obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2011-12-16 10:13 am
obstinatrix) wrote2011-12-16 10:13 am
Entry tags:
Fic: And The Kiss Comes Free
Title: And The Kiss Comes Free
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~2500
Notes/Summary: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hils, for the prompt: 'Jared is a lifeguard who saves Jensen from drowning'. :) Thanks to akadougal for reading this over for me.
Okay. So maybe Jensen's borrowing a kid. So what? It's not like there's a law against it, and besides, when it comes down to it, he's actually doing West a favor. Misha doesn't play well with other parents; Jensen's pretty sure that an organized children's swim club would be his idea of hell. Mostly because the last thing he said before they left for the first class was "I hope you enjoy this kind of crap, dude, because it's like the fucking seventh circle for me."
Misha has a dirty mouth. Jensen doesn't mind too much, because -- well, Jensen is enjoying himself. In the swimming pool, it looks like West is too, because that's what happens when you're in the presence of Jared P. (as his nameplate calls him), lifeguard, child whisperer and star of most of the pornos in Jensen's head. Five-year-olds think he's the best thing since Captain America, Jensen thinks he's the best thing his dick has doused out since that Tom guy in college, and basically, everyone's happy.
Really, it's like Jensen's doing a public service, borrowing his best friend's kid to attend this class. It's certainly improving his Saturday afternoons.
****
"Cute kid." That's Jared, hair wet from the pool, little rivulets still dribbling down the cuts of his abs. He wears a shirt for the duration of the class itself, a club tee cut off at the armholes that makes his biceps look ridiculous, but he always dives in after the kids are all out and swims two brisk laps to cool off.
Jensen always stays till the end.
"Yeah," he says, with a grin, "he is."
"Jensen," West declares, waving one fist aloft, "I swam!"
"Sure did, buddy," Jensen says, crouching down to meet West on his level. "Hey, you want ice cream after? The milk kind? I won't tell your daddy."
Jared's mouth quirks curiously, and Jensen thinks: finally. Finally, his cunning plan is falling into place. He knows Jared's probably been assuming West is his kid these past three weeks; he's not stupid -- well. Okay, Danneel's not stupid. She pointed out this flaw in his scheme after the first class, but Jensen is at least sufficiently not-stupid to have reactively developed a plan B, and this is pretty much it right here.
"He's not yours?" Jared asks. Jensen does a little internal fistpump.
"No, I'm taking him out for a friend," he says airily. "Misha's not the greatest fan of swimming pools."
"Huh," Jared says. He's still smiling, so Jensen's happy to entertain whatever topic he wants to pursue. Fuck, that smile. "You're the swimmer in the group, then? Um..." He trails off, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
"Jensen," Jensen supplies quickly, and then, "yeah." And he smiles back. It's kind of hard to help it, with Jared looking at him like that. If Jared had asked him if he was a fan of underwater basket-weaving, he'd probably have agreed readily to that, too, such is the power of Jared's fucking face.
But, okay. Here's the thing: Jensen can't swim. He's not ashamed of it, has pretty much made his peace with it, in fact. He can't swim, has given up on trying to learn, and effectively has no plans ever to venture into a swimming pool for the rest of his life.
"Cool," Jared says, face dimpling up with his smile. "So, hey -- we have adult freestyle on Sunday mornings. I oversee that session too. You should come." He runs a big hand through the damp hair clinging to his forehead, pushing it back. The hand looks like it could wrap around Jensen's entire throat, no problem.
"Uh," Jensen says, "sure, I'll be there. I love freestyle."
Fuck.
***
As he tightens the drawstring on his shorts (wouldn't want an embarrassing accident) Jensen wonders, not for the first time, if this is what it feels like to be possessed. It's been years, literally years since he's submerged himself in anything deeper than a bathtub, and yet, here he is, ready to dive in at the literal deep end. And for what? To impress some guy (some really, really nice, really gorgeous guy) who will undoubtedly be completely unimpressed when he sees Jensen's windmilling limbs of failure and realizes all that stuff about him being 'the swimmer of the group' was bullshit. Yeah, it's not exactly Jensen's most brilliantly conceived plan.
At the edge of the pool, he hesitates, rethinking. Might it not be better, actually, to backtrack now, claim to have forgotten some prior engagement, and bolt before he shows himself up as a total crazy person?
He's contemplating this when Jared comes out of the pavilion in a pair of red trunks Jensen's never seen before, towelling his hair like he's been for a swim today already, like the boss he clearly is. Jensen's knees promptly lock up. Naturally, Jared chooses this precise second to glance up and catch sight of him.
"Jensen!" He smiles, a flash of white teeth. He's like a goddamn comic book superhero, sharp jaw and strong profile, broad-shouldered torso tapering neatly to the tiny nip of his waist. "So glad you came, man. Lookin' forward to seeing your moves." And then the bastard winks. Jensen can practically hear his teeth ping.
"Yeah," Jensen hears his voice say, apparently of its own accord, "better watch your back, dude. I got skills."
Jesus Christ, Jensen fucking hates his brain for the shit it does without permission.
Jared laughs, lifting one hand in a mock salute, long fingers touched to his temple. "I'll be watching closely," he says, "promise."
Jensen finds that he's grinning. He's utterly screwed, possibly possessed, and probably about to meet his death by drowning, but Jared's smiling at him, so he's grinning right back. Fuck his brain, seriously; fuck it.
"Awesome," says the malevolent force possessing him, and he sets his hands on his hips, which makes Jared laugh again before he nods and walks away to get started.
Yeah. Awesome.
****
The edge of the pool is rough under Jensen's toes, wet and nastily cold, like he's standing on something dead. The markings indicate that the water is 9 feet deep. He really, really shouldn't do this.
"On my whistle, guys," comes Jared's voice. The whistle sounds shrilly.
The water closes over Jensen's head like jaws. Or, hell, like Jaws. It's so long since Jensen's had his head underwater, he'd forgotten the way things go hollow and soundless like this, the splashes of everyone else's movements muted by the weight of water. It's so weird that, for a second, it's all he can do to blink at the colorful blurs of bodies passing by him. Then the long-forgotten chlorine burn pricks at his eyeballs; he takes a deep breath and gets a lungful of water and, shit, that does it.
This plan, and Jensen with it, are officially floundering.
He flails. That's the only way to describe it, the full-body twist of his body that flings his limbs out to the four points of the compass as he struggles with the sudden sensation of impending doom. More by luck than judgment, his face breaks the surface for a second and the world floods back in a burst of color and sound. Maybe -- God, maybe Jensen can do this. Can it be that this is swimming? Jensen flaps his hands emphatically. If he can get his head above water once, he can do it again, right? Jared's got to know by now that he's no champion swimmer, but shit, a guy deserves points for bravery. He takes a breath and makes to kick with his feet. Hell, ducks do it; it should work.
He tips forward abruptly and without ceremony, the force of it pushing water painfully up his nasal passages. Fuck. Everything's dissolved again into noiseless oblivion, and when Jensen tries to repeat his surface-breaking feat, he only succeeds in kicking himself around in a circle beneath the water.
Jesus Christ. Jensen knows, okay, he knows better than to panic in a situation like this one, but when Jensen doesn't want to freak out, he typically takes deep breaths, and it's sort of hard to work with that tactic right now. Clearly, the only possible outcome of this can be death. He's going to die because he couldn't admit his failings in front of some cute guy he doesn't even know. His life flashes before his eyes in spurts of idiocy. Fuck. After all this, it better be easier to get laid in the afterlife.
He works his legs a little in some last-ditch attempt at survival through flailing, but it's no good. The light's fading.
***
When he comes to his senses, he knows he's made it to heaven because he's on his back being kissed insistently by someone who looks awfully like Jared. As compensation goes, Jensen'll take it.
He turns his head minutely and coughs up a stream of water, which -- okay, a little weird. Better get things straight. "Are you my guardian angel?"
"Jensen?" The hot guy frowns, pulls back a little. For a second, Jensen thinks he's found confirmation in the halo glowing around his face, but then he moves further and he sees that it's only the sun catching the ends of Jared's hair. And -- fuck.
"Fuck," Jensen says. His throat burns. He presses both hands to his face. "Oh, God." Oh, God, oh God, he's not dead. He's not dead, but right now he sort of thinks it'd be easier if he were. At least then he wouldn't have to face the reality of having been fished by his crush out of a death-by-drowning situation he stepped voluntarily into, and then having greeted said crush with what sounded like a pick-up line from a bad porno.
Jared probably never wants to speak to him again. Jensen doesn't want to be melodramatic about it, but he's so embarrassed he genuinely feels as if death would have been the better option.
Given the circumstances, the fact that Jared's laughing softly is kind of weird. Then he lays one big hand gently on the side of Jensen's face, and that's even weirder. Maybe he's hysterical. Jensen blinks and lowers his own hands. "I, uh," he says, helplessly.
"Yeah," Jared says, "this isn't exactly how I envisioned this going, either."
He's still smiling a little. He doesn't look hysterical. Maybe Jensen is dead after all.
"I was thinking more dinner-and-a-movie than he-man rescue scenario," Jared goes on, "but I guess I'll take it, as long as you don't plan on making a habit of it."
Wait, what? Jensen struggles to make his mouth work. "I am alive, right?"
Jared snorts and sits back, finally, taking Jensen's hand to pull him into a sitting position. They're on the side of the pool, he realizes. A small semi-circle of spectators is beginning to disperse. "Yeah, no thanks to you. You can't swim, can you?"
Jensen bites his lip. "No," he says contritely. He hopes all that contrition comes through, because goddamn, is he feeling it.
Jared rolls his eyes, but there's a twinkle in them. "So, why? It better not have been an elaborate stunt to get me to kiss you, because I can tell you now, you really didn't need to go to all that trouble."
Jensen feels his cheeks going pink. "Really?" He pauses. "I mean, this wasn't some crazy Snow White complex thing with the, the mouth-to-mouth and the dying, I didn't mean, but --" (Quit while you're ahead, Ackles, says the voice in his head that kind of sounds like Danneel.) "Um. Really?"
"Really," Jared says firmly. He cups Jensen's jaw for a second, brushes his lower lip just barely with his thumb. Jensen feels the touch like a burn. "Could've just asked for my number like a normal person." He smiles, and Jensen's heart does a little skip.
"Well, in that case." Jensen ducks his head and grins, rubbing the heel of his hand against his face like he could rub the blush off if he just tried hard enough. "Dinner and a movie, huh?"
"Usually a good start," Jared says.
As far as Jensen can tell, the blush doesn't seem to be coming off.
****
Jared kisses him slow and warm in the back row of the movie theatre while the movie flashes away on the big screen. Jensen feels young and fluttery and, yeah, maybe a little like he can't breathe, but under these circumstances, he's fairly sure that's a good thing.
As second first kisses go, Jensen thinks he could have done worse.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~2500
Notes/Summary: For
hils, for the prompt: 'Jared is a lifeguard who saves Jensen from drowning'. :) Thanks to akadougal for reading this over for me. Okay. So maybe Jensen's borrowing a kid. So what? It's not like there's a law against it, and besides, when it comes down to it, he's actually doing West a favor. Misha doesn't play well with other parents; Jensen's pretty sure that an organized children's swim club would be his idea of hell. Mostly because the last thing he said before they left for the first class was "I hope you enjoy this kind of crap, dude, because it's like the fucking seventh circle for me."
Misha has a dirty mouth. Jensen doesn't mind too much, because -- well, Jensen is enjoying himself. In the swimming pool, it looks like West is too, because that's what happens when you're in the presence of Jared P. (as his nameplate calls him), lifeguard, child whisperer and star of most of the pornos in Jensen's head. Five-year-olds think he's the best thing since Captain America, Jensen thinks he's the best thing his dick has doused out since that Tom guy in college, and basically, everyone's happy.
Really, it's like Jensen's doing a public service, borrowing his best friend's kid to attend this class. It's certainly improving his Saturday afternoons.
"Cute kid." That's Jared, hair wet from the pool, little rivulets still dribbling down the cuts of his abs. He wears a shirt for the duration of the class itself, a club tee cut off at the armholes that makes his biceps look ridiculous, but he always dives in after the kids are all out and swims two brisk laps to cool off.
Jensen always stays till the end.
"Yeah," he says, with a grin, "he is."
"Jensen," West declares, waving one fist aloft, "I swam!"
"Sure did, buddy," Jensen says, crouching down to meet West on his level. "Hey, you want ice cream after? The milk kind? I won't tell your daddy."
Jared's mouth quirks curiously, and Jensen thinks: finally. Finally, his cunning plan is falling into place. He knows Jared's probably been assuming West is his kid these past three weeks; he's not stupid -- well. Okay, Danneel's not stupid. She pointed out this flaw in his scheme after the first class, but Jensen is at least sufficiently not-stupid to have reactively developed a plan B, and this is pretty much it right here.
"He's not yours?" Jared asks. Jensen does a little internal fistpump.
"No, I'm taking him out for a friend," he says airily. "Misha's not the greatest fan of swimming pools."
"Huh," Jared says. He's still smiling, so Jensen's happy to entertain whatever topic he wants to pursue. Fuck, that smile. "You're the swimmer in the group, then? Um..." He trails off, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
"Jensen," Jensen supplies quickly, and then, "yeah." And he smiles back. It's kind of hard to help it, with Jared looking at him like that. If Jared had asked him if he was a fan of underwater basket-weaving, he'd probably have agreed readily to that, too, such is the power of Jared's fucking face.
But, okay. Here's the thing: Jensen can't swim. He's not ashamed of it, has pretty much made his peace with it, in fact. He can't swim, has given up on trying to learn, and effectively has no plans ever to venture into a swimming pool for the rest of his life.
"Cool," Jared says, face dimpling up with his smile. "So, hey -- we have adult freestyle on Sunday mornings. I oversee that session too. You should come." He runs a big hand through the damp hair clinging to his forehead, pushing it back. The hand looks like it could wrap around Jensen's entire throat, no problem.
"Uh," Jensen says, "sure, I'll be there. I love freestyle."
Fuck.
As he tightens the drawstring on his shorts (wouldn't want an embarrassing accident) Jensen wonders, not for the first time, if this is what it feels like to be possessed. It's been years, literally years since he's submerged himself in anything deeper than a bathtub, and yet, here he is, ready to dive in at the literal deep end. And for what? To impress some guy (some really, really nice, really gorgeous guy) who will undoubtedly be completely unimpressed when he sees Jensen's windmilling limbs of failure and realizes all that stuff about him being 'the swimmer of the group' was bullshit. Yeah, it's not exactly Jensen's most brilliantly conceived plan.
At the edge of the pool, he hesitates, rethinking. Might it not be better, actually, to backtrack now, claim to have forgotten some prior engagement, and bolt before he shows himself up as a total crazy person?
He's contemplating this when Jared comes out of the pavilion in a pair of red trunks Jensen's never seen before, towelling his hair like he's been for a swim today already, like the boss he clearly is. Jensen's knees promptly lock up. Naturally, Jared chooses this precise second to glance up and catch sight of him.
"Jensen!" He smiles, a flash of white teeth. He's like a goddamn comic book superhero, sharp jaw and strong profile, broad-shouldered torso tapering neatly to the tiny nip of his waist. "So glad you came, man. Lookin' forward to seeing your moves." And then the bastard winks. Jensen can practically hear his teeth ping.
"Yeah," Jensen hears his voice say, apparently of its own accord, "better watch your back, dude. I got skills."
Jesus Christ, Jensen fucking hates his brain for the shit it does without permission.
Jared laughs, lifting one hand in a mock salute, long fingers touched to his temple. "I'll be watching closely," he says, "promise."
Jensen finds that he's grinning. He's utterly screwed, possibly possessed, and probably about to meet his death by drowning, but Jared's smiling at him, so he's grinning right back. Fuck his brain, seriously; fuck it.
"Awesome," says the malevolent force possessing him, and he sets his hands on his hips, which makes Jared laugh again before he nods and walks away to get started.
Yeah. Awesome.
The edge of the pool is rough under Jensen's toes, wet and nastily cold, like he's standing on something dead. The markings indicate that the water is 9 feet deep. He really, really shouldn't do this.
"On my whistle, guys," comes Jared's voice. The whistle sounds shrilly.
The water closes over Jensen's head like jaws. Or, hell, like Jaws. It's so long since Jensen's had his head underwater, he'd forgotten the way things go hollow and soundless like this, the splashes of everyone else's movements muted by the weight of water. It's so weird that, for a second, it's all he can do to blink at the colorful blurs of bodies passing by him. Then the long-forgotten chlorine burn pricks at his eyeballs; he takes a deep breath and gets a lungful of water and, shit, that does it.
This plan, and Jensen with it, are officially floundering.
He flails. That's the only way to describe it, the full-body twist of his body that flings his limbs out to the four points of the compass as he struggles with the sudden sensation of impending doom. More by luck than judgment, his face breaks the surface for a second and the world floods back in a burst of color and sound. Maybe -- God, maybe Jensen can do this. Can it be that this is swimming? Jensen flaps his hands emphatically. If he can get his head above water once, he can do it again, right? Jared's got to know by now that he's no champion swimmer, but shit, a guy deserves points for bravery. He takes a breath and makes to kick with his feet. Hell, ducks do it; it should work.
He tips forward abruptly and without ceremony, the force of it pushing water painfully up his nasal passages. Fuck. Everything's dissolved again into noiseless oblivion, and when Jensen tries to repeat his surface-breaking feat, he only succeeds in kicking himself around in a circle beneath the water.
Jesus Christ. Jensen knows, okay, he knows better than to panic in a situation like this one, but when Jensen doesn't want to freak out, he typically takes deep breaths, and it's sort of hard to work with that tactic right now. Clearly, the only possible outcome of this can be death. He's going to die because he couldn't admit his failings in front of some cute guy he doesn't even know. His life flashes before his eyes in spurts of idiocy. Fuck. After all this, it better be easier to get laid in the afterlife.
He works his legs a little in some last-ditch attempt at survival through flailing, but it's no good. The light's fading.
When he comes to his senses, he knows he's made it to heaven because he's on his back being kissed insistently by someone who looks awfully like Jared. As compensation goes, Jensen'll take it.
He turns his head minutely and coughs up a stream of water, which -- okay, a little weird. Better get things straight. "Are you my guardian angel?"
"Jensen?" The hot guy frowns, pulls back a little. For a second, Jensen thinks he's found confirmation in the halo glowing around his face, but then he moves further and he sees that it's only the sun catching the ends of Jared's hair. And -- fuck.
"Fuck," Jensen says. His throat burns. He presses both hands to his face. "Oh, God." Oh, God, oh God, he's not dead. He's not dead, but right now he sort of thinks it'd be easier if he were. At least then he wouldn't have to face the reality of having been fished by his crush out of a death-by-drowning situation he stepped voluntarily into, and then having greeted said crush with what sounded like a pick-up line from a bad porno.
Jared probably never wants to speak to him again. Jensen doesn't want to be melodramatic about it, but he's so embarrassed he genuinely feels as if death would have been the better option.
Given the circumstances, the fact that Jared's laughing softly is kind of weird. Then he lays one big hand gently on the side of Jensen's face, and that's even weirder. Maybe he's hysterical. Jensen blinks and lowers his own hands. "I, uh," he says, helplessly.
"Yeah," Jared says, "this isn't exactly how I envisioned this going, either."
He's still smiling a little. He doesn't look hysterical. Maybe Jensen is dead after all.
"I was thinking more dinner-and-a-movie than he-man rescue scenario," Jared goes on, "but I guess I'll take it, as long as you don't plan on making a habit of it."
Wait, what? Jensen struggles to make his mouth work. "I am alive, right?"
Jared snorts and sits back, finally, taking Jensen's hand to pull him into a sitting position. They're on the side of the pool, he realizes. A small semi-circle of spectators is beginning to disperse. "Yeah, no thanks to you. You can't swim, can you?"
Jensen bites his lip. "No," he says contritely. He hopes all that contrition comes through, because goddamn, is he feeling it.
Jared rolls his eyes, but there's a twinkle in them. "So, why? It better not have been an elaborate stunt to get me to kiss you, because I can tell you now, you really didn't need to go to all that trouble."
Jensen feels his cheeks going pink. "Really?" He pauses. "I mean, this wasn't some crazy Snow White complex thing with the, the mouth-to-mouth and the dying, I didn't mean, but --" (Quit while you're ahead, Ackles, says the voice in his head that kind of sounds like Danneel.) "Um. Really?"
"Really," Jared says firmly. He cups Jensen's jaw for a second, brushes his lower lip just barely with his thumb. Jensen feels the touch like a burn. "Could've just asked for my number like a normal person." He smiles, and Jensen's heart does a little skip.
"Well, in that case." Jensen ducks his head and grins, rubbing the heel of his hand against his face like he could rub the blush off if he just tried hard enough. "Dinner and a movie, huh?"
"Usually a good start," Jared says.
As far as Jensen can tell, the blush doesn't seem to be coming off.
Jared kisses him slow and warm in the back row of the movie theatre while the movie flashes away on the big screen. Jensen feels young and fluttery and, yeah, maybe a little like he can't breathe, but under these circumstances, he's fairly sure that's a good thing.
As second first kisses go, Jensen thinks he could have done worse.