Archive of Our Own

Jensen thought of it all. Their favorite whiskey, good steak. He has always been a meticulous planner like that.

“Will you marry me?”

Down on one knee, eyes up to Jared, and his hands are held out empty where the little box with the ring would be if Jared was Jeff instead.

Jared clears his throat, grabs for his napkin to cover the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.

“Jared…!”

“Yes. Yeah. Sure, sugartits, took you long enough!”

“You are a complete ass.” Jared gets a punch to his chest once Jensen is on his feet again. He barely feels it through his laughter. A glare as Jensen rounds the table (straight to his glass, ears and face now flushed spotty). “That is not how he talks.”

“I dare you to record his reply.”

“You have been involved with the process intimately enough at this point, don’t you think?”

Jared is down to a chuckle, takes another sip in a mirror to Jensen. He raises his brows with emphasis and Jensen rolls his eyes at him, keeps up the glare.

Jensen finishes his drink only to slam the glass down and gesture towards the bottle next to Jared. Jared, of course, obliges immediately.

“Thank you for your less than satisfactory services, dude.”

Jared beams, “You’re welcome,” and holds out his glass for Jensen to top him off as well.

Another summer night. Open doors even though the A/C would be more efficient, but Jared won’t complain since Jensen doesn’t mind him sweating his balls off on his surely expensive designer whatever chair. Low music, jazz, something. Jensen’s hair is getting long these days and he grows out the beard, too. Big plans for the proposal, maybe. Huge mutton chops for Jeff. Sounds about right.

Light shirt and shorts just like Jared, the same brand of wristwatch because they bought those together, years ago, on impulse. Stupid spendings you make when you are young and clueless, but despite them changing and time moving on, those watches have yet to be tossed out and replaced. Some things you just don’t grow out of, huh?

“I still don’t get it,” murmurs Jared as he scratches through his own beard, rakes his hair back over his head. “I don’t see it.”

“Yeah. I dunno.” Jensen drinks, zones out. Jared knows where the ring is hidden and what kinda suit Jensen is eyeing, what kind of wrist cuffs. Jensen’s seated on the edge of his chair, elbows on his knees, eyes out into the backyard. “It’s just time for me. Settling down. Hammers and nails and shit.”

“Oh yeah, that totally sounds like so much fun.”

“Shut up. I’m not trying to convert you.”

“Good, ’cause you’re doing a piss-poor job,” and Jensen scoffs and drinks but Jared sees that little smile skirting behind that glass, around that mouth, and he smiles as well. He leans back in his seat, peers out into the yard along with his friend. Groomed and tamed. The kind of ‘overgrowth’ that costs you several grand. “Jeff’s gonna love it, though. This; you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, dude.”

“I know.”

“If he’s half as smart as I hope he is, there’s no chance in Hell he’s gonna tell you no.”

Jensen scoffs again. Drinks again.

“Seriously,” insists Jared. “You know how I feel about this whole marriage culture, but if there was anyone who’d make me wanna say yes, it’d be you. Probably.”

Jensen laughs. “Probably?”

“I mean, rather definitely. Maybe.”

Jensen waves him off. Ginger spots in his beard, faint wrinkles around his eyes. “You have to put some serious work in your pep talks, man.”

~

Jared misses the wedding.

Off in Italy, balls deep in antique scriptures. His afternoon is Jensen’s morning. Short texts and only a little freaking out. Jared nods off at his two AM. He wakes to pictures of the cake, pre and post-cut. Jensen’s side of the family cancan-ing, Jeff laughing his ass off. Jeff, perched on Jensen’s lap and vice versa. Drunk as shit. Jared chuckles around his toothbrush.

Milan. Kitschy postcards. Jared takes a wonky selfie by the Duomo which Jensen will make fun of, later. Jared drinks too many too-good espressos and swears to treat himself to a decent machine once he’ll be back home. Jared will not buy himself a decent machine once he’ll be back home.

Back at the hotel, the desk clerk hands him today’s mail. Jared tells them grazie and sorts through the stack on the way to the elevator. The A/C is brutal and makes him sweat even worse than before, but once he spots Jensen’s writing, the world is a little less chaotic. Jared has read through the card before he’s reached his floor. He’ll scribble half his reply before the shower and the other after heading back out, fresh set of clothes; pizza and wine. The grease stain on the card only makes it that much more authentic.

A road trip, because of course they would do that. Jensen with his car fetish and Jeff just happy wherever he is dragged to, as always. Motel and hotel coffee, breakfast bars. Loads of hikes, of hot tubs. They’re adorable, really.

I have to stop now, he is eyeing another stray fucking dog. —JA

Jared writes: Hey wifey. How is the Mr? and Is he getting tired of you yet? and I sent another something back to Austin, you let me know if it got there safely once you’re back, right? And no, I don’t need to hear if you liked it, because I know you will like it. —JP

Jared knows the couple made it home when he gets a text in capslock and an angry phone call right after.

Jensen bellows, “You are INSANE!” and Jared laughs and tells him that he’s welcome. “How much was that?! You are an IDIOT! How did you even get your HANDS on that?!”

“Look, I’m just magic,” and Jared keeps laughing while Jensen keeps flipping out on him.

They stay on the phone forever. Jared doesn’t even notice anything odd about it until Jensen blurts, “Hey!” and there’s a shuffle and the next thing Jared hears is a drawled,

“You mind if I borrow him back? Just for an hour, promise.”

Well, okay, to be fair: it’s dark out by now. “Hey, Jeff.”

“Hey, big guy. Italy, still?”

Jared uncaps another beer. Sends another email. “You know it. Two more weeks.”

“You get your ass over here pronto, as they say, all right? We got this fancy-ass grill he won’t shut up about…”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Then you know he’s obsessed with slapping an entire butchery’s worth of meat on there for you? Because I’ve had it up to HERE and apparently it’s supposed to be christened with you specifically and all I get is non-stop takeout.” Jared hears that grin through the phone. “Jokes, it was a JOKE, Jensen. But don’t let him wait too long, all right? He misses you more than he missed the fucking house.”

From the background: “That is NOT true!”

“We have to hang up now, sweetheart. He’ll call you back ASAP.”

Jared chuckles. “Take care, man.”

“You too.”

Jeff hangs up.

~

They pick him up from the airport. Jared braves through the jetlag to wolf down too many steaks and too much booze and ends up sick, twice. The husbands take turns making fun of him for it but keep overfeeding him. Jeff pulls out bottle after bottle and Jared’s missed the Texan kind of sun, and he doesn’t even notice his phone going off, his mom calling, did he arrive okay, how was the flight?

“I missed you,” he says, to neither of them in particular. Both. The house. Texas.

Jeff coos. Jensen chuckles, squeezes Jared’s knee. You can barely even feel the ring, as body-warm as it is.

Jensen’s beard came back in during their trip. He gained both a tan for his freckles to pop even in the settling dusk of the day and all the pounds he worked off for the big day (plus some). He looks happy and contended and Jared has known Jeff for as long as Jensen has, and it makes sense—them. They’re good together. It just works out.

“I like this one,” muses Jeff, piss-drunk, and his and Jared’s knees knock together and their foreheads almost do the same. Jeff’s finger taps soft over Jared’s handwriting and he smells just as bad as Jared feels but, God, Jared wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Being with them. At home. “What a poet you can be.”

“It’s, uh. Just a quote I found.”

“Oh.” Jeff considers. “Well, it’s a damn good quote then.”

“You have my permission to use it in your next bestseller,” jokes Jared, and Jeff smirks and nudges his tattooed knuckles against Jared’s cheek in a pretend punch. Jeff pets after it, though. “Copyright has long expired. You’re all good.”

Jeff dramatically snaps the hardcover shut to toss it back onto the table. “You know, young man, I might as well do that,” and Jeff tucks his long-long legs to stack them over Jared’s lap before he squirms to find the pre-rolled smokes from the back pocket of his jeans. Jared huffs, smiles. Gives Jensen a baby-wave when he reenters the scene in his backyard while still wiping his hands on his shorts.

Popped eyebrows and, “That looks cozy,”

but he leans in easy and sweet when Jeff cranes his neck, reading glasses low and forgotten and joking, “Your boy is just too comfortable to pass up,” and Jensen kisses him on the mouth. One hand on Jeff’s shoulder and it’s over as quick as it came, and Jensen offers more drinks, more water.

Things are…nowhere near as complicated as Jared feared the whole shebang would turn out to be. Nothing has changed, really, except the tiny golden detail on the guys’ fingers. They’ve been all over each other even before any honeymoon. Jared doesn’t mind that part.

It’s good. Jared stays the night and Jeff makes them breakfast and Jared goes back home, and it’s still good.

Some time back in Austin before Jared travels again. Same continent for once so only a couple of hours time difference. A no-brainer to purchase a bunch of stamps, postcards. Another book that stands out to him and he needed something else from the store for his studies anyway. Jared doesn’t need to go out of his way to pick up bits and pieces for Jensen. They just come to him.

Jeff’s addressed this with him before—struggling for an anniversary present, for birthday presents. Jay, c’mon, give me a hint, and presented with the task of putting it into words, Jared would always, always fail miserably. Would shrug his over-wide shoulders and apologize and would end up just handing one of the queued objects over to the man at a loss of other options. Unfortunately, upon unwrapping said present, Jensen psyched them rather instantly. Jeff hasn’t approached Jared for any more gifts so far.

Years pass like that. Trips and travels and postcards, texts and evenings and vacations, boys nights. Jeff’s tours, his readings and lectures and Jensen tagging along for some, but not all of them. Still loves his job as Library Director and that’s a monster in itself, manning that kind of position. Jared doesn’t envy him.

As his own studies and thesis slowly but surely narrow down to their definite end, Jared travels even more. As if staying at a different place every night will prolong the process. Like he can store the excitement for later, more boring days. Years. Decades.

After too many lost postcards, Jensen switches to taking pictures of them with his phone and sending them that way. At least your phone knows where you are at any given point, he’d say, but Jared loses said phone not once but twice in one month. Sleep is weird. He craves—sun, barbecues. His apartment back home and Jensen’s kitchen at one AM.

and?

Jensen types, “Nothing,” and, “again,” and Jared frowns, sighs.

fuck dude
I’m sorry

my bank account is who’s real fucking sorry
fuck I’m so over this

scheduled for another try yet?

not yet
I dunno

Heaven forbid Jensen ever catches wind of that, but…those first times, Jared was kinda happy it hadn’t worked.

Marriage, that’s one thing. But kids?

That’s a whole different fucking universe.

Jared wouldn’t be able to compete with that. Wouldn’t know what to say or do and he sure as shit wouldn’t know how to help or what advice to give. Hell, they’d toss him. A lifestyle like Jared’s is not compatible with individuals who get screamed at all night and need to pay ransom to get some time to themselves every other week.

But Jensen and Jeff have been trying forever now. Two years of what Jared labels ‘casual’ attempts before Jensen put down his foot for lab work. Three rounds of IVF but they had been told all along that the possibility is slim, considering the state of the few spermatocytes Jeff’s been able to cough up. Jeff quit smoking but that one didn’t help. Both Jensen and Jeff tried nutrition, hormones; everything Jared can and cannot not think of. And still.

Still.

it just pisses me off
if we would have started when I first asked, we would be enrolling them in school at this point...

I’m sorry man

I’m fucking tired
and now he’s shrugging his fucking shoulders at me
you know what I’ll just go to bed now
take care man

ok
you too

Jared mumbles, “Jesus,” and locks his phone, puts it on his chest so he can rub his face with both hands. Can stare at the ceiling of the room he hasn’t left in three days. The dread for his friend’s situation pinches his otherwise empty stomach.

As much as he doesn’t want children of his own, Jared has long accepted that that’s not the case for Jensen. That having a baby (or two, or three, ideally) is part of his life plan, always has been. And Jeff always seemed complacent with that idea. Well. Jared’s not in any position to analyze them like that.

Jared’s victory of the day is getting out of bed and taking a shower. He brushes his teeth, too, and his tongue reminds him he should probably drink some water at some point.

He orders food, beer. His laptop keeps idling on standby.

~

Jensen Ackles gives the best hugs. That is a fact.

“Oh, we need to get you some fucking food, man,” he says as he squeezes Jared with his hands. Jared laughs it off and he’d make a joke about the added pudge to Jensen’s face if there wasn’t someone else pushing in, between them, claiming Jared for a hug of their own. A whole train of hugs, really. Jared had forgotten how that feels.

Laughter and stories and of course he has to reenact the mindboggling last days, the zombie state of himself, like it’s something funny, like you see it in the movies. Drinks help. God, the good stuff. He’s missed it. Jensen. Jensen’s house.

Jetlag, still, and he can pass everything off on that. Can look somewhere close to how exhausted he actually feels and even Jensen foregoes his earlier shock. You’ve always been a workaholic, they tell Jared. And they are right.

Once the food has been brought out and everyone has gorged themselves, the guests disperse all over the Ackles’ house. Jared finds himself stuck with two high school friends and a whiskey tumbler that never seems to run dry. It’s good to be back, he thinks, despite sitting on someone else’s couch, not even his own place. For the better, though; he could never fit this many people there. And Jensen’s always up for a get-together anyway, for every excuse to stuff the house to the brim.

Easy small talk and anecdotes and updates on lives Jared had completely lost touch with over the past months. Booze upon more booze and he realizes he should probably eat some more, use the bathroom; both. He excuses himself, slips out. He washes his hands and spritzes his face without looking into the mirror too hard. Jensen waits for him outside of the door.

“Can we talk?” and Jared nearly bulls that over with a joke, something stupid and drunk and oh yeah he is kinda tipsy already (how long has he been here?)—but Jensen’s face is tight and he adds, “Alone?” and Jared just—he thinks he nods.

Upstairs, their bedroom. Jared closes the door behind himself, hesitant, as Jensen paces up to the window, back to the middle of the room.

Jensen gestures to the bed and scratches through his beard with his other hand.

“You should—sit.”

“Oh my God.” Jared sits, hands on his thighs. Eyes up to Jensen. “You’re divorcing him.”

“No, I—what? No.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not—Jesus Christ, Jared.”

Jared tries, “Did someone die?” and Jensen looks at him torn between adoration and pity, like Jared’s five and just asked a question a toddler would have had the capacity to understand.

“No, Jared,” he says. Extra slow.

Jared nods. His throat feels too tight when he swallows. “Okay?”

“I was gonna ask for your help with something.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s, uh, something big. And important.”

Again, stupid, “Okay?” but Jensen starts to look just as lost as Jared probably does.

Jensen’s initial momentum is off. He gestures into Jared’s direction, grabs back into his own beard for comfort. His brow is furrowed. One of his older shirts that Jared suspects was either his or Jensen’s brother’s at some point, and it used to be too loose on Jensen but it fits well, now. A recent haircut. Jared should get one too.

“You can say no,” promises Jensen. “You just say no and we never mention this again, all right?”

Jared cringes. “Please just ask?”

“I… You know about the whole baby crap issue, right?”

“Right.”

“Right. So.” Jensen crosses his arms in front of his chest and steadies his stance before he speaks, eyes strict on Jared. “We need a donor. And I was gonna ask you.”

Jared looks at him for a moment in anticipation of the punchline.

The punchline doesn’t come.

Jared states, “Oh,” and, “uhm,”

and Jensen blurts, “Yeah, it was a bad idea, sorry, just—it’s okay if not, but I just thought—you know, I know you, and—”

“Jensen—”

“—it’s complicated with Jeff’s pride as is and bringing a stranger into things would just—”

“Jensen.”

A stop. Jensen just looks at him.

Jared tries, “Hey,” and, “calm down, man, it’s okay. I’m not freaking out, okay? See?” and as soon as he says it his brain does a one-eighty and rings several alarm bells at once, but he can’t have that. Not when his best friend is staring at him like a deer in the headlights and he’s vulnerable and tired and exhausted and Jared thinks, goddammit, Jensen’s right, and he reels to find a quick exit that doesn’t potentially leave them bare-assed and stupid. He raises his hands in defeat. “Okay, let’s—let’s talk about this. Let’s be logical about this.”

“You’ll take the uni job, right? The one they offered you?”

Jared says, “Yes,” and his hands are still up. His face is numb.

“So you’d be close for, what, at least a few years?” Jensen wrings his hand around his biceps. His face softens. “So you could see them grow up, if you wanted that. No payments or obligations or anything, just…!” A weak gesture. A short sigh. “He agreed that we should ask you first. Before we consider other…options.”

(Jeff’s off somewhere else this month, cross country, signing books.) Jared’s eyes hurt as he blinks. “He did?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do, but.” Arms back down, hands in his lap. Jared kneads his thumb with his other fingers. He shrugs, still tense. “I just didn’t think he’d—do that.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

Jensen sinks down at the foot of the bed with a polite distance between Jared and him. Hunched over, he rubs his face with both hands. Jared doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“We’ve just been trying for so long now, it’s…!” Another fling of those hands. Jensen is facing away from Jared.

Jared says, “It’s okay,” and, “I understand.” He decides, before he can truly think on it: “I’ll do it, sure, just—I don’t want him to feel left out, this feels like we’re plotting this behind his back, and I.”

When Jensen turns to look at him, Jared realizes how deep of a hole he just fucking dug for himself.

Jensen utters, “Really?” and Jared’s dumb head nods. Of course it does.

“Sure, yeah,” and Jared thinks his mouth smiles. “You know I love you, man. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

~

When Jensen sends him a screenshot of his fertility calendar app, Jared thinks about fleeing the country for only two solid minutes.

“Let’s not overthink it,” Jensen had said. “We’ll take it easy,” Jensen had said.

Between returning home and finding a new apartment and moving all his crap and starting the new (first, real) job, Jared loses track of time. Of whom he’s already met and reconnected with, what he told to whom.

Weird hours and getting drunk with new colleagues and staring at his phone at night, alone, in his new bed, in his new place. They missed Jensen’s ovulation for this month. Jared does his best to make forgetting to text back or postponing their weekly dinner and game night seem like accidents.

Jared’s always been kinda messy.

“Just for dinner, c’mon. There’s dust collecting on the grill and that’s just fucking sad.”

Jared cringes but accepts.

Meat, a lot. Since Jensen stopped with his nutrition bullshit and his hormones and whatever mumbo-jumbo the ‘alternative’ approaches ordered him to do, it feels more like back then. When that metaphorical sword of Damocles wasn’t swinging above their fucking heads and meeting deadlines and calculating ideal time windows wasn’t part of what they did for fun. Just easy and cozy, just them. With Jeff somewhere else yet again, teaching aspiring writers about what to do or not do to make it big, and Jared throws back the umpteenth drink and his skin begins to feel a little less like it yearns to crawl off his body. Relaxation, if there even is such a thing anymore, finally seems to settle over the table.

Jared groans, “I’m stuffed, thanks,” and Jensen shrugs and slaps the offered steak onto his own plate. Jared chuckles, drinks. “You grew a second stomach while I was away?”

“You’re just jealous.” Jared laughs. Jensen chews with gusto, douses the mouthful with more booze. He gestures across the table and offers a thanks when Jared hands him the garlic butter.

“I missed this,” chuckles Jared, leaned back in his chair, watching. Drinking.

“What? Me, stuffing my face?”

“Just being friends,” corrects Jared, before he can stop himself. Offers a tiny smile and watches Jensen chew with an unreadable expression.

Jensen pops another piece into his mouth instead of commenting.

Jared’s stomach feels like it’s about to burst but the alcohol helps by counter-burning. Makes everything mellow and easy and he should not fucking drink that much, Jesus, slow down, Padalecki. Maybe step off for a couple of weeks, let your liver return from la la land for once. Yeah. Maybe tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

It’s all Jensen’s fault, really. Being the perfect host that he is, lulling Jared in with more good booze and his wonderful company and a new record he got, or two, or three. Jeff’s successfully figured out Jensen’s music taste and Jensen is happy to show off, make Jared nod along with the tunes and hand out oh’s and ah’s and yeah I like that one. Starts to look tipsy himself, the man. Used to take more—way more. You’re probably not supposed to drink like a sailor if you are trying for a baby.

God. There it is again.

The b-word.

“You guys even do it anymore? Or has that become a job?” and Jensen chastises,

“Dude,”

and frowns, hurt. Unfortunately, Jared fears that if he stops teasing, he’ll have to be serious. “So that’s a yes,” he smirks, and Jensen gives him a glare, a reach for his glass.

“Oh, like you get any more action lately.” Jared laughs. “Don’t laugh. You’re pathetic. At least as pathetic as I am. Jesus Christ.” Jensen groans, buries his face against his forearms. Jared picks his glass back from that loose grip. “I mean—I don’t wanna complain; he’s been real sweet and everything. He’s really been trying,” and Jensen looks up at Jared for that like he’s looking for confirmation, and Jared can only raise his brows and splutter his laugh and make Jensen more flustered. “You’re such a dick.” A slap to Jared’s thigh.

“‘Sweet’ doesn’t cut it if what you need is a good ol’ fuck,” and Jared doesn’t think he says it very hotly, or endearing or scandalous at all, but he says it, and Jensen just

looks at him.

Jared’s mouth opens for a follow-up; a faint smile. Nothing, though.

He keeps his drink floating by his mouth, but not even that ends up with anything.

Jensen blinks, and he is—flushed, and warm, and his hair is askew with how he’s ran his fingers through it too many times tonight, and Jared thinks, stupidly—oh, right, he wants you to put a baby in him.

“No,” admits Jensen, “I guess it doesn’t, huh?”

Jared doesn’t remember putting his drink down but he remembers his hand curling over Jensen’s thigh, the very meaty top of it, and he remembers feeling Jensen’s beard under his other palm and that Jensen says,

“Don’t ask,”

and getting pulled in. On top of Jensen, on the sofa.

They tip.

Jensen is warm and firm under him and his eyes are glazed before they fall shut, before Jared misses his mouth and just hides in the crook of his neck instead, between Jensen’s throat and the backrest of the sofa they bought when he was overseas. Jared gasps, here, while Jensen curls his arms around him. Tucks him in, makes him feel.

“This okay?” and Jared nods, and his eyes hurt from how he squeezes them shut. He licks his lip and Jensen lets him up, and both of them think Jared tries to kiss him for real now but instead he just blinks, gets one knee firmly wedged between Jensen’s leg and the sofa so he can haul them together crotch-to-crotch, instant and too-close and he just blurts,

“Like this?”

and Jensen nods, wide-eyed.

“Do you want me to talk, or?” but Jensen doesn’t answer that, just cups Jared’s fever-cheek and rocks up against him and Jared thinks, distantly, Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ.

(After all the IVF, and I’m aware it’s a lot to ask, but—it’ll have to go the natural way, if you catch my drift.)

He doesn’t even know what day it is. Let alone what year.

Around Easter, the last time he got off with someone else. He wore a shirt he had to trash a year ago, and that is more memorable than the aforementioned sexperience itself, and Jared thinks how stupid that is, how stupid he is and how Jensen had said Jared can of course have other partners while they try, of course, but that he please use protection with them because, you know, safety, and Jared had laughed hurr-durr nothing gets Jared Jr. more excited than STI talks and Jensen had glared at him but also just looked exactly like he did just now, and oh God, he wants to have your baby, you big stupid idiot, you can’t come into your pants like a fucking teenager right now.

They grind against each other and Jared can’t focus on anything other than that sensation of Jensen’s rapidly swelling cock right up against his own. The heat and weight of it and he rushes, “Fuck,” and Jensen’s still cupping his face, doesn’t let him hide like he wants to.

Tells him, “We can stop?” and groans when Jared’s head shakes immediately, tosses Jared’s hair into Jared’s eyes. “From behind?” and Jared groans again, is finally free to tuck his face back into safety, against Jensen’s sweaty neck, because Jensen lets him go to wrap his arms around Jared’s back instead. “Gotta let me up for that. Wait… Here…!”

A struggle; a huff. Jensen’s breath knocks out of him as Jared stupidly drops his weight on him like a dog, hauls himself up on one elbow in an afterthought. “God, sorry,” but Jensen reaches and grabs his hair, tucks him back down against his shoulder. Jared ruts against Jensen’s ass while Jensen ruts into the couch.

“Do it. I’m ready.”

Jared laughs for the hilarity, the insinuation—before he realizes Jensen’s jeans are gone, and there’s a bare ass under him, and Jensen means—he means—

“Jen—”

“Just do it,” and when Jared leaps back, there’s a wet spot in the front of his jeans from the outside.

He’s not even hard all the way but Jared takes his dick out, one hand on the couch for stability and he’s gonna cry, for real. Tries to slip it in, do what Jensen wants, but it’s not enough. Panicked, “Fuck, shit,” and he jacks himself fast and rough, and that’s good, but just humping felt even better.

Muffled, “Easy,” in that voice and that tone Jared’s known for years. He swallows, cringes. Lets go of his cock when Jensen finds his wrist, tugs on it. “I’m sorry,” and, “take your time, c’mon. You’re fine, Jay,” and Jared lowers his hips, does it like they did with their pants still on. Smooth; wet and sticky. Lube, Jared thinks, maybe when Jensen was in the bathroom, earlier. Or even before that. Before Jared even got here.

“Are you sure?” A noncommittal noise from below. “I don’t—won’t it hurt?”

“It won’t,” assures Jensen. Low and kinda strangled, and Jared might be laying on him again. But Jared forgets about that when Jensen tilts his hips, makes it easier. Moves with him, like they’re already fucking.

It’s been ages and Jared feels himself getting wet, so hard so fast his nuts hurt. Rides Jensen’s crack and he’s so soft here, secret and all heat and Jared’s supposed to blow his load in there, and it’s—it’s so obvious and palpable all of a sudden.

So realistic.

Jensen mumbles, “We can still stop,” but he goes quiet when Jared shifts his hips, nudges in with intention. Precision.

Jensen blooms around him easy, at first. Lets him push and it’s tight but not a fight, and Jared can feel him fucking breathing all the way down there they’re so close. Like Jensen is raw hot flesh around him and oh fuck, he is—and Jared pushes on when Jensen exhales deep and that breath strangles into a noise, something pained and labored and Jared stops; pants. “Shit, I’m sorry,” and Jensen grumbles something Jared can’t make out, not with most of his cock stuffed into something slick and bottomless.

Jensen slurs, “Fuck,” when Jared’s run out of inches to torture him with. Shifts his legs and Jared feels that, and Jensen might feel it too because he tenses around Jared’s cock, and it’s so so good, and one of the more oblivious parts of Jared’s brain exclaims its bewilderment about why haven’t you done this AGES ago?? and there are probably many, many good reasons, but Jared can’t think of a single one.

God, he’s so wet it might be enough to make a baby without even finishing.

“Jesus fuck, you don’t have to go all the way to my fucking stomach…!”

“Sorry,” but he needs to move, now, and Jensen groans again but doesn’t push at him. Doesn’t stop him.

Just grunts and arches his back so his ass pushes out for Jared to rut against (into).

“Fuck… You’re buying me dinner after this…!”

“Uh-huh,” because Jared has officially run out of words.

Jensen stops complaining. Doesn’t pick it up again, not even when Jared starts to truly slap into him, truly punches him out inside; hollow and rough and he just grunts, just takes it, and Jared feels headless. Like his entire body sits in his cock, strokes itself stupid against the clench of Jensen’s ass, Jensen’s insides.

A useless remark, Jared thinks, when Jensen blabbers, “Come in me,” but it’s not as stupid anymore when he realizes that’s what’s expected of him, the whole purpose of—all of this.

His hips lock and stutter before he can stop himself.

“F-fuck…!”

Slick-muffled, “Yeah,” and that hand roams back into Jared’s hair, over the back of his neck, to his hairline. Holds him. Squeezes.

Anonymous, almost. Just the back of Jensen’s head, his shirt still there—could be anyone, if you squint hard enough.

Shame slams into Jared the second he’s done coming.

Too fast. Too soon. Oh God, what are you doing? This is Jensen, for fuck’s sake…!

But Jensen’s hand slips around his neck, tugs him back down. Jared is still in him. Still fat and pulsing, too much.

“No freaking out,” reminds Jensen, low. “Okay?”

Jared thinks he nods.

A waiting game until Jensen finally begins to stir underneath him—Jared’s hint to get up, pull out. Mostly soft and he doesn’t mean to look but, oh boy, he does have to buy Jensen something for this for sure.

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Didn’t feel very sorry to me,” and Jensen’s looking at him over his shoulder for that, raises an eyebrow at the end and he’s still flushed, and Jared’s face heats anew, because, Lord.

Fuck, he just raw-dogged Jeff’s husband.

Who smiles, now. Sated and warm and he reaches where it spills to keep it in. Jared’s cock taps against the back of Jensen’s hand just because it’s in the way and it’s there, and Jensen mumbles, “We should probably clean up,”

and Jared utters, “Yeah,” and gets up like this is his house. Like it’s his job to know where the tissues are and to grab some.

Jared ends up showering. Jensen is still where he left him, but at least he’s pulled his pants back up, sits more or less upright again. Has his drink back in his hand (his own this time) and peers up at Jared with that still-lingering gleam on his face.

Jared completes the awkward silence. Sits down and grabs his drink and blabbers, “Uh, did you come?” and Jensen snorts, and clinks glasses with him without further comment.

~

Jared doesn’t know shit but he surely knows that one week can’t be enough to know for sure.

But Jensen insists that he just knows, whatever scientific gravity that might have.

He mentioned something about his chest as well, but Jared decides not to think on that too hard. On what they did, in general.

The next time he’s over, Jeff is back home. Coos and slouches like he always does, subtle touches to Jensen at every chance that he gets. Hugs and pets and all that; nothing new. When Jensen excuses himself to the bathroom, Jeff puts on his utmost serious face and Jared pales as his entire life races past his vision—just to be told to, “Pull that goddamn stick out of your ass, boy. You’re fidgeting like a schoolgirl. It’s cool, we’re cool—got it?” Jared nods.

Jensen is better at…it. Handling it, handling the situation and Jared and Jeff and what might be the earliest days of a pregnancy, according to him. Jeff and Jared nod along, let him talk. The biggest disappointment won’t necessarily be on their sides if Jensen turns out to be wrong.

Jensen mentions, passingly, that yeah of course he can’t be a hundred percent just yet, but whatever. He’s thirty-six now. He out of all people is aware of that.

Jared stays off the bottle successfully, but that means consciously going to bed, which means failing to fall asleep—for hours. He just lies there and tries to think of nothing. Helps to welcome the sleep in, they said. Jeff’s said antidepressants might interfere with their ‘plans’. Jared hasn’t even talked to a doc yet.

He might do it though, once things are settled. When he can be out of the picture and not let Jensen get a whiff of the not-so-perfect pre-sets his potential child might carry, despite what Jared likes to pretend to everyone (including himself).

Jared still thinks of that espresso machine, sometimes. That he might like to buy it. Next paycheck should leave him with some spares to go around.

It’s the twenty-third and Jensen sends him a picture of a pregnancy test plus the package insert’s guide to which result means what.

Jared rereads the thing ten times to make sure he understands.

By the time he gives up and accepts this new reality, Jensen’s sent him another three tests. Same brand, same result.

His heart races. He can’t feel his hands or feet. Or his face.

can I still drink when I come see you guys?

dude, you can have our entire bar if you fucking want

~

Jared tries not to stare. He really does.

“I’m not imagining it, right?” Jensen scowls and pets over his chest, looks at Jared for confirmation. “Right?”

Jared offers, “A little? Maybe?” and he almost expects Jensen to just grab his hand and make him feel it himself. That doesn’t happen, though.

Jared scavenges the procreational section of his workplace’s library during his lunch breaks. He devours article after article and studies pictures, log files, everything. Tissue, bones, heartrate. Tiny fingers, even tinier defibrillators. After two hours down the rabbit hole about miscarriages, he shuts everything down, stalks outside for fresh air. He wants to call Jensen but just shivers in the cold, instead. Scrolls through their chatlog. The ultrasound picture. He prints that one out at the uni’s copy shop, like he promised himself he would do days ago. He sets it as his phone background before he realizes how awkward it would be for anyone to notice. Back to that Cowboys logo, it is.

He keeps his polite distance but he sends weird-ass late-night texts like it’s the size of a kidney bean right now and Jensen calls him freak only to phone him a second later, munching on what he swears isn’t pickled cucumber with peanut butter slathered on top or something similarly disgusting, and Jared and him talk about the baby.

For hours.

It’s a risky pregnancy, Mr. Ackles. You should rest as much as possible.

“God, I swear I, like—it’s like I’m fifteen all over again,” and Jared swallows as he listens to Jensen complain, soft and in bed and Jeff’s in California, snoring in overpriced hotel sheets. “I think my dick needs to overcompensate or something.”

Jared supplies, “Uh-huh,” and it’s quiet between them for a moment. Enough of a moment for Jared’s mind to return to that sofa, that too-hurried night.

Jared swallows again. His dick throbs in his sweatpants.

Like Jensen knows: “You ever think about it? When we…?”

“Not really,” lies Jared. Gets a hand on his junk, just for comfort. He scoffs, bitter. “Not a lot to think back on.”

“That surely was, scientifically speaking, some perfectly average stamina. I don’t blame you. My ass is pretty awesome.”

Jared laughs. “It is,” and that silence again.

Jared wants to say: just ask already.

Fucking ask me to come over, you goddamn idiot.

More silence, though.

Jared feels like he’s gonna be sick. Or jump in a circle. Or both. His hand still hasn’t left his dick.

“He’s out?”

“Till next week, yeah,” and Jensen says that soft before he grits in some anger for the follow-up, “Goddammit, Jared, don’t make me fucking say it.”

Jared nearly causes two accidents on the way.

As Jared lets himself into their house, Jensen hollers from upstairs: “Did you fly here?”

Jared utters, “Something like that,” as he flings his flip-flops off his feet and darts right up the stairs.

Oh, God, this is bad. Fifty flavors of fucking bad.

The bedroom door is ajar so Jared waltzes in, just in time to see the last hurried moves of Jensen, wrapping himself in one of their robes. Eyes up to Jared, face splotched red and his hair a mess. The room smells like plastic and lube. Go figure.

Jensen frowns. “Why are your pants still on?”

“I, uh. Wow, okay.”

Jared’s hands rush on their own to undo the drawstring of his shorts for him. On a second thought, he rids himself off his tee first. In his peripheral, Jensen unties his robe.

Jensen scoots up from where he’s sat on the foot of the bed with the sheets already laid-in and potentially warm and damp, and all Jared sees is legs and, Jesus—Jensen is not any less hard than Jared is himself.

“Like last time? On my stomach?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“Sorry in advance: I’m sweating like nobody’s business for some reason. Hence the,” and Jensen gestures down his body where he’s now undressed, flings the robe away and flips himself around. Jared’s already kneeling up on the bed with his cock firm in his hand and, God. They had been drunk last time and it was all hurried and they hadn’t even stripped exactly, and now Jared can—

see.

Jensen jokes, “You are free to keep that shirt on if you want, Tarzan,” but it comes brittle and huffed because he gets his knees under himself to prop his ass up in the air, gets it to the right height for Jared to—Jesus, Jared could just… He just wants you to get in there, no questions asked.

“Uh—foreplay?”

“Done,” urges Jensen. His elbows move up and out as he gets his hands underneath himself, between his legs; on his dick, his balls, maybe. Just his face and chest and knees against the mattress and he’s not shaking his ass for it but he grumbles, “You’re good to go, man; now could you…?”

Jared puts his free hand over the span of Jensen’s ass and threads his dick in with the other.

Jensen’s back tenses—before it shudders.

Low, muffled, “God,” from Jensen and Jared bites his lip, watches himself—sinking in. The slick, used swell of Jensen’s asshole, softened by toys or fingers and Jared’s mind reels beautifully as his cock gets swallowed up by it so so easy, even easier than that night. He rubs Jensen’s lower back and murmurs,

“Okay?”

and God, Jensen is so wet inside, worked himself open so sweet, so perfect…! Groaned, “Better than okay,” and yeah, he’s jerking off. Jared is far enough in that he can take his hand off, can push on with just his glutes and hips. Both hands on Jensen now, the barely-furred globes of his ass and, Jesus, Jared can see everything.

Jensen’s body struggles on the same depth as it did last time. Closing eyes and he tries to breathe through it—Jared curls one hand around one hip, keeps rubbing circles over Jensen’s lower back. Sweat, yeah; Jensen hadn’t exaggerated. But Jared’s even worse and he’s not even compromised.

Jensen’s right arm hasn’t stilled for a second. “God, Jesus, just—go already,” and Jensen probably doesn’t even know what he feels like. What this feels like.

A first tentative stroke and Jensen sigh-moans. Jared keeps that up. Feels himself flushing scarlet because he can’t fucking stop staring at Jensen’s squished-to-the-side face, Jensen’s body, Jensen’s—everything.

“God, yeah,” mumbled and lost, spit-thick. “Please, c’mon. C’mon, Jay.”

Jared pulls back far enough that the flared head visibly catches on the inside of Jensen’s sphincter, bulges him out, before he pumps back in, all the way. Jensen gasps for it; shifts. Only one hand down south so he can stabilize himself against the bed with the other. Jared catches a first glimpse of those balls as they swing in tune, mesmerizing.

While he keeps breaking Jensen open around his cock (where whichever toy didn’t quite make it, at least), he skirts his thumb down the crack of Jensen’s ass, the multi-shade of the trail of those pubes. Rubs at where he’s stretching Jensen out—smooth and vulnerable. Jensen groans.

“Someone was busy, huh?” and Jensen groans again, and Jared gives it to him a little faster. Gets himself a grunt, a lick of those lips; that bottom lip between those teeth. Jensen’s feral beard and God Jared’s always liked that, he always had, always.

No thoughts for a blissed amount of time. Just working Jensen’s ass, working himself in the process. Jared shifts more upright eventually, truly up on his knees. More leverage like that. Both hands on Jensen’s hips, the creases of his thighs, so he can haul him back, can make him meet Jared even better.

More and more frantic squelches, not only from the lube.

“Jesus…!” Jensen’s arm bulges with its efforts, trembles. Jensen shifts again, gets his other hand down again; maybe working his taint because Jared’s balls now meet fingers on the downstrokes. “Jesus, keep going, keep fucking going…!”

Jared does. Pants like a workhorse and is soaked like one as well, but none of that matters, just—Jensen, writhing and tensing and fucking himself back on Jared’s cock just as hungry as Jared keeps driving into him. The rash-red where Jared’s pelvis and thighs keep slamming against his ass, where Jared grabbed (and grabs) him; irritated and swollen and Jensen’s mouth is a deep dark shade and his entire face scrunches up when he comes, only minutes in.

Jared feels that bone-deep groan all the way to his own fucking asshole.

“Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop…!”

Jared wouldn’t; couldn’t.

Jensen gets both hands on the bed for counter-leverage. His noises become progressively more whiney but he doesn’t demand a change of course, so Jared powers through.

Jared’s muscles start to burn. He’s not there yet and grabs for Jensen’s cock in sheer helplessness, for distraction, for—hearing Jensen gasp, exactly like that. For his ass snapping tight like it did when he came just now, perfect and milking at Jared and—

“Wait, wait; Jesus, I,” and Jared’s stilled already and just holds himself deep and Jensen pushes at his wrist to make him let go of his oversensitive cock, “I need a—gimme a minute… Fuck, that feels…!”

“Too soon?” (Draped over Jensen’s back, now, sweaty and disgusting and Jensen smells of deodorant and salt and come; Jared’s talking up against that red-red ear, barely feeling his own face.)

“Yeah, fuck.”

Catching breath. A gentle rocking, if at all. Jared presses a puckered kiss to Jensen’s shoulder without thinking.

“Fuck.” Jensen’s throat clicks with his swallow. “You come yet?”

“Keep talking like that and I might,” and Jensen grunts a weak laugh in response. Peeps up and back at Jared over his shoulder, through the drenched curtain of Jared’s hair. Jared smiles with Jensen’s sweat on his lips. “Need me to pull out?”

Jensen hums, “Nah,” and, “you’re fine,” and his hips swivel just-so, and Jensen looks him straight in the face for what might be a solid five seconds before he closes his eyes again, turns his face into the bed again.

~

His coworker catches him browsing through a mommy blog. Jared feels beet-red but it’s a recipe post so that is rather easy to brush off, make excuses for. My friends are expecting a baby, uh, do you know anyone who was recently pregnant and what their experiences with iron deficiency were?

Some people might start to get suspicious. Jared doesn’t hide the copy of that first ultrasound anymore; permanently carries the third in his wallet. My niece, he clarifies, if anyone asks. Or nephew.

what about
chad
chadette if it’s a girl

wow
remind me to punch you the next time I see you

Jensen’s constitution remains stable. He gains some weight, not too much, not too little. Jared peers into the fridge every time he’s over and into the waste bins when nobody’s looking. But Jensen’s doing good. Does his own research and has close contact with his doc but nevertheless, Jared and him text back and forth about articles and suggestions basically nonstop. So, Jared takes at least some credit. A lot of it. He helps. He is involved.

Game night and Jeff is high again, splayed over both Jared and Jensen, nuzzled up against Jensen’s belly. Rubs and kisses and is all blissed, eyes closed and half-dreaming and, “We can’t wait to meet you, sweetheart,” and Jared side-eyes so often so furiously that Jensen beats his ass on-screen despite having to maneuver his controller around an entire grownup in his lap.

Kitchen and snacks and Jared doesn’t miss Jensen rubbing his own lower back, cringing. He takes that over, the other hand in the chips and salsa.

“Your huge-ass spawn makes me bloat like a goddamn balloon, Padalecki,” he complains, grumbling, around a mouthful of tortillas and cheese.

Jared jokes, “Hey, knock it off in there,” and gives a playful tap to Jensen’s lower belly after licking his fingers clean.

It’s—much firmer than he thought it would be.

He stares at it.

Jeff snores, over in the living room.

“You wanna touch it? Here, go ahead,” and Jared’s wrist is snatched, and Jared’s palm touches

the swell. The bump.

His baby.

Feelings. An ocean of them.

Jared’s eyes flood warm.

Jensen rucks his shirt up a bit, puts Jared’s huge-ass hand over his bare, warm skin. Mumbles, “Stretch marks,” like an apology, and Jared thinks he counters,

“It’s not that bad,”

and Jensen continues, while he guides Jared’s hand to rub tiny, small circles around his navel, “Figured it’d happen. If not this time, probably the next. Weakened tissue and all that,”

and Jared looks at him and has the decency to knuckle the tears out of his eyes before he speaks.

Clears his throat, sniffles.

“You, uh. Yeah?”

“If you’re up for it?” Just them in the kitchen and this is all Jeff-approved talk for sure, why wouldn’t it be? But it feels close and wonderful and like a miracle and Jared nods, stupid, and still can’t let go of his child. “I’ll have to get this one done first though, so there’s time. To think on it, if you gotta,” and Jared wants to scream and say a million things, wants to promise and vow and go to his knees and never leave again.

Instead, he just nods and lets Jensen pull his clothes back in place.

~

“You can stay at my place.”

“They’re literally working on another floor.”

“No. Yeah,” blurts Jared, and the anger builds, and Jeff just has his brows raised and keeps eating and doesn’t interfere. Jared’s grip on his fork tightens. “Yeah, but—the racket, and—the paint fumes; I just don’t think—”

“I told you it’s fine, Jared,” repeats Jensen, firmer now, definite, and Jared’s mouth clamps shut. He peers at Jeff, at his own plate.

Jeff and Jared share a blunt over painting the door. They take turns on the letters. Jeff purchases a hilarious plush animal. Jeff calls Jared during work to make sure they’re getting the right crib.

Jeff recognized he’s been out of the picture a lot. He turned down his work volume and took Jared aside and promised he isn’t mad, I told him he could go to you if he needs anything, “and I emphasized that ‘anything’,” with raised eyebrows and big eyes and Jared feels lectured, still.

Jared hasn’t fucked Jeff’s husband since that last time which all three of them wave off as a stupid-horny emergency. Things just didn’t align or come up and Jared doesn’t feel like he should kick that particular horse any further. Jensen’s interest has waned, made space for the child growing in him.  For his worries and excitement and the preparations and the increased impediments in his daily life.

Six months and he’s off work for now; better this way. More than enough money saved up and they could live on Jeff’s income comfortably, really. Work isn’t about pay in Jensen’s case. But he accepts that he has a different calling right now. And, of course, he has Jeff and Jared to bark at whenever he feels like he misses having people under his thumb.

“Dude, can I help you or anything?” Jensen just keeps grumbling and glaring. Keeps shoveling peanuts into his face. Jared scoffs, elbows him. “You sound like my grandma’s dog, Jensen.”

“Yeah, I’m a big old fat grumpy dog,” and several feet away from where they’re seated, the batter smashes the ball across the field. Parts of the rather dispersed audience start clapping.

Jared laughs at his friend; elbows on his knees, his beer mostly gone and stale and it’s dewy today, kinda freezing. Thick coats and Jensen’s middle is protruding comically at this point, nearly busts the zipper.

Jensen puts his nuts down in favor of his alcohol-free beer.

“Jesus, I’m—fucking boiling. God freaking dammit.”

Jared laughs some more; half an eye on the field while Jensen wrestles out of his coat, still those sunglasses and he hisses, pained, and cups his chest.

There’s still a huge ugly sweater and at least one other layer but Jared stares, mesmerized.

He says, for the lack of a better word: “Wow.”

Jensen grumbles, “Shut up,” and kneads at himself to relieve some of what Jared concludes from his pinched expression must be some pretty intense pressure.

Joked, “You need any help with that?” and Jensen sends him a glare that could kill a man, so Jared puts his bottle to his mouth and turns back to the field, spluttering.

They make it through the game. Back in the car, sniffling and buckling up, and Jensen groans as he flops into the driver’s seat, and Jared shoots him a smirk, a chuckle.

“Fuck stairs,” grunts Jensen. He plucks his sunglasses off at last, unzips his fixed-up jacket again. “Hey, Big Foot, you still got icicles for hands?”

Jared has barely managed his, “Uh, yeah?” before Jensen’s already grabbed one of them and shoved it straight down the neckline of his sweater.

And his bra.

“Jesus—!”

“My God,” sighs Jensen, obviously relieved. And yeah, he is burning hot under all his layers. Slick with sweat and his nipples feel huge—enormous.

Again, louder: “Jesus Christ,”

and Jensen huffs, “Yeah.”

A long moment. In the parking lot. In Jensen’s car.

Jared tries, eventually, more flustered by the minute: “You, uh, you gonna drive like that, or?”

Jensen grunts, “Absolutely.”

He does let Jared take his hand back once the car is actually moving, though.

Jared tries not to think of it all too much when he jerks off later that night. When it’s just him and his room and the semi-darkness and his brain. Lube and his hand and it’s easy to imagine; too easy. Jensen, with the beard shaved off now because he couldn’t take the irritation of it any longer and his tits swollen so perky, right under Jared’s fingers—damp and solid and Jared could have asked to put his mouth on them. Suck on them, make it better. Or worse. Jensen might like it worse.

Jared groans. Moves his hand quicker.

Jensen’s rounded shape, the still-there bow of his legs and he’s so heavy now, would be so easy to just—turn him over, in bed. On his side or on all fours, that huge belly pulling at him from below and Jared up on his back, and—

“Fuck… Oh my God…!”

At week thirty-seven, Jared’s brain long erased all good intentions.

~

“Getting late, Jay.”

Jared grumbles.

“C’mon, big guy. Big Papa here needs to get comfortable for real.”

Jensen agrees, “C’mon,” and Jared shifts, unwilling. Nuzzles the huge warmth of Jensen’s belly a last time, kisses it a last time. He had already fallen asleep.

Jeff pats Jared’s cheek in encouragement. Chuckles when Jared grunts, hefts himself upright. The TV is still on and the stack of children’s books on the coffee table is still as messy as it was the last time he checked. Jensen will haul them back upstairs tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.

“You have to call,” he reminds, drawled, shrugging into his coat. Means both of them; misses the zipper a few times. Steps back into his boots. “You will, all right?”

Jeff hollers, “Sure thing,” and Jared hears them kiss, out of sight, and shoulders out into the cold, to his car.

Back home. Ten thirty. Instant coffee and day-old pizza. Jared’s stomach rumbles in protest.

He puts some more miles on his gaming console. YouTube; my life as a mother of ten, how to breastfeed your newborn, what NOBODY told me about POSTPARTUM BLEEDINGS (tmi…). Jared goes under without leaving the couch, without brushing his teeth.

~

Avery couldn’t possibly be more perfect. All toes and fingers, a fussy little one but the world is big, and it is scary.

Jared’s step count turns ridiculous with her in his arms. He cradles and kisses and when she’s not in his hands, he’s looking at her, watching her, studying her.

Jensen will joke, “She’s not going anywhere,” but it takes a few weeks for Jared to believe that.

Jeff coddles his daughter, sings to her. She is so small. So freaking small. Not according to Jensen, of course, but. It was an okay birth, all things considered. Jensen is beat for several days but he recovers well. When Jared comes over in the mornings, he’ll usually find Avery and Jensen in front of the TV or in the kitchen. Jared makes sure to always bring an extra bagel or pastry. A fresh cup of coffee from the fancy machine Jeff and Jensen got way back as a wedding present.

“You’re so amazing,” whispers Jared, wide-eyed, sleep-deprived, while his daughter nurses understandably greedy. He keeps petting her soft little cheek with the tip of his forefinger. Jared’s requested some days off at work (‘family matters’). He’s still waiting on their reply—maybe today.

Jensen hums. “Right? It’s like you wanna just eat her.”

“I have to go now.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back,” whispers Jared, and leaves Jensen and Avery behind, completely enamored with each other.

He agreed that his name wouldn’t be in her papers. It’s still what feels right. They would have let him have that if he had wanted it. Jeff is an awesome dad. He is.

Jared gets an extra copy of everything. Of the little handprint molds, the colorful footprints. He purchases more magnets so he can pin one of the newborn photos on his fridge, right next to that shot of Jeff, kissing Jensen’s protruding navel. Jared looks at that picture a lot. At the faint marks under that too-taut skin.

“Shh-shh-shh, oh, baby, I know. I know, sweetheart…”

Jared offers, “Let me,” and Jensen huffs and hands poor screaming Avery over, throws another anxious glance to the closed door of Jeff’s office. He looks at Avery instead of Jared when he notices Jared watching him.

She calms down eventually. Jared bounces her; she loves that. Jensen scoffs and actually listens when Jared tells him to go ahead, sit down for a while, I’ve got her.

“You’re the best,” he huffs, plops into the huge comfy armchair. His shirt is still as ruined as it was when Jared joined him earlier. He hadn’t gotten a chance to shave lately and his hair is neglected. His eyes can barely focus on Avery.

“We need to get some sleep into you.”

“Ah, no, it’s whatever. I’m good to go.”

“You are falling asleep while you talk, dude,” and as if on command, Jensen’s eyes flutter shut, and his head nods oh-so-gently.

“I am—not.”

Jared proceeds to put Avery to bed.

Jensen frowns and pushes at him when Jared attempts to help him up from his chair. “No,” he complains, “Fuck off, I am—in tip-top shape. Where is she?”

“Sleeping. Like you should be.”

Jensen insists, “I can’t,”

but Jared presses, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Jensen.”

Jensen scowls for another moment before he capitulates, finally. Jared makes sure Jensen gets to bed safely. Sure enough: he’s out as soon as his head meets the pillow.

Jared beelines back to his child.

Every second is perfect with her. Just being with her, watching her. Avery jerks in her sleep, tosses her too-small limbs. Jared sits on the floor and watches with his face smushed into the crib railing.

Jeff’s door opens quietly, eventually.

Near-silent footsteps. The soft creak of the bedroom door before Jeff closes that one again, joins Jared in the nursery. A low chuckle. Jeff’s heavy-ringed hand gently laces into Jared’s hair.

“Hey, Daddy,” hums Jeff, keeps petting him. It feels nice. “Let’s grab you some grub, what about it? Take her with you if you want.”

Of course Jared wants that.

Avery stirs and complains only for a minute before she’s out once more, now nestled nearly weightless against Jared’s chest. Jared blearily watches Jeff fixing them some eggs, some toast. He has no idea what time it is. Eggs and toast seem appropriate though.

They eat out on the patio. Jeff lights himself a smoke, one knee pulled up under the table. His shirt is held together by one button only and he kneads at his tired-looking eyes.

Jared prompts, “How’s the book?” between bites and his voice sounds more exhausted than he can probably give himself credit for.

Jeff sighs. Loudly. “Excellent. Couldn’t be better.”

“Oh. That bad?”

“I’m exaggerating, love.” More coffee between drags on his smoke. “But I’ll admit… I really hoped the whole feeding-a-complete-family shit would offer a little more motivation.”

“If money’s tight, just let me know, I can—”

Jeff cuts him off: “It’s fine, Jared,” and gives him a look and dips away the ashes over the stone tiles, and they fly in the wind, effortless.

~

Jensen reassures, “It’s always good when you are here,” and Jared thinks—as much as he is overbearing and horrible, Jensen still needs him to make another baby. Or two. He said he wanted three.

They agreed to keep it flexible, the whole weird constellation of them. That every agreement could be reworked, rediscussed. Nothing has to be set in stone.

Jeff is more annoyed by his impending deadline than he is by the prospect of sharing his husband again, of Jared demanding attention from the child in his house. His child—on paper. Before the law. In every one of their friends’ heads. Jeff is miffed about those things too, of course. But demanding Jared take a step back would be like asking water not to be wet. Jared doesn’t have to spell that one out.

Jensen admits, “I feel horrible,” and Jared encourages and reminds Jensen what a great dad he is, how awesome he takes care of everything, until Jensen snaps, “No, you idiot, I know all that. I mean…!”

Jensen huffs with frustration as he grips his middle over his clothes. Pinches fistfuls and tosses his arms, annoyed. Humiliated.

“I’m a COW,” he blurts, and Jared can’t even laugh this time. 

Of course there’s not a lot of sexy action after welcoming a brand-new life into your home, your lives. Of course Jensen’s body needed some rest, of course, of course. Jensen knows all that as well, he says, hurt. And still.

“Do you have any idea how amazing you look?”

Jensen warns, “I will beat your ass,” while Jared has to focus all of his control on not getting his hands on the guy. Not showing him spot-on where and how Jared thinks he should be worshipped.

Jared fidgets where he sits next to him on the bed. “I mean it,” he promises, careful, and Jensen wrinkles his nose and looks away, down at himself. His body. His beautiful, wonderful body. “That little bit of fat; you’ll shed that, easy. And you said it yourself: you want another one anyway,” and Jensen cringes for that, and Jared’s stomach twists. A lick of his lip. God, Jensen. “You can always get stuff fixed once you have that full set running around the house. If it still bothers you by then,” and Jensen looks at him then.

For real. “You haven’t even seen me in ages,” he accuses, and Jared thinks, well, I see your tits on a daily basis and you usually leave the door open when you shower, and. Oh. Oh, Jensen is unbuttoning his shirt now. “Does this look good to you? You need a fucking eye exam,” and then he flashes Jared, and.

Well, Jared’s opinion solidifies.

He can feel Jensen staring at how he stares, but he can’t stop doing it either.

“Earth to Jared?”

“Those are. They’re nice.”

“‘Nice’?”

“Very nice,” corrects Jared, and Jensen’s hand curls over the back of his neck to haul him close, up to Jensen’s face, and Jensen kisses him.

Mouth to mouth. Full picture.

Jensen’s breath comes sharp and he blinks, and Jared feels his hand getting gripped, and placed, before Jensen covers his mouth anew, licks into him deep.

Jared nearly loses consciousness.

Tugs testingly on that tit and Jensen’s mouth trembles for that, and there’s a warm leakage, and, oh; oh.

Jared ducks away and down just to suck that breast into his mouth, and Jensen grabs into his hair so hard that it should hurt. Probably.

Jared has the mental capacity to jam his hand down the front of Jensen’s sweatpants, but that’s about it.

He scoots closer.

“Fuck, that feels…!” and Jared just groans in response, in agreement. Jensen spreads his legs to make more room, so Jared can jerk him off better. Slick against cotton, fattening at breakneck speed and Jensen grits, “Fuck, I’m—you could probably park a truck in my ass and I wouldn’t feel it,” but when Jared dips his fingers low and pushes them right in, it’s soft and tender but not—

it’s definitely not a parking lot situation.

He tells Jensen that much, who just swears at him and tries to wriggle out of his pants without disconnecting Jared from his chest. Which works a little too well. He whines because Jared sucks his cheeks in for real, truly goes to town on him—like Jared dreamed, wanted, for so long now. How he fantasized it would be. It’s even better.

Jeff is downstairs with Avery, entertains her and his agent at the same time. Video calls are the future.

Jensen gasps, “Fuck,” and, “fuck me,” and Jared leaps right back to that mouth, swallows milk and Jensen’s spit and crawls over him. Switches back from fingering Jensen to jerking him off, back and forth, slicks him up with his own precome and makes it good while Jensen whines around his tongue, shoves Jared’s sweats down for him, gets a hand on him, root to tip. “Okay, I might feel that,” and Jared just kisses him again, rolls on top of him.

Their lube is in the farthest back of the nightstand drawer. Poor fucking guys.

“You don’t have to,” babbles Jensen, like Jared isn’t already nudging into him, like his own beautiful hands aren’t scrambling to hold his legs up, “If I’m—if it’s too weird, or; you really don’t,”

and Jared muffles the rest with his mouth and sinks in with one smooth move, up to the hilt.

It’s different for sure. But not…

Jensen’s lashes flutter against Jared’s cheek; their stubble catches.

Jared rocks them together, deep. Makes Jensen feel it. All of it.

“My—fucking God,” and Jared has to kiss him, a lot, as to not upset Jeff’s work call downstairs.

The bed might be heard. Not over the mic, though. Hopefully.

“If you were living with me,” grunts Jared through his teeth, against Jensen’s tongue, “I would fuck you into the ground so often you wouldn’t even dare to fucking think any of that stupid shit.”

Jared makes sure to point out to Jensen how good he feels—how good Jensen makes him feel despite his arbitrary worries. How much he loves how soft Jensen is now, still firm underneath and he loves that, too, and Jensen just hangs on to him and lets it happen; doesn’t talk back. Lets Jared duck his head down to suck and lap at his sore tits and he snorts happy for Jared, stroking him wet and tight. Hammering into his guts, still, chasing it. Almost a year.

Persistent rumors like how you can’t get pregnant if you’re still breastfeeding are, unfortunately, well, persistent.

Breathless, “Do you want me to finish?”

and Jensen growls, “What a stupid fucking question.”