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errant_janeMaster Post
PART I: Where We End
Spring 2000 – Spring 2002
It is the most beautiful day in the entire world. The weather, of course, refuses to reflect that. Everything is cast in a dull, depressing grey without even the decency of a proper rainfall. Instead, the air is misty and damp, a pathetic sort of spittle coming from the clouds overhead. Jensen actually can't remember the last time he saw the sun shine, but right now he doesn't even care because he is finally finished. All of his papers are turned in, all of his tests are taken. He is only a ceremony away from being an official graduate.
There isn't even a niggling fear in the back of his mind that he didn't pass any of his classes. By the time he was done studying, he could have taken his finals in his sleep, so when he hears someone call his name and turns to find Misha, his Poli-Sci TA, jogging to catch up with him, he's more confused than worried.
"What's up?" he asks when Misha reaches him.
Misha shrugs and then wipes his hand over his face. "I just finished grading finals. Yours was far and away the best."
"Oh." Jensen isn't sure if Misha is supposed to be telling him that. "You sound surprised."
"Well, you're very pretty," Misha says matter-of-factly. "There are so few of us who are both gorgeous and intelligent. We should be friends."
After this past quarter, Jensen thinks that maybe he should be used to the random things that Misha says, but he's never experienced it in a personal context. It's not that he doesn't like Misha, but the dude is more than a little strange. "I can't actually tell if you're joking or not."
Misha gestures for them to start walking again. "You'd be surprised at how often I get that."
"Not sure I would," Jensen mutters and Misha smiles like he's just let Jensen in on a very important secret. "You're not, um, hitting on me, are you?" Misha's attractive enough, certainly. Dark hair and startling blue eyes and a sly sort of approach to everything, like the world is one big joke and he can't decide whether or not to let anyone else in on the punchline. It's more that Jensen's type leans more toward "good ol' boy", which Misha misses by a mile.
"No. Not that you aren't pretty enough," he says, as though Jensen might be offended. "I'm straight. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Jensen raises his eyebrows. The expression on Misha's face would be chagrined on anyone else, but there's too much amusement sparkling in his eyes. Jensen suspects that Misha is someone who doesn't really do any flavor of embarrassment.
"There are occasionally mitigating circumstances," is Misha's eventual, cryptic reply.
"Right. Okay." He's been at the University of Washington for four years now, out for three of them, but he doesn't think he'll ever quite get used to the casual handwave treatment people apply to their sexuality here. And he knows that the college environment isn't quite the same as the outside world, even in Seattle, but it's something that remains unsettling. Being gay still feels like this huge thing, something that he has to work up to telling people.
Sometimes it feels like everyone else got a "You and Your Sexuality" manual upon hitting puberty. It included chapters like, "Where you fall on the Kinsey scale" and, "Group sex: is it for you?" Jensen's copy got lost in the mail and he had to figure it all out himself. Answers included: "strictly-bottom gay gay gay", determined at age seventeen and: "no, not so much", determined at age eighteen and, after a few too many tequila shots, again at twenty-one.
"Did I just freak you out?" Misha seems a little too intrigued at the prospect.
"No."
"I thought you were gay."
"I am," Jensen says. "And I'm not going to ask how you know that."
"I've seen you around," Misha answers anyway. "With long-haired musician guy. Boyfriend?"
"Chris? Not anymore." As of last week and Jensen can't keep the irritation out of his voice. "Not since he decided that sleeping with groupies didn't count as cheating so long as they were girls."
The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was that sex with Chris had never been that great. The guy talked a good game, but when it came down to it, he was always too drunk or high for more than handjobs. Occasionally head if he was feeling generous, but apparently he could get it up for groupies. Jensen still finds it too offensive for words. He has no idea what Chris' damage is, exactly, but he's glad to be rid of it.
"Huh." Misha considers this for a moment. "Yeah. Don't date musicians." He says this gravely, like it is profound and sage advice. Which, actually, it probably is.
Jensen glances at Misha and shakes his head. "I feel like I should find you way creepier than I actually do at the moment."
Misha laughs at that. "You'd be surprised at how often I get that. I'm irresistibly charming, as it so happens."
"Must be it," Jensen says, unable to hide his smile.
"Excellent, so I'm having a party tomorrow night. You should come."
Jensen agrees to go, because he can't actually think of a reason not to.
The address Misha gave him is for a two-story Victorian farmhouse in Fremont and the party seems to be in full-swing. Jensen can hear music and people talking in the backyard as he half-heartedly knocks. He's about to just go around back when the door suddenly opens and Misha is there, looking particularly delighted.
"You came!" he says.
"I came," Jensen agrees, handing over the six-pack he brought. "I'm glad to see there's actually a party happening."
Misha laughs, clearly not offended at all.
"Your place is awesome," Jensen adds.
"Come on." Misha takes one of the bottles of beer out and hands it to Jensen. "I'll give you the grand tour."
They start in the kitchen so that Misha can deposit the beer in the fridge. He takes Jensen through the house, explaining how he bought it when he started grad school, pointing out the improvements he and his roommates have made in the house since then, including painting, woodwork and some impressive tile work in the bathrooms and the kitchen.
"This is pretty fucking nice for a bachelor pad," Jensen says as he studies the master bedroom. The walls are painted a deep burnt orange color, arranged and decorated with a clean, Asian esthetic. It wouldn't really surprise Jensen to learn that Misha studies Feng Shui in his spare time.
"Thanks." Misha sighs. "I'll probably sell it when I graduate. My girlfriend isn't overly fond of the reality of living with three other guys and it's too big for the two of us."
"Um, okay."
Misha nods and grins. "You haven't even seen the crowning glory."
The crowning glory turns out to be a hot tub on the back deck. There are a half-dozen guys in there and one girl in a dark red bikini who appears to be holding court, the guys all watching her with rapt attention as she tells some story Jensen can't quite hear over the noise of the jets.
"Nice," Jensen says.
"Hey, Scheherazade," Misha calls. "Come here a second."
The girl in the bikini winks at her admirers and pushes herself out of the tub. She walks over to them without bothering to grab a towel, despite the fact that it's not exactly warm out. Her body is gorgeous, all soft curves and golden skin, fantastic breasts. Her hair is honey blonde, piled on top of her head, held in place with some sort of plastic claw. She leans against Misha's side and smiles up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He frowns down at her. "You're wet."
"Water does that," she replies sweetly.
"Jensen, this is my girlfriend, Clare. Clare, Jensen," Misha says.
Clare shakes Jensen's hand, her smile turning sharp and appreciative. "You're really attractive."
"So I've been told." Jensen winks at her and she laughs.
"Hey!" Misha snaps his fingers in front of her face and then shakes his head when she turns to look at him. "Not for you."
"I'm just making conversation." Clare gives Jensen another look and actually licks her bottom lip, more in absent-minded contemplation than invitation.
"And I implied that he wouldn't be molested if he came tonight."
"Fine." She blinks and looks back up at Misha with a little pout. "Okay, I'm cold now. It's nice to meet you, Jensen."
"Nice to meet you, too," Jensen says as she walks back to the hot tub and slides in, much to the delight of her adoring fans.
"I promise she's not actually a predator. She's just intrigued by anyone who doesn't immediately swoon in her presence." Misha looks fondly amused he watches her. "Ladies and gentlemen, the love of my life."
"Code name: Mitigating Circumstances?" Jensen asks and grins when Misha tosses his head back and laughs.
Many of the things Misha says and does on a daily basis would seem completely bizarre from anyone else. Somehow, coming from Misha they seem, if not charming, at least par for the course and therefore unremarkable. This, Jensen is fairly certain, is how he ends up moving into Misha's house two weeks after graduation.
Misha called Jensen one afternoon and launched into several minutes of incomprehensible ranting, the gist of which seemed to be that some guy named Dave was a boorish fuckwit who could just stay in Sweden for all anyone cared.
"So, would you want to move in?" Misha asked, as if that was the logical conclusion to his monologue.
Jensen considered it for about two seconds before saying yes. Sure, he and Misha hadn't been friends for that long, but Jensen's U District apartment was small and his roommate, Steve, was in a band with his ex. It was a higher level of awkward than Jensen liked to deal with on a daily basis.
All things considered, it's a step up in the world. And much less weird than it should be, he thinks as he sits at the kitchen table that first Saturday morning, sipping his coffee and watching Clare make some questionable looking eggs. So far she has added pine nuts, avocado and some sort of white cheese. Mozzarella, maybe.
"I'm pretty sure eggs aren't actually supposed to be green," he says.
She sticks her tongue out at him. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
As far as Jensen can tell, the only redeeming part of this meal is the pan of bacon she's got in the oven. But he's really not the kind of guy to complain about someone cooking for him, so he waves at her to continue her story.
"Right." She nods. "So I told her if she didn't know how to get herself off, she shouldn't be sleeping with anyone else."
Jensen raises his eyebrows at that. "You told your fifteen year old sister that?"
Clare grins and shrugs. "I think her exact response was, 'Ew, gross, Clare!'" She pops a slice of cheese into her mouth and then sighs. "It's just depressing. So much of what we get, what we're told about our sexuality is wrapped up and focused on everything but our own sexual pleasure." Her eyes are wide and earnest now as she warms to the subject. "Like girls aren't supposed to masturbate? How fucked up is that?"
"Um, pretty fucked up, I guess." Jensen scratches the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation. It's not like women's sexuality is something he's given a lot of thought to. He'd spent his adolescence pretty much focused on his own, but he knows if he says that, there's the distinct possibility that it would only get him sucked in deeper.
The wry look on Clare's face makes him feel like she knows what he's thinking anyway. "Let me put it this way, did you ever need someone to convince you to masturbate?"
"No." Jensen can't help but laugh at that. "I'm pretty sure I figured that one out all on my own."
"Exactly," she says, apparently satisfied. She takes the eggs off the burner and grabs the potholders to get the bacon out of the oven. When she bends over, the t-shirt she's wearing as a nightgown pulls up and Jensen gets a generous view of the curve of her ass. It's not quite indecent, her purple cotton panties cover everything, but it's not quite unintentional either. Jensen is amused.
While he can generally take the stuff Misha says and does in stride, he is still getting used to Clare. There aren't a lot of girls like her in Jensen's experience. He's met a few since moving to Seattle who try to be, but most fall short of the mark by a long shot.
Clare makes people uncomfortable in that she says what she thinks and doesn't bother to filter it. She gets away with it because she's pretty, which has made Jensen think more than once that maybe Misha wasn't entirely joking about surrounding himself with attractive, intelligent people.
What makes Clare interesting is that she doesn't seem to use either her looks or intelligence as weapons. Smart as she is, she could easily be neurotic in her beauty. Instead she seems to revel in it, enjoying the privilege of it by embracing life with an abandoned, hedonistic flair. Jensen envies that about her. He still feels awkward sometimes about how people respond to his looks. Being attractive got him noticed in a way he desperately tried to avoid when he was younger, when his only goal was to survive high school and get the hell out of Dodge.
It wasn't that Jensen didn't know how to play the game. He'd fit in okay in school. Played lacrosse and fooled around with enough girls to get by. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, the attention, the occasional smartass comment from the guys on the team about his pretty face, if the innuendo behind it hadn't been true. If he could've just leered and grabbed his crotch when Jake Davis made a comment about sucking cock instead of feeling queasy with fear at the thought of being found out.
He got over it, for the most part, once he realized how easy it was to get laid. But sometimes it still feels like false advertising. His looks don't make him more worthwhile as a person, they just makes him more fuckable. It's a double-edged sword.
"Anyway, my point." Clare sets a plate down in front of Jensen and he starts and scrambles to try and pick of the thread of what they were talking about.
"Your point?" he prompts, before fully remembering that they'd ended on masturbation.
She looks at him for a moment and Jensen has no idea what she sees on his face, so he tries to keep his expression as blandly neutral as possible. Finally she sighs and says, "My point is that you can't just expect someone else to know what you like if you have no idea yourself. It's an unfair burden to put on your partner and it makes you completely passive in your own happiness."
"Makes sense." Jensen eyes the green eggs on his plate dubiously and then mans-up and takes a bite. "Not bad," he says after he swallows. "Fine. They're really good, okay?" he amends as she arches her brow.
"It's also good to try new things every once in awhile," she says with a saucy smile as she joins him at the table with her own plate. "Do you prefer to top or bottom?"
Misha chooses that moment to join them, saving Jensen from having to answer. He kisses the top of Clare's head as he passes her on his way to the coffee pot. "Clare, my love, you wouldn't be trying to talk Jensen into sexcapades, would you?"
Clare makes an offended face. "No, I was just curious. I know the rules."
"The rules?" Jensen asks.
"No sex with roommates," Clare says and Jensen thinks she's joking, but Misha is nodding as he pours his coffee.
Jensen laughs. "Seriously? That's like an actual rule you guys have?"
"It has the potential to get messy," Misha says. He takes a sip from his mug and makes a throaty, pleased noise. "You make good coffee, Jensen."
"How do you know I didn't make that?" Clare asks.
The only answer she gets is Misha's amused snort. Then he looks at her, narrows his eyes and says, "I believe you forgot pants this morning."
"I didn't forget." Clare smiles and bats her eyelashes.
"This is why the heating bill is so ridiculous." Misha points at her. "Pants. Now."
It's close enough to an order that Jensen expects a mutinous look, some sort of "go fuck yourself" comeback, but Clare only smiles sweetly and pushes back from the table. She kisses Misha's cheek as she passes him and whispers, "Anything you say, baby."
Misha shakes his head and grabs a piece of bacon off of her abandoned plate. He takes a bite and another sip of coffee. "Wait for it," he says at Jensen's questioning look.
A minute later, Clare reappears. She's wearing a pair of black yoga pants, folded down so that the flare of her hips is bare, and a white, ribbed tank-top that leaves no question as to whether or not she has a bra on. "Better?"
Jensen suspects that the hand Misha rubs over his mouth is intended to hide his amusement.
"If you'll excuse us," Misha says without sparing him a glance as he walks past Clare and grabs her wrist to tug her along after him.
Clare looks back at Jensen and winks as they leave. "Oh no, Mr. Collins," he hears her say in a ridiculously breathy, sex-kittenish voice. "Please don't punish me! I promise I'll be ever so good!"
Sometimes Jensen wonders if this is actually his life now. A door slams shut upstairs and he thinks, Yes, apparently it is.
Summers in the Pacific Northwest are something that Jensen has yet to get used to. There are very few truly hot days and even then, it generally cools off enough at night to be pleasant. Seattle never attains the sweltering burn of a typical Texas summer, the kind of heat that sinks through his skin and muscles, into his bones and the pit of his stomach in a way that Jensen associates with home.
It depends on the day as to whether he considers this a good thing or a bad one.
Tonight he's okay with the crisp, cool air against his skin as he sits in the hot tub with a beer in his hand. It's not a bad way to spend a Friday night. He has no idea where Misha is and, of the other two guys that live there, one spends most of his time on campus or holed up in his room working on his thesis and the other pretty much lives with his girlfriend, only coming back periodically for a change of clothes.
Clare joined Jensen about half an hour ago when she got home from a night out with her friends, but she's not really in a chatting mood, which works. Jensen thinks he should be less surprised than he is by the easy, companionable silence. He's floating in a weird, half-conscious state, where everything sounds sharper, but further away. Which means he should probably get out of the water and go to bed, but he can't quite shake off the lethargy enough to do it.
He's not sure how long he's been like that when the sound of the sliding glass door makes him open his eyes and look up. Long enough to feel mildly disoriented at any rate. When he glances over at Clare, she appears to be in much the same shape.
"Interesting," Misha is saying. "I leave you two alone for one night and you decide to get drunk and drown yourselves in the hot tub? Some sort of suicide pact?"
"Not drunk," Jensen mutters. "Nobody drowned."
"Mmhmm." Misha swipes Jensen's beer from his hand, takes a drink and makes a face. "This is warm, heathen."
"Nobody asked you to drink it." Jensen frowns when Misha sets the bottle on the porch railing instead of giving it back to him. Not that he's going to finish it, but it's the principle of the thing.
Misha grins and turns to Clare. "Look who I found out and about."
It's then that Jensen notices the other guy, leaning against the picnic table looking amused.
Clare claps her hands and sits up. "Daddy Morgan!"
The guy— man, Jensen amends— pushes up and walks over to her, bends down and gives her a quick kiss, which she returns happily.
"Hey there, babygirl," he says in a warm, gruff voice. "Long time no see."
"Yeah, whose fault is that?" Clare's dimpled smile takes the sting out of the question completely. She is dangerously close to fawning.
"Mine entirely, of course."
"Moving on," Misha says at the appearance of Clare's Cheshire cat smile. "This is Jensen. Jensen, Jeff."
"The new roommate? Pleasure," Jeff says, holding out his hand for Jensen to shake.
"Uh, yeah. Hi. Nice to meet you." Jensen shakes his hand and wonders if he sounds as stupidly dazed as he feels.
Jeff is easily the most attractive man Jensen has ever seen in real life. He's tall, a good head taller than Misha, and really big. Broad shoulders and barrel-chested, and Jensen suddenly understands that description in terms of mind-numbingly sexy. He's got dark hair and a neat, trimmed beard. Jensen can't quite tell the color of his eyes in this light, but they crinkle in the corners when he smiles with a sort of lazy, sensual pleasure that makes Jensen very aware of two things.
The first is that he is half-naked and unquestionably grateful that the jets are on. The second is that he's still staring.
"How long have you been in there?" Misha asks, startling Jensen as he leans against the edge of the tub and pokes his shoulder. "You're very pink. And freckly."
"Not sure," Jensen says, glaring at Misha for bringing up his freckles in mixed company.
Misha raises his eyebrows in surprise and smiles. He turns back to Jeff and says, "You want a beer?"
"Sure."
"Great, I'll take one too."
Jeff laughs. "It's a wonder I don't come visit more often," he says easily. "Clare? Jensen?"
"Huh?" Jensen says dumbly. Then his mind catches up and he nods. "Uh, yeah, actually. That'd be great. Thanks."
"I think you've had enough," Misha says quietly as Jeff walks back into the house.
Jensen frowns at him. "My team or yours, Collins?"
Misha doesn't bother to conceal his amusement at that. "Yours, definitely. Do you think I'd allow Clare anywhere near him if he were even the least bit straight?"
"Allow?"
"Single?" Jensen asks, talking over Clare. He needs the pertinent details before Jeff comes back outside.
"Single," Misha says. "Didn't really figure you for having a daddy kink, though."
Clare snorts before Jensen can answer that and says, "Baby, everyone has a daddy kink for Jeff. You have a daddy kink for Jeff." She raises her eyebrow at him as Jeff walks back out onto the deck.
"Too much sharing." Misha straightens and accepts his beer.
Jensen thanks Jeff as he takes his own bottle and, because he is not a thirteen-year-old girl, he definitely does not feel a jolt of pleasure when Jeff's fingers brush against his own.
"So, Jeff," Misha says. "You have plans for next weekend?"
"Not so far. Why?"
"We're having a party Saturday night. You should come. In fact, I'm pretty sure Clare will be heartbroken if you don't."
Clare nods solemnly at that, giving Jeff an adorable little pout.
"Sure, okay." He's addressing Misha, but Jensen's pretty sure he doesn't imagine the way Jeff's gazes flicks over to him as he says, "I think I can manage that."
It wasn't until the next day that Jensen realized that they hadn't been planning to have any sort of party, but Misha only waved his hand, saying he'd take care of it and nothing was too much if it meant getting Jensen laid, as if Jensen suddenly needed help.
Which, on the one hand was so completely over the top that Jensen didn't know how to respond. On the other hand, Jensen kind of loved the fact that Misha was actually that insane. "We'll have a party, Jeff will show up. I've got your back," Misha said, patting Jensen on the chest.
Misha is good as his word. It isn't even ten o'clock yet and the party is in full swing. Jensen has spent the past hour wandering around the house like a high school girl waiting to go to her first formal.
"Jensen, you need to calm down," Misha says, coming up behind him. He presses a beer into Jensen's hand. "Drink. Or Clare's got some weed if you need it, but seriously. Chill the fuck out."
"I'm fine," Jensen says, taking a swig, frowning when he realizes that it's some sort of huckleberry microbrew. Fuck Washington and all of its specialty beers. Sometimes Jensen just wants a goddamn Bud. "Are you sure this is good?" He gestures to his shirt and jeans. At Misha's put-upon expression he laughs. "Okay, right. A couple hits might not hurt. Where's Clare?"
Twenty minutes later, Jensen is feeling much more relaxed. He didn't smoke enough to get seriously high, just enough to take the edge off. Clare graciously accepted his huckleberry beer in exchange and sent him off with a slap on the ass, saying, "Just remember, you're hot and funny and smart. The world is your oyster, baby!"
There are quite a few people in the living room but nobody Jensen recognizes so he grabs an IPA out of the fridge and wanders out onto the back deck. He spots Jeff almost immediately, leaning against the deck railing talking to Misha and, despite Jensen's newfound Zen, he feels that rush of anticipation. It's been awhile since he's had an actual crush on anyone.
Jensen doesn't really mean to eavesdrop, but Misha and Jeff's backs are to him and he doesn't exactly make his presence known right away as he hears Jeff say, "Christ. Now I remember why I don't come to these things. I feel like I should be chaperoning. Are these kids even legal?"
"Depends on what you want to do with them," Misha says. Before Jeff can respond, he adds, "Everyone is at least twenty-one and that is several years over the age of consent."
"Don't be a smartass," Jeff says.
"Unreasonable request." Misha looks over his shoulder and grins when he spots Jensen. "Can I assume you're feeling no pain?" He turns his body so that he's angled to include Jensen in the conversation and Jeff does the same.
"I'm doing alright." Jensen gives them a lopsided grin. "Good to see you again," he says to Jeff.
"You too." Jeff's voice is pitched lower than it was when he was talking to Misha and Jensen licks his lips in response.
"Well, I need another drink." Misha moves away from the railing, smooth as hell, steps around them in such a way that Jensen has to take his place next to Jeff. "Can I get you guys anything?"
"I'm good." Jensen holds up his mostly-full bottle, leaning back against the railing. Jeff just shakes his head. "I'm glad you made it," he says as Misha walks off. He's just stoned enough to look his fill, taking in the way Jeff's black t-shirt stretches over his shoulders. "Even if we did end up wearing the same outfit."
Jeff laughs and Jensen has to work not to squirm as Jeff looks him over. "I guess next time we'll have to consult."
"Guess so."
"So how do you know Misha?" Jeff asks.
"He was my TA."
"Your—" Jeff's smile fades a little. "Christ," he says, more to himself than Jensen. "Are you still in school?"
"What? No. I've graduated," Jensen says, as affronted as he can manage.
"Hmm." Jeff rubs a hand over his beard and stares out into the darkness. "How old are you?" he finally asks, looking back at Jensen out of the corner of his eyes.
"Does it really matter?" Jensen sighs when Jeff doesn't respond to that and says, "Twenty-two."
"Right," Jeff says, looking away again.
Jensen realizes that he needs to do some damage control fast. He hears Clare's voice in his head, telling him he's hot and smart and funny and, yeah, he can do this. "You know, interesting fact. At twenty-two, the human male has developed to the point where he can carry on entire conversations without the aid of parents, teachers or even note cards."
Just then, a guy to his left yells, "Dude!" and there is the distinct sound of someone puking in the bushes.
"That so?" Jeff glances back at him, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
"Some of us more than others," Jensen says a little sheepishly. "You want to go inside?"
Jeff still looks skeptical, but he grins and says, "Sure, why not?"
Two hours later, they are sitting on the couch, Jensen pressed into the corner, Jeff angled toward him, his arm draped along the back behind Jensen's head. Jeff's been telling him stories about the Seattle music scene when he was growing up, about going to parties and listening to the shitty garage bands that later became the face of grunge.
They're good stories, but Jensen keeps getting distracted by the thought of a young, punk-rock Jeff and what he really wants to do is climb onto Jeff's lap and kiss him until they're both dizzy. Jeff's given him more than one look that makes Jensen think he wouldn't be completely adverse to the idea. "Do you want another beer?" he asks, if for no other reason than to keep himself from testing that theory.
"Uh, no," Jeff says, setting his bottle aside. "I should probably get going, actually."
"Oh. Yeah, sure." Jensen looks around, realizing that a good number of people have already left. "I guess—" He loses his train of thought when he catches sight of Misha pressed up against the wall, making out with some tall blond guy that Jensen's never seen. "Um. Am I really drunk, or is Misha making out with another guy?"
"All of the above." Jeff laughs. "You have met Clare, right?"
"Yeah, I just. Wow. I thought they were joking about that." Jensen runs his hand through his hair and looks back at Jeff. "What?"
Jeff's expression is completely inscrutable. "I should go," he says again, standing.
"Okay, um. I'll walk you out." Jensen stands up as well. Looks back to see Misha tugging the guy toward the stairs, Clare trailing along after them, a self-satisfied look on her face.
"I had a good time," Jeff says as Jensen shuts the front door behind them.
"Me too. I'm glad you came." Jensen is back to feeling ridiculously awkward and Jeff is standing there looking indecisive. "Hey," Jensen says at the same time Jeff says, "So." Jensen gestures for him to go ahead.
"Right, uh." He laughs and says, "Hell," to himself. Then he looks back up at Jensen and says, "Would you want to have dinner with me some time?"
"Yeah," Jensen says. "I really would." He knows he's smiling like an idiot, but he can't seem to do anything about it.
"Yeah," Jeff says and laughs again. "Alright, I'll give you a call this week."
"Okay," Jensen says, bites back the cool that wants to slip out after it. Jeff turns to leave and Jensen suddenly has the insane fear that he'll wake up tomorrow and decide that dinner would be a mistake. "Hey, hold on." He steps forward and grabs Jeff's arm.
Jeff turns back, an expectant look on his face.
Jensen shrugs. "I figure, what's the point of getting this drunk if you're not going to do something even a little bit stupid." He reaches up and grabs the back of Jeff's neck, pulls him down for a quick kiss.
That's his plan, anyway, but Jeff is maybe drunk as well, because he grabs Jensen's hips and pulls him closer, returns the kiss with intent, licking into Jensen's mouth all perfect and lewd. It's exactly where Jensen's wanted to be all night, only better.
Jeff pulls back suddenly. "Jesus, kid," he says and Jensen's pleased to note he sounds a little out of breath. "I should leave." Except that he hasn't let Jensen go yet.
"But you'll call," Jensen says, brushing another kiss over Jeff's mouth.
"I'll pick you up on Friday. Six o'clock? Unless you have other plans."
Jensen steps back and smiles. "Friday's good."
"You know this is a bad idea, right?" Jeff asks, but he doesn't look indecisive anymore.
"I know no such thing," Jensen says, backing up toward the house.
"Yeah, well. That's because you're young and stupid." Somehow Jeff makes that sound like a compliment and Jensen is too happy to take offense.
"Friday."
"Friday," Jeff agrees. "Goodnight, Jensen."
"Goodnight." Jensen watches him walk down the street until the neighbor's hedges obscure his view.
He's still smiling like a maniac when he kicks everyone out.
It is far too early in the morning when Jensen wakes up. Normally, he'd turn over and go back to sleep, but before that can happen, he remembers the fact that Jeff asked him out. Then he remembers the kissing part. The feel of Jeff's hands on his hips, the soft scratch of his beard, the taste of him when he took control and, yeah. The whole taking control part.
Because Jensen isn't exactly small. It's not unusual for him to be the tallest guy in a room, but Jeff is bigger, broader. Physically capable of taking control in a way that Jensen hasn't had since he was seventeen and fucking his older brother's closeted roommate. His cock, already half-hard by virtue of the fact that it's morning, is definitely interested at the thought. Jensen idly palms himself through his boxers as he replays the previous evening in his head.
Jeff is overwhelmingly masculine in a way that makes Jensen's entire body hum with want. Misha wasn't too far off with the daddy kink crack. There's not a doubt in Jensen's mind that if Jeff asked, Jensen would happily sit in his lap, twine his arms around his neck and call him Daddy.
His cock twitches at the visual his mind supplies and Jensen groans. Jeff is like a wet dream, tailor-made to push his buttons. Everything about him makes Jensen sit up and take notice and, more than anything, he wants Jeff to notice back. He finally gives up on getting back to sleep and manages to crawl out of bed. He jacks off in the shower imagining Jeff fucking him against a wall. The thought is so tantalizing and immediate that it doesn't take long.
The house is mildly trashed, nothing too horrible. Jensen observes the damage as he eats breakfast. It only takes about half an hour to clean up, including washing the dishes. He's stretched out on the couch channel surfing when Misha finally stumbles into the living room and sits down in the La-Z-Boy. He wipes his hand over his face and looks blearily at Jensen.
"Someone got laid last night."
"What?" Jensen looks up and grins, shaking his head. "I didn't get laid."
"I was talking about me," Misha says. "And yet, you're the one who looks like he spent the evening having some surprisingly satisfying group sex."
"Hey, man, do me a favor?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Don't ever give me the details of your sex life."
Misha grins. "I can't make any promises on that one." He rubs his eyes again and then gives Jensen a pleading look. "My kingdom for a fresh pot of coffee?"
"You're pathetic," Jensen says, but pushes himself off of the couch anyway. Misha follows him into the kitchen and watches him as he starts the coffee. "You know you have these capabilities as well."
"It's not as good as when you do it. You have the magic touch," Misha says. "It's why they call you the Coffee Whisperer."
"Nobody calls me that."
"They would if they knew," Misha says serenely. "So why do you have chipper sex face if you didn't actually have sex?"
"Jeff and I are going out next weekend."
Misha raises his eyebrows. "Like on a date?"
"Yeah, like on a date."
"Interesting tactic, but okay."
"C'mon. You and Clare must have dated at some point."
"Mmm." Misha appears to consider this, then he shakes his head. "It was more that we had a lot of sex and then she moved in."
"Classy."
"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic."
The conversation lulls as Misha stares intently at the coffee machine, most likely willing it to brew faster. Clare shuffles into the kitchen as the steady flow turns to drops and Misha gives her the hairy eyeball, like she's going to swoop in and snatch the pot from him before he can get his cup. As far as Jensen can tell, Clare is not capable of swooping anywhere at the moment.
When Misha seems once again confident of his primacy, he grabs another cup from the cupboard. Clare accepts the cup from him with a grateful grunt. The interaction is both hilarious and surprisingly sweet.
Once Clare drinks about half her cup, she sets it down on the counter and walks over to Jensen, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. "I am going to keep you forever and ever, maker of magical coffee."
"I'm the one who found him," Misha says.
Clare raises her hand high enough to flip Misha off.
"Oh, baby." Misha sets his cup on the counter, presses up against her back and wraps his arms around both her and Jensen. "Aw, group hug. This feels nice."
Jensen tries not to laugh. "I find you both incredibly creepy right now."
"No, be not angered, coffee god," Clare says against his chest, seemingly content to stay there for the rest of the day.
"Seriously." Jensen pats her hair and smiles. "So, so creepy."
The week seems to drag on forever, until about five o'clock Friday evening at which point Jensen starts freaking out. Misha is lounging on Jensen's bed as Jensen digs through his closet, having decided to amuse himself by watching Jensen have a breakdown.
"I have no idea what to wear. I have no idea where we're going, if I should dress up or not." Before Misha can make any sort of smartass remark, Jensen points at him and frowns. "You make one crack about me being a girl here and I swear I will punch you."
Misha rolls his neck and smiles. "You remember we're in Seattle, right?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning shoes instead of Birkenstocks is considered fancy dress. Wear a shirt and jeans. It's not rocket science."
"That was actually helpful," Jensen says as he turns back to his closet.
"You needn't sound so surprised." Misha flops back and tucks Jensen's pillow under his head. "I'm going to masturbate on your bed while you're gone."
"You couldn't just let a nice moment sit, could you?" Jensen finally pulls out his plain, light blue button-down shirt and shrugs it on. He's already wearing his nicest pair of jeans, so he supposes he's set.
Jensen is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Jeff arrives. He gets to the front door just in time to hear Misha ask, "And what exactly are your intentions with our Jensen?"
"Don't answer that," Jensen says, giving Misha a dirty look. "Could you be any more mortifying?"
It's clear from Misha's expression that he takes that as a challenge, rather than the rhetorical question it was meant to be. Jensen elbows his way past him and out the door before Misha can act on whatever horrifying thought is going through his head.
"Don't—Just don't." He nods at Jeff that they should walk away right now, please, and then turns back to Misha. "Stay out of my room while I'm gone."
Misha only laughs and shuts the door in his face.
Jeff looks like he wants to ask, but he shakes his head instead. "I'm sure I don't want to know. Shall we?" He points to the white Chevy Blazer parked in front of the neighbor's house.
"I like to go backpacking, camping sometimes when the weather's nice," Jeff says once they're in the car. "The Blazer's good to take up in the mountains."
"Okay." Jensen has to take a moment to consider the apparent non sequitur, then he laughs. "Are you defending the fact that you own an SUV? Dude, I'm from Texas."
"Well, then." Jeff grins. "Touché."
Once Jeff's attention is focused on the road, Jensen feels free to look his fill. Jeff is wearing a black v-neck shirt, his sleeves pushed up over his forearms. He looks relaxed as he drives, occasionally pointing things out, telling Jensen little bits of the city's history. It's incredibly charming and Jensen feels himself relax bit by bit.
"Now that is my favorite part of the city," Jensen says, pointing at the pedestrian crossing sign that has been altered to say, STOP FOR ME IT'S THE CLAW. He holds up his hand, curving his fingers to look like pincers. "The claw. It's funny."
Jeff laughs and Jensen leans back and smiles.
They end up at an Asian restaurant downtown on Third. Jensen starts to feel awkward again as they're seated, being in a nice restaurant so very obviously on a date with another man. But when he looks around, true to Seattle form, nobody is paying them any attention.
The menu is full of food that is just different enough to be out of Jensen's comfort zone completely. There are seasonings and sauces he really isn't sure about and he wonders what the safe option is. He's not against trying new things, he's just not sure where to start and he doesn't want to kick off the meal by coming across as a hick.
"The duck here is fantastic," Jeff says, closing his menu.
"Is that what you're getting?"
"No. I'm getting the pepper scallops, but everything here is served family style." Jeff smiles. "If you got the duck, we could certainly share."
"I see." Jensen bites his lip to hide his smile. "So that would be a completely altruistic suggestion on your part."
"Completely."
"Alright, then." Jensen shuts his menu with no small sense of relief. "I'm sold." He orders the duck and says, "I'll have the same," when Jeff orders a glass of wine, then wishes that he'd thought to go ahead and order a beer. He's pretty sure Jeff wouldn't think less of him for it.
"So, you mentioned you were temping at the moment," Jeff says after they've ordered. "Where are you working right now?"
"I'm actually back at UW at the moment. Filling in as a personal assistant to one of the Divisional Deans. The regular girl is out on maternity leave or something." Jensen shrugs. "Not the most glamorous thing ever but it pays the bills, so."
Jeff nods and smiles sympathetically. "Not exactly what you imagined yourself doing?"
"I don't know. I guess I just—" Jensen rubs the back of his neck. That weird what now limbo feeling that's been constant in the back of his mind since graduation leaps to the forefront again. "Growing up, my whole plan was to get out of Texas. I worked hard, got good grades, got scholarships and funding. My goal was to go to college out of state, graduate, and then." He spreads his hands and shrugs. "I never thought to plan beyond that, so here I am."
"That's pretty common, I think. It's what grad school is for, after all."
Jensen laughs. "Yeah, well, as fun as that sounds, I think I'll pass for the moment. I'm good with being out of school for awhile."
"I can understand that." Jeff considers him for a moment. "So you had a lot of scholarships?"
"Yeah. Got everything paid for the most part. I worked while I was in school, too, so I fortunately don't have any loans hanging over my head."
"That's fairly impressive," Jeff says.
"Yeah, well." It makes Jensen feel awkward, like he's bragging, but he never really thought of it like that. Everything, the scholarships and grants and shitty jobs, they were all means to an end and nothing more. "Not just a pretty face, my friend," he finally says with a self-deprecating smirk.
"Now that I already knew," Jeff says easily.
"How's that?" Jensen raises an eyebrow. He's pretty certain he hasn't done anything so far that could be considered particularly brilliant in Jeff's presence.
"You're friends with Misha." Jeff grins when Jensen laughs. "Seriously," he says, leaning forward, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That's like the intellectual equivalent of 'you must be this tall to ride this ride'. I've known Misha long enough to know he doesn't waste his time on idiots."
It's an oddly flattering thing to say and Jensen is sure he looks as pleased as he feels. "How do you know Misha anyway? I don't think you ever said."
"That." Jeff rubs his hand over his beard and shakes his head. "No, I'm pretty sure that's not a first-date story." Before Jensen can follow up on that, Jeff asks, "What about your parents? They okay with you being all the way up here?"
"My parents?" Jensen thinks about his mom's face when he came out to them. Like the world's biggest coward, he waited until he was safely moved into his dorm and they were getting ready to leave. She looked so hurt standing there. It's the most awful Jensen has ever felt in his life. "My parents have always supported us kids, our goals or whatever. They're good people, but I, uh. I think it's easier for everyone involved that I live two thousand miles away."
Jeff nods, his expression is sympathetic without being pitying. He doesn't offer condolences or platitudes, just that look that makes Jensen feel like he does actually get it.
"Sorry." Jensen forces a laugh and shrugs. "Little more serious than I intended."
"No, no. I'm the one that asked."
"That's true," Jensen says with a genuine smile. "Asshole."
"Hey now." Jeff gives him a mock warning look, rubbing his hand over his beard. "Okay, hobbies, then. That seems safe enough."
"You think so, huh?" Jensen teases, then ducks his head before he can gauge Jeff's response and clears his throat. "Photography?" He says it like a question and adds, "I took a bunch of classes in school. I really enjoyed it, but I haven't done much since I graduated." It's a good answer, he thinks, in that it makes him sound artistic and it also happens to be true.
From there the conversation turns to art, Jeff's business, sports, and so on without more than a couple of lulls. Jensen starts to relax a little and genuinely enjoy himself, and it's after nine o'clock by the time they leave the restaurant. It's not quite raining as they step outside, but misty and wet enough to rule out the possibility of walking around for awhile.
When they get in the car, Jeff doesn't ask where to, just starts driving. Jensen feels a stab of disappointment when Jeff turns onto his block. The whole evening has been one of the most enjoyable that Jensen has had in a long time and he's not ready for it to be over yet, even if it doesn't end with sex.
"I'll walk you to the door," Jeff says, turning off the car.
Jensen shoots him an amused glance. "Very gentlemanly of you." He's pretty sure Jeff says brat under his breath as he gets out of the car.
"I assume you'll turn me down if I invite you in," Jensen says once they reach the front door.
"Doesn't mean I'm not tempted, Jensen."
The way Jeff says his name does things to Jensen. He wants to cut to the chase already, but he suspects that Jeff has his reasons, whatever they might be. "I had fun tonight." Which is the crux of his problem. Jensen sincerely likes Jeff and this whole thing is already going in a direction he's completely unfamiliar with.
"I did, too." Jeff steps in a little closer. Jensen leans against the door and tugs the bottom of Jeff's shirt, pulling him in further. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here," Jeff says, raising his hand to cup the back of Jensen's neck.
"And I'll respect that." Jensen's lips curve into a smile. "To an extent."
"Good of you to take it easy on me." Jeff's lips brush against Jensen's mouth as he speaks.
Jensen honest-to-god whimpers in response and then Jeff kisses him, several short, soft kisses that have Jensen following after him when he pulls back. Then he kisses him again, long and slow, on the verge of being something very different than goodnight when Jeff breaks it off. He actually steps back, leaving Jensen to slump against the front door.
"You have plans on Sunday?"
It takes Jensen a moment to process the question. He shakes his head.
"We should do something Sunday. If you want," Jeff says. He takes another step back and Jensen huffs out a breath of disappointed laughter.
"Yeah. That sounds good."
Jeff nods. "I'll call you tomorrow." He smiles in a way that Jensen can't read at all and then says, "Goodnight, Jensen."
"Goodnight." Jensen watches him walk back to his car, watches him drive off and then waits for another minute before going inside.
"Way too early for you to be home," Misha says as Jensen walks into the living room. Clare is tucked up under his arm and they're watching The Sound of Music. Jensen does not have the wherewithal to even try and process that at the moment.
"Tell me about it." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I'm going to bed."
"Yeah." Misha gives him a sly look and laughs. "You go do that."
Sunday they meet for coffee and then go for a walk around Green Lake. Jeff walks Jensen home and kisses him chastely at the door. Monday, Jensen calls Jeff to tell him that the informercial they were talking about is on and Jeff chuckles in his ear and asks Jensen how his day was.
Tuesday Jeff calls Jensen and Wednesday Jensen has Misha hide the phone from him so that he doesn't call just to hear the sound of Jeff's voice. Thursday Jeff calls and asks if Jensen has plans for Friday.
"Let me check my calendar," Jensen says settling back on the couch. "I'm very in demand, you know."
"Well, if you're free I was hoping you'd join me for dinner at my place."
Jensen sits up again and wipes his hand over his mouth before answering. "Looks like my schedule is clear."
"Oh, good." Jeff definitely sounds amused. "How does six sound?"
"Good. Six works," Jensen says, nodding vigorously.
Jeff gives Jensen his address and hangs up after saying, "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Yeah," Jensen says after the line goes dead. He's spent more time this week jacking off than he has since he was fourteen and popping wood if the breeze hit him right. Now he just has to make it through one more night with Jeff's voice, low and full of promise, echoing in his head.
Next
Spring 2000 – Spring 2002
It is the most beautiful day in the entire world. The weather, of course, refuses to reflect that. Everything is cast in a dull, depressing grey without even the decency of a proper rainfall. Instead, the air is misty and damp, a pathetic sort of spittle coming from the clouds overhead. Jensen actually can't remember the last time he saw the sun shine, but right now he doesn't even care because he is finally finished. All of his papers are turned in, all of his tests are taken. He is only a ceremony away from being an official graduate.
There isn't even a niggling fear in the back of his mind that he didn't pass any of his classes. By the time he was done studying, he could have taken his finals in his sleep, so when he hears someone call his name and turns to find Misha, his Poli-Sci TA, jogging to catch up with him, he's more confused than worried.
"What's up?" he asks when Misha reaches him.
Misha shrugs and then wipes his hand over his face. "I just finished grading finals. Yours was far and away the best."
"Oh." Jensen isn't sure if Misha is supposed to be telling him that. "You sound surprised."
"Well, you're very pretty," Misha says matter-of-factly. "There are so few of us who are both gorgeous and intelligent. We should be friends."
After this past quarter, Jensen thinks that maybe he should be used to the random things that Misha says, but he's never experienced it in a personal context. It's not that he doesn't like Misha, but the dude is more than a little strange. "I can't actually tell if you're joking or not."
Misha gestures for them to start walking again. "You'd be surprised at how often I get that."
"Not sure I would," Jensen mutters and Misha smiles like he's just let Jensen in on a very important secret. "You're not, um, hitting on me, are you?" Misha's attractive enough, certainly. Dark hair and startling blue eyes and a sly sort of approach to everything, like the world is one big joke and he can't decide whether or not to let anyone else in on the punchline. It's more that Jensen's type leans more toward "good ol' boy", which Misha misses by a mile.
"No. Not that you aren't pretty enough," he says, as though Jensen might be offended. "I'm straight. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Jensen raises his eyebrows. The expression on Misha's face would be chagrined on anyone else, but there's too much amusement sparkling in his eyes. Jensen suspects that Misha is someone who doesn't really do any flavor of embarrassment.
"There are occasionally mitigating circumstances," is Misha's eventual, cryptic reply.
"Right. Okay." He's been at the University of Washington for four years now, out for three of them, but he doesn't think he'll ever quite get used to the casual handwave treatment people apply to their sexuality here. And he knows that the college environment isn't quite the same as the outside world, even in Seattle, but it's something that remains unsettling. Being gay still feels like this huge thing, something that he has to work up to telling people.
Sometimes it feels like everyone else got a "You and Your Sexuality" manual upon hitting puberty. It included chapters like, "Where you fall on the Kinsey scale" and, "Group sex: is it for you?" Jensen's copy got lost in the mail and he had to figure it all out himself. Answers included: "strictly-bottom gay gay gay", determined at age seventeen and: "no, not so much", determined at age eighteen and, after a few too many tequila shots, again at twenty-one.
"Did I just freak you out?" Misha seems a little too intrigued at the prospect.
"No."
"I thought you were gay."
"I am," Jensen says. "And I'm not going to ask how you know that."
"I've seen you around," Misha answers anyway. "With long-haired musician guy. Boyfriend?"
"Chris? Not anymore." As of last week and Jensen can't keep the irritation out of his voice. "Not since he decided that sleeping with groupies didn't count as cheating so long as they were girls."
The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was that sex with Chris had never been that great. The guy talked a good game, but when it came down to it, he was always too drunk or high for more than handjobs. Occasionally head if he was feeling generous, but apparently he could get it up for groupies. Jensen still finds it too offensive for words. He has no idea what Chris' damage is, exactly, but he's glad to be rid of it.
"Huh." Misha considers this for a moment. "Yeah. Don't date musicians." He says this gravely, like it is profound and sage advice. Which, actually, it probably is.
Jensen glances at Misha and shakes his head. "I feel like I should find you way creepier than I actually do at the moment."
Misha laughs at that. "You'd be surprised at how often I get that. I'm irresistibly charming, as it so happens."
"Must be it," Jensen says, unable to hide his smile.
"Excellent, so I'm having a party tomorrow night. You should come."
Jensen agrees to go, because he can't actually think of a reason not to.
The address Misha gave him is for a two-story Victorian farmhouse in Fremont and the party seems to be in full-swing. Jensen can hear music and people talking in the backyard as he half-heartedly knocks. He's about to just go around back when the door suddenly opens and Misha is there, looking particularly delighted.
"You came!" he says.
"I came," Jensen agrees, handing over the six-pack he brought. "I'm glad to see there's actually a party happening."
Misha laughs, clearly not offended at all.
"Your place is awesome," Jensen adds.
"Come on." Misha takes one of the bottles of beer out and hands it to Jensen. "I'll give you the grand tour."
They start in the kitchen so that Misha can deposit the beer in the fridge. He takes Jensen through the house, explaining how he bought it when he started grad school, pointing out the improvements he and his roommates have made in the house since then, including painting, woodwork and some impressive tile work in the bathrooms and the kitchen.
"This is pretty fucking nice for a bachelor pad," Jensen says as he studies the master bedroom. The walls are painted a deep burnt orange color, arranged and decorated with a clean, Asian esthetic. It wouldn't really surprise Jensen to learn that Misha studies Feng Shui in his spare time.
"Thanks." Misha sighs. "I'll probably sell it when I graduate. My girlfriend isn't overly fond of the reality of living with three other guys and it's too big for the two of us."
"Um, okay."
Misha nods and grins. "You haven't even seen the crowning glory."
The crowning glory turns out to be a hot tub on the back deck. There are a half-dozen guys in there and one girl in a dark red bikini who appears to be holding court, the guys all watching her with rapt attention as she tells some story Jensen can't quite hear over the noise of the jets.
"Nice," Jensen says.
"Hey, Scheherazade," Misha calls. "Come here a second."
The girl in the bikini winks at her admirers and pushes herself out of the tub. She walks over to them without bothering to grab a towel, despite the fact that it's not exactly warm out. Her body is gorgeous, all soft curves and golden skin, fantastic breasts. Her hair is honey blonde, piled on top of her head, held in place with some sort of plastic claw. She leans against Misha's side and smiles up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He frowns down at her. "You're wet."
"Water does that," she replies sweetly.
"Jensen, this is my girlfriend, Clare. Clare, Jensen," Misha says.
Clare shakes Jensen's hand, her smile turning sharp and appreciative. "You're really attractive."
"So I've been told." Jensen winks at her and she laughs.
"Hey!" Misha snaps his fingers in front of her face and then shakes his head when she turns to look at him. "Not for you."
"I'm just making conversation." Clare gives Jensen another look and actually licks her bottom lip, more in absent-minded contemplation than invitation.
"And I implied that he wouldn't be molested if he came tonight."
"Fine." She blinks and looks back up at Misha with a little pout. "Okay, I'm cold now. It's nice to meet you, Jensen."
"Nice to meet you, too," Jensen says as she walks back to the hot tub and slides in, much to the delight of her adoring fans.
"I promise she's not actually a predator. She's just intrigued by anyone who doesn't immediately swoon in her presence." Misha looks fondly amused he watches her. "Ladies and gentlemen, the love of my life."
"Code name: Mitigating Circumstances?" Jensen asks and grins when Misha tosses his head back and laughs.
Many of the things Misha says and does on a daily basis would seem completely bizarre from anyone else. Somehow, coming from Misha they seem, if not charming, at least par for the course and therefore unremarkable. This, Jensen is fairly certain, is how he ends up moving into Misha's house two weeks after graduation.
Misha called Jensen one afternoon and launched into several minutes of incomprehensible ranting, the gist of which seemed to be that some guy named Dave was a boorish fuckwit who could just stay in Sweden for all anyone cared.
"So, would you want to move in?" Misha asked, as if that was the logical conclusion to his monologue.
Jensen considered it for about two seconds before saying yes. Sure, he and Misha hadn't been friends for that long, but Jensen's U District apartment was small and his roommate, Steve, was in a band with his ex. It was a higher level of awkward than Jensen liked to deal with on a daily basis.
All things considered, it's a step up in the world. And much less weird than it should be, he thinks as he sits at the kitchen table that first Saturday morning, sipping his coffee and watching Clare make some questionable looking eggs. So far she has added pine nuts, avocado and some sort of white cheese. Mozzarella, maybe.
"I'm pretty sure eggs aren't actually supposed to be green," he says.
She sticks her tongue out at him. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
As far as Jensen can tell, the only redeeming part of this meal is the pan of bacon she's got in the oven. But he's really not the kind of guy to complain about someone cooking for him, so he waves at her to continue her story.
"Right." She nods. "So I told her if she didn't know how to get herself off, she shouldn't be sleeping with anyone else."
Jensen raises his eyebrows at that. "You told your fifteen year old sister that?"
Clare grins and shrugs. "I think her exact response was, 'Ew, gross, Clare!'" She pops a slice of cheese into her mouth and then sighs. "It's just depressing. So much of what we get, what we're told about our sexuality is wrapped up and focused on everything but our own sexual pleasure." Her eyes are wide and earnest now as she warms to the subject. "Like girls aren't supposed to masturbate? How fucked up is that?"
"Um, pretty fucked up, I guess." Jensen scratches the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation. It's not like women's sexuality is something he's given a lot of thought to. He'd spent his adolescence pretty much focused on his own, but he knows if he says that, there's the distinct possibility that it would only get him sucked in deeper.
The wry look on Clare's face makes him feel like she knows what he's thinking anyway. "Let me put it this way, did you ever need someone to convince you to masturbate?"
"No." Jensen can't help but laugh at that. "I'm pretty sure I figured that one out all on my own."
"Exactly," she says, apparently satisfied. She takes the eggs off the burner and grabs the potholders to get the bacon out of the oven. When she bends over, the t-shirt she's wearing as a nightgown pulls up and Jensen gets a generous view of the curve of her ass. It's not quite indecent, her purple cotton panties cover everything, but it's not quite unintentional either. Jensen is amused.
While he can generally take the stuff Misha says and does in stride, he is still getting used to Clare. There aren't a lot of girls like her in Jensen's experience. He's met a few since moving to Seattle who try to be, but most fall short of the mark by a long shot.
Clare makes people uncomfortable in that she says what she thinks and doesn't bother to filter it. She gets away with it because she's pretty, which has made Jensen think more than once that maybe Misha wasn't entirely joking about surrounding himself with attractive, intelligent people.
What makes Clare interesting is that she doesn't seem to use either her looks or intelligence as weapons. Smart as she is, she could easily be neurotic in her beauty. Instead she seems to revel in it, enjoying the privilege of it by embracing life with an abandoned, hedonistic flair. Jensen envies that about her. He still feels awkward sometimes about how people respond to his looks. Being attractive got him noticed in a way he desperately tried to avoid when he was younger, when his only goal was to survive high school and get the hell out of Dodge.
It wasn't that Jensen didn't know how to play the game. He'd fit in okay in school. Played lacrosse and fooled around with enough girls to get by. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, the attention, the occasional smartass comment from the guys on the team about his pretty face, if the innuendo behind it hadn't been true. If he could've just leered and grabbed his crotch when Jake Davis made a comment about sucking cock instead of feeling queasy with fear at the thought of being found out.
He got over it, for the most part, once he realized how easy it was to get laid. But sometimes it still feels like false advertising. His looks don't make him more worthwhile as a person, they just makes him more fuckable. It's a double-edged sword.
"Anyway, my point." Clare sets a plate down in front of Jensen and he starts and scrambles to try and pick of the thread of what they were talking about.
"Your point?" he prompts, before fully remembering that they'd ended on masturbation.
She looks at him for a moment and Jensen has no idea what she sees on his face, so he tries to keep his expression as blandly neutral as possible. Finally she sighs and says, "My point is that you can't just expect someone else to know what you like if you have no idea yourself. It's an unfair burden to put on your partner and it makes you completely passive in your own happiness."
"Makes sense." Jensen eyes the green eggs on his plate dubiously and then mans-up and takes a bite. "Not bad," he says after he swallows. "Fine. They're really good, okay?" he amends as she arches her brow.
"It's also good to try new things every once in awhile," she says with a saucy smile as she joins him at the table with her own plate. "Do you prefer to top or bottom?"
Misha chooses that moment to join them, saving Jensen from having to answer. He kisses the top of Clare's head as he passes her on his way to the coffee pot. "Clare, my love, you wouldn't be trying to talk Jensen into sexcapades, would you?"
Clare makes an offended face. "No, I was just curious. I know the rules."
"The rules?" Jensen asks.
"No sex with roommates," Clare says and Jensen thinks she's joking, but Misha is nodding as he pours his coffee.
Jensen laughs. "Seriously? That's like an actual rule you guys have?"
"It has the potential to get messy," Misha says. He takes a sip from his mug and makes a throaty, pleased noise. "You make good coffee, Jensen."
"How do you know I didn't make that?" Clare asks.
The only answer she gets is Misha's amused snort. Then he looks at her, narrows his eyes and says, "I believe you forgot pants this morning."
"I didn't forget." Clare smiles and bats her eyelashes.
"This is why the heating bill is so ridiculous." Misha points at her. "Pants. Now."
It's close enough to an order that Jensen expects a mutinous look, some sort of "go fuck yourself" comeback, but Clare only smiles sweetly and pushes back from the table. She kisses Misha's cheek as she passes him and whispers, "Anything you say, baby."
Misha shakes his head and grabs a piece of bacon off of her abandoned plate. He takes a bite and another sip of coffee. "Wait for it," he says at Jensen's questioning look.
A minute later, Clare reappears. She's wearing a pair of black yoga pants, folded down so that the flare of her hips is bare, and a white, ribbed tank-top that leaves no question as to whether or not she has a bra on. "Better?"
Jensen suspects that the hand Misha rubs over his mouth is intended to hide his amusement.
"If you'll excuse us," Misha says without sparing him a glance as he walks past Clare and grabs her wrist to tug her along after him.
Clare looks back at Jensen and winks as they leave. "Oh no, Mr. Collins," he hears her say in a ridiculously breathy, sex-kittenish voice. "Please don't punish me! I promise I'll be ever so good!"
Sometimes Jensen wonders if this is actually his life now. A door slams shut upstairs and he thinks, Yes, apparently it is.
Summers in the Pacific Northwest are something that Jensen has yet to get used to. There are very few truly hot days and even then, it generally cools off enough at night to be pleasant. Seattle never attains the sweltering burn of a typical Texas summer, the kind of heat that sinks through his skin and muscles, into his bones and the pit of his stomach in a way that Jensen associates with home.
It depends on the day as to whether he considers this a good thing or a bad one.
Tonight he's okay with the crisp, cool air against his skin as he sits in the hot tub with a beer in his hand. It's not a bad way to spend a Friday night. He has no idea where Misha is and, of the other two guys that live there, one spends most of his time on campus or holed up in his room working on his thesis and the other pretty much lives with his girlfriend, only coming back periodically for a change of clothes.
Clare joined Jensen about half an hour ago when she got home from a night out with her friends, but she's not really in a chatting mood, which works. Jensen thinks he should be less surprised than he is by the easy, companionable silence. He's floating in a weird, half-conscious state, where everything sounds sharper, but further away. Which means he should probably get out of the water and go to bed, but he can't quite shake off the lethargy enough to do it.
He's not sure how long he's been like that when the sound of the sliding glass door makes him open his eyes and look up. Long enough to feel mildly disoriented at any rate. When he glances over at Clare, she appears to be in much the same shape.
"Interesting," Misha is saying. "I leave you two alone for one night and you decide to get drunk and drown yourselves in the hot tub? Some sort of suicide pact?"
"Not drunk," Jensen mutters. "Nobody drowned."
"Mmhmm." Misha swipes Jensen's beer from his hand, takes a drink and makes a face. "This is warm, heathen."
"Nobody asked you to drink it." Jensen frowns when Misha sets the bottle on the porch railing instead of giving it back to him. Not that he's going to finish it, but it's the principle of the thing.
Misha grins and turns to Clare. "Look who I found out and about."
It's then that Jensen notices the other guy, leaning against the picnic table looking amused.
Clare claps her hands and sits up. "Daddy Morgan!"
The guy— man, Jensen amends— pushes up and walks over to her, bends down and gives her a quick kiss, which she returns happily.
"Hey there, babygirl," he says in a warm, gruff voice. "Long time no see."
"Yeah, whose fault is that?" Clare's dimpled smile takes the sting out of the question completely. She is dangerously close to fawning.
"Mine entirely, of course."
"Moving on," Misha says at the appearance of Clare's Cheshire cat smile. "This is Jensen. Jensen, Jeff."
"The new roommate? Pleasure," Jeff says, holding out his hand for Jensen to shake.
"Uh, yeah. Hi. Nice to meet you." Jensen shakes his hand and wonders if he sounds as stupidly dazed as he feels.
Jeff is easily the most attractive man Jensen has ever seen in real life. He's tall, a good head taller than Misha, and really big. Broad shoulders and barrel-chested, and Jensen suddenly understands that description in terms of mind-numbingly sexy. He's got dark hair and a neat, trimmed beard. Jensen can't quite tell the color of his eyes in this light, but they crinkle in the corners when he smiles with a sort of lazy, sensual pleasure that makes Jensen very aware of two things.
The first is that he is half-naked and unquestionably grateful that the jets are on. The second is that he's still staring.
"How long have you been in there?" Misha asks, startling Jensen as he leans against the edge of the tub and pokes his shoulder. "You're very pink. And freckly."
"Not sure," Jensen says, glaring at Misha for bringing up his freckles in mixed company.
Misha raises his eyebrows in surprise and smiles. He turns back to Jeff and says, "You want a beer?"
"Sure."
"Great, I'll take one too."
Jeff laughs. "It's a wonder I don't come visit more often," he says easily. "Clare? Jensen?"
"Huh?" Jensen says dumbly. Then his mind catches up and he nods. "Uh, yeah, actually. That'd be great. Thanks."
"I think you've had enough," Misha says quietly as Jeff walks back into the house.
Jensen frowns at him. "My team or yours, Collins?"
Misha doesn't bother to conceal his amusement at that. "Yours, definitely. Do you think I'd allow Clare anywhere near him if he were even the least bit straight?"
"Allow?"
"Single?" Jensen asks, talking over Clare. He needs the pertinent details before Jeff comes back outside.
"Single," Misha says. "Didn't really figure you for having a daddy kink, though."
Clare snorts before Jensen can answer that and says, "Baby, everyone has a daddy kink for Jeff. You have a daddy kink for Jeff." She raises her eyebrow at him as Jeff walks back out onto the deck.
"Too much sharing." Misha straightens and accepts his beer.
Jensen thanks Jeff as he takes his own bottle and, because he is not a thirteen-year-old girl, he definitely does not feel a jolt of pleasure when Jeff's fingers brush against his own.
"So, Jeff," Misha says. "You have plans for next weekend?"
"Not so far. Why?"
"We're having a party Saturday night. You should come. In fact, I'm pretty sure Clare will be heartbroken if you don't."
Clare nods solemnly at that, giving Jeff an adorable little pout.
"Sure, okay." He's addressing Misha, but Jensen's pretty sure he doesn't imagine the way Jeff's gazes flicks over to him as he says, "I think I can manage that."
It wasn't until the next day that Jensen realized that they hadn't been planning to have any sort of party, but Misha only waved his hand, saying he'd take care of it and nothing was too much if it meant getting Jensen laid, as if Jensen suddenly needed help.
Which, on the one hand was so completely over the top that Jensen didn't know how to respond. On the other hand, Jensen kind of loved the fact that Misha was actually that insane. "We'll have a party, Jeff will show up. I've got your back," Misha said, patting Jensen on the chest.
Misha is good as his word. It isn't even ten o'clock yet and the party is in full swing. Jensen has spent the past hour wandering around the house like a high school girl waiting to go to her first formal.
"Jensen, you need to calm down," Misha says, coming up behind him. He presses a beer into Jensen's hand. "Drink. Or Clare's got some weed if you need it, but seriously. Chill the fuck out."
"I'm fine," Jensen says, taking a swig, frowning when he realizes that it's some sort of huckleberry microbrew. Fuck Washington and all of its specialty beers. Sometimes Jensen just wants a goddamn Bud. "Are you sure this is good?" He gestures to his shirt and jeans. At Misha's put-upon expression he laughs. "Okay, right. A couple hits might not hurt. Where's Clare?"
Twenty minutes later, Jensen is feeling much more relaxed. He didn't smoke enough to get seriously high, just enough to take the edge off. Clare graciously accepted his huckleberry beer in exchange and sent him off with a slap on the ass, saying, "Just remember, you're hot and funny and smart. The world is your oyster, baby!"
There are quite a few people in the living room but nobody Jensen recognizes so he grabs an IPA out of the fridge and wanders out onto the back deck. He spots Jeff almost immediately, leaning against the deck railing talking to Misha and, despite Jensen's newfound Zen, he feels that rush of anticipation. It's been awhile since he's had an actual crush on anyone.
Jensen doesn't really mean to eavesdrop, but Misha and Jeff's backs are to him and he doesn't exactly make his presence known right away as he hears Jeff say, "Christ. Now I remember why I don't come to these things. I feel like I should be chaperoning. Are these kids even legal?"
"Depends on what you want to do with them," Misha says. Before Jeff can respond, he adds, "Everyone is at least twenty-one and that is several years over the age of consent."
"Don't be a smartass," Jeff says.
"Unreasonable request." Misha looks over his shoulder and grins when he spots Jensen. "Can I assume you're feeling no pain?" He turns his body so that he's angled to include Jensen in the conversation and Jeff does the same.
"I'm doing alright." Jensen gives them a lopsided grin. "Good to see you again," he says to Jeff.
"You too." Jeff's voice is pitched lower than it was when he was talking to Misha and Jensen licks his lips in response.
"Well, I need another drink." Misha moves away from the railing, smooth as hell, steps around them in such a way that Jensen has to take his place next to Jeff. "Can I get you guys anything?"
"I'm good." Jensen holds up his mostly-full bottle, leaning back against the railing. Jeff just shakes his head. "I'm glad you made it," he says as Misha walks off. He's just stoned enough to look his fill, taking in the way Jeff's black t-shirt stretches over his shoulders. "Even if we did end up wearing the same outfit."
Jeff laughs and Jensen has to work not to squirm as Jeff looks him over. "I guess next time we'll have to consult."
"Guess so."
"So how do you know Misha?" Jeff asks.
"He was my TA."
"Your—" Jeff's smile fades a little. "Christ," he says, more to himself than Jensen. "Are you still in school?"
"What? No. I've graduated," Jensen says, as affronted as he can manage.
"Hmm." Jeff rubs a hand over his beard and stares out into the darkness. "How old are you?" he finally asks, looking back at Jensen out of the corner of his eyes.
"Does it really matter?" Jensen sighs when Jeff doesn't respond to that and says, "Twenty-two."
"Right," Jeff says, looking away again.
Jensen realizes that he needs to do some damage control fast. He hears Clare's voice in his head, telling him he's hot and smart and funny and, yeah, he can do this. "You know, interesting fact. At twenty-two, the human male has developed to the point where he can carry on entire conversations without the aid of parents, teachers or even note cards."
Just then, a guy to his left yells, "Dude!" and there is the distinct sound of someone puking in the bushes.
"That so?" Jeff glances back at him, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
"Some of us more than others," Jensen says a little sheepishly. "You want to go inside?"
Jeff still looks skeptical, but he grins and says, "Sure, why not?"
Two hours later, they are sitting on the couch, Jensen pressed into the corner, Jeff angled toward him, his arm draped along the back behind Jensen's head. Jeff's been telling him stories about the Seattle music scene when he was growing up, about going to parties and listening to the shitty garage bands that later became the face of grunge.
They're good stories, but Jensen keeps getting distracted by the thought of a young, punk-rock Jeff and what he really wants to do is climb onto Jeff's lap and kiss him until they're both dizzy. Jeff's given him more than one look that makes Jensen think he wouldn't be completely adverse to the idea. "Do you want another beer?" he asks, if for no other reason than to keep himself from testing that theory.
"Uh, no," Jeff says, setting his bottle aside. "I should probably get going, actually."
"Oh. Yeah, sure." Jensen looks around, realizing that a good number of people have already left. "I guess—" He loses his train of thought when he catches sight of Misha pressed up against the wall, making out with some tall blond guy that Jensen's never seen. "Um. Am I really drunk, or is Misha making out with another guy?"
"All of the above." Jeff laughs. "You have met Clare, right?"
"Yeah, I just. Wow. I thought they were joking about that." Jensen runs his hand through his hair and looks back at Jeff. "What?"
Jeff's expression is completely inscrutable. "I should go," he says again, standing.
"Okay, um. I'll walk you out." Jensen stands up as well. Looks back to see Misha tugging the guy toward the stairs, Clare trailing along after them, a self-satisfied look on her face.
"I had a good time," Jeff says as Jensen shuts the front door behind them.
"Me too. I'm glad you came." Jensen is back to feeling ridiculously awkward and Jeff is standing there looking indecisive. "Hey," Jensen says at the same time Jeff says, "So." Jensen gestures for him to go ahead.
"Right, uh." He laughs and says, "Hell," to himself. Then he looks back up at Jensen and says, "Would you want to have dinner with me some time?"
"Yeah," Jensen says. "I really would." He knows he's smiling like an idiot, but he can't seem to do anything about it.
"Yeah," Jeff says and laughs again. "Alright, I'll give you a call this week."
"Okay," Jensen says, bites back the cool that wants to slip out after it. Jeff turns to leave and Jensen suddenly has the insane fear that he'll wake up tomorrow and decide that dinner would be a mistake. "Hey, hold on." He steps forward and grabs Jeff's arm.
Jeff turns back, an expectant look on his face.
Jensen shrugs. "I figure, what's the point of getting this drunk if you're not going to do something even a little bit stupid." He reaches up and grabs the back of Jeff's neck, pulls him down for a quick kiss.
That's his plan, anyway, but Jeff is maybe drunk as well, because he grabs Jensen's hips and pulls him closer, returns the kiss with intent, licking into Jensen's mouth all perfect and lewd. It's exactly where Jensen's wanted to be all night, only better.
Jeff pulls back suddenly. "Jesus, kid," he says and Jensen's pleased to note he sounds a little out of breath. "I should leave." Except that he hasn't let Jensen go yet.
"But you'll call," Jensen says, brushing another kiss over Jeff's mouth.
"I'll pick you up on Friday. Six o'clock? Unless you have other plans."
Jensen steps back and smiles. "Friday's good."
"You know this is a bad idea, right?" Jeff asks, but he doesn't look indecisive anymore.
"I know no such thing," Jensen says, backing up toward the house.
"Yeah, well. That's because you're young and stupid." Somehow Jeff makes that sound like a compliment and Jensen is too happy to take offense.
"Friday."
"Friday," Jeff agrees. "Goodnight, Jensen."
"Goodnight." Jensen watches him walk down the street until the neighbor's hedges obscure his view.
He's still smiling like a maniac when he kicks everyone out.
It is far too early in the morning when Jensen wakes up. Normally, he'd turn over and go back to sleep, but before that can happen, he remembers the fact that Jeff asked him out. Then he remembers the kissing part. The feel of Jeff's hands on his hips, the soft scratch of his beard, the taste of him when he took control and, yeah. The whole taking control part.
Because Jensen isn't exactly small. It's not unusual for him to be the tallest guy in a room, but Jeff is bigger, broader. Physically capable of taking control in a way that Jensen hasn't had since he was seventeen and fucking his older brother's closeted roommate. His cock, already half-hard by virtue of the fact that it's morning, is definitely interested at the thought. Jensen idly palms himself through his boxers as he replays the previous evening in his head.
Jeff is overwhelmingly masculine in a way that makes Jensen's entire body hum with want. Misha wasn't too far off with the daddy kink crack. There's not a doubt in Jensen's mind that if Jeff asked, Jensen would happily sit in his lap, twine his arms around his neck and call him Daddy.
His cock twitches at the visual his mind supplies and Jensen groans. Jeff is like a wet dream, tailor-made to push his buttons. Everything about him makes Jensen sit up and take notice and, more than anything, he wants Jeff to notice back. He finally gives up on getting back to sleep and manages to crawl out of bed. He jacks off in the shower imagining Jeff fucking him against a wall. The thought is so tantalizing and immediate that it doesn't take long.
The house is mildly trashed, nothing too horrible. Jensen observes the damage as he eats breakfast. It only takes about half an hour to clean up, including washing the dishes. He's stretched out on the couch channel surfing when Misha finally stumbles into the living room and sits down in the La-Z-Boy. He wipes his hand over his face and looks blearily at Jensen.
"Someone got laid last night."
"What?" Jensen looks up and grins, shaking his head. "I didn't get laid."
"I was talking about me," Misha says. "And yet, you're the one who looks like he spent the evening having some surprisingly satisfying group sex."
"Hey, man, do me a favor?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Don't ever give me the details of your sex life."
Misha grins. "I can't make any promises on that one." He rubs his eyes again and then gives Jensen a pleading look. "My kingdom for a fresh pot of coffee?"
"You're pathetic," Jensen says, but pushes himself off of the couch anyway. Misha follows him into the kitchen and watches him as he starts the coffee. "You know you have these capabilities as well."
"It's not as good as when you do it. You have the magic touch," Misha says. "It's why they call you the Coffee Whisperer."
"Nobody calls me that."
"They would if they knew," Misha says serenely. "So why do you have chipper sex face if you didn't actually have sex?"
"Jeff and I are going out next weekend."
Misha raises his eyebrows. "Like on a date?"
"Yeah, like on a date."
"Interesting tactic, but okay."
"C'mon. You and Clare must have dated at some point."
"Mmm." Misha appears to consider this, then he shakes his head. "It was more that we had a lot of sex and then she moved in."
"Classy."
"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic."
The conversation lulls as Misha stares intently at the coffee machine, most likely willing it to brew faster. Clare shuffles into the kitchen as the steady flow turns to drops and Misha gives her the hairy eyeball, like she's going to swoop in and snatch the pot from him before he can get his cup. As far as Jensen can tell, Clare is not capable of swooping anywhere at the moment.
When Misha seems once again confident of his primacy, he grabs another cup from the cupboard. Clare accepts the cup from him with a grateful grunt. The interaction is both hilarious and surprisingly sweet.
Once Clare drinks about half her cup, she sets it down on the counter and walks over to Jensen, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. "I am going to keep you forever and ever, maker of magical coffee."
"I'm the one who found him," Misha says.
Clare raises her hand high enough to flip Misha off.
"Oh, baby." Misha sets his cup on the counter, presses up against her back and wraps his arms around both her and Jensen. "Aw, group hug. This feels nice."
Jensen tries not to laugh. "I find you both incredibly creepy right now."
"No, be not angered, coffee god," Clare says against his chest, seemingly content to stay there for the rest of the day.
"Seriously." Jensen pats her hair and smiles. "So, so creepy."
The week seems to drag on forever, until about five o'clock Friday evening at which point Jensen starts freaking out. Misha is lounging on Jensen's bed as Jensen digs through his closet, having decided to amuse himself by watching Jensen have a breakdown.
"I have no idea what to wear. I have no idea where we're going, if I should dress up or not." Before Misha can make any sort of smartass remark, Jensen points at him and frowns. "You make one crack about me being a girl here and I swear I will punch you."
Misha rolls his neck and smiles. "You remember we're in Seattle, right?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning shoes instead of Birkenstocks is considered fancy dress. Wear a shirt and jeans. It's not rocket science."
"That was actually helpful," Jensen says as he turns back to his closet.
"You needn't sound so surprised." Misha flops back and tucks Jensen's pillow under his head. "I'm going to masturbate on your bed while you're gone."
"You couldn't just let a nice moment sit, could you?" Jensen finally pulls out his plain, light blue button-down shirt and shrugs it on. He's already wearing his nicest pair of jeans, so he supposes he's set.
Jensen is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Jeff arrives. He gets to the front door just in time to hear Misha ask, "And what exactly are your intentions with our Jensen?"
"Don't answer that," Jensen says, giving Misha a dirty look. "Could you be any more mortifying?"
It's clear from Misha's expression that he takes that as a challenge, rather than the rhetorical question it was meant to be. Jensen elbows his way past him and out the door before Misha can act on whatever horrifying thought is going through his head.
"Don't—Just don't." He nods at Jeff that they should walk away right now, please, and then turns back to Misha. "Stay out of my room while I'm gone."
Misha only laughs and shuts the door in his face.
Jeff looks like he wants to ask, but he shakes his head instead. "I'm sure I don't want to know. Shall we?" He points to the white Chevy Blazer parked in front of the neighbor's house.
"I like to go backpacking, camping sometimes when the weather's nice," Jeff says once they're in the car. "The Blazer's good to take up in the mountains."
"Okay." Jensen has to take a moment to consider the apparent non sequitur, then he laughs. "Are you defending the fact that you own an SUV? Dude, I'm from Texas."
"Well, then." Jeff grins. "Touché."
Once Jeff's attention is focused on the road, Jensen feels free to look his fill. Jeff is wearing a black v-neck shirt, his sleeves pushed up over his forearms. He looks relaxed as he drives, occasionally pointing things out, telling Jensen little bits of the city's history. It's incredibly charming and Jensen feels himself relax bit by bit.
"Now that is my favorite part of the city," Jensen says, pointing at the pedestrian crossing sign that has been altered to say, STOP FOR ME IT'S THE CLAW. He holds up his hand, curving his fingers to look like pincers. "The claw. It's funny."
Jeff laughs and Jensen leans back and smiles.
They end up at an Asian restaurant downtown on Third. Jensen starts to feel awkward again as they're seated, being in a nice restaurant so very obviously on a date with another man. But when he looks around, true to Seattle form, nobody is paying them any attention.
The menu is full of food that is just different enough to be out of Jensen's comfort zone completely. There are seasonings and sauces he really isn't sure about and he wonders what the safe option is. He's not against trying new things, he's just not sure where to start and he doesn't want to kick off the meal by coming across as a hick.
"The duck here is fantastic," Jeff says, closing his menu.
"Is that what you're getting?"
"No. I'm getting the pepper scallops, but everything here is served family style." Jeff smiles. "If you got the duck, we could certainly share."
"I see." Jensen bites his lip to hide his smile. "So that would be a completely altruistic suggestion on your part."
"Completely."
"Alright, then." Jensen shuts his menu with no small sense of relief. "I'm sold." He orders the duck and says, "I'll have the same," when Jeff orders a glass of wine, then wishes that he'd thought to go ahead and order a beer. He's pretty sure Jeff wouldn't think less of him for it.
"So, you mentioned you were temping at the moment," Jeff says after they've ordered. "Where are you working right now?"
"I'm actually back at UW at the moment. Filling in as a personal assistant to one of the Divisional Deans. The regular girl is out on maternity leave or something." Jensen shrugs. "Not the most glamorous thing ever but it pays the bills, so."
Jeff nods and smiles sympathetically. "Not exactly what you imagined yourself doing?"
"I don't know. I guess I just—" Jensen rubs the back of his neck. That weird what now limbo feeling that's been constant in the back of his mind since graduation leaps to the forefront again. "Growing up, my whole plan was to get out of Texas. I worked hard, got good grades, got scholarships and funding. My goal was to go to college out of state, graduate, and then." He spreads his hands and shrugs. "I never thought to plan beyond that, so here I am."
"That's pretty common, I think. It's what grad school is for, after all."
Jensen laughs. "Yeah, well, as fun as that sounds, I think I'll pass for the moment. I'm good with being out of school for awhile."
"I can understand that." Jeff considers him for a moment. "So you had a lot of scholarships?"
"Yeah. Got everything paid for the most part. I worked while I was in school, too, so I fortunately don't have any loans hanging over my head."
"That's fairly impressive," Jeff says.
"Yeah, well." It makes Jensen feel awkward, like he's bragging, but he never really thought of it like that. Everything, the scholarships and grants and shitty jobs, they were all means to an end and nothing more. "Not just a pretty face, my friend," he finally says with a self-deprecating smirk.
"Now that I already knew," Jeff says easily.
"How's that?" Jensen raises an eyebrow. He's pretty certain he hasn't done anything so far that could be considered particularly brilliant in Jeff's presence.
"You're friends with Misha." Jeff grins when Jensen laughs. "Seriously," he says, leaning forward, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That's like the intellectual equivalent of 'you must be this tall to ride this ride'. I've known Misha long enough to know he doesn't waste his time on idiots."
It's an oddly flattering thing to say and Jensen is sure he looks as pleased as he feels. "How do you know Misha anyway? I don't think you ever said."
"That." Jeff rubs his hand over his beard and shakes his head. "No, I'm pretty sure that's not a first-date story." Before Jensen can follow up on that, Jeff asks, "What about your parents? They okay with you being all the way up here?"
"My parents?" Jensen thinks about his mom's face when he came out to them. Like the world's biggest coward, he waited until he was safely moved into his dorm and they were getting ready to leave. She looked so hurt standing there. It's the most awful Jensen has ever felt in his life. "My parents have always supported us kids, our goals or whatever. They're good people, but I, uh. I think it's easier for everyone involved that I live two thousand miles away."
Jeff nods, his expression is sympathetic without being pitying. He doesn't offer condolences or platitudes, just that look that makes Jensen feel like he does actually get it.
"Sorry." Jensen forces a laugh and shrugs. "Little more serious than I intended."
"No, no. I'm the one that asked."
"That's true," Jensen says with a genuine smile. "Asshole."
"Hey now." Jeff gives him a mock warning look, rubbing his hand over his beard. "Okay, hobbies, then. That seems safe enough."
"You think so, huh?" Jensen teases, then ducks his head before he can gauge Jeff's response and clears his throat. "Photography?" He says it like a question and adds, "I took a bunch of classes in school. I really enjoyed it, but I haven't done much since I graduated." It's a good answer, he thinks, in that it makes him sound artistic and it also happens to be true.
From there the conversation turns to art, Jeff's business, sports, and so on without more than a couple of lulls. Jensen starts to relax a little and genuinely enjoy himself, and it's after nine o'clock by the time they leave the restaurant. It's not quite raining as they step outside, but misty and wet enough to rule out the possibility of walking around for awhile.
When they get in the car, Jeff doesn't ask where to, just starts driving. Jensen feels a stab of disappointment when Jeff turns onto his block. The whole evening has been one of the most enjoyable that Jensen has had in a long time and he's not ready for it to be over yet, even if it doesn't end with sex.
"I'll walk you to the door," Jeff says, turning off the car.
Jensen shoots him an amused glance. "Very gentlemanly of you." He's pretty sure Jeff says brat under his breath as he gets out of the car.
"I assume you'll turn me down if I invite you in," Jensen says once they reach the front door.
"Doesn't mean I'm not tempted, Jensen."
The way Jeff says his name does things to Jensen. He wants to cut to the chase already, but he suspects that Jeff has his reasons, whatever they might be. "I had fun tonight." Which is the crux of his problem. Jensen sincerely likes Jeff and this whole thing is already going in a direction he's completely unfamiliar with.
"I did, too." Jeff steps in a little closer. Jensen leans against the door and tugs the bottom of Jeff's shirt, pulling him in further. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here," Jeff says, raising his hand to cup the back of Jensen's neck.
"And I'll respect that." Jensen's lips curve into a smile. "To an extent."
"Good of you to take it easy on me." Jeff's lips brush against Jensen's mouth as he speaks.
Jensen honest-to-god whimpers in response and then Jeff kisses him, several short, soft kisses that have Jensen following after him when he pulls back. Then he kisses him again, long and slow, on the verge of being something very different than goodnight when Jeff breaks it off. He actually steps back, leaving Jensen to slump against the front door.
"You have plans on Sunday?"
It takes Jensen a moment to process the question. He shakes his head.
"We should do something Sunday. If you want," Jeff says. He takes another step back and Jensen huffs out a breath of disappointed laughter.
"Yeah. That sounds good."
Jeff nods. "I'll call you tomorrow." He smiles in a way that Jensen can't read at all and then says, "Goodnight, Jensen."
"Goodnight." Jensen watches him walk back to his car, watches him drive off and then waits for another minute before going inside.
"Way too early for you to be home," Misha says as Jensen walks into the living room. Clare is tucked up under his arm and they're watching The Sound of Music. Jensen does not have the wherewithal to even try and process that at the moment.
"Tell me about it." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I'm going to bed."
"Yeah." Misha gives him a sly look and laughs. "You go do that."
Sunday they meet for coffee and then go for a walk around Green Lake. Jeff walks Jensen home and kisses him chastely at the door. Monday, Jensen calls Jeff to tell him that the informercial they were talking about is on and Jeff chuckles in his ear and asks Jensen how his day was.
Tuesday Jeff calls Jensen and Wednesday Jensen has Misha hide the phone from him so that he doesn't call just to hear the sound of Jeff's voice. Thursday Jeff calls and asks if Jensen has plans for Friday.
"Let me check my calendar," Jensen says settling back on the couch. "I'm very in demand, you know."
"Well, if you're free I was hoping you'd join me for dinner at my place."
Jensen sits up again and wipes his hand over his mouth before answering. "Looks like my schedule is clear."
"Oh, good." Jeff definitely sounds amused. "How does six sound?"
"Good. Six works," Jensen says, nodding vigorously.
Jeff gives Jensen his address and hangs up after saying, "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Yeah," Jensen says after the line goes dead. He's spent more time this week jacking off than he has since he was fourteen and popping wood if the breeze hit him right. Now he just has to make it through one more night with Jeff's voice, low and full of promise, echoing in his head.
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