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He’s running a little late, the bouquet carefully tucked into his side to protect it from the wind. The sky is turning deep orange topped with violet and the streetlights are starting to flicker on. Hurrying down the street, Jared smiles when he finally sees the familiar porch light shining on the dark red door.
The modern black panelling and wide windows of the two-story unit look out of place amidst the neighbouring brick houses, and faded street signs. Walking up the short driveway, he tries to fix the crinkly plastic wrapped around the full bloom of the roses, tugging at his collar and quickly running a hand through his hair.
He rings the doorbell: one, two, three times.
The bulb above his head stutters off, leaving him in the dark before the red door opens. And Jensen’s there in Jared’s favourite dark jeans, and a soft, grey henley.
“Hi,” Jared breathes out, can’t process past the way Jensen’s dark blond hair is shower-damp, and how the wet strands would feel beneath his fingers.
“Hey,” Jensen says with a small smile that punches through Jared’s chest. He pulls Jared inside and Jared’s still tripping over his own tongue when Jensen kisses him, stealing the ‘hello I think I love you’s right out of his mouth.
“This for me?” Jensen asks, with a little laugh, freeing the squished bouquet from Jared’s grasp and stilling at the small, rectangular card nestled amongst the roses. “Oh - Jared…”
Jared cuts him off, “I know! It just felt like… It’s just…” something I wanted to do.
Jensen touches the crisp cursive Happy One Year Anniversary! with his fingertips before tilting his head up to kiss Jared again. His lips are soft, apologetic.
“They’re beautiful. Happy anniversary, Jay,” Jensen says, squeezing him around the middle while the bouquet wrapping crackles between them. “Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”
Jensen pulls away, face buried in the flowers, tapping his free hand casually next to the large glass candy dish in the entryway. Jared’s heart drops.
Oh.
“Right. Sorry,” Jared says sheepishly, smile slipping as he digs into his jacket pocket, removing a thick white envelope and placing it into the bowl. Jensen nods before disappearing into the kitchen.
Dinner smells amazing, but for the first time in his life, Jared doesn’t taste much of what’s on his fork, too distracted by Jensen’s bare foot trailing up Jared’s jean-covered leg, by the constant presence of his hand reaching over to play with Jared’s hair. He’s telling Jensen about his work day, rambling about his sister’s newest boyfriend, and how his dogs loved the new toys Jensen bought.
Over dessert, Jensen leans across the small dining room table to kiss him, and Jared has to catch him when the table wobbles under his weight. Their laughing tiramisu-laced mouths meet once and then once more, and the beer’s warm before they part again.
The dishes are soaking in the sink and they’re falling onto the leather couch together, Jensen’s arms wrapped around his neck as he pulls Jared down. That sweet petal mouth wet and eager on Jared’s neck, and Jared lands heavily on top of him, all grabby hands and grinding hips.
They make quick work of each other’s pants, and Jared wastes no time bending Jensen in near-half, pressing him hard into the smooth leather. He’s slick and loose and ready, just like always.
Jared sinks into him, the heels of Jensen’s feet slipping down and digging into the backs of his upper thighs, urging him on.
0-0-0
Jared wakes up in Jensen’s bed, clinging to his green-eyed dreams, the heart-thief himself snoozing away beneath the covers next to him. He moves as quietly as possible, tip-toeing naked down carpeted stairs and into the dark living room. His pants are slung across the coffee table, with his boxers trailing behind.
Padding barefoot across cold kitchen floor, he sets up the coffee machine, getting Jensen’s favourite mug ready, smiling sadly at the roses on the counter. He presses his hand upon the tiny dining table, feeling it give under the pressure. Loose leg. It only takes Jared 15 minutes to fix it.
He sneaks back up the stairs with his and Jensen’s shirts in hand, because it’s only polite, plus it’ll be a while, and he can’t not say goodbye.
Sunlight is now filtering through the thick curtains of the bedroom’s big picture window, bathing Jensen’s blanket-cocoon in soft, golden light. The freckles on Jensen’s exposed shoulder are like beckoning morning stars, and Jared wishes more than anything that he could stay.
Jared spots an open black book on the dresser. He’s seen it before. He really shouldn’t look.
But it’s on his way.
The planner page is open to this week, names like Brian, Thomas and Will jotted next to little notes like rope bondage, shower first, and likes feet. And there’s someone named Evan with a squiggly skull and crossbones next to his name. There are appointments lasting a few hours to the next day, everything from MON-THURS meticulously crossed out.
He wants to burn it. Wants to call these men and stake a claim he has no right to.
Jared finds his name under Friday. No special notes. Just a single, doodled heart.
He leaves Jensen’s clothes folded at the foot of his bed, kissing the bridge of his freckled nose before heading out the door.
0-0-0
It had been six months since the words IT’S OVER, two weeks after he’d finally deleted Max from his phone/Facebook/Twitter/life and five failed attempts at moving on. Well-meaning (but in hindsight, terrible) friends had offered him the number of a discrete service.
The idea of ordering off a menu, then having to endure the fake-writhing, exaggerated porn star moaning had been wholly unappealing to Jared. And he wouldn’t have known what to ask for – he’s not really the wall-to-wall sex toy dungeon kind of guy. And he had enjoyed the idea of people pretending to like him even less (Max had done a number on him, for sure). Then he’d seen their website, and the text Get the ‘Boy Next Door’ Experience travelling across his screen.
There’d been a picture of a couple kissing, leaning into each other with a porch railing digging into their backs. They had looked happy, and there’d been a yard, and maybe a white fence (and maybe Jared had imagined two dogs running around them).
The reassuring promise that the first meeting would be reimbursable blinks at the bottom of the screen.
Jared had been curious.
And Jensen had been his first.
0-0-0
“Face it. Your heart is in your dick.”
“What – shut the fuck up, no it isn’t,” Jared protests. He presses a hand to his chest emphatically, feeling the indignant beat beneath his palm. It’s bruised, but still there.
“Yeah okay, you had trouble getting it up after Max but this escort thing was only supposed to help you get back on the horse! Clean your slate or whatever.”
“Can you please keep your voice down?” The entire office doesn’t need to know about Jared’s erections and escorts. He wants to protest, It’s more than that, because it would be true – on Jared’s part anyway. But that wouldn’t get him more than a look of pity.
“You thought it was forever with Max after screwing around… what twice? And there was Peter before that. And then this guy… you were practically hooked from the start.”
Chad stops his ranting to take a giant bite out of his soggy sandwich and Jared shakes his head, understanding the word hooker a little better now.
0-0-0
It’s movie night, and Jared’s picked a horror flick they can cuddle to. But the monsters are too slow, the plot is awful, and soon Jensen’s thoroughly distracting him from how terrible the acting is. It’s not too long before Jared’s moaning louder than the screaming from the TV as Jensen swallows him down.
The credits roll and they chase each other up the stairs, Jared lifting Jensen and throwing him onto the bed as they scramble out of their clothes. Jensen isn’t much shorter than he is, and it feels good, on some embarrassingly primitive level, that he can show off for him like this.
Jensen’s on the bed, long legs spread and waiting.
Jared can’t join him fast enough.
~~~
Round three that night has Jensen in Jared’s arms again, Jensen’s hands falling from Jared’s hair, nails scraping over his neck and back, his muscled bowlegs wrapped around his waist. His back is pressed into the big picture window, skin sliding over the heavy curtains, body twisting in Jared’s grip. The whole thing could collapse on them at any time, but Jared keeps up his thrusts, holding Jensen up, needing more of the desperate moans and breathy pleas.
There’s a slice of moonlight slipping through the shifting gap between the drapes, allowing Jared to see glimpses – Jensen’s wet, parted mouth, the smooth column of his neck, the sweep of long lashes.
In the morning, he replaces the bulb of the lamp that had fallen over in their haste to get to Jensen’s bedroom. He leaves coffee hot on the counter.
When he goes up to kiss Sleeping Beauty goodbye, he finds two pencilled hearts next to his name.
0-0-0
Apart from the black book, there’s never any hint that Jensen’s been entertaining other… guests. No wayward clothes, no photos or distinct marks. Jensen dresses impeccably – casual boyfriend chic – and always smells like his own signature warm spice. He doesn’t talk about the others either, which is both a relief and a nagging ache in Jared’s gut.
He feels like he’s competing with names in a book. Who are they? Who does Jensen like better?
Are they as in love as Jared is?
0-0-0
One morning, Jared’s lying on cold tile, fixing the leaking faucet in the upstairs bathroom when Jensen finds him.
“Jared, you don’t have to do this.”
He ducks his head, feeling caught out and guilty. “It’s not a big deal… I…”
“You’re the one paying me here, remember?”
Jared’s hand stiffens on the wrench, metal digging into his palm. The particulars had always been handled through the company, and Jensen’s never so much as mentioned it since their first meeting. It ruins the illusion, he figures.
He’s been living with his head in the fucking clouds, and he knows it.
“Hey.”
Jensen crouches down to Jared’s level. Full, soft lips find his.
“You know, you’ve fixed practically everything in this place. You always make sure I have coffee when I wake up. You go into everything with your whole heart. Even for someone you’re paying to… You know anyone would be lucky for you to ask them - you’d make a great boyfriend, Jared.”
It’s an awful consolation prize.
0-0-0
Jared doesn’t book another evening with Jensen for weeks. He feels guilty for being that guy and complicating Jensen’s life, and he flushes with embarrassment every time he thinks of the pity in Jensen’s eyes.
It eats him up inside, but he can’t keep living like this.
When he finally makes the call, he knows it’s going to be his last night with Jensen. He’s promised himself this much.
None of it was real, and he has to remember that.
Jared misses him already.
0-0-0
The light goes off, the red door opens, and Jensen welcomes him with a tentative smile. Jared just wants this to be the perfect night, so he smiles back, bites down on his good-byes.
The envelope goes into the candy dish and Jensen leads him straight upstairs, stripping them both as they go.
They go slow tonight, hands across Jared’s chest and arms, deep kisses that take his breath away. Jensen has always been able to read Jared’s mood, decipher what he needs with a look. For a second, he resents that Jensen had been so good at his job to make Jared fall for him.
Jared lays Jensen out on the bed, climbing over him and kissing every bit of skin he can reach. Even after a year there are still so many parts of Jensen he doesn’t know. So many questions he hasn’t asked. And his chest aches to think of everything he’ll be leaving behind.
Jensen flips them over, straddling Jared’s thighs and Jared stares up at him, trying to memorize as much as he can. The smooth skin of Jensen’s belly, the way Jensen’s breath catches when he rubs his thumbs over his nipples. The exquisite bliss in Jensen’s eyes when he lowers himself onto Jared’s cock, the way he sighs and begs and moans as pleasure overtakes him.
When Jensen collapses onto him, exhausted and near-sleep, Jared doesn’t let go.
0-0-0
Climbing out of the bed as stealthily as he can, Jared gathers his clothes in the dark of Jensen’s house for the last time. He spots the little black book on the dresser where his underwear landed. He shouldn’t look, but he can’t help it. He wants to know if he’ll be leaving Jensen to a Harry that likes nipple play or a Colin who gets off on dirty talk.
The book is already open, and there’s one appointment written for the entirety of the week.
6:00PM JARED, I know you’re reading this.
Just turn around and ask me.
You idiot.
Followed by a single, scribbled heart.