"So...the Arctic Monkeys, huh?" Chris drawls, and Jensen turns his head in time to see Chris frown. "Son, that's not a band, that's a snowplow." The sharp turn in the conversation doesn't surprise Jensen in the least. To tell the truth, he's been waiting for Chris to bring it up from the moment he'd said something about the show (which had been that morning, but Chris, being Chris, has always taken his sweet-ass time getting to everything). "C'mon, now," Jensen says, tossing a handful of freshly snapped beans into the colander. "It won't be so bad. You drag me out to see plenty of bands." "Not with names like Arctic Monkeys, I don't." Which is true, but neither here nor there. "I told Jared I'd go with him " Chris lets out a snort of laughter and scratches his forehead, then sets his John Deere cap back more firmly on his head. Jensen half thinks about asking why Chris thinks he needs to prove his kuntry-ness in private by wearing the stupid thing (hat's got more mud on it than a three year old after a rainstorm, really), but that's an argument he knows he won't win. Not that he's ever won an argument with Chris, but that's also another story. Another handful of beans get tossed into the colander. "Somehow I knew he was responsible for this," Chris finally says. "He doesn't want to go by himself." Chris makes a vague waving motion. "So go with the boyfriend, have fun, get drunk, get rowdy to your cold simians, get laid, but don't expect me to go with you." "He's not my damn boyfriend, alright," Jensen snaps, and looks up in time to see Chris' broad grin. "From where I'm sitting, Baby Texas has got you pussy-whipped," Chris states, and wipes the condensation from his bottle of Miller Lite before taking a long swallow. "Chris..." "Jen..." Time to switch tactics. After all, Jensen's mama didn't raise any morons (well, except for his brother, but that's another story). "I'll make it up to you," he says, dropping his voice to a seductive purr. "No, you won't." Jensen sidles closer, a carefully calculated move, and slides a hand along the muscled ridge Chris' thigh. It bunches and flexes under his touch. "I'll make it up to you beforehand." Chris arches an eyebrow. "I ain't going," he says, but his voice takes on that husky quality it does when he's horny. Almost... Jensen skims his palm to cup Chris' crotch, smoothing his fingers over worn denim. "Make it worth your while, darlin'," he croons, then rakes his teeth along the ridge of Chris' jaw. "Fuck," Chris sighs, and tilts his head back in invitation. Jensen smiles his triumph into the curve of Chris' neck. *** "Man, it's so great that you both could make it!" Jared's even smiling in exclamation points. "They're, like, the biggest thing out of England right now." Chris makes a gagging motion behind Jared's back. Jensen pastes his best smile on his face. "Sounds great!" "You guys're gonna love them!" Jared's practically vibrating. Jensen thinks he could probably power up the entire House of Blues with his energy. "Can't wait," Chris replies, and pulls his worn cowboy hat as low on his head as he can manage. Of course, he has to redneck it up as much as he possibly can tonight, wearing his most beat-up pair of cowboy boots and jeans to go with his Waylon Jennings t-shirt (also ripped). "But first, lead me to the beer." Chris, of course, knows all the bartenders and waitstaff, but Jensen isn't exactly surprised, considering the number of times Kane has played HOB recently. The crowd is full of young Hollywood, here just so they can brag about it later, and pretty, vacant emo kids all artfully tousled and eye-linered like it's 1982. It'd be a little scary if it wasn't so amusing. Jared and Jensen and (most of all) Chris stick out like sore thumbs or Texas bulls in a china shop. Chris orders tequila to go with their first round. "To an entertaining evening," he says, lifting his shot glass in a toast. His words are for Jared, but his fuck-you smile is all for Jensen. Jensen just grins and downs his shot. Jared slams his glass on the bar top and shivers, smacking his lips like a toddler making kissing noises. "Alright! Ready to tear this joint up." The look on Chris' face is so comically shocked that Jensen chokes on his mouthful of beer. "J..." Chris starts, then pinches the bridge of his nose like he's got a headache or something. "Nevermind," he says, and claps Jared's back. "Let's enjoy some music." But when he turns to follow Jared to the stage floor, he levels his best glare at Jensen. You owe me. Already paid up, Jensen mouths back, and chuckles into his beer. *** The band, as expected, is loud, energetic, believe way too much of their own hype, and pose and strut across the stage like they're all auditioning for a Duran Duran video. Jensen amuses himself by watching Jared, who's bouncing and hootin' and hollerin' and carryin' on like a redneck at a tractor pull. Chris just stands, with his arms crossed, beer dangling from his fingers, watching the shenanigans onstage like he's trying to figure out what planet the lead singer's from. Jensen can't say as he blames him, really, even though the music really is quite catchy. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud, of course. Thankfully, it's a short set. When the house lights go up, Jared turns to them, still all puppy-bouncy, enthusiasm shining in his mega-watt smile. "Fuck man, they were..." He clasps a hand over his heart, then throws his head back and lets out a booming howl. "I need to scrub my brain," Chris mutters in Jensen's ear. "It's over now," Jensen replies, just as softly, and pats Chris' back in sympathy. "We'll go back home and blast Johnny Cash until we've forgotten this moment." "Gonna have that damn dance floor song in my head for a week." "So, you guys wanna go grab a bite to eat or something?" Jared asks, and really, that damn dimpled grin is about as hard to resist as Jared's dogs. Jensen glances at Chris, who just shakes his head and smiles. "Lead the way, man." *** Mel's wins over Canter's by default, as it's closest, but Chris insists on driving the few blocks to the restaurant anyway. He and Jared swap shop talk about V8 engine blocks or overhead cams or whatever the fuck while Jensen scrunches in the back seat of the cab, feeling like they're talking in some other language or something. It's not like he doesn't know cars, precisely. Hell, he can change his own oil and spark plugs and flat tires, shit like that, but all that technical talk just makes his eyes glaze over. It's like listening to his dad and Chris going on about boats or fly fishing. Mel's is packed, which is typical for a Friday night, but they manage to squeeze into a booth in the back corner and order hamburgers and fries, of course, this being Mel's without too much hassle. Chris slouches in his seat, peering at the laughing, animated crowd of brightly dressed young things from beneath the brim of his hat. "This place is everything I hate about this town," he states. "How's that?" Jared asks, knocking back his glass of water in one gulp. Guess all that jumping around's bound to make a man thirsty, Jensen thinks. "Well, true story about this place," Chris says, glancing around at the faux-50s dιcor, complete with black and white framed movie stills on the walls, the long counter that runs the length of the diner, and individual jukeboxes at every table blasting Golden Oldies. "Used to be a coffee shop called Ben Franks back in the day, and all of Hollywood ate here at one time or another. Only diner on the Strip, catered to the young, club-crawlers in the '60s, as well as the big SoCal bands of the day. Warhol used to set up shop here when he was in town, The Monkees used to hang here a lot " "Great band," Jared cuts in. "Yeeeeeaaah," Chris drawls, and Jensen hides his snicker behind his hand. "Anyway," Chris continues, "buncha corporate types bought the place round about ten years ago or so, I guess, saving it from becoming some strip mall or another. But they decided that Ben Franks just wasn't historical enough as it was, so they remodeled it, detailing it after the Mel's in 'American Graffiti'," Chris says, and shrugs. "So what you have now is a fake historic place smack dab on top of an actual historic place, just so's tourists can have a gen-u-ine Hollywood experience." "That's retarded, dude." Chris laughs and knocks his beer bottle against Jared's. "That's L.A." His eyes find Jensen's. "Full of people with no sense." Jensen's eyes narrow. He's known Chris long enough to know a challenge when he hears it. "Scoot," he says, nudging hard at Chris' knee. "I need to go to the head." "I'll go with," Chris says and stands, stretching languorously, t-shirt riding up, flashing a tanned stripe of skin. Jensen catches himself staring. Fucker's totally doing it on purpose. Jensen waits until they're in the bathroom to say anything. "I have sense, thank you." Chris flicks the brim of his hat up, mirth shining out of his eyes. "You dragged me into the john to tell me you have sense?" "Shut up." Chris' laughter echoes off the tile walls. "You are something else." "I'm not the one with an Arctic Monkeys songs trapped in my head." Chris points, eyes narrowed in warning. "Don't." Jensen just smiles and steps closer. "See, wasn't so bad, was it," he murmurs. Chris crosses his arms and shrugs. "Depends on your definition of bad." "Chris..." "What? I'm just sayin' that you and the boyfriend " Even though Jensen knows Chris is doing it on purpose, it doesn't stop him from rising to the bait. Bastard's always known the quickest way to push his buttons. "Would you fucking stop calling him that?" "Why?" Chris grins, slow and wicked. "Told you I like getting you all riled." "I'll show you riled." Jensen goes for the jugular, man that spot just under Chris' ribs that's guaranteed to make him curl up and shriek like a little bitch. Chris tries to knock his hands aside, and then they're grappling and sliding and pushing against each other until Chris' back is against the wall, hat knocked off during the scuffle, hair all kitten-wild. He looks so hot like this, flushed and smiling, with those sexy little crinkles around his eyes, that Jensen just goes with instinct and kisses him, hard and slow, pushing his tongue between Chris' teeth. Chris moans a little, tightening his fist reflexively over Jensen's hip, sliding his tongue along Jensen's in a familiar, heated dance. And yeah, they shouldn't be doing this, because Jared's in the damn booth waiting for them and this is far too public, but then Chris makes that little growling noise in the back of his throat and scrapes his teeth over Jensen's tongue, and fuck everything else, man, fuck it The door slams open on Jared's voice. "Hey guys, food's getting Jesus Christ! Um." Jensen jumps, tries to back away, but Chris just digs his fingers into Jensen's belt loops and holds on. His lips are all kiss-bruised and swollen, but the glint in his eyes is almost demonic. Jensen knows better than to move at this point. Jared's just standing there, gaping like a fish, waving his finger between the both of them like a conductor or something. "I, um, you two I didn't, I mean, the door was Wow. Huh." He closes his mouth, like he's used up all of his vocabulary, and really, the situation is far too absurd. Jensen leans his head on Chris' shoulder and tries not to hurt something laughing. "We'll be out in a minute," Chris tells Jared. He still hasn't moved. "Right." Jared nods then, once and decisive, and starts to back out of the bathroom. "I'll just, um, be. Yeah. Take your time." The door closes behind him with an audible click. Jensen risks looking up. Chris looks less than amused, which is a little odd, considering the circumstances. "You didn't tell him." Jensen opens his mouth, then closes it. Of all the things to bring up, man. He shakes his head, frowning a little in confusion. "You ashamed or something?" "What?!" Jensen gapes at Chris for a second, waiting for the punchline. Chris just looks back at him, serious as a Sunday sermon. "No!" "So why haven't you told him?" Jensen takes a step back, raking a hand through his hair. He can't believe they're having this conversation here, of all places. He can't believe they're talking about this at all. "Fuck, man, it's not like...I mean, Christ." "Always going on about how tight you two are," Chris interrupts, scooping his hat from the floor, and shoving it back on his head. "Always talking about how much like a brother he is to you. Your real brother knows." "Well, yeah, but " "So you are, then." "I'm not," Jensen says, as vehemently as he can manage, considering he still feels like he's about three steps behind with what's going on. "I'm not." "Jen, how long we known each other?" "Uh...five years?" Jensen guesses with a shrug. He hates it when Chris gets like this. "That's right," Chris nods, still wearing that same, serious expression. "Five years. And how long we been doing this?" Jensen scuffs his foot and looks down, feeling oddly like a chastised child. "Five years," he mumbles. "That's right," Chris replies, quietly. "And, in all that time, I ever asked you for anything?" "No." "Ever gotten up in your face about all the girls you screw " "You're just as bad, you know " "This ain't about me," Chris says, and Jensen doesn't need to look up to know that Chris is seventeen shades of ticked off. "Have I ever gotten in your shit or flaunted what we got in front of your Hollywood friends or anything?" "No." "But you haven't told Jared." Jensen feels like the lowest creature on God's green earth. "No." "Okay." Jensen's head jerks up and his eyes narrow suspiciously. "What's that mean?" "Means okay is what it means," Chris grins, like he hadn't just been all acting like he'd wanted to kick Jensen's ass thirty seconds ago. "That's it? You're not gonna, I dunno, get pissed or anything?" "I'm not some damn girl, Jen, hell no. 'Sides, you'll make it up to me, and we both know it." Jensen breathes a sigh of relief a moment too soon. "However, you are going to march out there and tell him." "You, uh, what?" Jensen squeaks. "You heard me." "C'mon " "Jensen." Chris shakes his head. He's not smiling, and he almost never uses Jensen's full name. "I ain't fucking around." That's the problem, Jensen thinks. He knows. *** Jared's eyes flit back and forth between the both of them when they sit down, beside each other as always, Chris' thigh pressed comfortable and close against Jensen's. "So," Jared says, still looking a little pole-axed. He ducks his head and starts picking at his fries. Jensen reaches for his beer and gets kicked under the table by Chris. "What?" he glares, then rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. May as well get it over with. "Uh, hey, anyway. Um, J, listen, sorry about " "No, no, it's cool. I mean, I'm not. It's cool, y'know." "Dude, it's not like that." He doesn't need to turn his head to know Chris ducking his head under that fucking cowboy hat and grinning like a loon. "I mean, we're not...well, we are, but." "Hey, none of mine." Jared throws his hands up, and shrugs. "But, uh, Jen, what about...?" He makes an hourglass figure, eyes darting to Chris. "Yeah, Jen, what about...?" Chris asks, mimicking the motion with something like malicious glee. "Shut up," he tells Chris irritably. Hell, he's irritated with both of 'em. "Ain't gay, Jared. Neither of us are. Still like girls." "Oh." Jared purses his lips, thinks about it for a minute, then nods. "Alright, then." Jensen waits a beat. "That it?" "Yeah." Jared grins happily and pops a ketchup-saturated fry into his mouth. "I mean, I always heard that you Dallas boys were a little queer, so..." Jensen grins back, relieved that everything's alright with them, because it would have really sucked if this had strained their friendship and/or working relationship. But it doesn't stop him from retaliating. His pickle slice lands, with perfect accuracy, between Jared's eyes. *** "Cannot believe we got kicked out of Mel's for something as stupid as foodfighting." "Can't believe you dragged me to that soulless joint in the first place," Chris replies, stepping out of Jensen's path when Jensen stomps past him. Jensen whirls back around, jabbing a finger in the direction of the diner. "Aren't you a little worried this is gonna make ?" "What, make me look bad, make it into Star or In Touch or whatever." Chris spits on the asphalt to show what he thinks of that idea. "Fuck them, man, not like we're tabloid material and, even if we were, fuck 'em anyway." "Yeah, fuck 'em," Jared says, bouncing on his heels. "I've never been kicked out of a restaurant before, that was cool." "Stick around, kid," Chris laughs, and throws an arm across Jensen's shoulders, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. "Aren't you supposed to be taking me home and making something up to me?" "Ooh, TMI!" Jared shouts with glee. Jensen knows he's never going to hear the end of this, but he also knows that Jared'll only bring it up when it's just the two of them. "And on that note, I'm gonna leave you two Queer As Folks to whatever it is you do and head home." He grins and waves as he starts down the sidewalk, back towards the House of Blues and his car. "Told you it'd be fine," Chris says. "You did not," Jensen argues and ducks out of Chris' hold. The valet pulls up with Chris' ancient, beat up Ford pickup. Damn thing's got more rust than paint on it. Jensen's always wanted to ask how it passes emissions, but he figures Chris has somebody at some garage or another in his pocket. "Just get in so we can get home already," Chris says, and winks before climbing into the cab. Jensen grumbles, but does as he's told. *** Jensen stretches a little when he gets out of the truck, tilting his head to the sky. It's a clear night, and this high up in the Hills, it looks like the twinkling starts are just out of reach. "Pretty," he says idly, tracing Orion's belt with his eyes. "Not like home, though," Chris says, and leans beside him against the door. The heat of him is comfortable, like a favorite blanket. "Not like home," Jensen agrees, then half-turns, plastering himself against Chris for a slow, soft kiss. He can feel the steady beat of Chris' heart against his, the slight trembling of Chris' thighs. Feels nice, he thinks, curling his tongue over Chris'. Like maybe home's not so far away. Which is far too Hallmark of him, but it's not like he's saying it aloud or anything. Hell, if he tried, Chris would just make himself sick laughing at him. "Should go in," Chris murmurs, rubbing his lips across Jensen's. "Little chilly out here." "So? When's that ever stopped you?" Jensen says, flashing Chris a wicked grin before sliding to his knees on the graveled driveway. "Jen..." Jensen shivers at the husky way Chris says his name. "You said make it up to you," he murmurs, and slides Chris' zipper down, one-handed. He uses his other hand to brace himself against the side of the truck as he leans in, licking a long stripe up the underside of Chris' cock. "Christ," Chris bites out, curling his hands around the back of Jensen's head to hold him in place. Since Jensen has no plans to go anywhere, he goes along with it, arching into the touch for a moment before lowering his head, wrapping his lips, tight and hot, around Chris' length. Chris moans again, and Jensen hums his approval, flickering his tongue along the head before sliding deep. He takes his time, mouthing over each of Chris' balls before deep-throating him again, alternating between long licks, then teasing at the head until Chris is cursing his name. Jensen smiles, shifting slightly to get a little more comfortable as he works Chris' cock. He hollows his cheeks, taking the length as far down his throat as he can, loving the familiar, hot weight of it on his tongue. He doesn't need to look up to know that Chris' eyes are at half-mast, lashes fluttering, as his hips snap forward, fingers digging into Jensen's scalp. Just a little more, darlin', come on now, c'mon... Chris is almost silent when he comes, only the short jerk of his hips and a bitten off moan giving him away. Jensen can't help the smug smile when he stands, ignoring the sharp ache in his knees from kneeling on gravel. "That about do it?" he asks, and smiles again when Chris answers by kissing him. "Almost the perfect end to the evening," Chris sighs, lolling his head back to look up again at the stars. "Almost?" Jensen asks, bumping against Chris' shoulder as he settles beside him. "Well, now, if I had a beer or a joint, then it would be perfect." Jensen's brows furrow. "You sayin' you gotta be stoned to enjoy my mouth on you?" Chris wraps an arm around Jensen's shoulders, pulling him close. "Christ, you're easy," he chuckles, the sound low and rich in the breeze. "Shut up."
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