of their palatial mansion, tossing his bookbag onto the white leather couch and toeing off his brown loafers. “Have you seen my black Prada boots?”

There’s a thump-thump and a clatter and then – oh, frig – Jared appears in the doorway. He’s wearing a grey hoodie and sweatpants, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and his hair’s all tousled.

Jensen thinks he hears really whiny Seth Cohen-type music coming from somewhere, and God, when is this boy going to learn he’s not welcome here?

“You’re not my daddy,” Jensen says, annoyed.

Jared’s eyes flick up and down Jensen’s body. “Damn right I’m not.”

“Stop perving on me,” Jensen snaps. “It’s not cute.”

“I’m not trying to be cute,” Jared says.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Jensen can see a hole in one of his socks.

“So how much did those pants cost? Approximately the GNP of a small African country?” Jared actually looks interested.

Jensen narrows his eyes. “What, do you want me to send my pants to Africa? Or are you just trying to get me to take them off?”

Jared sighs, running one hand through his long, dark, greasy hair. “Jesus Christ, Jensen.”

“He had facial hair, didn’t he?” Jensen asks. “Is that why you’re growing a goatee?”

Jensen embarks on his matchmaking plan the very next day. He’s bored in bio, and seriously? That C is not going to turn into an A- all by itself.

First he writes a note to Ms. Gamble from Mr. Kripke filled with stuff he found on Sparknotes from Shakespeare. Jensen’s not sure what it means, but Ms. Gamble will totally get it. She’s very smart, Jensen can tell. Only smart people wear glasses, because their eyes get all tired from reading so much, and judging by the thickness of those frames? Ms. Gamble is one seriously smart chick.

Meanwhile, in Mr. Kripke’s class, Jensen finds a way to casually work Ms. Gamble into the conversation. They’re talking about horror movies, and how they symbolize, like, fear and stuff. It’s Dave’s topic for his end-of-term presentation, and it’s beyond boring, but Jensen’s ears perk up when he hears Mr. Kripke start going on and on about how horror is the most revealing genre in terms of the human psyche, and how we use it as a way to channel our anxieties into physical form.

“You know, Ms. Gamble was just talking about how much she loves horror movies,” Jensen says.

He hopes this is true. If it’s not, then he hopes that Ms. Gamble’s just so smitten by Mr. Kripke’s letter that she doesn’t care if he makes her watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre on their first date.

“Really?” Mr. Kripke’s eyebrows climb up his forehead in a way that nobody would find attractive, Jensen’s fairly certain.

“Really,” Jensen says. “She’s a big fan of the genre, Mr. K. You should talk to her sometime. I know she thinks you’re really intelligent. She said so.”

“Really?” Mr. Kripke repeats, and Jensen can see a blush tinting his cheeks.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, because hello, it’s not Mr. Kripke’s fault he’s socially retarded. Jensen’s pretty sure he learned that in teacher school along with how to be incredibly boring on a daily basis and how to dress so that none of your students get distracted with thoughts of how they want to have sex with you.

Jensen can not wait for college. At least in college the boys are, like, fully grown, and can form complete sentences. Jensen really likes guys who can talk about stuff. Not so much because he wants to hear what they have to say, but because he likes watching their mouths move. It makes him think of sexy things.

Thinking of sexy things is always good.

Jensen shifts in his seat, then crosses his ankles.

When Jensen gets home from school, Jared is there again, working on some case with Jeffrey Dean. Jensen knows Jared wants to be a lawyer, but this is just ridiculous. Are there no other lawyers where Jared goes to school? Isn’t he in law school? Jensen is confused.

“Jensen, come help me with this,” his father says.

He gestures for Jensen to sit down at the table and gives him a pile of papers to sort. Jensen’s really good at this. He could probably be the best file clerk in the history of mankind if he wanted to, but he won’t be, because he’s going to be a fashion designer. He’d be totally wasted in a musty old office where nobody could see how cute his shirt looks tucked into his pants.

Jared’s focusing really intently on something he’s reading, so much so that his forehead wrinkles a little when he concentrates, and it’s kind of…really, really adorable.

And oh God, Jensen did not just think that. He needs a boyfriend, and STAT.

He wrinkles his nose and goes back to his sorting.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” Jared says a few minutes later. “You want anything, Jensen?”

Jensen looks up. Jared looks all sleepy and rumpled, like a huge teddy bear, and wow, he’s tall. Jensen never realized quite how tall he was. Maybe because he always gets distracted by his facial hair. Anyway.

“I’m fine,” Jensen says primly.

“Okay, cool,” Jared says, and saunters into the kitchen.

Jensen totally does not watch the way his pants hug his butt as he walks away.

Several days later it’s become clear that Jensen’s plan to hook up his sex-starved teachers is beginning to work. He and Tom spy Ms. Gamble and Mr. Kripke sitting on a bench together, heads tipped towards each other, laughing and talking intently. Jensen hears something about a bloody demise and cathartic release and wow, this is so romantic.

“Would you look at that body language?” Jensen nudges Tom. “Legs crossed towards each other. That is an unequivocal sex invite.”

“You are so right,” Tom nods. “They’re totally in love.”

They high five.

Tom has a really cute watch on today. It’s black and silver and matches his necklace. Jensen compliments him accordingly.

Tom looks at it, then sighs dramatically. “We have to go to gym, Jen. This sucks.”

“God, I know,” Jensen groans. “Gym is so not worth my time. I think I burn maybe three calories every time I go, and that’s only if I actually assert myself.”

“On the plus side, you look really good in your sweats,” Tom says.

Jensen feels immediately cheered up. Tom is such a good friend, for serious.

Today’s gym class is an unusually eventful one, though, because halfway through Principal Singer shows up with a new student.

“Hi, boys,” Principal Singer says. His eyes linger on Jensen’s lips, and okay, Jensen thinks that’s just wrong. He could be his grandfather, or something. Jensen could have major trauma because of all this. And therapy is expensive.

“This is Chad Michael Murray,” Principal Singer says, and shoves Chad forward.

And oh. Oh, Chad.

Jensen could cry.

Chad’s wearing baggy homeboy jeans that nearly fall off his ass, so big on him Jensen can see the waistband of his Spongebob Squarepants boxers peeking through. His t-shirt is too big, but somehow only manages to reach just above his waist. It says Sean Jean in really big squiggly letters, and Chad is wearing – Jensen counts – four gold chains. He’s also got on perfectly white sneakers and a hoop earring in one ear, and his hair is done up in cornrows.

Jensen’s heard of ghetto chic, but this is just. Wow.

He has no words.

“Hey, bitches!” Chad says. “”Sup?”

Tom looks a little ill.

“Tommy,” Jensen whispers loudly. “Oh my god, isn’t he the cutest?”

“If by the cutest you mean the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, then yes,” Tom mutters.

“But he’s perfect. He needs us, man. He so clearly does.”

Jensen’s practically vibrating with anticipation. He loves makeovers.

Tom arches an eyebrow. “It’s your funeral, dude.”

Jensen walks up to Chad and holds out his hand to shake. “Hi, Chad! I’m Jensen.”

Chad looks at Jensen, eyes widening slightly, and okay, maybe Jensen went a little bit overboard on the ensemble today, but it’s gym. He has to do something to keep himself entertained.

He adjusts the waistband of his striped track pants and stretches, fitted white v-neck undershirt riding up slightly to reveal a scrap of flat stomach.

Jensen doesn’t do five hundred crunches a day for nothing.

Chad licks his lips.

“Uh…cool, yo. Are you, like, the welcome wagon or some shit?”

“Something like that,” Jensen says, and grins.

Jensen’s week only goes uphill from there. Mr. Kripke and Ms. Gamble are totally hitting it off, and probably having lots of sweaty, boring teacher sex, and suddenly Debate is the easiest class ever.

Everyone loves Jensen for it, too, because they know he had something to do with it. He always does, because he’s awesome like that.

Chris Kane is all over him – which, okay, is a little gross, because Chris may be gorgeous but he is so not Jensen’s type, what with the cowboy hats and the drawling – and he gets major high fives from Alexis and Kristen and all of the other girls cute enough to be nearly as pretty as he is.

His father is so happy with how well Jensen’s been doing in school that he tells him to go out and buy himself whatever he wants as a present. Jensen’s psyched because he’s had his eye on this pair of Guess jeans that cost, like, a million dollars. They fit him so well in the store he almost cried when he saw the price tag. They shape and caress his hips in exactly the right places, and Tom said they made his ass look “good enough to eat,” and really, those are exactly the type of jeans Jensen needs to be wearing for Milo’s huge pool party this weekend. All conversation will stop when Jensen walks into the room, and Jensen loves when that happens.

But the best part, by far, is all the progress he’s already made with Chad.

Jensen had his doubts, he has to admit. When he’d invited Chad to come hang with them and took him on a tour of the school grounds, pointing out all the people he should not under any circumstances be seen with, he was still a little afraid that Chad was a completely lost cause – one Jay-Z CD too far gone for Jensen to save him.

“Those are the Eminems, Chad,” Jensen had informed him, pointing to a group of guys sitting by the side of the school, all dressed in a uniform of baggy tees and baggier jeans and glittering from their collective bling. “You don’t want to end up like them. Even Eminem retired, you know, because he wasn’t cool enough for MTV anymore.”

“Those jeans are tight!” Chad had replied, and Jensen had groaned inwardly. Because really, the word “tight” should never be used to refer to anything but the appropriate way to wear all clothing, and that’s just one of many things wrong with Chad’s statement.

Chad really seems to like him, though, and the way he looks up to him is sort of adorable. He listens intently when Jensen talks about how it’s so important to be kind to people – but not so kind that they think you like them in a sexual way, because ultimately high school boys are a bunch of losers who think dinner and a movie is, like, the greatest date ever.

“So who do you date, then?” Chad asks. “Middle school boys?”

Jensen can’t tell if Chad’s kidding or not – he’s got such a blank face it’s hard to tell. So he just laughs and says, “Older men are where it’s at, Chad. Seriously. They’re way sexier, and they know what they’re doing – if you know what I mean.”

Tom coughs, and Jensen notices Mike is approaching.

God, Mike. Jensen just doesn’t get it. Sure, Mike is kind of attractive, but he’s so…Mike. He walks like a pimp all the time, sometimes he dresses like one, and he thinks everything is hilarious, especially if it involves bodily functions.

Tom could do so much better.

“Woman, lend me fi’ dollas,” Mike shouts.

“Michael, I have asked you repeatedly not to call me woman,” Tom tosses back, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tom,” Mike replies.

“Thank you.”

“Okay, but street slang is an increasingly valid form of expression,” Mike rambles on. Jensen examines his nails. “Most of the feminine pronouns do have mocking, but not necessarily misogynistic undertones.”

“I feel you there, brother,” Chad puts in, and Mike turns to stare.

“Who is this dude?” he asks. He leans over, blinking at Chad’s wide assortment of jewelry. “I dig your chains, man.”

“Oh my god, kill me now,” Tom mutters under his breath.

“Aren’t they the shit?” Chad asks, face lighting up. “I got them at Up Against the Wall.”

Jensen sighs. “Chad, please never say that again.”

“What, shit?” Chad’s confused.

This happens – Jensen has noticed – a lot.

“Don’t refer to stores that you should never enter even under pain of death,” Tom says helpfully. “I think that’s what Jensen means.”

“Exactly,” Jensen says.

Chad wrinkles his forehead. “I…wow. There’s so much to learn.”

Jensen runs his hand through his gel-spiked hair, grinning.

“That’s true, sweetheart. But that’s why you have us.”

“What the hell is that?”

Jensen huffs out a breath, turning to admire the cut of the Best Jeans Ever in the mirror.

“They’re jeans, Daddy.”

“Says who?”

“Guess!”

“Don’t get smart with me. And you’re not leaving the house looking like that. Put something else on.”

“But Daddy, I just bought these! They’re my present for all the hard work I’ve been doing! Please don’t be unfair.”

Jensen might be whining. He doesn’t care.

Jensen’s father expels a dramatic, world-weary sigh. “God, Jensen, you are lucky I love you as much as I do. Fine. Wear what you want, but be home by curfew.” He turns to leave, then turns back. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes Daddy,” Jensen murmurs, and smiles wide. His father’s face softens, hazel eyes crinkling at the edges. He tosses him a quick glimmer of a smile before disappearing down the hallway.

He’s fixing the part in his hair when he hears the tell-tale thump of Jared’s ginormous feet tromping down the hallway.

“Go away,” he says, without turning around.

There’s a moment of silence. Jensen turns to see Jared standing in his doorway. He’s leaning against the door jamb casually, eyebrow arched.

“You’re…quite the package, aren’t you, Jensen?” Jared says.

His eyes are wide and blurred, pupils dark and huge.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “No duh, Jared.”

Way to state the obvious, stupid.

“What are you doing here? Run out of boring lawyer stuff to do at school?”

“Just stopped by to drop off some files for Jeff that I’ve been working on,” Jared says. “Thought I’d say hello.”

Jensen notices that Jared’s voice seems deeper than usual, all rough and growl-y and…

Jensen feels his stomach tip slightly. He adjusts one of his belt loops. It’s clearly the new clothes. Jensen gets a little dizzy sometimes when he wears new things. It throws off his equilibrium, or something.

“Hello,” Jensen murmurs, looking up at Jared through his eyelashes.

Jared hitches in a breath.

“Hello,” Jared mumbles, and he’s staring, staring in that way Jensen hates, a little slack-jawed and stupid-looking, but for some reason, Jensen—

Jensen doesn’t mind at all.

The party is kick-ass, just like Jensen knew it would be. Even if it does take them, like, nine hours to get there because Mike and Tom keep fighting over the directions.

“What do you mean it’s not in the Valley?” Tom snaps. “Of course it’s in the Valley. We never go anywhere that’s not in the Valley.”

“You heard what I said,” Mike retorts. “It’s somewhere else – I don’t know, read the fucking map.”

“Don’t you get smart with me, Michael Rosenbaum!” Tom shrieks. “I will kick your tiny, pale ass into next week, just watch me.”

Jensen curls a strand of his hair around his finger and smothers a sigh.

Sometimes he thinks he wants a boyfriend, and sometimes…well, sometimes he doesn’t.

When they do finally get to the party, Chad is already there, decked out in the ensemble Jensen put together for him specially. Wow, take off the hideous b-boy clothes and Chad is almost a Brad, which is…impressive. Without the cornrows he’s got this short, blonde hair that’s got nice body to it, and the clothes fit him really well. The jeans actually accentuate the slim line of his hips, and the simple black t-shirt emphasizes his wide, defined shoulders.

Jensen was going to make him wear a button-down, but he didn’t want to get too complex. If you’re starting from a blank canvas, you have to lay down a few brushstrokes first. He learned that from Monet.

“Chad, oh my God, you look so beautiful!” Jensen says, squeezing Chad’s shoulder.

“The shirt’s kind of tight, isn’t it?” Chad asks.

He looks seriously uncomfortable, but everyone knows you have to suffer for fashion, so.

“It’s fine, honey,” Jensen says. “Just work it. You’re doing fine.”

“You do look good, Chad,” Tom admits, and he shoots Jensen a look that reads You must be divine, because this is a fucking miracle.

“Thanks, homies,” Chad says, blushing, and Jensen only cringes a little.

His eyes travel around the room, taking in the girls dancing on tables, beer bottles everywhere, couples wedged into every corner in various stages of undress. The music is loud and awesome – the theme of the party is the late 90s, so the DJ is playing all the fantastic boy band music that people seem too embarrassed to play nowadays, like the turn of the century just made the whole world too cool for melodies or something.

Across the room Jensen can see Chris Kane, leaning against a wall and looking totally Heath Ledger in Brokeback, tight jeans and sleeveless t-shirt and cowboy hat tipped down so Jensen can only see the end of his lit cigarette burning beneath the brim.

Jensen doesn’t want to dress like Chris or anything, but he has admiration for his style. It’s all his own, and he doesn’t give a fuck what anybody thinks. Everyone likes Chris, and Jensen’s sure it has nothing to do with the fact that his dad owns a cowboy boot company and, like, eight islands in the Bahamas.

“Hey, who’s that guy?” Chad asks, following Jensen’s eyes with his own.

That’s when Jensen has what has got to be his eighth brilliant idea for the week.

“That’s Christian Kane,” Jensen says. He presses a hand to the small of Chad’s back, pushing him forward in Chris’ direction. “Go talk to him. He’d totally love you.”

“Really?” Chad says, skeptically, as Chris lifts his head and settles his eyes on the two of them.

“Really,” Jensen affirms, wondering why it is everyone always seems to doubt his stellar instincts. Hasn’t he proved time and time again that he’s always right?

“Look, he’s checking you out. He probably is crushing on your jeans. You look hot, you know.”

Chad looks a little squeamish, but he nods. “Oh-okay, I’ll go talk to him.”

”That’s my boy,” Jensen says with a pants-dropping smile – the kind that gives him crinkles around his eyes and showcases the teeth his dad paid top-dollar to make absolutely straight.

Chad flushes, lowering his eyes, and ambles obediently over to where Chris is standing.

Jensen has very little time to exult in his own fabulousness, though, because a second later he hears the unmistakeable sound of Tom screaming over the dull roar of the party.

“Oh my god, what did you do?”

Jensen follows the hysterics to the nearest bathroom, where he finds Mike sitting on the closed toilet seat with Milo standing next to him, shaving razor in hand.

Mike seems to be missing something important. Oh, right. His hair.

“I’m keeping it real,” Mike is saying. “I’m keeping it real, Tommy!”

“Why do you care what he thinks, Mikey?” Tom says, gesturing towards Milo, who looks very proud of himself. “I'm the one who has to look at you!”

Tom looks close to tears. Jensen wraps an arm around Tom’s shoulders. Wow, this is, like, Katrina-level tragic. Jensen has to be supportive.

“What am I gonna do with you now? And right before the yearbook pictures? What am I gonna tell my grandchildren? You know what? That's it... “

“That's it!” Mike says, flicking his wrist as if he’s picking off a scab.

“You wanna play games?”

“You wanna play games?” Mike tosses back.

Wow, Jensen thinks. He really is four years old.

“I'm calling your mother!” Tom threatens, brandishing his cell.

“Wait!” That has Mike out of his seat, lunging for the phone in Tom’s hand. “Don't call my mom! Don't call my mom...”

Jensen moves aside as Tom takes off in the direction of the nearest exit, followed close behind by Mike, shouting “You are such a bitch, god, why are you always – baby, please – Tommy, I’ll do that thing we talked about with the handcuffs and the chains, I swear, just don’t call my mom…”

“So much drama,” Jensen hears behind him, and turns to see Chris standing there, a lazy smile quirking up one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, they’re like their own telenovela,” Jensen says. “Seriously, soap operas have nothing on Mike and Tom.”

Chris just nods, eyes flicking down to focus on Jensen’s lips.

“Where’s Chad?” Jensen asks.

“Chad?” Chris parrots, finally lifting his eyes to meet Jensen’s.

“Yeah, Chad,” Jensen says. “You know, the new kid?”

“Oh, Chad,” Chris says. “He’s…over there talking to Steve, I think.”

Sure enough, when Jensen glances where Chris is pointing he sees Chad standing next to Steve Carlson, the two of them toking on a joint and laughing like it’s going out of style.

Are you for serious? Jensen thinks. Steve is so not the type of person Chad should be associating with. He’s a creepy stoner musician who, like, doesn’t bathe.

He sighs, then turns back to Chris, who’s still watching him intently. Chris licks his lips. Jensen wonders if he should offer him lip balm.

“So Chad’s really nice, right?” Jensen says.

“Sure,” Chris says. “He’s nice. He likes country music. I dig that.”

“Chad likes country music?” Jensen repeats.

The things you learn about a guy.

Chris nods. “Yeah, he said he’s been more into hip-hop lately because that’s where pop music is right now aesthetically, but his roots are real dirty boots ‘n’ country fried. He’s from North Carolina, you know.”

Jensen did not know, since he never bothered to ask. Jensen believes in living in the now. The past is always filled with sucky stuff like retainers and ugly striped shirts and – he shudders – those glasses he used to have to wear before he got contacts.

But Chris and Chad are clearly bonding, and that makes Jensen so happy. He smiles at Chris and Chris smiles back, blue eyes glinting silver.

“So do you need a ride home or something?” Chris asks. “This party is kind of lame.”

Jensen has to acknowledge this is the case. His first impression was clearly mistaken; he thought that it was going to be cool, but now he can see it’s just all the same people he’s always known, doing the same things they always do.

“I bet Chad needs a ride,” Jensen suggests. “I’ve got one, but Chad doesn’t even have a car. He probably took the bus, or something.”

Chris lifts an eyebrow, like taking the bus is a concept he’s not familiar with. “Uh. Well, maybe, if he’s going my way. But I know your house is on the way back to my place.”

“We’ll see!” Jensen says cheerfully.

Which is how he ends up in Chris’ car, alone, which was so not part of the plan. But Chad insisted Steve would take him home, and Tom and Mike apparently took off in Mike’s car to go have wild and crazy make-up buttsex, so Jensen would have been kind of stranded otherwise.

“So what do you like to do, Jenny?” Chris asks, and god, Jensen hates when people call him that. His mom gave him a boy’s name for a reason, thankyouverymuch. Last time he checked, owning an eyelash curler does not make you a girl.

“I don’t know, I like a lot of stuff. Shopping. Watching movies. Hanging out. You know, the usual.”

Chris tilts his head to one side. “Hmm.”

“You’re in that band, right?” Jensen asks politely. “That plays country music?”

“We’re more of a country-rock combo,” Chris says importantly. “Outlaw country, if you will.”

“Sure, whatever,” Jensen says. “Chad would love to hear you play, I’m sure.” Jensen pauses, waiting for Chris to respond. Chris curls his lip slightly. “You know, because he’s all about the country music.”

Chris turns to look at Jensen, catching and holding his gaze.

“How about you, Jensen?” Chris says. His voice has gone all deep and throaty, like he’s got a cold or something. “Would you like to see me play?”

“What?”

Jensen doesn’t know what’s going on. Everyone knows Jensen’s much more of a Backstreet Boys person, and didn’t he specifically say that Chad would like to…

Chris swings the steering wheel to one side, pulling them into a gas station.

“Are we low on gas?” Jensen asks.

“Jensen,” Chris says, voice low and hot. “Jensen, I want you to suck me off.”

Jensen’s stomach roils. He feels like he wants to vomit.

“Excuse me?” he squeaks.

“I said,” Chris begins again, “I want you to—”

“I heard what you said, fuckface,” Jensen hisses. “I wanted to know if you’re off your meds or something.”

Chris leans forward, hand coming to rest on Jensen’s thigh. He smells like beer and cigarettes and sweat, which is not as sexy as people who write romance novels would have you believe.

“Jensen…” he murmurs.

“Get off of me,” Jensen says loudly. “What are you doing?”

“Come on, I know you want it,” Chris mutters, breathing against Jensen’s neck. “You and your dirty lips and slutty jeans, walking around like you don’t know everybody who sees you wants to fuck your tight ass—”

“Ew, Chris, gross!” Jensen says, and shoves him, hard. Chris falls back against the seat, coordination shot to hell by the drinking, alcohol muddling his reflexes.

“Let me out of the car, you asshole,” Jensen growls.

Chris puts up his hands, defeated. “Fine. Fine.”

He unlocks the car doors and Jensen pushes his way out, brushing off his clothes frantically as if he can somehow get rid of the nasty Kane cooties that way.

“Have it your way, bitch,” Chris slurs, and peels out of the parking lot before Jensen can say anything else.

“Wait!” Jensen yells. “Don’t leave me here!”

He’s greeted with stone cold silence.

Jensen feels like he wants to cry. It’s past midnight on a Saturday night and he’s in some skeevy gas station parking lot in the middle of nowhere, and he can’t even see the freeway from here and this is so, so bad.

He takes out his cell with shaking fingers and lifts it to his ear. “Daddy,” he mutters, and the phone automatically dials his father’s cell.

“Jensen, do you have any idea what time it is?” his father answers with nary a ‘Hello.’

Jensen glances at his watch. “Um, 1:30 am, Daddy – but I can explain! My friends ditched me so I didn’t have a ride, and—”

“Where are you?” his father cuts him off.

“I…I think I’m near the Valley, but I can’t see the freeway, and…”

“Get Jared to pick you up,” his father says. “He’s closer to the Valley than we are. He’s back at school – just call his cell.”

“But Daddy—” Jensen starts to say, but then he hears a click right behind his ear.

“Give me the phone,” a scratchy female voice comes from behind him.

Jensen flips the phone closed and passes it backwards to the woman without thinking.

“Get on your knees,” the woman says.

“But these are Guess jeans!” Jensen says. “I just bought them, like, three days ago, and—”

There’s another click and then cold metal presses into Jensen’s neck. He lets out a shuddering sigh.

“Oh. Okay. Okay, I’m going, I’m going…”

He lowers himself to his knees, lifting his hands into the surrender stance.

“Stay here. Don’t you fucking move,” the woman says, and Jensen just closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

A few minutes later he turns to see there’s no one around, and suddenly everything slams into him all at once – Tom and Mike fighting like children yet again, the party sucking and so not in the good way, Chris, calling his jeans slutty, and finally, being held up for his phone, which was so cute –
and it was limited edition too! Now he’ll never be able to get another one like it.

Tears slip down his cheeks as he rises to his feet and makes his way over to the payphone.

God, Jensen thinks as he dials Jared’s number. Life is so unfair.

Jensen is all pouty and traumatized on the way home in Jared’s car, and Jared’s uber-bitchy girlfriend is not helping his state of mind or his complexion or anything.

“It’s just like that Hamlet guy said,” Sandy says, pushing a strand of her long, straight brown hair behind her ear. “’To thine own self be true.’”

Jensen’s feeling pissy, and his beautiful new jeans are dirty from being forced to kneel on concrete, and normally he so wouldn’t make an issue of this, but—

“Hamlet didn’t say that,” he pipes up.

Sandy turns around to look at Jensen. Her dark eyes flick up and down his body.

Take a picture, bitch, he thinks. It’ll last longer.

“I think I remember Hamlet correctly,” she retorts.

“Well, I remember Mel Gibson correctly, and he didn’t say that,” Jensen snaps. “That Polonius guy did.”

Sandy opens and closes her mouth like a gaping fish, but no sound comes out. Jensen’s eyes catch Jared’s in the review mirror. He’s smiling – Jensen can tell, because his slanted hazel eyes are sparkling and dark.

It’s cute, and Jensen doesn’t really care why he thinks that. It’s been a long day.

When Jared helps Jensen out of the car later, his hand rests on Jensen’s forearm for a little bit longer than usual. His palm is wide, fingers long and tapered and graceful.

Jensen shivers, but hello, he’s so not cold. This is Southern California.

On Monday, Jensen totally has his shit together. He’s wearing his favorite pair of tailored grey Armani pants and this cute black sweater he bought in Italy on vacation last summer, and he knows he looks fantastic.

“You look fantastic, Jen,” Tom tells him. “I’m so sorry about what happened on Saturday. I didn’t mean to ditch you with that loser.”

“Oh, Jared is kind of a nice guy, actually,” Jensen says airily. “He was really sweet when he picked me up.”

Tom gives Jensen a steady, calculating look. “I was talking about Chris.”

Oops.

He gives Tom his best distracting smile. “Right, of course! Sorry, my brain is so not even working right since that whole mugging incident. I think I might have PTS or something.”

Tom nods, looking understanding. “That would suck.”

Chad appears nearby, and oh my god, Jensen’s so proud! He’s matching, and his pants fit, and he did it all by himself! This is such a breakthrough.

“Jensen, I heard about what happened with Chris!” Chad says. “That’s so whacked out, man. What a bitch.”

“I’m so bummed I tried to hook you two up!” Jensen exclaims. “I’m usually such an excellent judge of character. I’m sorry.”

Chad waves him off. “Don’t even worry about it. He has really nice boots, but he’s kind of greasy. I’m over it.”

“We absolutely must find you a better guy,” Jensen says. “Let’s have a guy’s night out tonight and plan our method of attack, okay?”

“Are we going to fuck somebody up?” Chad’s excited all of a sudden. “Because I have this glock, right, and—”

Jensen leaves Tom to explain everything to Chad. He knows it’s not the nicest thing in the world to do, but seriously? Tom owes him big time.

Jensen’s day brightens considerably when he walks into Kripke’s class to see that Wentworth is back from vacation in the Virgin Islands with his folks. Wentworth’s family doesn’t believe in the school calendar. They’re super-intellectual. As far as Jensen can tell that means they don’t believe in following anyone else’s rules.

But Wentworth. There are, like, no words to describe how beautiful he is. He’s just perfect, and he dresses amazing and he has these intense blue-green eyes and thoroughly kissable lips and golden skin and just…wow. There aren’t many ways to stun Jensen Ackles into silence, but looking at Wentworth Miller just might do it.

Wentworth is also tres sweet. He’ll talk to Jensen for hours about his fashion designing dreams, and give him helpful advice about how to start a business. Wentworth’s totally going to go to Princeton. He’s smart like that. And god, Jensen can’t even handle thinking what he’d look like in one of those white v-neck sweaters.

“Hey, Jensen,” Wentworth says when he sees him, and Jensen is suddenly really glad he wore the Armani pants today, because they make his butt look very cute.

“Hey,” Jensen says, trying to sound casual, but ending up sounding kind of breathless. “How were the Virgin Islands?”

“Oh, you know,” Wentworth says with a flick of one slender wrist and a small smile that makes Jensen’s heart quiver, “hot, mostly. But pretty. Definitely pretty.”

“I like pretty things,” Jensen murmurs.

Dammit, he thinks. Sometimes he wants to smack himself for being such a ditz.

But Wentworth just nods. “You want to hang out sometime? We should see a movie, or something.”

Jensen’s heart skips a beat. He always thought that was just an expression, but it does, he could swear on it. He runs a hand through his hair and attempts a bored expression.

“That would be awesome,” he says, and Wentworth winks.

Chad says he’s over Chris, but that doesn’t stop him from being a total spazz over his fries at In-and-Out Burger.

“He seemed like a good guy,” Chad laments. “He likes country. I like country.”

“We can find you another guy who likes country, Chad,” Tom mutters. He looks bored.

Jensen’s trying to be sensitive, but sometimes he just wants to shake Chad. What is his damage? He met Chris for, like, six seconds. It’s not like Chris even tried to get him to blow him in the front seat of his truck, but Chad’s acting like Chris is Romeo and he’s friggin’ Juliet.

“You need to move on,” Jensen advises. “Seriously, there are so many other fish in the sea.”

Chad furrows his brow like he’s concentrating. “What I really need is a good lay, you know? I don’t care about having a boyfriend and shit. I just want to get done right.”

He looks back and forth between Jensen and Tom like he’s waiting for guidance on how to proceed on this mission.

“No point in asking Jensen,” Tom snorts. “He’s never been laid.”

Chad’s mouth drops. “No shit, Jensen – you’re a virgin?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Jensen is saving himself for Justin Timberlake,” Tom explains.

Chad looks like he’s trying very valiantly not to laugh, which – what is his deal? Has he not seen that boy’s abs?

“I don’t want it to be with just anyone,” Jensen huffs. “I want it to be special.”

The second he says it he has a flicker of a memory of Jared, hand resting on Jensen’s arm, eyes green-gray and smiling.

Wow, the human brain is a strange place. Jensen shakes it off.

“We’re going to find you another guy,” Jensen says, pulling himself back to the present. “And this one won’t be, like, an attempted rapist and stuff.”

Chad tilts his head to one side and smiles. “Thanks, Jensen. You guys are so nice to me. It’s amazing.”

Amazing is right, Jensen thinks.

After all, that’s what his mother used to say.

Be amazing, Jensen, she’d whisper as she painted glitter onto his cheeks. Don’t ever settle for ordinary.

Now, Jensen is all about doing sexual charity work and playing matchmaker, but as far as he’s concerned, it’s about time for him to pay a little closer attention to his own romantic destiny. He thinks he deserves it after all he’s been through lately. And what he’s done for mankind!

Plus, he’s really horny.

Clearly this requires some thinking. Wentworth isn’t like other guys. He’s special and kind of on his own plane. He needs convincing.

It’s a good thing Jensen has a whole method of seduction already planned out for exactly these types of situations. Just because Jensen’s never had sex doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to tease the hell out of a guy. In fact, it makes him damn near expert.

Sometimes you have to show a little skin, he thinks. This reminds boys of being naked, and then they think of sex!

Jensen’s usually against the whole wifebeater and jeans James Dean look on principle (it’s one of those retro ensembles that really should have never been revived, because the people who wear it tend to do stupid things like actually beat their wives) but he has to admit he looks damn hot in it. His jeans fit him just right and the tank top hugs the curves of his pecs and shows off his biceps.

Jensen’s not a total gym bunny or anything, but he knows he’s worth looking at. Often.

Which is why it’s so confusing that Wentworth doesn’t look at him. Okay, maybe he does, but it’s usually in this blank, slightly bemused way, eyebrows raised, lips tilted up in that omgsosexy smirk.

He doesn’t look at him like he’s lusting after his bod, though. That’s so weird. Jensen thought it was required that people lust after him, like, by the school handbook.

The next step is usually fool-proof. He buys an ice cream sundae – which is so not allowed by his diet, but whatever, Wentworth is like Loreal, he is worth it – and spends the whole lunch period eating it, licking the spoon and his fingers, dripping syrup onto his palm and tonguing it off until Tom and Mike and Chad are all staring at him with glazed eyes.

Anything you can do to draw attention to your mouth is good, Jensen thinks.

Wentworth is definitely in his sightlines, but he seems really absorbed in his copy of Sports Illustrated, and only looks up once to shoot Jensen a winning smile that makes his heart flip.

Jensen knows the guys in Sports Illustrated are way gorgeous, so it’s kind of understandable.

Unfortunately it does nothing to ease the major hard-on Jensen’s got going on.

That is so hot, Jensen thinks. He’s playing hard to get.

Jensen’s busy trying to figure out the next step in his plan (and he’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to walk around school naked, but he hasn’t checked the school rules and regulations lately, so maybe there’s a Jensen-only exception he doesn’t know about) when Wentworth calls.

“I thought maybe we could go out dancing,” he says, and Jensen nearly squeaks with delight. Dancing is so almost sex, and just thinking about being pressed up against Wentworth – those long fingers stroking his back and deep blue eyes boring into his – makes him swoon.

“Okay,” Jensen says. “I’d love that!”

“Great, Jen. I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday,” he says, and oh god, Jensen can barely handle this, he’s so excited. He’s going to die before Saturday, for serious, and it’s only two days away.

He feels kind of bad for Chad, though – he’s been moping around a lot since he “broke up” with Chris. So he invites Chad along even though he doesn’t really want to, because Wentworth asked him out on a date, not his whole entourage, but – friends are friends are friends, right?

Jensen doesn’t feel embarrassed to be seen out with him in public anymore – Chad’s quite presentable now! When he shows up on Saturday at seven-thirty he even helps Jensen calm down some.

“You look great, Jen,” Chad says. “Seriously, I’d fuck you.”

“Really?” Jensen says, eyes wide.

Chad’s eyes flick up and down Jensen’s body. He takes a deep breath.

“Really.”

Jared and Jeffrey Dean are hard at work in the living room when Jensen sidles in, thumbs tucked into his belt loops. Jared’s eyes flick up when Jensen enters the room, settling on him for a long moment before his cheeks flush and he looks away.

Jared looks good like that, Jensen thinks. Kind of like he would if he really exerted himself.

And now Jensen’s blushing.

“Jensen, what the hell are you wearing?” his father’s voice breaks into his thoughts.

“They’re pants, Daddy!” Jensen says, and twirls so they can all see. “Versace! Samuel L. Jackson has pants like these!”

Jeffrey Dean cocks an eyebrow. “Hmm. Does he wear them that…fitted?”

Jensen doesn’t have time to answer his dad’s question, though, because that’s when the doorbell rings and ohgodohgodohgod Jensen thinks he might throw up.

When he swings open the door Wentworth is standing there in simple gray slacks and a light-blue button-down shirt that matches his eyes, a smile turning up the corners of his perfect mouth.

Jensen’s mesmerized by his lips for a second before he snaps out of it and invites him inside. God, Jensen’s mom would be so disappointed if Jensen randomly forgot all his manners. She was a Southern deb and went to, like, charm school. She taught Jensen right.

“Daddy, this is Wentworth,” Jensen says, introducing him with a flourish of his hand.

“Do you drink?” Jensen’s dad barks.

Wentworth doesn’t flinch. “I’m good, thanks.”

“I’m not asking you if you want a drink,” his dad snaps. “I’m not offering, I'm asking you if you drink. You think I'd give alcohol to teenage drivers taking my son out?”

“Hey, man, protective vibe, I dig,” Wentworth deadpans, unfazed.

“What's with you, kid? You think the death of Sammy Davis left an opening in the Rat Pack?”

“Daddy,” Jensen warns.

Jeffrey Dean narrows his eyes at Wentworth. “Anything happens to my son, I got a .45 and a shovel. I doubt anybody would miss you.”

Jensen herds Wentworth out in the foyer, feeling mortified.

“I’m so sorry about that, Went. My dad’s a little sensitive.”

“No, it’s okay,” Wentworth says with a shrug. “Your father just wants to make sure you have the right kind of friends. I get it.”

Jensen really hopes the “with benefits” is implied.

He gives Wentworth a sunny smile.

Wentworth is such a gentleman, opening the doors of his Mercedes for Jensen and then for Chad. He lets Jensen choose the radio station and only looks faintly amused when Jensen settles on the pop station that’s playing the Pussycat Dolls. Jensen loves that song they sing – it’s like it was written for him, or something! Everyone wishes their girlfriend was hot like Jensen.

They go to this club in Hermosa Beach called Blue 32, and wow, Jensen’s never been to a club like this one before! There are girls here! It’s kind of awesome. Jensen’s a big fan of lesbians. They don’t dress well or anything, but they’re great reminders of why Jensen’s not attracted to women.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Wentworth says, bobbing his head to the rhythm.

Well, maybe “to the rhythm” is a bit of an overstatement. What is wrong with him? Wentworth can’t dance? That’s not possible. That’s like…Gwen Stefani looking ugly and unfashionable, or something.

Only one way to test this theory.

“Way cool,” Jensen says. “Let’s dance!”

“You go ahead,” Wentworth says. “I’m going to hang here for a bit.”

Wow, that’s a bummer. Jensen was really counting on some serious groin-on-groin action to make this night complete. Now he has to find some random to dance with?

“You want to dance?”

A redheaded girl is standing in front of Jensen, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and seriously?

Seriously?

This is freaking Jensen out.

“I don’t swing that way, honey,” Jensen says.

“Oh, I know,” she says, nodding. “But you’re hot. And I love your shoes.”

Well. Jensen can never resist a compliment about his shoes. He dances with her for three songs. She’s really good, too – knows exactly how to move her hips. Girls are good at that. He gets her number so they can hook up again and practice all the steps from the JT videos. Of course she’s a fan – she clearly has good taste.

Girls keep coming up to him constantly after that, and Jensen’s too nice to say no. He gets complimented on his belt, his pants, and his hair, so that makes it sort of okay.

He realizes then that he’s lost track of Chad. He can see Wentworth over by the bar, talking to a girl with long blonde hair and obviously fake tits. She’s pressing herself into his side and laughing, hand stroking his arm. He’s smiling at her, and wow, Jensen has so much admiration for Wentworth. He’s so tolerant.

He finally sights Chad clear over on the other side of the club, dancing with some really tall guy, which – wait a fucking second, is that Jared?

Okay, Jensen needs to take a moment, because everything about this evening is totally surreal. Wentworth isn’t dancing, Jensen’s dancing with girls, and Jared’s at a trendy club and hanging with Chad?

Someone has been drinking the Kool-Aid, and it is so not Jensen – he would never willingly imbibe that many empty calories.

He elbows his way over to them. Chad and Jared look like they’re having a good time: Chad’s laughing and making weird faces, and Jared’s doing these dumb little dance moves like – ew, Jensen shudders – the Cabbage Patch.

Jensen’s not sure why it makes him feel all squishy inside to see Jared with Chad like that, but whatever, he’s over it two seconds later anyway. He probably had a few too many cosmos. Put a cherry in a drink and Jensen loses track of how many he’s had really fast. It’s a problem.

“What’s up, guys?” Jensen says, and Jared turns to face him, smiling. His eyes are bright and sparkly, and he’s got dimples to die for.

Gross, Jensen thinks. Clearly he needs to die for making me formulate that thought.

“How are you, Jensen?” Jared asks. “Your dad was a little worried about you after what happened at the last party you went to, so he sent me out here to make sure everything was okay.”

Jensen wants to be pissed off, because he can totally handle himself – he has pepper spray now! – but it is sort of sweet. Jared had stuff to do tonight, and he took the time to come all the way out to Hermosa Beach. It’s not even in the Valley! That’s so…thoughtful.

“I’m kind of beat,” Jensen says, sighing. “Maybe we can go get Wentworth and roll?”

Jared nods. “Sure, whatever you want.”

The way Jared says it – deep, rough, but soft – makes Jensen a little weak.

Yeah. Definitely too many cosmos.

He turns away and marches over to Wentworth, because hello, that is why he’s here, right?

Wentworth is chatting with a different girl now, one with dark hair and blue eyes, and she’s all over him. Girls are so slutty sometimes. Jensen doesn’t get it – don’t they realize the build-up is just as important as the money shot?

“Hey, Wenty!” Jensen shouts over the noise. “We’ve got to jet. I have to get up early in the morning to meet with my trainer.”

Wentworth nods. “That’s cool.”

“Hey, uh – Wentworth?” That’s Jared’s voice behind him, and wow, when did Jared get that close? Jensen can feel him pressed up against his back, and he’s all…warm and stuff. Jensen blinks.

“Yeah?” Wentworth says.

“I can take Jensen and Chad home if you want to hang a little longer,” Jared says, eyes flitting over Wentworth’s unfortunately female companion. “You look…busy.”

Wentworth nods, grinning. “Thanks! I appreciate that, man.”

He grasps Jensen’s arm lightly, looking into his eyes, and damn, the color of Wentworth’s eyes is so Crayola Jensen can not process it. It is beyond color.

“I’ll see you later, okay, Jen?”

Jensen feels a little disappointed, but it’s okay, he understands. Wentworth’s just a really good guy, and he doesn’t want these girls to feel slighted. Plus Jensen is actually tired – he doesn’t think he’d be up for much sex after all that dancing.

Those girls wore him out, and he’s heard that buttsex is, like, way taxing. Especially the first time you do it.

Jared drops Chad off somewhere kind of ghetto, like – Long Beach, or something; it doesn’t really register, because Jensen’s too busy looking at Jared.

When did Jared get so…pretty? Maybe Jensen needs to get his eyes checked, because his contacts have been lying to him.

Up close Jared’s eyes are slanted and green with this blue-ish ring around them – almost exotic-looking. And his teeth look so white when he smiles! Jensen should get the name of his orthodontist. You know, for future reference, in case he has kids.

“Is Daddy still up working on that case?” Jensen asks.

Jared glances over at him. “Yeah. It’ll probably be an all-nighter. It’s a bitch of a lawsuit.”

Jensen tilts his head to one side.

“You want to stop and grab some take-out? I’m sure he’d appreciate the snack, and then he won’t yell as much.”

Jared’s lips curve up into a small smile.

“Sure, yeah. Let’s do that.”

What Jensen doesn’t say is that he’s actually starving. He couldn’t eat all day in anticipation of his date, and his stomach is seriously objecting to this fact. As much as Jensen sometimes wishes he could, he can not actually subsist on life savers and breath mints.

When they bring home the food, Jeffrey Dean’s absorbed in his work and already has the beginning of the scary wrinkles in his forehead, but he smiles when he sees they’ve come bearing gifts. He ruffles Jensen’s hair, which – okay, that is usually not allowed under any circumstances, but where is Jensen going to go tonight anyway? Like Jared cares what his hair looks like. Jared cares about Jensen’s hair as much as Jensen cares about polyester or Wal-mart, which is to say – not at all.

“Thank you, baby,” Jeff says. “You know me so well.”

“I totally do!” Jensen affirms, basking in his father’s affectionate glow.

“You take a break, Jared,” Jeff says. “Just hang out for a bit. You’ve been here all afternoon.”

“But I—”

Jeff puts up his hand. “I insist. You’re no good to me half-asleep.”

Jared shrugs and sidles into the den, collapsing on the couch in front of the TV.

Jensen goes upstairs and changes into some drawstring pajama pants and an undershirt. Wow, that feels so good. He loves those Versace pants, but it’s not like he can breathe in them or anything.

When Jensen comes downstairs Jared’s watching some boring nature documentary about penguins. Jensen settles on the couch next to him and grabs the remote from his lap. Jared stirs, making a futile grab for the it, but he’s too tired to make a real effort.

Jensen flicks the channel over to the CW. It’s a re-run of Smallville.

Jared makes a face.

“What?” Jensen says. “This is a good show.”

“It’s a ridiculous show,” Jared says. “The pacing’s horrible, the acting is worse, and the plots don’t make any sense. It’s a great premise badly executed.”

Jensen arches an eyebrow.

“So you’ve watched it then.”

Jared makes a very cute growly sound and crosses his arms.

“Whatever,” Jensen dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “The boys are hot and they fight a lot. Plus, they totally want to have sex with each other.”

Jared lifts an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Jensen likes how Jared knows when to be quiet. There are so few people these days who know how to do that. It’s an endangered skill – not unlike those penguins Jared’s so keen on watching take care of their babies.

“So don’t you have spring break coming up or something?” Jensen asks.

Jared’s eyelids are drooping.

“Yeah. I do,” he says without enthusiasm.

“Are you going to Cabo or TJ?” Jensen asks.

He knows people go to other places, like Europe or China, but he figures Jared must be bored with those places, being as he knows everything about them already. Seriously, Jared’s very smart. It would be impressive if he wasn’t…well, Jared.

“Neither,” Jared sighs. “I’m not doing anything. I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had any time to plan a vacation.”

Jensen’s eyes widen.

“You’re not serious. You’ve got to do something. You’ve been working your ass off!” He wrinkles his nose. “Plus, you’re kind of pasty.”

Jared smirks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it!” Jensen is indignant. “Jared, you need to do something special for yourself.”

“But all the flights are booked because everybody’s got spring break this week.” Jared sighs. “Plus I don’t have a lot of extra cash for a hotel…”

Jensen puts on his proverbial thinking cap – which is way cute, by the way, kind of a half baseball cap half something else that he saw once at the Gap – and meditates.

There’s got to be a solution to this problem. It’s not right for people to stay at home during spring break. There should be a law. It’s just wrong. Morally.

He snaps his fingers.

“I’ve got it! You should stay here! You can, like, hang out by the pool and get a tan and just relax and read…or whatever it is you do for fun,” Jensen concedes.

Jared looks skeptical.

“I don’t want to get in the way. You’ve got your own thing going on here, and…”

Jensen shakes his head emphatically. “No, no you won’t be in the way! I swear. This is a big house! And you know Daddy loves you.”

Jared looks at him carefully. “Well…okay. If you’re sure.”

He nods. “I am totally sure.”

Jensen catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror across from the TV, and wow, his hair is disastrous. Stupid Daddy, messing it up. He runs his fingers through it, trying to make it stick up the right way instead of the wrong way. The distinction is small, but omigod so real.

When he looks over at Jared, he’s looking back at him with an amused expression on his face.

“How many hours a day do you think you spend grooming yourself?” Jared asks.

Jensen would be offended by Jared’s less-than-kind implications, but Jared looks so beautiful like that, eyes bright and sleepy, lips curved into a crooked smile. Jensen’s breath catches in his throat.

He nudges Jared with his shoulder.

“Not all of us are lucky enough to be as naturally adorable as you are,” he says, grinning.

Jared’s smile widens.

When his fingers brush across Jensen’s knuckles as he reaches for the remote, Jensen doesn’t move away.

On Monday Jensen’s whole world turns upside down.

Well, it’s not quite that sudden and dramatic, but seriously – it’s a definite Days moment, and Jensen hasn’t had many of those since he was, like, twelve and used to freak out when he woke up with his hair all messy from sleep.

He’s a little late to lunch because he was talking to Ms. Gamble about writing erotica, and how it’s, like, this seriously underrated genre that people never understand the way they should.

“You should write something and submit it to the literary magazine,” Ms. Gamble says, nodding. “It would be so different and refreshing!”

Jensen’s not sure his erotica would be refreshing. He doesn’t have a whole lot of real-life experience to base it on.

Don’t they say write what you know?

“Think about it!” Ms. Gamble enthuses. “The proceeds of the lit mag go to charity. You’d be helping to save the penguins.”

Jensen considers this. Penguins are really cute.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jensen says, and flashes Ms. Gamble his thousand-watt smile.

She smiles back, looking a little overwhelmed.

When he gets to the cafeteria his regular lunch table is filled with people. Chad’s sitting in the center, telling some story about when he lived in North Carolina. Apparently there was this one time where this redneck dude in a huge truck almost ran him over.

“I was just standing in the middle of the street, right,” Chad’s saying. “Because I wanted to know if, like, there was more space on one side of the divider line than the other, and this truck comes out of nowhere and almost mows me down!”

“Wow, that must’ve been so scary,” Tom says, looking at Chad with wide blue eyes.

Dave nods. “Seriously! Did your life flash before your eyes?”

“Not exactly,” Chad says. “But I definitely started reconsidering some of the decisions I’d made in life, you know? Like what I’d eaten that morning.”

“I know when I was held up at gunpoint—” Jensen pipes up.

“So did you throw up?” James cuts in, and okay, Jensen does not care how sharp James’ cheekbones are, he is not allowed to be rude. Manners are for pretty people too. That’s what his mother always used to say.

“I didn’t throw up,” Chad says, then wrinkles his nose. “Well, I kind of did, a little. In my mouth.”

Jensen glances around the table – everyone is riveted.

Seriously? Jensen thinks.

He feels kind of like he wants to vomit, and he hasn’t even eaten anything yet.

Jensen may not be the best driver ever, but he’d like to think he’s slightly more competent than Tom. Tom is such a spazz behind the wheel it’s not even funny.

“Woman!” Mike is shouting. “Pick a lane! You can not take up both lanes. That is not allowed by law.”

Tom shifts the wheel slightly, and the car veers so they’re sort of in one lane. Almost.

Jensen squints.

“Whatever,” Tom snaps. “I was totally in one lane.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Okay, now you’re going to turn left. Get into the left – the left lane, Tommy.”

Tom sighs.

Jensen watches as four cars pass them, drivers leaning on their horns.

“Aren’t we going to the mall?” Tom asks. “This isn’t even the right way.”

“That’s because you haven’t turned yet, sweetheart,” Mike says through gritted teeth.

“So I don’t get what’s up with him,” Jensen says to Tom.

Jensen had been lamenting the lack of Wensen action in recent history.

“We went dancing on Saturday and we didn’t even dance,” he says.

Tom arches an eyebrow. “Are you serious? What happened?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t want to dance with me,” Jensen says with a dramatic sigh. “Or at all! It was lame. I think maybe I need to reconsider our compatibility. I’m really sad.”

”Don’t say that, Jen,” Tom says. “You’ve got to try again.”

”I just feel like he’s too good for me or something,” Jensen says. “I mean, he does dress better than I do. What would I bring to the relationship?”

“Who are you talking about?” Mike asks curiously, then adds, “That’s a stop sign, Tommy. Obey the stop sign. Stop signs are for everyone.”

“Wentworth Miller,” Jensen says.

Mike lets out a bark of a laugh.

“Oh, no, you’re not serious.”

“So serious!” Jensen says, indignant.

Mike snorts. “There’s your problem, then.”

“What is his problem, Dr. Love?” Tom asks, sounding appropriately pissy.

“Your Wentworth is a straight boy!” Mike shouts, sounding almost gleeful.

“No way!” Jensen yelps. “Not even!”

“Yes even,” Mike says. “He’s a football-watching, business-school-bound, beer-drinking, Casanova clone friend of females, you hear me?”

“He does spend a lot of time with girls, Jen,” Tom says thoughtfully. “And the boy can’t dance.”

“Oh my god,” Jensen whispers. He feels dizzy.

“Total hetero,” Mike says. “Weird, right?”

“So weird,” Jensen murmurs.

Tom swings the wheel to the left. “Hey, is this the right—”

“No, no, that’ll get you on the freeway! Don’t get on the freeway!”

Mike’s voice rises about six octaves in pitch.

“But what do I – Mikey, I don’t know how to – shit, don’t let me – what do I do?” Tom shouts.

“Get off the – get off the – holy fuck—”

There’s a lot of shouting and screaming as Tom pulls onto the freeway, cars whizzing by on one side, honking horns and swerving around them.

Jensen feels his heart clench in his chest. He is too young and pretty to die, even if he went to heaven and got to be with his mom. That would be awesome, but Jensen really wants to be a fashion designer, and angels, as pretty as they are, all seem to wear the same general ensemble.

“Get over! Stay over there, and get off at the next exit! You can do this, baby! You can!” Mike is saying, hand clasping Tom’s shaking shoulder. “Just stay in this lane, you’ve got it, it’s fine, just…”

Then they’re in the exit lane, speeding off onto a side street. Jensen’s stomach stops flipping; he takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

Tom pulls over to the side of the road at the first available moment, hyperventilating, and Mike wraps his hand around the back of Tom’s neck and pulls him in for a series of increasingly desperate kisses.

Jensen looks away, biting his lip.

Okay, so maybe right now? Jensen wants a boyfriend.

Jensen sits at home that night and thinks about sex.

Truthfully, he thinks about sex often, but this time he’s thinking about it for humanitarian purposes.

Jensen is thinking about sex in order to save the penguins.

He’s not sure why he wants to save the penguins so badly, but he really, really does. Almost as much as he wants the new Dolce suit jacket for the spring collection before they come out, and he’s been waiting for that jacket for, like, a million years.

The thing is, erotica is about desire, right? It’s about what a person wants. What he wants to happen, to be a part of, to see, to experience.

But Jensen doesn’t really know what he wants. He thought he wanted Wentworth, but Wentworth doesn’t want him. Chris wanted him, but Jensen knows he doesn’t want Chris. And all the other boys in his school are a bunch of twinky ‘tards or blowhard ‘roid raging assholes who wouldn’t know what to do with their dicks if someone wrote instructions on them with Sharpie.

He sighs.

There’s porn, of course – Jensen’s seen plenty of that – but it’s not that informative when it comes to, y’know, reality. The guys in porn are all huge, and Jensen is not, and…yeah.

In a word, ouch.

“Hey, Jen?”

Jensen starts out of his state of meditation to see Jared standing in his doorway, wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair is wet and dripping droplets of water onto his broad chest, outlining the shape of his flat nipples and defined abdominal muscles.

Jared’s got quite the body, good gracious – muscles tight in all the right places, hard and yet his skin looks like it would be so soft under Jensen’s hands—

“Have you seen my shaving razor?” Jared asks, and…

What?

Jensen blinks.

Speaking of hard…

He shifts uncomfortably in his desk chair.

“I…um…no?” Jensen stutters. “But you can use mine if you need to? It’s in the bathroom next to the pomegranate aftershave?”

Jensen’s not sure why everything’s become a question all of a sudden.

Jared’s mouth tips into a slippery smile.

“Okay, thanks.”

“What are you going to shave?” Jensen asks, then really wishes he hadn’t.

Jared raises an eyebrow.

“This,” he says, lifting one hand to stroke his goatee. “It feels like more of a winter look.”

He grins.

Jensen stares for a good thirty seconds before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Jensen?” Jared asks.

His eyes look dark in this light, deep and bottomless.

“I’m saving the penguins,” Jensen mumbles.

Jared blinks rapidly.

“Um…okay?” He runs a hand through the long strands of his hair. “I’ll let you get back to that, then.”

Jensen turns around to face his desk. He hears Jared’s footsteps retreating down the hallway.

He looks down at his hands. They’re shaking.

And asking him to stay here for spring break was a good idea how?

He takes a deep breath, then picks up his pen.

Jensen’s got his driving test the next day. He’s really nervous, kind of like how he was the first time he jerked off –

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, okay? Jeffrey Dean is generally an awesome dad, but he wasn’t so great with the whole sex ed thing. Jensen learned a lot from romance novels and late night cable TV.

He wears his best white collared shirt and these pants that hang loose on him – he’s not trying to seduce the driver’s test administrator, after all, and he wants to seem sober and smart. Clothes do make the man. And today Jensen wants his clothes to make him really, really boring.

At the last minute he takes out his contacts and puts on his glasses. He hates wearing them, but there’s no question that they do lend him a certain degree of gravitas.

Unfortunately, the test doesn’t go well.

It’s not that Jensen doesn’t know how to drive correctly, because he does. He just chooses not to. He’s too creative for the rules of the road, for serious. Jensen’s an artist. He’s going to be a fashion designer, all right?

The driving instructor is not appreciative of his artistic predisposition, however.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. “That was a biker you almost ran over back there!”

”He came out of nowhere!” Jensen says. And okay, Jensen might have been a little distracted by looking at his own eyelashes in the rearview mirror, but seriously, they’re ridiculous, aren’t they? He’s crazy lucky.

The driving instructor gives him a stony glare. “Pull over up here, please.”

“Am I done?” Jensen asks.

“Oh yes, you’re done,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

Jensen’s heart flips. He’s so psyched. How awesome would it be to drive to the mall by himself? He wouldn’t have to listen to Mike bitch the whole way about how Jensen is a deluded fairy princess who never learned the dangers of too much cologne and lip gloss.

He pulls the car over to the side of the road.

“You can’t park,” the driving instructor growls. “You can’t change lanes. You can’t make right hand turns. You can’t make left hand turns. You almost killed someone!”

”I’m sorry!” Jensen flails. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, okay? I’m normally way better than this—”

“Then come back when you’ve got your head on straight,” he snaps, then sighs. “If that’s even possible.”

Jensen sulks all the way home.

When Jensen pushes open the patio doors, he’s hoping to find something to cheer him up, like Jared sunbathing naked, or maybe swimming naked, or just…being naked somewhere. Because Jared, naked? Or half naked? Or showing skin of any kind that is not covered up by flannel? Is generally a good thing.

The sight that greets his eyes makes his heart wrench in his chest instead.

Chad is there – wearing Guess jeans, Jensen notices, and a black Banana Republic button-down shirt that Jensen is absolutely positive he owns himself. He and Jared are standing by the pool and talking, huddled close. Chad’s laughing like Jared’s just said the most hilariously awesome thing in the history of ever. Jared looks proud of himself, cheeks flushed and eyes bright and sparkling.

“Hey!” Jensen calls out.

“Hey,” Jared says, turning to give Jensen a small wave, and wow, have Jared’s eyes always been that green?

“How does it feel to have a license?” he asks.

Jensen feels like punching someone.

“I wouldn’t know,” he mutters. “I failed.”

”Oh,” Jared says, and he actually looks sad.

Jensen wants a hug. The really tight kind where you can feel the person all pressed against you like—

“And Jared, spare me the lectures on how driving is such a big responsibility, and you can't B.S. your way through it, okay?” Jensen snaps.

Huh. Where did that come from?

Jared puts up his hands, wrinkling his brow.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jensen mutters.

“I’ve got something to show you!” Chad says suddenly, trotting over to a deck chair and picking up a shoebox of stuff.

Unless there’s a driver’s license with my name on it or a kilo of blow in there, I could not care less, Jensen thinks, but he smiles brightly anyway.

He and Chad go inside, and they sit down next to the huge fireplace in the living room.

“Does this work?” Chad asks, gesturing towards the fireplace.

“Sure,” Jensen says without enthusiasm, picking up the remote and flicking it on. Does Chad want to set the mood or something?

“Okay, so – here’s the deal,” Chad says, setting the shoebox down on the fireplace mantle. “You know Chris Kane?”

Jensen nods. He’s got a pair of ruined Guess jeans just like the ones Chad’s wearing to prove it.

“Well, after we kind of…didn’t work out? I kept some stuff that reminded me of him. Stupid, right?”

Right, Jensen thinks, but what he says is, “No, of course not.”

“I think it’s lame, but…I couldn’t give it up. It was like some kind of sickness, you know?” Chad shakes his head. “Like this – it’s a CD of Kane, Chris’ band.”

He makes as if to toss it into the fireplace, but Jensen snatches it away.

“CDs don’t burn so well,” he explains.

Chad looks confused, but then he just shakes his head and keeps going.

“And this…it was the song that was playing when we were talking. I thought it was romantic.”

Jensen stares down at the CD in Chad’s hand – it’s a single EP of Justin Timberlake’s “What Goes Around…Comes Around.”

Okay, Jensen is, like, JT’s biggest fan, but even he doesn’t think that song is romantic. It’s tragic and deep and stuff. Not romantic.

“And this – it’s a receipt from some Kane cowboy boots I bought. Stupid,” Chad says, tossing it into the fireplace.

Jensen notices Chad’s not burning the boots.

“A whole bunch of other crap too,” Chad says, shaking the box into the fireplace. It hisses and sparks. “I just need to purge him from my life, you know? Especially since I’ve got a new love in my life.”

Jensen perks up. He loves romance, even when it’s not his own.

“Really? Who?”

Chad giggles. “Well. You know him, definitely.”

”Okay…” Jensen says.

“Jared,” Chad whispers.

Jensen feels his stomach roil. His hand forms into a fist.

“Jared?” Jensen says brightly. “Really?”

“Really,” Chad says. “He’s just so…nice, you know? He’s always so sweet to me, and he danced with me at that club when nobody else would, and I…I really like him, Jensen.”

“But are you sure that you guys have that much in common?” Jensen says. “I mean, Jared likes, like, Radiohead and Eastern philosophy.”

Chad arches an eyebrow.

“What, so you think I’m a mentally retarded airhead or something?”

“No, not even, I didn’t say that.”

“But I’m not good enough for Jared?”

Chad’s starting to sound a little shrill.

“I just don’t think you mesh well together,” Jensen says.

Chad’s eyes spark. He looks pissed.

Jensen finds himself wondering if Chad actually owns his oft-mentioned glock, and if so if it might be on the premises.

“Why should I listen to you anyway?” Chad spits. “You’re a virgin who can’t drive.”

Jensen inhales sharply.

“That was way harsh, Chad.”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” Chad sighs, world-weary. “Let’s just talk when we’ve mellowed, all right? Laters.”

Jensen watches as Chad prances out the door in his too-cute jeans and designer button down.

He feels so nauseous he wants to cry. What the hell is going on with the Jensen Ackles karma?

Everything is fucked.

What would Oprah do? Jensen thinks.

He takes three or four calming and cleansing breaths, then dials his chauffeur, Maurice.

Screw Oprah. Jensen needs retail therapy.

As he wanders around the Galleria, Jensen wonders when everything got so complicated. He used to feel like he had his whole world under control, including most of the people in it: his friends were loyal, all the boys he liked always liked him back, and he never met a test he couldn’t pass.

Now it’s like he’s been dropped into some bizarro world where up is down and down is up; where well-dressed, well-groomed gorgeous guys like Wentworth Miller end up being arrow-straight; where little boys like Chad fall for men like Jared; where the healthiest relationship he’s encountered is the borderline dysfunctional romance of Tom and Mike.

He feels like he’s got his head on backwards or something. It’s seriously disorienting, and it’s making Jensen crazy.

And why is this whole Chad and Jared thing driving him so fucking nuts? What does Chad even see in Jared? His hair is way too long and floppy; he listens to the lamest whiny indie rock that sounds like it was recorded in someone’s basement; he’s out of control when it comes to pastels. Plus he somehow missed the memo on how flannel stopped being cool back when grunge got as stale and unpalatable as four-day-old bread.

And okay, maybe Jared’s…incredibly gorgeous with a body that would make Michelangelo weep, but how could he possibly be interested in Chad? Jensen doesn’t care how well his jeans fit; Chad will always be the kid who doesn’t know DKNY from New York & Company. Hell, he probably can’t name any of the state capitals and he seriously knows nothing about penguins.

Jared needs someone who knows about these things, who can actually carry on a conversation with him, who he can banter with and hang out with and be silly and comfortable and—

Jensen gasps.

Oh my god.

He places a hand on his chest, checking to make sure that his heart is, in fact, still beating.

I love Jared.

He pinches the skin of his wrist between his thumb and forefinger.

Not dreaming.

I am totally butt-crazy in love with Jared.

Jensen sits down on a bench, gazing up at the palm tree fronds waving lazily in the perpetual L.A. sunshine.

Okay, so, he thinks, now what?

Later that afternoon he sequesters himself in his bedroom and takes out the sparkly pink notebook where he’d made his first effort at writing erotica a few days ago. He didn’t get very far, because it is not easy to write, okay?

Possibly the one thing more difficult than actually having the buttsex is writing about it.

He reads:

Dimitri was tall and dark-haired, with broad, well-muscled shoulders and a gently tapered waist. His tight t-shirt clung to his pectoral muscles, outlining the curves of his chest.

Hans felt his heart begin to beat faster. Dimitri was so gorgeous he could hardly stand it. When he licked his lips, he felt his heart flutter in his chest. Dimitri reached out and caressed his cheek with one long finger, his touch as powerful and as hot as a thousand suns.

And yet Hans shivered.

Jensen blew out a frustrated breath, wrinkling his nose. It just didn’t seem…right, somehow. It was boring. Cliché.

“Whatcha writing?” a voice comes from over his shoulder, and Jensen nearly jumps out of his skin.

It’s Jared, of course. He’s sweaty and shirtless, wearing only swim trunks that ride low on his slim waist. He’s definitely getting a tan, too; his skin is lightly bronzed and glistening.

Spring break in the Valley clearly agrees with him.

His navel is right at Jensen’s eye level, and he’s so close Jensen can see moisture collected on his lower abdomen, just above the thin trail of dark hair leading to…interesting places.

Well, Jensen’s interested, anyway.

“I…uh, I…” Jensen starts to say, but he can’t breathe, which is so totally inconvenient.

Jared’s looking at him like he’s got tuberculosis.

Okay, ew.

Get it together, Ackles, Jensen thinks, and then: Mommy said never lose your cool, because then you might run cold. Nobody likes you when you’re cold.

“It’s for the lit mag for my high school,” Jensen tries again. “We’re donating all the proceeds to saving the penguins.”

Jared arches an eyebrow. “Really? That’s awesome. The penguins are definitely in need of saving.”

“Totally,” Jensen says. “I was watching that movie about penguins—”

“March of the Penguins?” Jared asks, eyes brightening.

“No, no, Happy Feet,” Jensen says. “It’s supposed to be a kid’s movie, but it’s got this seriously deep message about how we need to save our precious natural resources and respect all life on the planet.”

Jared smiles faintly, nodding. “Cool. Very cool.”

He turns to go, then swivels back around to face Jensen.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asks.

What, other that feeling awkward and confused and trying to write porn based on something I’ve never experienced? Jensen thinks.

“Not really,” Jensen says.

“If you’re interested, I’m going to be working on some intensely boring research for a case for your Dad—”

“Jared, it’s your spring break!” Jensen objects.

“Your dad doesn’t really understand the meaning of ‘vacation,’” Jared says ruefully. “But I was thinking of putting on a DVD to help counter the ennui. Maybe you’d like to hang out? We could watch March of the Penguins. It’s an incredible film.”

Jensen cocks his head to one side. “It won, like, Oscars and stuff, didn’t it?”

Jared’s mouth tilts up into a lopsided smile. “And stuff, yeah.”

Jensen abandons his erotica efforts in favor of a dinner of leftover pasta and microwave popcorn – which is way high in carbs, but it’s been a rough week. Dr. Atkins can go fuck himself.

Jared sets up the DVD and then dumps a cardboard box of files out onto the floor. Whenever there’s files around Jensen starts itching to sort paper, so he gets down on the floor with Jared and helps him put the documents in date order.

“Thanks, Jen,” Jared says, and there’s a softness in his color-shifting eyes that makes Jensen’s chest clench.

While they’re doing it they listen to the narrator describe the mating cycles of penguins, and okay, that should not sound as sexy as it does. In fact, Jensen knows it’s not sexy; there’s, like, months of snow and rain and ice and going hungry and being cold involved, which Jensen can’t even process. He definitely knows what it’s like to go hungry, but being cold for extended periods of time? God, no. Jensen’s lived in SoCal his whole life. He doesn’t do well with any temperature below 70 degrees that’s achieved by something other than AC.

But still…sexy. Really sexy. Because Jared’s shoulder is brushing against his, and Jensen can smell him – this deep, almost piny scent, like he’s spent all day out in the forest. When he talks – voice slow and low and sticky like honey – his breath smells like Twizzlers and mint gum.

Jared’s kind of a candy fiend. Jensen’s seen him sneaking it sometimes when he’s not chowing down on granola or tofu or organic produce of some kind, and it makes Jensen happy, knowing that Jared’s not perfect. That he’s got weaknesses and flaws like everybody else.

“Jensen?”

He realizes that Jared’s staring at him expectantly. He blinks a couple of times, then says, “What?”

Jared brushes one long strand of hair out of his eyes.

“I was just asking if you need someone to proof your stuff for the lit mag. I was an English and Philosophy major in college, you know. I’ve got lots of experience with editing.”

Jensen flushes.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of…personal.”

Jared lifts an eyebrow.

“So personal you feel fine sharing it with a whole bunch of strangers?”

Hmm. Good point.

“It’s just…I’ve never written anything like it before. Ms. Gamble, my English teacher? She suggested I try writing erotica, because it’s something different, and people don’t do it enough, plus there’s this tendency to malign the genre because it’s supposedly smutty or trashy, when it really can be beautiful, and—”

Jensen pauses to take a breath. He knows he’s rambling, but Jared’s looking at him with wide, steady eyes, and all of a sudden none of his filters are working.

This sucks.

“It’s up to you, of course,” Jared says. “I’m just curious.”

His smile flickers with just a touch of naughty – enough to make Jensen’s heart palpitate.

“I don’t shock too easily, Jensen,” Jared says. “So if you’re up for it, I’d love to read what you’ve got.”

Jensen feels faint and a little queasy.

“I…it’s just so hard,” Jensen says. “No pun intended. Because – like, I can see these characters in my head, right, but I don’t know how to translate it onto paper.”

“Well, what do you see happening?” Jared says. “Sometimes it helps to talk it out. Just kind of put it out there.”

Jensen takes a deep breath.

“There’s this guy, Dimitri,” Jensen says. “And he’s way gorgeous – tall, dark and handsome type, with these intense blue-green eyes that change color, and he’s totally falling for this guy who’s his opposite, physically – light hair, light eyes, still tall but built much slimmer. So it seems like they shouldn’t match up but they do, you know?”

Jared’s watching Jensen carefully.

“Yeah, okay – but why do they match up? What’s the charge between them? Their motivation for being together? Because a big part of erotic energy is emotional connection, you know.”

Jensen can see the dip in Jared’s lip, the slight indentation, and god, being close to him makes Jensen want to lean forward and lick – right – there –

And Jared is totally asking hard questions. No fair.

“I…um, I don’t know, it’s kind of…inexplicable. Their attraction, I mean. It can’t be…named, or understood,” Jensen mumbles, and God, that sounds so stupid out loud.

This was such a bad idea.

“Hey, Jensen,” Jared says softly. “I get that. Sometimes who you’re attracted to doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Jensen’s eyes flutter up to lock with Jared’s, and the way he’s looking at him – like he wants to spread him on a cracker or maybe across his sheets – makes Jensen dizzy.

He knows, right then, that Jared’s going to kiss him.

He’s still not prepared for it.

When Jared’s lips brush against his, it’s gentle and sweet, nothing like any kiss Jensen’s ever had. Boys are always trying to, like, destroy Jensen’s mouth, eat at it like it’s their dinner, but Jared just touches his lips to Jensen’s, a shiver of contact that’s gone in a second as he pulls away.

Jensen stares. And stares. And stares.

Jared clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I shouldn’t have…”

Okay, so talking? Is so not what Jared needs to be doing right now.

Action is clearly required.

Jensen leans forward and opens his mouth against Jared’s.

He can hear the faint murmur of Morgan Freeman in the background talking about ice storms, but all he can feel is the flick of Jared’s tongue against his bottom lip, the lazy press of his lips along Jensen’s collarbone, the gentle suck of his mouth at the spot right under Jensen’s chin that tickles so much he’s shaking. And then Jared’s got one giant hand cupping his face and the other pressed into his back along his spine and under his shirt and this is right, so right.

God, unequivocably so.

When they pull apart again they’re both breathing hard. Jared’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown and lips parted. It’s all Jensen can do not to lean forward and kiss him until he passes out from oxygen deprivation, but Jared is saying something important right now, and damn, when will that boy ever learn to shut up?

“I don’t want…I don’t want to do anything that you don’t…” Jared’s murmuring, and Jensen reaches forward and wraps his hand around the back of Jared’s neck, the pressure light but reassuring.

“Jared,” Jensen breathes, “I want this. I do. I don’t know why, but I do.”

“I know why I want this,” Jared whispers. “Because you’re amazing, Jensen. You’re beautiful, and you’re funny, and you care about people. You do right by people even when they don’t do right by you. Do you know how extraordinary that is?”

Be amazing, Jensen. Don’t ever settle for ordinary, sweetheart.

Jensen lowers his eyes, embarrassed.

“I just…” he says.

Jared’s hand falls to cover Jensen’s, squeezing.

“I know,” Jared says. “I know, Jensen, I do.”

They don’t do everything that night, and it’s fine. It’s better than fine – it’s fantastic.

Jared spends hours with Jensen curled together on the living room floor, melting into each other with deep, slow kisses, all tongues and touch and tingling.

Jensen’s made out with a lot of guys, okay, but nobody – nobody – makes out like Jared. He makes out with Jensen like he wants to feel every part of him, to taste him and savor him like hot chocolate made from scratch with warm milk and marshmallows.

When he arrives at school the next day he’s walking on air, which is probably why he doesn’t even blink when Steve Carlson walks up to him and hands him a flier.

“I’m playing a gig tonight down at UCLA,” Steve says. “I’d love if you could come, man. I can tell you’ve got excellent taste in music.”

Jensen smiles beneficently. That is true.

He glances down at the flier. Hmm, indie rock! Maybe Jared would dig it and agree to come with.

“I’ll try to make it,” Jensen says. “That’s great that you got a gig, Steve!”

Steve looks pleasantly surprised.

“Thanks, Jensen,” he mumbles, pushing messy light brown hair out of his eyes. “I’m trying to be a new me, you know? Less drugs, more sex and rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Props!” Jensen congratulates him. “Mad props!”

He’s walking from Bio to English when his cell rings. He lifts it to his ear, hoping it’s not Daddy freaking out about the case Jared was supposed to be working on. They didn’t exactly get a lot of research done on that carpet – or maybe they did, but it wasn’t of a legal kind.

“Hey Jen,” Jared mutters low into the phone.

Jensen feels his whole body tense like someone’s slid an ice cube down his spine.

“Hey Jared,” Jensen says.

“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” Jared says. “About your mouth, and how I could spend all day licking at it, memorizing its shape, kissing you until you’re so turned on you can’t see straight.”

Jensen hitches in a breath. “I…”

“Thinking about all the things I want to do to you,” Jared murmurs. “How I want to suck you off until you’re right on the edge, so close, tease you until you’re panting and begging and pleading…”

“Y-y-yes?” Jensen stutters.

“…and then let you calm down, calm down so I can build you up again, make it last, get you so hard you’re dizzy and falling apart. I want to see you fall apart, Jensen. I want to make you fall apart.”

Jensen ducks behind some lockers into a stairwell, out of sight of the student traffic, to attempt to catch his breath.

“Jared, I—”

“I want to bend you over every surface in that shiny, perfect bedroom of yours,” Jared whispers, “and fuck you until you scream.”

Jensen can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and Jared’s just talking. He’s not even here, he’s not touching him and Jensen’s on fire, on fire and he can’t breathe and oh.

“I just thought,” Jared says, “that if I’m going to be thinking about it, you should be thinking about it too.”

His phone clicks off, leaving Jensen holding the sliver of metal and trying to remember how to breathe. He snaps it shut, sitting down on the steps with a frustrated sigh.

Oh, Jared, Jensen thinks. It is on now.

Jared may know Jensen pretty well from the years they lived together and bitched at each other constantly, but there are some things about Jensen he does not know.

For example: Jared does not know that if it were possible to letter in cockteasing, Jensen would not just have a jacket, he’d be an All-American.

Jared thinks he’s got the upper hand, but he’s wrong. He’s wrong in the way Jared’s always wrong – wrong but thinks he’s right.

Jensen’s got a plan.

That afternoon he comes home from school to find Jared slumped across the couch, bare feet propped up on the arm, gorgeous body trapped in track pants and a tank top. He’s passed out, limbs spread out every which way, dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.

He’s incredible. He’s beautiful.

He’s mine, Jensen thinks.

He strides over to the couch, tugging on Jared’s arm.

“Wh-wha?” Jared mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

“We’re going to a concert,” Jensen announces. “Get dressed.”

Jared seems disoriented and confused, but he does get dressed, slipping on a pair of jeans that make Jensen want to squeeze his ass at every opportunity and a t-shirt that actually fits. Jensen’s so distracted watching the muscles in his arms tense as he grips the steering wheel that they almost miss the exit for Westwood.

Okay, so Jensen’s plan? Is starting to seem less appealing by the second.

It’s Chad, ironically, that ends up helping him stay the course. When they get to UCLA and the club where Steve’s playing, he sees him sitting alone in a corner and looking pouty.

And okay, maybe Chad was a bitch before, but he’s still a friend. It’s not his fault that Jensen’s prettier than he is, and wears better clothes, and that Jared likes him better. It’s up to Jensen to be the nice one in this situation.

“Hey,” Jensen says, and Chad looks up. His face brightens immediately. He’s wearing looser jeans, Jensen notices, and a white t-shirt, hair spiked with mousse – not fabulous, but not too shabby, either. It fits him. He looks good.

“Hey,” Chad says. “Look, Jensen, I’m so sorry about before. I was such an asshole about that stuff with Jared, and…it’s not right for me to get upset with you about what you said. Bros before hos, right?”

Jensen blinks. He’s not going to try to translate Chadanese, but he’s fairly certain there was an apology in there somewhere, so he can deal.

“Absolutely,” Jensen says. “I’m glad you’re here, Chad. I was feeling so bad about before, and I want things to be okay between us.”

Chad squeezes Jensen’s arm, smiling. “They’re so okay. And you look fantastic, by the way. It’s like you’re…glowing or something.”

Jensen blushes, and Chad arches an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Jen? You pop your cherry or something?”

“Jen,” he hears from behind him, and turns to see Jared, a wicked grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

Honey, Jensen thinks, biting his lip, you’ve got no idea what you’re in for.

“I got something to talk to you about,” Jared says, and wraps his hand around Jensen’s wrist, tugging him forward.

The last Jensen sees of Chad as Jared pulls him around a corner and down a quiet hallway is him waving, then turning to stare with rapt attention as Steve tunes his guitar.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?” Jared says softly. “Bringing me out here so you can sashay around in your tight jeans and make me hard enough to pound nails?”

Jensen smirks at Jared. “No need to be so graphic, Jared.”

Jared plants one hand on Jensen’s chest, shoving him until his back hits the wall, knocking the air out of him. He leans forward, dragging his tongue from Jensen’s earlobe to his collarbone, pulling back just as Jensen’s mouth falls open and his breathing stutters.

“You trying to say you don’t like when I’m graphic?” Jared murmurs in his ear. “Is that what you’re trying to say, Jensen?”

Jared reaches down and cups Jensen through his jeans, huge hand nearly big enough to span Jensen’s waist from one hip to the other. Jensen moans, head falling against the wall with a thump.

“The things I want to do to you,” Jared whispers, voice deep and rough with need. “There are no words dirty enough.”

Jensen paws at Jared, yanking him forward until they’re pressed close, Jared’s leg wedged between Jensen’s thighs, hips lined up at just the right angle. His lips find Jared’s in the low light of the deserted hallway, tongue flickering out to taste Chapstick and mint and sugar, then dipping into the hollow of his throat and tasting salt.

“God, Jensen,” Jared whispers. “You are the reason people write erotica. Don’t you get that?”

Jensen looks up at him from under his eyelashes, breathing shallow and strained.

“Let’s go home,” Jensen says. “Let’s go home and give me something to write about.”

Jensen only remembers what happens next in snatches.

Jared’s hands, everywhere, exploring him like a new continent, fingers flicking over joints and digging into muscle, grasping and gripping and tugging and trailing. Callused hands pressing into soft skin, pulling sounds from Jensen’s body he didn’t know he could make.

The first time Jared makes him come it’s using his hands – one hand wrapped around Jensen’s cock, sliding up and down, brushing his thumb over the head, twisting and stroking until Jensen’s thrusting up into his fist, arching off the bed and whimpering and cursing, ah – ah – ah – don’t stop, don’t stop, you bastard, don’t fucking stop –

But of course Jared does stop – stops when Jensen’s teetering on the edge, a razor blade away from spurting all over Jared’s fist. He stops and presses one hand flat against Jensen’s stomach, ignoring Jensen’s angry whines and protests.

“I want you to come for me,” Jared murmurs, and leans forward and bites Jensen lightly at the juncture between his neck and shoulderblade.

Just like that, Jensen is done.

He is not done, though – oh, no, not even close. Because then—

Then Jared decides to use his tongue.

Oh. Oh, no words indeed.

Jared starts at his sternum, Jensen’s chest still heaving from his recent orgasm, whole body oversensitive and shaking. But the second Jared touches his tongue to his nipple, rolling over the tiny bud, Jensen’s dick gets interested all over again. His hips angle up, but Jared presses them down with one firm hand, trapping him against his silk sheets as he licks mercilessly at his nipples, first one, then the other, until Jensen’s got tears in his eyes, throat raw from crying out.

“Are you okay?” Jared asks when he glances up and sees Jensen’s cheeks are wet.

“So okay,” Jensen growls. “As long as you keep going, you asshole.”

Jared chuckles softly, stroking one hand over Jensen’s hip, then bows his head and takes Jensen’s cock into his mouth with no warning. The sounds Jensen makes – well.

Let’s just say that Jensen’s very glad his Dad is away on a business trip in San Diego, because he’s fairly certain he’s not quite loud enough to be heard there.

This is how Jensen comes for the second time – fucking Jared’s mouth, twitching and flushed all over, panting, nearly screaming.

And, um, Jensen may have forgot to mention that Jared’s been fully clothed all this time, so. Basically, Jared’s bigger than Jensen and Jensen didn’t object when he stripped him in about two seconds flat.

It also might have something to do with the fact that Jared was jerking him off at the time and whispering extremely not PG-rated things in Jensen’s ear, but whatever. Details.

The third time he comes he gets Jared to take off his shirt, at least, and that’s only because he licks his lips and whispers, “I want to see you” in his softest sex kitten voice.

Jared gives him his tilted I-know-what-you’re-doing smile, but he does take off his t-shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it across the room.

This time Jared doesn’t touch his dick at all. Instead he slicks his fingers and presses one in, then two, and oh, oh, it hurts, it does, but it’s the kind of hurt that is almost good – almost good until it is good. Until he hits that spot Jensen always thought was fictional, something made up by romance novelists to conveniently bring on a climax at opportune moments.

“I…thought…this was…made up…” Jensen huffs out.

“Oh, no,” Jared murmurs against his neck, tongue darting out to capture moisture from his skin.

“You taste so good,” he whispers, and that’s it, hello hat trick.

And then. Then.

The fourth time Jensen comes Jared comes too, one arm wrapped around Jensen’s waist, thrusting in and out and it’s funny, Jared’s been noisy and talky this whole time but all of a sudden he’s so quiet. All Jensen can hear is his hitching breaths and the sounds of their bodies sliding together.

“Jared,” Jensen whispers. “Jared…”

“Is this…” Jared stills, tensing, but Jensen shakes his head.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he says. “Just…say something, please? Make some kind of sound?”

Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s hard length, stroking up, and hums against sweat-slick skin between Jensen’s shoulder blades.

“Want to see you…fall apart…” Jared whispers, and then stops moving entirely, hand still moving up and down Jensen’s cock.

“What are you—” Jensen protests.

“I can’t. I can’t move, I can’t…” Jared groans, voice husky and strained.

That’s when Jensen pushes back against him, taking him deeper, and Jared gasps and shudders. He pulls Jensen back against him, holding him close and stroking, stroking, slick and hard and ohgod oh god so good so good until Jensen climaxes with Jared’s name on his lips.

“Jesus Christ,” Jared groans. He plants a soft kiss behind Jensen’s ear, then one on his lips as Jensen turns to lick his way into his mouth.

When they collapse onto the bed, Jared disposing of the condom and pulling Jensen close, he hears Jared murmur, “Just be limber…”

Jensen curls around Jared until they’re just a mass of sweaty limbs, grinning stupidly.

“You a JT fan, Jared?” Jensen jokes.

Jared snorts.

“No, but I’m glad you are,” he murmurs.

Jensen bites his nipple, making Jared shiver and laugh.

“Oh, Jensen,” Jared whispers. “You are really something.”

“You know what?” Jensen says, propping himself up on one elbow and staring into Jared’s sleepy blue-green eyes. “You’re kind of…everything.”

Jared’s grin could power Vegas for days.

The Kripke-Gamble wedding happens later that spring, just before Jared and Jensen take off for Paris. Jensen wants to see the spring collections, and Jared…well, Jared’s a dork and actually wants to see Paris.

It’s a beautiful ceremony, understated and gorgeous, and Jensen cries through most of it. Jared sits there holding his hand, stroking his thumb along the skin between his thumb and forefinger and occasionally reaching up to brush wetness off his cheeks.

“Weddings are just so – so – incredible,” Jensen hiccups.

“You’re incredible,” Jared murmurs, kissing Jensen’s cheek, then cupping his chin with one hand.

“I hate you,” Jensen says. “How is it that you’re so perfect?”

“I’m not perfect,” Jared objects. “I own a lot of pink. And flannel.”

Jensen tilts his head to one side. “That is true. But it’s okay.”

Jared arches an eyebrow.

“I let it go,” Jensen explains, “because you’re really good in bed.”

Jared considers this.

“I am, aren’t I?”

Jensen elbows him in the chest.

“Egomaniac.”

“Brat.”

“Fashion victim!”

“Drama queen!”

“Is that an insult?” Jensen asks, wrinkling his nose.

Jared smiles, eyes warm and bright.

“You’re impossible,” he says.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Jensen says primly. “Some things are just highly improbable.”

“Like you finishing that erotica piece,” Jared says. “I thought that was going to go on forever, like ER or War and Peace.”

“It did get kind of epic, didn’t it?” Jensen says.

“It did,” Jared nods sagely.

“But it’s the ending that matters,” Jensen says. “Right?”

“And how did it end?” Jared asks, mouth curving up at one corner.

“How else?” Jensen grins. “Happily.”

Jared squeezes his hand. “Good.”

“There may have been multiple orgasms involved,” Jensen hints.

“Multiple, huh?” Jared says, biting his lip and widening his eyes in faux innocence. “We better get started then.”

“Definitely,” Jensen murmurs. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”