Running on a One Way Track by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellamira for <user site="livejo
Jun. 13th, 2012 01:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_springflingTitle: Running on a One Way Track
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: R
Any warnings: none
Written bystellamira for yanyann!
He always takes the 6:07 train to the city. It gives him enough time to walk from the station to his office building and catch the elevator up to the eleventh floor. The train takes forty-five minutes, and he usually spends them with his nose buried in a paperback, squinting because it's been a while since he's seen a doctor. Not long enough.
Today, he doesn't read; today, there's a new guy on the train, getting on at the next stop, and he keeps staring.
He seems familiar, but maybe Sasquatch-sized people in baggy pants with unruly brown hair and a lip ring he keeps worrying between his teeth always kinda do. He's got a bulky pair of headphones hanging around his neck and he's smiling. The whole forty-one minutes.
***
On the ride home the guy is back, still wearing the headphones as if they were a piece of clothing, the lip ring, and the smile.
“Hey,” he says this time, dropping down on a seat opposite. “What's your name?”
“Jensen,” he says. It feels unfamiliar on his tongue, unused. He doesn't introduce himself to people often, doesn't know why he gives his name at all now – the mere sight of the guy should make him clutch his briefcase more tightly. “You're an American.”
There's just a bare flicker of something Jensen can't place on the guy's face before he holds out a hand. “So are you. What are the odds, huh? I'm Sam.”
Sam's hand is warm and big, fingers sure as they curl around Jensen's smaller ones. Safe.
***
Sam literally jumps onto the train a minute before it leaves his station a week later, still out of breath as he sits down. Jensen's not hard to find; the train's fairly empty, most commuters choosing a later one, and he's in the same compartment , the same seat every day.
“Here.” Sam thrusts out a double cardboard holder with one paper cup, keeping the other for himself.
Jensen doesn't remember the last time someone brought him coffee. It's good, black with just a splash of milk, no need to spoil the perfect bitterness by dumping spoonfuls of sugar in it. He licks his lips. “This is good. How did you –“
Sam laughs. “Dude, I told you I work in this fancy café. Give me some credit, I know your type of customer.”
What type? Is on the tip of Jensen's tongue before he bites it back. “This is not from your café.” Can't be; Sam hasn't been to work yet.
“Okay, so I work in a café that brews shitty coffee. I got my own supplier.” He peers at Jensen over the rim of his cup, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What are you drinking?” Jensen asks. He might not know how to act on a date anymore, but he does know basic politeness.
“Uh.” Sam's smile falters a bit as he takes a deep breath, then rushes out, “Espresso. With milk and cinnamon and hazel syrup and whipped cream. And chocolate flakes.”
Jensen's glad he hasn't taken a sip because the mess would've been epic as he laughs so hard his eyes start tearing up. “What,” he wheezes. “You look like you could bench three hundred pounds, you're freaking tall, you surf, and you drink like a girl?
Sam's face freezes and for a second Jensen fears he actually offended him, already starting to apologize, “I'm --”
Sam's grin widens again. He leans forward. “Tell you a secret.” He lowers his voice to a bare whisper. “That's the only girly thing about me.”
***
They see each other every day, Jensen already on the train waiting when Sam gets on.
Sam talks a mile a minute about anything; hilarious tales about coworkers and guests, the movies he enjoyed, the music he likes listening to, how he broke his leg four years back and took online classes in Swahili that he didn't really need, just because he was so bored.
Sometimes Jensen suspects Sam talks so much to make up for Jensen's own lack of words.
Jensen doesn't have any stories to share about his coworkers because he doesn't talk to them much, doesn't watch any movies that were made after the sixties, doesn't even own a computer. He taught himself to cook so he didn't have to microwave his dinner. He likes trains because they give him directions and a destination to get to, even if it's only work or a sparsely furnished apartment.
Sam talks about his family, his big brother, his little sister, what they do. He never asks about Jensen's, and Jensen likes him even more.
***
The only surprising thing about their first kiss is that it's Jensen who initiates it.
“See you tomorrow?” Sam asks as the train slows down, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Jensen gets up, too, catches Sam's arm as he rises on his toes to press their mouths together. Sam's ring digs into his bottom lip before Jensen touches his tongue to it.
Sam has his eyes closed as Jensen pulls back after a minute, hand hovering over Jensen's cheek. Jensen gives him a nudge, then another as Sam only blinks at him. “Go. Your stop.”
Swearing, Sam stumbles out, and Jensen keeps running his fingertips along his lips, feeling the edges of his smile, until he gets off, too.
The next morning, Sam takes the seat beside Jensen, not opposite, their knees touching.
***
“Don't you miss home?” Sam asks one day.
“No,” Jensen answers.
“You don't ever think about going back?”
“No.” He knows it's an odd decision he made, staying here, when he barely spoke the language, but he had enough people tell him that; he doesn't need another.
“Why?” Sam gets like that sometimes, oddly focused on Jensen like there's a puzzle he needs to put together and only Jensen can hand him the pieces.
“Where would I go?” He's got a job here, food, a soft bed. “This place is as good as any.”
Sam is chewing on his lip, ring disappearing behind his teeth, but he doesn't say anything anymore.
***
Jensen wakes up from his nap on Sam's shoulder when Sam kisses the top of his head. “C'mon, sunshine.”
Jensen rubs his eyes, still kind of dazed, to see they've almost arrived at his station. He sits up suddenly. “Shit, Jay, you missed your stop.”
“Don't worry,” Sam says, facing away to pick up both their things. He turns back, a soft wetness in his eyes that Jensen can't explain. “Let's just go home.”
***
If anyone had asked, he'd have said that he'd never done this before, but his body opens to Sam's fingers easily, cock lying stiff and dribbling on his stomach. When Sam finally draws out, he's more than ready, trembling as he rolls on top, balancing on his knees and bracing a hand back on Sam's thigh.
“God,” Sam groans as Jensen slowly sinks down. “Jesus, Jen, always love it when you –“
All sounds seem to stop, not even their breathing audible in the quiet room.
The shock on Sam's face comes a couple of seconds too late, his mad scrambling as he registers what he's just said.
Jensen grabs his flailing hands, pins them to the bed. He's not even thinking about pulling off. It makes sense suddenly: why Sam looked so familiar, why he knows how Jensen takes his coffee. How Jensen knew he was a surfer without Sam ever telling him.
“You're not Sam, are you?” he says, brushing along the fine hairs of one arm.
“No,” he, not Sam, admits.
“What's your name?” Jensen asks.
“You know,” he says, as Jensen rolls his hips to get the cock inside him deeper than before, filling him completely. He leans up to kiss below Jensen's ear. “Jensen, you know.”
Another thrust, hard enough to make Jensen see stars, and with the stars there are images behind Jensen's closed eyes.
A crowded train in summer, a smiling face, younger than now, a surfboard blocking the aisle. Laughing at a movie with his back against a broad chest. A kiss. In a bed, almost like they are now but with their positions reversed.
“C'mon, Jensen.”
Jensen's eyes fly open as he comes, falls face forward into soft brown curls and warm skin. “Jared.”
***
They cling to each other later, as close together as they can get without sharing a body.
“What do you remember?” Jared asks, running his fingers up and down Jensen's spine.
Jensen sighs. He knows the train he saw was when they first met, just like they did again a few weeks ago. He doesn't know where they live or even if they live together. He remembers a fight. When he thinks of his family, he sees a woman with kind green eyes reaching down to ruffle his hair. He remembers falling.
There are questions, too: What happened? How did you find me? Why did it take you so long?
“Not everything.” Jensen raises his head. “Will you tell me?”
Jared kisses him, then gently pushes him back down onto his chest, where he can listen to Jared's heartbeat. “Yes.”
The End.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: R
Any warnings: none
Written by
stellamira for yanyann!He always takes the 6:07 train to the city. It gives him enough time to walk from the station to his office building and catch the elevator up to the eleventh floor. The train takes forty-five minutes, and he usually spends them with his nose buried in a paperback, squinting because it's been a while since he's seen a doctor. Not long enough.
Today, he doesn't read; today, there's a new guy on the train, getting on at the next stop, and he keeps staring.
He seems familiar, but maybe Sasquatch-sized people in baggy pants with unruly brown hair and a lip ring he keeps worrying between his teeth always kinda do. He's got a bulky pair of headphones hanging around his neck and he's smiling. The whole forty-one minutes.
***
On the ride home the guy is back, still wearing the headphones as if they were a piece of clothing, the lip ring, and the smile.
“Hey,” he says this time, dropping down on a seat opposite. “What's your name?”
“Jensen,” he says. It feels unfamiliar on his tongue, unused. He doesn't introduce himself to people often, doesn't know why he gives his name at all now – the mere sight of the guy should make him clutch his briefcase more tightly. “You're an American.”
There's just a bare flicker of something Jensen can't place on the guy's face before he holds out a hand. “So are you. What are the odds, huh? I'm Sam.”
Sam's hand is warm and big, fingers sure as they curl around Jensen's smaller ones. Safe.
***
Sam literally jumps onto the train a minute before it leaves his station a week later, still out of breath as he sits down. Jensen's not hard to find; the train's fairly empty, most commuters choosing a later one, and he's in the same compartment , the same seat every day.
“Here.” Sam thrusts out a double cardboard holder with one paper cup, keeping the other for himself.
Jensen doesn't remember the last time someone brought him coffee. It's good, black with just a splash of milk, no need to spoil the perfect bitterness by dumping spoonfuls of sugar in it. He licks his lips. “This is good. How did you –“
Sam laughs. “Dude, I told you I work in this fancy café. Give me some credit, I know your type of customer.”
What type? Is on the tip of Jensen's tongue before he bites it back. “This is not from your café.” Can't be; Sam hasn't been to work yet.
“Okay, so I work in a café that brews shitty coffee. I got my own supplier.” He peers at Jensen over the rim of his cup, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What are you drinking?” Jensen asks. He might not know how to act on a date anymore, but he does know basic politeness.
“Uh.” Sam's smile falters a bit as he takes a deep breath, then rushes out, “Espresso. With milk and cinnamon and hazel syrup and whipped cream. And chocolate flakes.”
Jensen's glad he hasn't taken a sip because the mess would've been epic as he laughs so hard his eyes start tearing up. “What,” he wheezes. “You look like you could bench three hundred pounds, you're freaking tall, you surf, and you drink like a girl?
Sam's face freezes and for a second Jensen fears he actually offended him, already starting to apologize, “I'm --”
Sam's grin widens again. He leans forward. “Tell you a secret.” He lowers his voice to a bare whisper. “That's the only girly thing about me.”
***
They see each other every day, Jensen already on the train waiting when Sam gets on.
Sam talks a mile a minute about anything; hilarious tales about coworkers and guests, the movies he enjoyed, the music he likes listening to, how he broke his leg four years back and took online classes in Swahili that he didn't really need, just because he was so bored.
Sometimes Jensen suspects Sam talks so much to make up for Jensen's own lack of words.
Jensen doesn't have any stories to share about his coworkers because he doesn't talk to them much, doesn't watch any movies that were made after the sixties, doesn't even own a computer. He taught himself to cook so he didn't have to microwave his dinner. He likes trains because they give him directions and a destination to get to, even if it's only work or a sparsely furnished apartment.
Sam talks about his family, his big brother, his little sister, what they do. He never asks about Jensen's, and Jensen likes him even more.
***
The only surprising thing about their first kiss is that it's Jensen who initiates it.
“See you tomorrow?” Sam asks as the train slows down, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Jensen gets up, too, catches Sam's arm as he rises on his toes to press their mouths together. Sam's ring digs into his bottom lip before Jensen touches his tongue to it.
Sam has his eyes closed as Jensen pulls back after a minute, hand hovering over Jensen's cheek. Jensen gives him a nudge, then another as Sam only blinks at him. “Go. Your stop.”
Swearing, Sam stumbles out, and Jensen keeps running his fingertips along his lips, feeling the edges of his smile, until he gets off, too.
The next morning, Sam takes the seat beside Jensen, not opposite, their knees touching.
***
“Don't you miss home?” Sam asks one day.
“No,” Jensen answers.
“You don't ever think about going back?”
“No.” He knows it's an odd decision he made, staying here, when he barely spoke the language, but he had enough people tell him that; he doesn't need another.
“Why?” Sam gets like that sometimes, oddly focused on Jensen like there's a puzzle he needs to put together and only Jensen can hand him the pieces.
“Where would I go?” He's got a job here, food, a soft bed. “This place is as good as any.”
Sam is chewing on his lip, ring disappearing behind his teeth, but he doesn't say anything anymore.
***
Jensen wakes up from his nap on Sam's shoulder when Sam kisses the top of his head. “C'mon, sunshine.”
Jensen rubs his eyes, still kind of dazed, to see they've almost arrived at his station. He sits up suddenly. “Shit, Jay, you missed your stop.”
“Don't worry,” Sam says, facing away to pick up both their things. He turns back, a soft wetness in his eyes that Jensen can't explain. “Let's just go home.”
***
If anyone had asked, he'd have said that he'd never done this before, but his body opens to Sam's fingers easily, cock lying stiff and dribbling on his stomach. When Sam finally draws out, he's more than ready, trembling as he rolls on top, balancing on his knees and bracing a hand back on Sam's thigh.
“God,” Sam groans as Jensen slowly sinks down. “Jesus, Jen, always love it when you –“
All sounds seem to stop, not even their breathing audible in the quiet room.
The shock on Sam's face comes a couple of seconds too late, his mad scrambling as he registers what he's just said.
Jensen grabs his flailing hands, pins them to the bed. He's not even thinking about pulling off. It makes sense suddenly: why Sam looked so familiar, why he knows how Jensen takes his coffee. How Jensen knew he was a surfer without Sam ever telling him.
“You're not Sam, are you?” he says, brushing along the fine hairs of one arm.
“No,” he, not Sam, admits.
“What's your name?” Jensen asks.
“You know,” he says, as Jensen rolls his hips to get the cock inside him deeper than before, filling him completely. He leans up to kiss below Jensen's ear. “Jensen, you know.”
Another thrust, hard enough to make Jensen see stars, and with the stars there are images behind Jensen's closed eyes.
A crowded train in summer, a smiling face, younger than now, a surfboard blocking the aisle. Laughing at a movie with his back against a broad chest. A kiss. In a bed, almost like they are now but with their positions reversed.
“C'mon, Jensen.”
Jensen's eyes fly open as he comes, falls face forward into soft brown curls and warm skin. “Jared.”
***
They cling to each other later, as close together as they can get without sharing a body.
“What do you remember?” Jared asks, running his fingers up and down Jensen's spine.
Jensen sighs. He knows the train he saw was when they first met, just like they did again a few weeks ago. He doesn't know where they live or even if they live together. He remembers a fight. When he thinks of his family, he sees a woman with kind green eyes reaching down to ruffle his hair. He remembers falling.
There are questions, too: What happened? How did you find me? Why did it take you so long?
“Not everything.” Jensen raises his head. “Will you tell me?”
Jared kisses him, then gently pushes him back down onto his chest, where he can listen to Jared's heartbeat. “Yes.”
The End.
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no subject
Date: 2012-06-13 06:35 pm (UTC)Jensen keeps running his fingertips along his lips, feeling the edges of his smile - lovely ♥