Word count: ~1400
Summary: When Jensen kisses Jared, it isn’t at all part of any plan.
Sometimes Jensen looks back at his life and thinks about all the things he should have done, would have done differently, had he known the things he did now. He’d had these plans, before: a wife, a house, dogs, kids, being wise and breaking (thrashing his way) out of the teeny bopper image he’s built himself, growing older and more dedicated to his craft and at this age, having a few good Sundance-worthy movies under his belt.
It’s all pretty different from what is, real, now.
Right now, all Jensen is trying to do is beat Jared at Guitar Hero, because the bastard is winning again and this is the sixth time in a row, and Jensen just can’t let it go on.
He grabs a throw pillow from behind him on the couch and thrusts it at Jared’s head, smothering him as best as he can with one hand, the other still pressing wildly at the buttons on his guitar. He grins when Jared misses a handful of notes, and whoops when the song ends and the screen declares Jensen the winner.
Jared cackles and shouts, “YOU LOSER,” and proceeds to give Jensen a noogie, which Jensen can’t actually escape, despite being a grown man.
Jensen, having reached thirty, tends to have moments wherein he looked back at his life and wondered how the fuck he got here.
“Dude,” Jared says, throwing something on Jensen’s lap, on top of his script.
Jensen looks down at it and then back at Jared, who has a huge smile on his face. Jensen looks back down at his lap.
“The Totally Chocolate Cookbook?” Jensen asks, brows meeting. “Jared. You don’t bake.”
“Everyone bakes,” Jared says. “You bake, I bake, everyone bakes. Don’t fight it, Jensen.”
“I’m fighting you,” Jensen mumurs, setting the book aside and turning a page of his script.
“Jen. Chocolate cake, with chocolate filling, with chocolate on top,” Jared goes on, already grabbing the book, then Jensen’s sleeve. “Come on, I’ll let you lick icing off my cheek if you want.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and shrugs out of Jared’s pull. “Whatever,” he mutters, “It doesn’t matter that there’s a bakery down the street, does it? It doesn’t make sense at all to just buy the stuff instead of concocting it yourself, it doesn’t work that way, not for Jared, no.”
Jared’s laughing because Jensen is getting up anyway, throwing his script on the table.
Jensen has always sort of liked Jared that way.
It was this thing in the back of his mind, like an old song he knew the lyrics to by heart. He didn’t sing it out loud all the time, but he knew the words, knew the ups and the downs of the melody, always, he knew.
As ridiculous as it sounds, from the moment they met, Jensen knew that Jared was somehow going to be this important thing. Jensen didn’t build a diagram around the idea of it, didn’t go about actively wondering how to make Jared feel the same way. It was just this random thought that required no grand scheme, unlike everything else, and Jensen lived with it.
Jared gets Jensen one of those old school organizers. It’s black and the bulky kind, a lot like John Winchester’s journal, only this one isn’t overflowing with pages just yet.
Jared probably meant it as a joke, but Jensen stares at it for a bit too long and realizes that if it were a joke, the moment in which he should have laughed had passed.
He looks up and sees Jared grinning. “You like it?” he asks, eager. “You’re always writing stuff down on random pieces of paper, so maybe this’ll keep things all nice and organized.”
“It’s an organizer,” Jensen says, wisely.
“Exactly,” Jared laughs. “And since you’re like, eighty-five or something, I didn’t think you could deal with the whole technology thing, so there.”
Jensen hits him with the gift, none too lightly, but he's smiling. “Thanks, man.”
When Jensen kisses Jared, it isn’t at all part of any plan. It’s just that it’s been a long day, and they’re both tired and Jared looks pliant and loose and Jensen feels a haze of daring wash over him, this strange impulse to just do something, despite it being not on his list of things to do.
Jensen chuckles at the thought of putting that on his to-do list: Kiss him.
He does, not really thinking, pressing his lips lightly against Jared’s; a try. Jared’s eyes widen, and Jensen thinks Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was a huge mistake after all, and God, he should have planned this through, should’ve thought it out and questioned it over and over and over.
Then Jared opens his mouth and kisses him back and his hands are on Jensen’s hips and pulling him closer, and maybe it is okay. Maybe it’s more than okay, but the fast sinking 2-second old worry in his gut is enough to frighten Jensen into promising himself not to do anything stupid like that again.
It was stupid but maybe this time it’s okay.
Then Jared’s tongue is in his mouth, and Jensen loses track of all thought.
Jared had apparently already filled Jensen’s organizer with random tasks prior to giving it to him.
On Sunday, 10:00 AM, it says ‘Serve Jared breakfast in bed. Pancakes, Ackles.’
Jensen just writes above the scribbles, can’t help the upturn of his lips whenever he sees the damn things.
Sometimes he surprises Jared by actually doing some of the stuff. On Wednesday, 9:00 AM, he gives the dogs a bath, and when he gets into the house, smelling of wet dog and grass, Jared pulls him by the arm and kisses him, pushes him against the kitchen counter and makes him forget what he has to do for the rest of the day.
“Baby,” his mother’s voice is sweet and warm, and Jensen closes his eyes for a second and thinks of home. “What are you doing these days? Aside from that big TV thing, I mean.”
Guitar Hero. Sleeping. Baking. Basketball. Walking the Dogs. With Jared.
“The usual,” Jensen says, lifting his shoulder to hold the phone so he could use both hands, “I mostly work, though, Ma. You know how it is.”
He’s flipping through mail and writing a grocery list. Someone holds the phone for him, and he relaxes his shoulder.
“Hm,” his mother says thoughtfully, “Don’t you ever think of settling down?” It’s a question she asks every single time, almost routine, and Jensen has always had his answer ready to roll off his tongue. ‘I don’t think so, not yet, maybe in a while.’
Jensen glances behind him, at Jared with his hand on the phone on Jensen's ear, drinking his coffee with the other. He watches Jared and thinks, idly, this is his life.
“Maybe in a while,” Jensen says quietly.
Jensen’s having one of those moments. It’s the frustrating kind, where he looks back and reflects and it’s pretty tiring. He thinks about his plans and how he’s come short and how he’s practically middle-aged and is still lacking the things he’d thought he’d have by now.
Jared’s sleeping upstairs. He was snoring right into Jensen’s ear and despite having pushed him about an inch off the bed, Jensen couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards.
Jensen takes a swig of his beer and ponders crawling back into bed and trying again. But then Jared’s there, ambling towards the edge of the couch, tripping a bit on his way. He’s in boxers and rubbing his eyes.
Jensen looks up, and wonders how the fuck Jared does it-- makes things okay.
“Why’re you awake?” Jared mumbles, “S’mthing wrong?”
Jensen takes his hand and pulls him down, and Jared is startled into stumbling beside him on the couch. Jensen casually rests his head on Jared’s bare shoulder, and thinks he can blame it on the alcohol later.
Jared chuckles. “Jen--” he starts.
“God, you’re always going to be around, aren’t you?” Jensen says, like it’s this sad fact that he has to live with. It’s anything but.
He looks up and watches Jared with a frown. It startles him to realize that he believes it without a doubt, that this giant man is a constant in his life, that Jared can’t be gone.
“Only if you want me to,” Jared says softly, and it’s an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, but he knows Jared means it. And Jensen thinks about all of his plans, and of Jared, and how they don't equate and how, strangely, it's all okay. It's all more than okay.
So Jensen just nods and presses his lips to Jared’s, firmly; a clinch.