Categories: CW RPS
(Present day in fic is August 2008.)
Summary: Terrorists strike fast and hard, first in Texas, killing many of the current administration, leaving Jared and Jensen to fend for themselves.
Appox. 10,000 words.
[thirteen months ago, June 20, 2007 – 20 miles inside the US/Mexico Border]
Dark and quiet didn’t begin to describe the desert. There was no moon, cloud cover obscured the stars that usually exploded in the night sky, and the only sound was the slow crunch of tires on gravel as the convoy truck coasted down a barely visible dirt path to its rendezvous point.
As it slowed to a stop, men appeared out of nowhere, as if they’d been hiding inside the large cactus and squatty mesquite bushes surrounding the truck. Swiftly, efficiently, they emptied their cargo from the canvas covered bed. Two, three, four… eight subdued and well-bundled creatures disembarked and shuffled around in the dirt, confused and scared.
One by one, they handed over the packs they’d been given to carry across the border, then stood back as their saviors (captors?), without preamble, fired up the truck, throwing dust and debris at their faces as it took off into the inky void surrounding them.
That was the deal. For a chance at a better life, the newest arrivals to the U.S. of A. had just unwittingly destroyed it.
[Present Day – Catarina, TX]
“They’re coming. Luke just got the message from second watch.” Jared’s voice is low, hard and serious. Sort of like Sam Winchester on a bad demon day.
Only every day’s bad now, at least compared to his old life. When a bad day meant eighteen hours of being slammed into walls rather than sixteen. When the old Jensen – the very competitive Jensen – thought losing Madden ‘07 to Jared by thirteen points was kinda shitty. Yeah. Not so much anymore.
What is bad is his concern that it’s been way too long since Jared’s laughed or smiled until his dimples popped. These days, a day without Jared smiling at him? That’s bad.
“I’ll tell the rest to stay put until…” At the cracking report of gunfire, Jensen automatically drops and flattens himself to the ground, yanking Jared down with him. Jared lands with a woof on top of him, then rolls to the side, sighting down through the scope on his rifle.
Jensen raises his binoculars and tries to see through the dust cloud of activity. “Shit!”
Jensen loses track of how many of his men he sees falling to the rain of bullets and mortar. This was supposed to be a simple grab and run operation. They’d had no intel about the extraction team being followed, or even that the Federales knew what they were up to.
“Cover me.” Before Jensen registers what Jared’s doing, he’s run off to the north, circling around to the rear of the attackers.
“Jared, no!!” Jensen stands to run after him, but a shard of rock comes flying at him, nicking his arm and he ducks back down. When he looks up again, his only option is to do as Jared had said. He raises his semi-automatic rifle and keeps the bad guys busy while his partner sneaks around.
Jensen’s just slapped in his last clip when he turns in response to the yelling behind him. At that second, he’s positive that miracles do happen and angels have long, curly black hair, well-trimmed goatees and answer to the name of Paolo.
“Jensen, where’s Jared?” A muscular Mexican of medium height, dressed in tan cammo pants and artillery vest, scrambles up loose rock to lay beside Jensen behind their cover.
“Being a God damned fucking hero,” Jensen mutters angrily and motions in the direction Jared ran with the tip of his rifle. “Cover me.” He repeats Jared’s words of a moment ago, giving Paolo about as much time to react as Jared had. Slinging his semi over his back, Jensen pulls his handgun, checks his ammo, and is off in the same direction.
Damn if he’s going to let Jared die alone.
“For the love of God, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jensen yells at Jared over the loud explosions and gunfire surrounding them.
He gets the patented Padalecki don’t be so stupid look, but the stubborn tilt of Jared’s jaw is offset by the fact he can’t really look Jensen in the eye.
“I’m getting Ambassador Francis out of the hands of the enemy, moron.”
“You realize this was a trap, right?”
Jensen crawls on his belly next to Jared. He feels the rocks digging into his bare skin where his shirt rides up and just hopes there won’t be too much loose dirt in his shorts when they’re done. If they live through this, that is.
“Duh! Yes. I know it’s a trap…now. That’s not going to stop us from doing what we’re here to do though, right?”
Jensen grits his teeth and counts to five. “Right.”
As if on cue, both men spring up running, trusting their team to provide cover. When they land next to the figure huddled against a large boulder, hands tied behind her back, bullets are pinging off the rocks all around them, making Jensen’s ears ring.
“Paolo’s here. With any luck, he brought some of those explosives like he sold us last month.”
Jared grunts his response and keeps slicing at the thick rope until the women is free. The first thing she does is rip the gag off her face, however her wide, frantic eyes never leave them.
“Who are you?”
“Hopefully, we’re your knights in shining armor,” Jensen said. “Now, can you get up? Run to that outcropping over there?” He points to the spot they just vacated.
She nods quickly and flexes her fists and ankles, getting the blood circulating enough to support her. Jared chafes at one wrist while Jensen pulls out his revolver.
“Can you shoot?”
She shoots him a scathing look. “Of course I can.” Jared grins while Jensen holds his free hand up in surrender.
“Fine.” He shoves the gun at her and turns to check the clearing they just crossed. Without turning around, he speaks to Jared. “I’ll signal for cover on three.” Jensen feels an answering lean against his back and starts counting.
By the time they make it back to the rest of their group, there’s only an occasional shot being fired and the air is thick with gunpowder and desert dust. Jensen’s pretty sure this is what hell smells like.
When he comes to a stop, Jensen turns to see Jared carrying their rescued damsel in distress. And she isn’t looking real thrilled with his chauvinism, either.
“Let me down! Take your giant paws off of me!”
Jared’s trying manfully to protect the sensitive area between his legs where her kicking feet are coming dangerously close, and place her strategically on the ground at the same time.
“Shit!” Jared’s leg automatically raises and crosses over his body and Jensen can’t hold in the bellow of laughter any longer. That earns him a glare from both of them.
They’ve garnered a bit of an audience which parts when Paolo steps into their circle. “You made it.” He’s grinning and looking relieved and proud.
“Of course we did. Why does everyone think I’ve got a death wish? Sheesh.” Jared rolls his eyes and takes several steps back, keeping one eye on their rescued hostage.
“Uh, because you act like it? It’s either that or you aren’t recovered from that knock to the head you took last week.” Jensen hands their guest a canteen of water which she gratefully tips up to drain.
Paolo laughs, and assured of their survival, focuses his attention on the woman.
“I’m glad to see you safe, Ambassador. Our sources told us you were being escorted with a small detachment of armed guards. We weren’t expecting…this.” He motions behind him where the dust has yet to settle from the explosions. They’ve just demolished a small army with just a handful of poorly armed resistance fighters. The explosives helped
“If you’ll follow me, we have a tent where you can freshen up and prepare for the journey across the river tonight. El Presidente will be most relieved you’ll be able to make the summit.”
Jensen doesn’t stay to hear the rest. Their part is done and he has a few choice words to say to his partner about suicide missions, carelessness and leaving his lover behind to face this shit alone.
Jared’s lounging against a boulder with one arm draped over a drawn up knee. He doesn’t look concerned in the least that Jensen is reaming him a new one. Probably because it’s not the first time and he knows it won’t be the last.
“Are you brain damaged? You are not fucking Rambo, Jared!!” Jensen kicks at a large chunk of rock, sending it rolling down the hill along with a snake slithering off to find new shelter, then he throws his hands up in defeat. What’s the use? Still grumbling, he storms over, yanks Jared up and takes Jared’s head between his hands, kissing him hard and deep. When he pulls away, Jared doesn’t look quite so smug and Jensen’s anger has bled away to mild annoyance.
“Way to reward the suicidal maniac,” Jared finally says breathlessly, and starts to pat at his chest and hips, checking to make sure all his guns are accounted for.
Jensen’s already standing, making a final scan of the area. “Come on. Let’s gather up the group and get out of here. I need to rinse all this dust down with some of Tia’s mescal.”
Jared twists his mouth to the side in a crooked smile and heaves himself up to follow Jensen. When he catches up, Jared throws an arm around his shoulder and matches Jensen’s pace, step for step.
“I’m not going to leave you, Jen. But, this is our life now. I’d think you would have gotten used to it by now.”
Jensen doesn’t pull away, but he does slant Jared a look he hopes clearly conveys his sentiment to that statement. I’ll never get used to this. He also doesn’t voice his fear over the fact that Jared seemingly has.
Fifteen minutes later ten men and two women are mounting their horses and Jensen’s leaning over his saddle telling Paolo when they’ll be crossing the border next for supplies.
He’s seriously ready for a hot meal and his bed, but Jensen knows the report for headquarters has to be sent before either of them can claim R&R. For the last ten months their ragtag bunch has fought under the auspices of the Tex-Mex Resistance. Jensen really tries not to think about the four months before that, when none of them knew when or how they were going to survive.
At least with the patronage of the resistance, most of whom base-camped in Terlingua and surrounding border towns, Jared and he had been able to bring some sort of security (and that word just always made him laugh these days) to their small group of companions, all strangers to him and each other when they’d met up during those first dark days after the terrorist attacks.
[thirteen months ago, June 23, 2007 – On the highway between Dallas and San Antonio]
“Relax, okay? It’s not like they’re going to shoot you.”
Jensen cut Jared a look that clearly spoke of his doubts regarding that statement. Jared had just grinned back, secure in the knowledge that his family would accept Jensen into their loving arms, just like they’d accepted his sister-in-law Missy. Like it was no big deal that Jared was bringing home a guy as the person he planned to spend the rest of his life with.
June in Texas felt like August in Vancouver; humid and sticky. And it was home.
Three days prior it had been Jared who needed reassurance as they’d flown into DFW from Canada, and Jensen seemed pretty confident in telling Jared that his parents would welcome him to their bosoms as long as Jensen brought home someone from Texas.
And Jensen’s prediction had been right on. Despite their well-known strong Christian beliefs, Alan and Donna Ackles had indeed welcomed Jared as Jensen’s choice of ‘life partner’. It seemed sufficient to the cause that he made their son “smile like it’s Christmas morning and everything under the tree’s got his name on it.”
“Seriously, Jared,” Alan Ackles confided. “We haven’t seen him this happy since he left home.” That was enough to make the rest of the talk about how it didn’t mean he was condoning their lifestyle, blah blah blah, mostly bearable.
The best part of the trip for Jared, so far, had been walking into Jensen’s old room and seeing his double bed, all nice and tidy, surrounded by sports posters and lacrosse trophies, crowned with a large, rather scruffy looking stuffed pink pig.
“I will mess you up if you say a word.”
So, upon their arrival at the Padalecki compound, Jared, of course, was right. The whole clan came through with flying colors and insisted the boys stay an extra few days before heading out on their camping trip. Megan only pouted a little that Jared was the one who’d taken Jensen off the market, but ultimately she’d given them each a hug and kiss on the cheek and wished them only happiness for the future.
“I don’t think you’ve got enough food, JT.”
Jensen hid a grin as Jared groaned and whined, “Momma,” for the fourth time in the last half hour.
“Well, you know it gets cool in the canyons at night, even in the summer. You need a full stomach to burn calories for heat.”
“Might as well give in. We gotta book,” Jensen whispered before going around to the other side of the truck to check the tie-downs one more time. He remembered going on camping trips in Boy Scouts when all he took was what he could carry. Looking at the camping and fishing gear that was loaded in Jared’s old truck now made him realize how ‘citified’ he’d become.
“Momma, we’re not climbing Kilimanjaro. I doubt we’ll be doing anything more strenuous than baiting our lines.” But, Jared took the two other grocery bags his mother held out and dropped them behind his seat.
Mrs. Padalecki crossed her arms and wore a smug look. Mothers were really the same everywhere.
Satisfied that the canvas tarp covering their stuff was secure, Jensen walked back to stand beside Jared and held out his hand to her. Sherri, as she’d made Jensen swear to call her, ignored his hand and stepped in to envelop him in a tight hug.
“You boys have fun and take care. Be sure to be back for the Fourth. We’re having a big barbecue and I want to introduce Jensen to the rest of the family.”
Jared rolled his eyes and grinned, wrapping his body around his mom for a last hug. He dwarfed her to the point that all Jensen could see were her arms patting the long expanse of Jared’s back.
When Harley and Sadie settled down in the backseat, seat belts were fastened and Jensen thought his arm would fall off from waving bye, Jared cranked up the local country station and pulled out onto the dirt road they called a driveway, heading west.
+ = + = +
“God, did I need this.” Jared lay back on a blanket by the river with his hands crossed under his head. Harley chased minnows in the river and Sadie, being the sensible dog, napped near Jared’s feet.
“Ditto. Totally.” Jensen laid head to feet next to Jared on the other side of Sadie, one hand idling combing through her fur.
Over a week of no cameras, nobody yelling directions at them, no getting bounced off the furniture. Nothing more technical than the new fly rod Jensen’d brought with him. They’d even agreed to leave the razors at home.
And best of all, they didn’t have to hide their relationship from the fish, birds and occasional rabbit or snake.
“Better start packing it up, though. Looks like some nasty weather coming in from the east.”
Jensen followed Jared’s pointing finger and saw a black and grey rumbling mass of clouds. “Great. And we’re driving into that? We should stay here and wait it out.”
Both men turned when Harley sat back on his haunches in the mud and began to make a plaintive sound that might have been a howl, then began barking at nothing the men could tell. Jared walked over, petted him and they both came back to camp. Sadie was sniffing at Harley and both dogs acted skittish and worried.
“You can tell my mom why we missed the barbeque, then.” Jared was serious. Jensen could tell.
Huh. Maybe not. “Fine. Do me a favor and call her, though, and find out when’s the latest we can get there.”
Jared absently soothed both dogs with his large hands and easy voice. Jensen started tearing down the tent, and once the dogs settled around him again, Jared dug crap out of his bag, trying to get to his cell phone. Damn things always dropped to the bottom.
Jensen watched him peripherally as he pulled it out and turned it on. Several moments of silence went by as Jensen unsuccessfully tried to refold the tent to its former tight square in the stuff sack.
Jensen looked up. “What?”
“We had a signal when we got here. But there’s nothing now.”
[Present Day – Catarina to Terlingua]
As they rode back to camp, following the curve of the river before climbing higher into the canyons, Jensen’s horse nipped playfully at the tail of Jared’s mount, Patty. Jensen clicked and rocked his heels into Frisco’s sides, bringing him up beside Jared.
“I hope we get some downtime. I think everyone needs a little break. They’ve had us going hard at it for weeks now.” Jensen let Frisco sidle up to Patty, bumping his and Jared’s knees together.
Jared slanted him a look and then turned in his saddle to examine the other riders behind them. “They’re good. There’s rumors that we’ll have the government back in less than a month.”
Jensen couldn’t help the snort of disbelief and tried to hide it behind a cough. “Those rumors have been flying since we joined up, Jay. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re actually enjoying this war.”
Whatever Jared’s answer to that, it was lost in the ear-ringing barks of Sadie and Harley, who’d spotted their master and were now racing down the road, kicking up more dust than the horses. Jensen gripped his reins tightly, knowing Frisco was just waiting for another chance to kick Harley in the head.
+ = + = +
Jensen had been content from the get-go, and still was, to let Jared, an extrovert for the ages if there ever was one, take the position of de facto leader. It was common knowledge they were a team, however, and Jensen was always deferred to when Jared wasn’t around. And the two never disagreed (where anyone could see or hear them).
Jensen hadn’t even been sure he wanted to join up with any sort of official group, government or not, but in the end they’d not really had a choice. Struggling for existence, fighting and even killing what enemy they might stumble across, had soon worn them all down. He and Jared both knew that if there was ever a chance for peace in his country again, or even a prayer of hope for their freedom, tagging up with Paolo and the rest was the only way it would happen.
Next to Jared, Jensen trusted Paolo with his life and the lives of his crew. Paolo was their purported liaison between small resistance fighter groups, such as Jared and Jensen’s, and the central headquarters supposedly somewhere in California, which Jensen still wasn’t sure even existed. He had only Ira Combs’ (Paolo’s counterpart in the States) word to go on, but the man had provided fresh fruit and vegetables, weapons and ammo they’d have never gotten on their own, so Jared had encouraged them to listen to what Ira had to say when they were recruited.
A week after becoming part of the official resistance Jared, Jensen, and ten other men set out to intercept a shipment of high-tech equipment being transported to Dallas from Las Vegas under the guise of medical supplies. They’d received word from a resistance covert operative that the three cab-over pick-ups were going to only travel under cover of night down Rt. 187, then along the old I-20 service road. They’d take them out between Midland and Abilene. It was their first mission as freedom-fighters.
Jensen watched Jared pat the canvas bag that lay between them containing dynamite and C4. Their crash course in explosives was still ringing in his head and he hoped to god Jared didn’t blow something important off that night.
As it turned out, he didn’t blow anything off, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. When the fuses blew about 30 seconds premature, Jensen had dragged Jared’s unconscious, and very heavy ass, all the way back across the highway, leaving it to their men to finish the job with the automatic guns Ira had provided. When Henny searched them out to report that the equipment had been confiscated without damage, he found Jensen tenderly holding Jared’s head in his lap while soundly cursing him for the irresponsible fucktard he had been.
“You twitter-headed freak, you could have been killed, or worse…”
Jared looked up into Jensen’s worried eyes and smiled. “What’s worse than that?”
Jensen smacked him up side the face and grumped. “You don’t want to find out, Jay.” And with that, he stood, letting Jared’s head slap against the hard, cracked earth.
When they got back to the camp, Jared wouldn’t stop teasing Jensen about actually hanging curtains in the hut that passed for their bedroom-slash-storehouse. Even if they weren’t really curtains, but old multi-colored raggedy-assed Mexican blankets that had lived previous lives on the backs of donkeys.
He didn’t know that Jensen had decided that night along the side of the road that whatever time he and Jared had, they’d make a life together, just like they’d planned forever ago, it seemed. It would be a fucked up life full of danger and ridiculous hints of science fiction and fantasy, but it would be a life.
Jensen also stopped pretending to any one who cared to pay attention that he and Jared where anything other than lovers. Thus, Homo-Security was born.
+ = + = +
Jensen doesn’t recall ever having so many calluses. His palms and the creases in his fingers are lined with irregularly shaped rough patches of hard, dead skin from hours of holding a gun grip so tight his knuckles turn white. There’s a permanent crease around his hand from wrapping his horse’s bridle when he rides.
And now, he’s not positive he doesn’t have calluses on his ass from eight hours in the saddle from Catarina.
Sitting by the fire, strumming the old guitar Jared brought back for him during the last foray into Mexico, he realizes that he’s hardly got any feeling left in the tips of his fingers, either. As if reading his mind, Jared and the dogs plop down beside him, all three dripping wet from baths in the river, and a hand covers his as he works the chords. Jensen stops humming the low melody, looks up at him and smiles.
“Lemme see your hands.” Jared pulls his left hand off the fret and opens it for inspection, palm up. Jensen winces and is surprised to see a fine line of blood across the tip of his middle finger. “How many times I told you to watch it.”
Jensen feels slightly chastised, but tugs his hand back into his lap and lays the guitar on the ground at his other side. “It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jared lays back until he’s propped up on his elbows and wags his booted feet back and forth, waving the flames of the fire in the breeze he creates. “You comin’ to bed soon.” Jared’s look very clearly states he hopes the answer is yes.
A wavering circle of light made by the fire shows just the outlines of several bodies lying huddled as close as they can to the warmth. Several someones are snoring on the other side of the camp and Jensen recognizes the sounds of lovemaking off to the right in the dark. Out of sight but never out of hearing. It’s one of the rules.
Jared hears it too and Jensen feels the warm snake of lust wind through his gut when long, thick fingers brush down along his back, tucking into the edge of his waistband and tugging slightly. “Come on. I really want you to come to bed.” So Jensen does. They’ve both got some adrenaline to work off.
They’ve perfected the quiet fuck.
Even though it’s no big secret what they are to each other, and Lord knows a group of mostly male militia is no stranger to homosexual ‘friendships’, Jensen and Jared know better than to rub it in the faces of their people. He respects them and their families.
Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is a thing of the past, but just because the world is a totally different place than it was a year ago doesn’t mean prejudices have been swept under the rug, bringing them all together into one happy family of harmony and acceptance.
They’re luckier than most since they have a ‘house’ (and Jensen really uses that term loosely) to shelter their activities. The sex sounds they’d heard earlier outside would be Henny and Monica, one of two couples who joined them early on. Without the luxury of walls, they, like all the rest, had lost all vestiges of modesty many months ago and contented themselves with the cover of darkness.
There are three structures in what passes for their village. One for the children and old people who look after them, one Jared and Jensen share with dry good supplies that need protection from the weather, and finally, the makeshift detention center. A nice word for the place they take prisoners for interrogation.
Jared’s almost tugging on Jensen’s arm now and Jensen knows he won’t be sitting in any saddle tomorrow. He’s not sure if it’s due to his younger age, the fact he lets his emotions run so close to the surface, or that Jared’s been touched so personally by the invasion – Jensen just knows to expect this after each battle, each ambush…each close call.
The door’s barely shut before Jared is jamming his mouth to Jensen’s so hard he can taste blood. Jensen walks him backwards to the bed because damn if he’s going to get fucked against the wall again.
“God, Jen. Gotta get you naked now, man!” Jared’s wrestling with multiple shirts and trying to toe out of his boots at the same time. Jensen steadies himself on the post standing in the center of the room and gets out of his own shoes, pants and shirts, all the time soothing Jared in a low voice.
“…know, Jay. It’s okay. Safe again and I’m right here…it’s still us, together.”
Taking back a measure of power, Jensen shoves Jared down onto the bed and straddles him, nestling their balls together and leaning over him.
“I know what you need, baby. You need to fuck me, don’t you? Make sure I’m still yours. Still with you. I know.”
Jensen’s got his own needs, too. He rakes dirty nails down Jared’s side, then strokes back up to tweak and pinch his nipples until Jared is arching up into the exquisite pain of being alive. Some of his roughness might have something to do with punishing Jared for taking such a risk the day before. But, just a little.
“Lube.” Jared’s hissing through clenched teeth, groping blindly on the floor beside the mattress until he raises a fist in triumph, wrinkled tube of lube a victory flag. They haven’t used a condom in over a year.
Jensen rocks down hard on Jared before scooting down between his legs. His mouth waters at the sight of Jared’s dick dancing in front of his face and wastes no time. Jensen starts by sucking and licking his balls. Jared’s legs fall open and he moans low down in his throat. Jensen knows Jared wants to dominate. Has some deep-seated need to lay claim on him each time they return home, but Jensen manages to give as good as he gets.
Jared still tastes like sweat and gunpowder when Jensen takes him into his mouth, despite his earlier swim. Jensen buries his nose in damp, wiry hairs and reaches up to continue tormenting Jared’s nipples. When he thinks he’s pushed enough, Jensen lets Jared’s dick slide wetly out of his mouth and climbs back up his lover’s body until he’s astride him again.
“Get me ready.” And long, callused fingers are right there instantly. First Jared sweeps down over the circle of tight muscle, tickling and teasing. Jensen braces himself then lets out a breath of relief when Jared finally slides one finger in to the first knuckle, adding a second just a moment later.
Jensen rides down around them, pulling himself up, then pushing down until he’s got a rocking rhythm going on Jared’s hand. “Another,” he gasps.
Three fingers and Jensen knows they’re nothing compared to what it’ll feel like when Jared takes him. The thought uncoils the last of his reserve and Jensen pulls free, arranging himself over Jared’s dick.
Jared’s gaze is locked on his face and there’s sweat gathering at his hairline and trickling down his neck. Jensen leans over, laps at the sweet spot, then lowers himself purposefully down until Jared’s buried balls deep in his ass.
The look on Jared’s face is the hottest thing Jensen’s ever seen. He thinks that every time they fuck. Scrunched up in concentration, lip held firmly between his teeth while they both try not to bring the house down with the noise they really want to make. Jared clutches at Jensen’s hip and just holds him there, not allowing either of them to move and he knows Jared is savoring the feel of Jensen’s ass pulsing steadily around his cock.
The rest doesn’t take long and they’re both shooting their loads with Jensen’s fists clenched in the grimy sheets and Jared’s toes dug into the mattress as he raises them both up with his hips.
When they can hear something other than their own ragged breathing, Jensen realizes the camp is nighttime quiet. His people have every right to be exhausted and his last thought before he closes his eyes is that he hopes they didn’t hear him yelling Jared’s name.
+ = + = +
A week later, it’s wash, rinse, repeat.
This time Jensen’s wearing a raw abrasion down his side and the length of his left leg where he’s been dragged across desert and rock behind a Federale’s horse. His right leg’s only slightly less abused, but only because the man had just taken off and not really gotten up any speed yet. Jensen remembers a surreal moment when his head is hanging between outstretched arms, muscles starting to tear and burn, thinking how ironic it is how they’ve all started thinking of the terrorists as the Federales. Paolo’d started it and the camp picked it up.
Then it’s Jared to the rescue just like a John fucking Wayne movie. He races his horse up alongside them and catches up with Jensen’s captor. When Jared leaps across the few inches between their mounts, sending them both tumbling to the ground, Jensen wastes no time trying to stop the skittish animals, even with the rope still tied to his hands.
To his credit, Jensen recovers quickly and is able to crawl to the nervously shifting horses and pulls a weapon on the wrestling pair of men, rolling around in flying dust, while awaiting a clear shot. As it turns out, the shot isn’t necessary when Jared gets in a solid blow to the head, sending the lone soldier to his knees.
They’ll have to bring him in for questioning; he’s the assistant to a high-ranking enemy. Jensen knows he’ll get shit and probably a pop to the jaw from Jared for heading out ahead of him, but all appears to be fine in the end. His relief is short lived when he realizes Jared had no intention of letting the man up.
Jared has the man prone on the ground, straddling his waist while his fists slam over and over into bone, cartilage and flesh, mashing them all together until Jensen’s afraid the prisoner’s face will disintegrate into mush. Jared’s hand are dripping blood, knuckles torn raggedly open on teeth and bone.
“Jared! Jared, stop it. Now!” Jensen shimmies down the incline and shoves at Jared, keeping his sidearm handy, though he doubts he’ll need it.
Jensen just stares at Jared as he rolls off the unconscious man and kneels in the dirt, breathing labored and harsh.
“What the fuck, man!” Jensen inspects the enemy and once he’s satisfied he’ll live, turns on Jared. Even if Jensen will admit that Jared’s a much better leader of people than he is, the kid has no control when it comes to the enemy. Jensen also knows Jared’s rage isn’t primarily fueled by his fear for Jensen. No, Jared has good reason for his anger, but it’s Jensen’s job to keep him in check.
When they ride back into camp, their prisoner strapped over the saddle of his own horse, Jensen’s barely dropped to the ground and handed his reins to one of the kids before Jared’s yanking him over to their hut.
“Hey, watch the shoulders,” Jensen winces and grabs at Jared’s hand to stop the tug.
“Then come on. Gotta get you cleaned up….just gotta….” Jared rushes off to shove the crude wooden door open to their quarters, dragging Jensen behind him.
Yeah. Jensen knows what Jared’s gotta do.
+ = + = +
“Up and at ‘em, cowboy.” Some things never change. Jared is still a morning person and Jensen is still not.
Jensen inhales deeply while at the same time waving his middle finger in the air. The room smells like an orgy. A day-old orgy. God, Jensen loves it. It’s bittersweet and rank and he knows if he sticks his tongue out, he will be able to taste the tang in the air. Once more they’ve proved to each other that they’re still alive. Still together.
He throws the covers back before Jared has a chance to yank them off. Better to save some dignity. He sure didn’t have any last night when he was begging Jared to pound his ass like a two-penny nail. Jensen’s not sure now who needed that more, him or Jared.
The twinge in his backside when he swings his legs off the bed confirms once more how Jared faces his freak-outs when he thinks he’s losing Jensen…or comes close to dying, himself. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, after all.
“Fuck you, Padalecki. Don’t you think we deserve to sleep in?” Jensen breathes deeply once more, stands to stretch with one arm while the other scratches idly over his stomach. Morning wood bouncing with each movement.
“I must be losing my touch if you’re waking up horny, baby.” Jared manfully tackles Jensen back to the bed and makes a show of flipping him over onto his stomach. A maneuver Jensen reverses a few seconds later, ending up straddled across Jared’s lap, both their hard-ons snugged together between their bodies.
“You need a lesson in respecting your elders.” Jensen hitches them closer and bites down hard enough on Jared’s clavicle to make him yelp. Content that he’s made his point, Jensen climbs off, leaving Jared gaping at him with lustful indignation.
“See? Control. That’s what it’s all about.” Jensen throws the words at Jared as he steps outside to shower under the hose. By the time he’s drying off with the rough blanket that doubles as a “shower curtain,” Jensen’s mind is on the upcoming interrogation.
Despite Jared’s pouncing and sexual bravado he knows his partner’s probably doing the same. Jensen really hopes he won’t have to pull Jared off their prisoner again like he’d had to in the past. Not that he can blame him one bit, but a dead prisoner isn’t a lot of use to the resistance these days. He makes a mental note to keep Jared unarmed inside the makeshift holding cell.
[six months ago – Across the river from La Linda, Mexico and on to San Antonio]
By September they numbered thirteen. And fuck all if Jensen had a clue how the two of them wound up leading this group of survivors. He’d never even made it to Eagle Scout.
Thank God Jared seemed to have the secret ingredient for getting scared, exhausted people of various ages and backgrounds to do exactly what he wanted. Probably a combination of those ginormous hands (no one wanted to mess with those) and the ability to smile in the face of invasion by international terrorists.
Jensen felt like he was just along for the ride.
“We’ll be crossing over to La Linda later tonight.” Jared’s hand rested on the back of Jensen’s neck and squeezed. Jensen automatically leaned back into it wondering how someone as large as Jared could come up on him without being heard.
“Who’s staying here?” They were standing well away from the other members of their group who were busy with supper prep and cleaning weapons, but Jensen’s voice instinctively went to a lower register.
Jared took another step closer and wrapped his arms around Jensen’s waist, tugging back, not bothering to hide the intimate gesture from those who might be watching. When Jared’d leaned down far enough that his lips grazed Jensen’s ear, he could already feel a shiver of anticipation and want unfurling in the pit of his belly.
“Everyone. It’s gonna be just you and me this first time. Even leaving the dogs here as sort of an alarm system for the camp.” Jensen had to really concentrate on Jared’s whispered words. They hadn’t been alone in over two months. And they’d dared not try more than sleeping side-by-side amidst a gaggle of paranoid Texan strangers.
“Just you and me? Alone in the desert?” Jensen didn’t even try to keep the leer out of his voice while finger-caressing Jared’s thigh with the hand facing away from the camp. “If you’re waiting on me, you’re goin’ backwards.”
+ = + = +
Much like necessity has been accused of birthing invention, feeling helpless and powerless spawns desperation. At least that’s been Jensen’s observation since this whole catastrophic event turned their world upside down.
There’d been tense moments at first – Hell, up till about a week ago it seemed he or Jared had to break up at least a fight a day. Jensen thinks it was discovering they weren’t really alone in the world – that pockets of survivors/insurgents were banding together all over the state and westward with the help of the Mexican government, or more accurately, the private citizens of the Mexican border states, that finally seemed to settle them all down.
And if meeting up with Paolo the first time in La Linda was the turning point, the journey back to San Antonio – and what they found there – had been the point of no return.
Paolo led the Mexican army along the Texas border providing provisions, ammo and weapons in the beginning, when they had nothing to use as barter. Then later, he’d helped Jared and Jensen train the people who’d come to look to them for guidance and purpose.
In three months, their team of twenty-one men, two women and three teenagers had become proficient at the hit-and-run tactics which had earned them a name from the panhandle to the gulf. At first it had been easy to strip the small convoys and scouting parties of enough goods to either see to their own needs or use for trading with the Mexicans.
When word began to spread, the going got a bit harder, but since they never traveled any distance in groups larger than five, they’d been all but impossible to trace. They moved camp regularly, so it was a no-brainer when Jared got word of his family in San Antonio.
Jensen and Jared made a quick trip to La Linda for reinforcements and less than twenty-four hours later, they were leading a small army through the canyons and across the dry-lands toward Jared’s old home.
It had taken them three weeks to reach San Antonio. Between having to lay low and following circuitous routes to avoid unnecessary confrontations with the terrorists, Jensen was having to practically sit on Jared each night to make him stop and allow their people to rest. He gave up the day they reached the outskirts of town and turned north to circle around to Jared’s family ranch. There’d be no stopping him now that they were this close.
When they topped the hill on their horses, Jensen swallowed his next words and he could feel them clogging his throat like thick bile. He caught a breath that turned into a knot of despair, adding to the choking feeling. Jensen risked a glance at Jared, but was relieved to see his lover wasn’t racing down, hell bent for leather, placing them all in more danger than they’d seen since leaving this place, although he had no idea where Jared was getting the self-control.
Instead, Jared just stared, his eyes wide and unblinking until Jensen wanted to wave a hand across his face. His tell-tale white knuckled grip on the horse’s reins was the only indication of how the scene below them was affecting him.
What had once been the Padalecki home, gleaming white stucco finish and red tile roof, was now blackened and crumbling, the sad residue of mayhem long since deserted. There were no smoking ashes, no glowing timbers, just a rock and clay jumble hiding who knew what underneath.
The horses were gone, of course, as was most anything else of value, Jensen was sure. Somehow the barn had escaped major damage and stood bleak against the backdrop of the surrounding ruins. There was no sign of life…or even bodies from their vantage point on the hill.
“Jay?” Jensen reached across the narrow distance between their horses and placed a leather-gloved hand on Jared’s thigh. “I’ll have Henny start the others setting up camp and we’ll go down. Just the two of us.” Although it was doubtful they were in hearing range of anything other than the few cows still grazing nearby, Jensen’s voice was whisper-soft as he tried to comfort Jared.
The wind must have shifted just as they were descending into the small valley where Jared’s parents and sister had lived. Jensen swallowed and then tried to breathe through his mouth, but before they’d reached the house, both men were kneeling in the grass disgorging everything they’d eaten since the day before.
When Jensen was through, he walked back to his horse and unlooped the canteen, using the water to swish and rinse his mouth, then took it over to Jared who was still sitting on the ground. “Here.” Jared ignored the water and stared down at the mess below.
They were close enough now to see a couple of smaller vultures hopping around on the other side of still standing chimney. “Let me go first, Jay. You don’t have to see whatever’s waiting down there.” Jensen rubbed across Jared’s back and shoulders a couple of times before wrapping his fingers around the back of Jared’s neck, gently massaging the muscles bunched into thick ropes of steel wire.
Jared simply rose and began walking the rest of the way to the house, leaving his horse for Jensen to lead down with his own mount. Jensen watched him pick up speed the closer he got until he was full out running when he hit the front driveway, yelling for his mom, dad, Meghan, screaming their names so loudly, they echoed in the valley.
By the time they’d dismantled camp and mounted up to leave two days later, Jared still hadn’t spoken to anyone but Jensen. The others headed back south down the road while the two men stood in the meadow behind what used to be Jared’s home. Jensen held both their reins while Jared stood motionless beside three graves. His parents and his grandmother.
Jared had wanted to stay and search for Megan and his brother’s family, but reason finally won out and he seemed to accept Jensen’s explanation that they’d probably managed to get away and were hiding where no one, including the Resistance, could find them. At least Jensen prayed they were.
That night they camped near the loafing shed where they’d been able to scavenge some milk and feed buckets for the two cows and calf that were penned in a half-rotten corral. Despite the grief and rage both Jared and Jensen had felt at what had been done to Jared’s home, common sense still ruled over emotions and they knew the animals would make life that much easier for their new outlaw lives.
A hooded figure sits patiently awaiting his fate. Jared meets Jensen at the front flap of the tent and it’s crystal clear by the set of his jaw that Jared’s hold on his temper is tenuous, at best.
“Just being this close to the people who killed my family,” he grits through clenched teeth. “I want to rip his balls off and let him watch me cut them up into tiny pieces.”
“Jared, stop this. You’ve been making the same threat for six months, every time we get a prisoner. He probably didn’t even have anything to do with the attack on your parents.” Jensen’s grip on Jared’s arm will leave bruises, but he’s got to snap Jared out of the haze of rage that always accompanies him to this tent. It’s probably not his brightest idea to let Jared near the prisoner, but one thing Jensen can’t deny: Jared gets results.
“I know how you feel. I get it. But get a grip or take a walk and I’ll handle it.” Jensen knows better. Jared hasn’t missed an interrogation yet and unless he’s dead on the side of the road, won’t until this whole clusterfuck is over.
Jared yanks his arm from Jensen’s grip and takes a step back, his nose, mouth, hell, his whole face pinched with adrenaline and frustration. He gives Jensen a quick jerk of his head, indicating compliance, but doesn’t say a word before entering the tent, Jensen hot on his heels.
Jensen wastes no time. “Why were you in the Alamosa Canyon by yourself?” He knows the prisoner speaks English since he was pretty clear about what he was going to do to Jensen the day before when he’d tied that rope to his saddlehorn..
The hood shifts as the prisoner raises his head. The voice is muffled and cracking dry, but the words are clear enough.
“Ah, I see I have been captured by Homo-Security.” Jensen ignores the nickname the occupied forces have apparently given their group of resistance fighters. He supposes it’s supposed to lower morale or something. Secretly, he finds it rather amusing and doesn’t think the people who follow him and Jared let it bother them, or at least they don’t show it.
Jared’s never been as sanguine about it and Jensen inwardly groans. He refuses to feel sorry for their prisoner, however. He’s brought it on himself. The best Jensen can do is send Jared out to cool off.
+ = + = +
Paolo stays overnight after taking charge of the prisoner who’ll be transported to central resistance headquarters once Jensen finishes his questioning. Seems even Tia’s mescal can take down a hundred and eighty pound man who was weaned on tequila in his milk.
Jensen grins at the way Paolo weaves around the fire before finally admitting defeat and dropping to the ground. Yeah, Jensen knows to just stay put and not try to move until it wears off. He’s sitting on his log again, with his guitar and a bottle of Tia’s finest on the ground at his feet.
Disaster was indeed averted when Jared sits in on a card game once Jensen’s kicked him out, temporarily distracting him from the prisoner in the containment shed. Across the campfire, Jared’s cleaning the men out of just about everything they have of value. If this shit-storm was good for nothing else, Jared’s finally learned how to wear a poker face. Texas Hold’em is his game of choice and someone else must have finally wrestled a winning hand because it looks like they’re currently going with Mexican Stud. Jensen takes another pull from the bottle, sloshing a bit on his jeans, and grins at Jared’s animated refusal to take another card. He’s so bluffing.
This is their life now.
Jensen looks up when a burst of laughter erupts from the group and sees Bianca smack Paolo on the back of the head. He must be over-the-top drunk if he can still manage to insult the fiery brunette who came with Paolo on a supply trip a month ago and decided to adopt their camp as her own. Jensen wouldn’t really call her a “camp follower” but he supposes that’s what she is, even if the men she entertains would have stood in line to marry her, given a chance. She never gives them one.
She’s wandering around the camp now, looking bored, joking and trading insults with the men and women. Jensen wishes half the men under his command had her balls.
Bianca looks over the top of the fire and catches Jensen’s eye and arches a brow at him while laying a hand on Jared’s head as she passes by him, playing with the hair curling at his neck. Jensen shakes his head and chuckles before lowering his head again to the chords of his guitar. She never stops trying to worm her way into a threesome with him and Jared, to the point that it’s become a running joke between them. Jensen can barely keep up with Jared in bed. He’s pretty sure the two of them would kill him.
As expected, Jared wins the last hand and calls it a night. He doesn’t let the others goad him into a rematch, but rather crawls around the fire to Jensen’s side, snatching the bottle of liquor before Jensen can move it out of the way.
“You drank all this? Fucking lush.” Jared’s teasing tone accompanies the swish slosh of liquid in the mostly empty bottle. He seems to have forgiven Jensen for denying him another chance at their prisoner.
Jensen focuses on Jared’s face, illuminated in yellow and orange. He thinks about just shutting up. Not saying anything about how Jared handled the interrogation early that morning and his resulting expulsion from the prison. It’s not like it’ll do any good. After the first two times, Jensen’s learned just how far he can push Jared on this. The best he can do is not let him in with any weapons and maybe sex him up good enough that he’ll be in a less murderous mood. With luck, that’s how it’ll go tonight.
He rarely thinks about just how fucked up this might be.
“Bianca’s cruising again.” Jensen’s attempt at diversion may or may not work. Depends on whether Jared’s feeling charitable. His shoulders don’t look as high and tight and angry like they have all day and Jensen really hopes they can fucking get the hell out of this thing before he has to watch Jared commit moral suicide right in front of his eyes.
It looks like it might work tonight. Jared snorts and shakes his head, amused. Another tip of the bottle empties it and he’s slouched down between Jensen’s legs, forcing Jensen to set his guitar to the side.
“We might have to take her up on that one day, baby,” he says all low and growly, running a finger down the inside of Jensen’s thigh. “I just hate to think about how ruined she’d be for anyone else, then.”
Jensen leans over until he can reach the side of Jared’s neck and lets his teeth scrape across his bristly jaw. When did his life become so surreal? Like a cross between Silverado and Red Dawn. Except, it’s turning all of them into this vigilante group he never wanted to be a part of. But, how could he predict the lengths war and suffering and helplessness would push him…push them both?
He’d actually killed. And not just from bullets fired into the heat of battle, but he’d looked into the face of a stranger, pulled the trigger on his gun and watched the life fade from dark, angry eyes.
He gets distracted by Jared’s hand moving more purposefully up his leg and shifts so that Jared’s cheek now rests on the bulge in his pants. The camp is filled with the kinds of snores that result from overindulgence and exhaustion. Sharp, nasal snorts follow the two men to their hovel and Jensen doesn’t even bother striking the lamp up, just starts undressing Jared the Lightweight. Jensen had drunk about two-thirds of the bottle before Jared sat down, but Jared’s the one weaving and leaning heavily on Jensen while his shirt is stripped off and his jeans unbuttoned.
“I wish I’d never known.” Jared’s voice cuts through the darkness and Jensen pauses with his hand on Jared’s boot. He’s got Jared’s jeans shoved down below the knee but has to shove him down to the bed to help with the footwear.
“What’s that, babe?” He finishes untying the leather laces, letting the boots fall wherever on the dirt floor. Jensen starts to tug the legs of Jared’s pants over his feet and gets one all the way off before Jared answers.
“I wish I hadn’t known what happened. In San Antonio.” The last word cuts off with a ragged sob and Jensen’s up beside him on the bed in an instant, holding, soothing, shushing. Jensen should have seen this coming.
The occupation of Texas – which was really all Jensen’d been concerned with for most the last year since they weren’t getting a lot of information from the outside until joining the movement — has changed them both. Jensen’s never been very political, especially in the past few years when it seemed that no matter what anyone did, America just kept stepping in world-shit. But when he and Jared’d gone up to San Antonio and found Jared’s home burned, his family dead or missing…that’s personal. And if he feels like that, he can’t imagine how Jared’s been dealing.
Except he does. Mail service was a joke, but the old fashioned grapevine had gotten word to Jensen from his father. Don’t worry about us. Everyone in Mexico. His parents and siblings might have made it safely out of Texas without casualty, but Jared’s had not and Jared’s family is his family. Jared’s been dealing with anger and vengeance burning deep in his belly like a smoldering coal that flares each time they bring a prisoner into camp.
“It’ll be over one day, Jay. It’s gonna be all over and we’ll find Megan and the rest.” Jensen’s kissing Jared’s face, licking at the salty streaks along his cheek and neck, smoothing his hair back, even though neither of them has bathed in a couple of days and Jared’s long hair is lank and kinda gross.
Jared curls around Jensen, wrapping a leg over his hip, burrowing in. Jensen’s hand wanders over the bare skin of Jared’s back, down his sides, pulling him in closer. When he notices Jared’s fingers working at Jensen’s belt, he pulls back enough to give them room to maneuver and completes the job, then strips the rest of his clothes off.
Even without light, Jensen knows Jared’s torso is dark and tanned, more than he’s ever been, while the skin below his hips where his jeans ride is obscenely pale. He runs his hands up Jared’s muscular shoulders. Muscles not created by weight training, but from hard manual labor to keep the camp in firewood and the corrals maintained. Jared’s thighs are hard from riding a horse and running on a daily basis.
Jensen’s dick fills and swells, nudging against Jared’s belly, insistent and needy. He curses to himself because he’s supposed to be comforting Jared, not molesting him. But, Jared appears to be totally on board with the signals Jensen’s body is sending.
“Fuck me, Jen. I want you inside me. I want to feel.”
Jensen starts to ask Jared what it is he wants to feel, but he’s pretty sure he knows. They’re alive. Jensen is alive. They have hope.
“Gotcha, Jay. I’m here. I’m here and gonna fuck you so good, baby. So good. We’re good.”
Jensen’s hand is already sliding around under to Jared’s balls and Jared’s all spread for him in open invitation. The pungent odor of unwashed body, musky and tangy sweat-dried is strong on them both. They’d only splashed around in the horse trough after the interrogation and Jensen’s not stopping now to drag either of their asses out to the shower.
Jared’s ten foot arm is hanging off the side of the bed while he blindly scrabbles for the lube they’d used the night before. He gives a triumphant grunt and thrusts it at Jensen, then pulls it back and unscrews the cap.
“I’ll do it. Want to slick myself up for you. I got it.” He’s sort of muttering to himself while he squeezes a liberal amount out and Jensen wrinkles his nose at the sound of a glob hitting the sheets before Jared can reseal the tube.
All’s forgotten when Jensen watches Jared fumble between his own legs, though. Jared’s eyes flutter closed and his groans are like the best filthy sex Jensen’s ever had so that he has to grip the base of his cock tight or come on Jared’s stomach right the fuck now.
It’s a toss-up who’s going to shoot first by the time Jensen lines up to slide his dick home. Jensen has to push Jared’s hand off of himself since he seems to have forgotten that Jensen’s gonna fuck him stupid and jerking Jared while doing that is part of his job.
Jensen is almost scared to move. He’s pretty sure it’s having all that alcohol in his system that’s kept him from going hair trigger already. Finally, he gives a last almost painful squeeze and slides in, sweet as sin. Jared’s body welcomes Jensen, feels made for him. And when they find their rhythm and Jensen’s got his hand filled with Jared’s dick he’s pretty sure it doesn’t get better than this no matter how disgusting they smell or feel.
“Fuck, yeah. Do it, Jen.” Jared sighs Jensen’s name, urging him on, harder, faster. Jensen loops his arms under Jared’s knees and drapes his huge-ass feet over Jensen’s shoulders. That gains him another inch and he’s pretty sure his eyes just roll back in his head when he feels his balls slap against the back of Jared’s ass.
“’m comin’, baby. Gonna come…” and like that he can’t speak, he can’t breathe. All Jensen does is whine his release before Jared pulls him down to inhale what little breath he has left with a kiss as deep as Jensen’s buried in him. Jared follows in seconds and Jensen can hear the slick slurping sound of his hand pumping Jared through the come and sweat.
Neither of them moves for long minutes and Jensen’s pretty sure they’re glued together for life.
When Jensen wakes up, the sun is cursedly bright and his mouth tastes like armadillo ass. Jared’s still sleeping with his face pressed down into his pillow and Jensen knows there’ll be creases all over his face. It’s actually pretty cute. Jensen can see the crusted tears along the edge of Jared’s lashes and can’t stop his hand from reaching out, tucking a greasy curl behind Jared’s ear before leaning down and kissing the newly revealed skin.
He decides Jared doesn’t need to be part of any future interrogations. He’s not going to watch him tear himself up by tearing up someone else. Jensen won’t watch Jared getting eaten up from the inside out any more.
Sadie’s whines from her bed on the floor seem to put her in full agreement. “Yeah, we gotta take care of him, don’t we girl?”
+ = + = +
Jensen stands in the doorway, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dim interior. The blankets at the windows mute both light and sound, but he can see Jared sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, hear his ragged breath.
After a minute, Jared says quietly, “Come on in. I’m not gonna do anything.”
Jensen closes the door behind him, watching dust motes swirl in the air, and moves to stand in front of Jared. He’s not going to apologize; it hadn’t been easy, finding the best way of getting the guy to talk, but Jared probably would’ve killed him before they got any decent information. Sometimes it paid to be seen as the good cop.
“He doesn’t know anything about your family, or what happened to them,” Jensen says, putting his hand on top of Jared’s head. Jared stiffens for a minute, then nods against Jensen’s hand.
“Turns out he hates his superiors more than he hates the resistance,” Jensen says. “He sang like a bird when we offered him a new i.d. and a two-week head-start south. He gave us coordinates on stashes of weapons and supplies that’ve already checked out, and we’ve got a good solid lead on two Federale nests.”
Jared lifts his head. His eyes are red, his mouth tight. “Okay.” He stands, crowding Jensen, but Jensen doesn’t step back. He stays still and lets Jared come up against him, warm and hard, radiating banked grief and frustration. Jensen puts his hand on Jared’s hip, pulling him in the rest of the way.
“You plan the mescal? Or did it just work out like that?” Jared asks, dropping his forehead to Jensen’s shoulder.
“It just worked out like that,” Jensen says, cupping the back of Jared’s neck. He feels Jared nod against him, sharp teeth nipping at his shoulder.
“And they think I’m the one in charge here,” Jared says with a little laugh. “Little do they know.”
“Jared –” Jensen starts, but Jared stops him.
“I get it. I do,” Jared says. “Sometimes I get…I know how I get.”
Jensen turns and rubs his mouth against Jared’s neck.
“I’m not gonna stop looking,” Jared murmured, arching his throat, giving Jensen better access.
“I’d never ask you to,” Jensen said.