ht_murray | White Ladder, SN RPS, JA/JP, 1/5, PG-13

Title:White Ladder, Ghost rewrite for

reel_spn
Author:

tru_faith_lost
Movie Adapted:Ghost
Genre: Slash, RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, also starring Christian Kane, Chad Michael-Murray, and various other family and CW friends
Rating:NC-17
Word Count:~26,000
Warnings: Graphic m/m sex and language. Plus, well there's a reason it's called, Ghost and not something like "Significant Other."
Notes/Credits: Credit to the most awesome

ysbail for betatude. She must be awesome. No one else could make me spontaneously break into Barry Manilow song.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not written for profit.
A/N: This story is set in the future approximately two years. Supernatural has ended, and the boys have moved to Manhattan to start a new life and new careers together. It's also fairly AU in that David Gray does not exist in this 'verse, and Jensen Ackles wrote all of his songs. All songs, unless otherwise noted, are by David Gray. Link to the album and all song lyrics are in the sidebar. Song lyrics and flashbacks are in italics. It's also dedicated to

inconsistency9 who requested RPS when I was writing mostly Gen,

iamnotkris, who wanted the shirt to be Jared's, and

kai357 who wanted someone to mention the jinbei. But don't blink girls, or you'll miss the references entirely, I'm afraid. *is sorry*

White Ladder poster by me

Chapter One--Please Forgive Me

Please forgive me if I act a little strange, for I know not what I do. Feels like lightning running through my veins, everytime I look at you.--"Please Forgive Me," David Gray

"Dude, put me down. Jay! Jay, I mean it!" Jen knows he's being a total girl as he squirms and squeals with indignance, but goddamn Jared and his freaking Adonis complex. "Whattaya think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" The growl of Jared's voice against the shell of Jensen's ear is like the rumble that erupts from the back of a tomcat's throat while it bites down on the neck of its queen. "I'm carrying you across the threshold. That is the tradition, right?"

Jen elbows Jared in the ribs to break the grasp and lands deftly on his feet. He straightens his loose shirttails and cracks his neck, green eyes flaring. "I am not your wife, jackass."

"Aw, but you're so pretty when you pout," Jay teases. The giant Padalecki hand at the small of Jen's back with its gently massaging fingertips draws him closer against the set of his glare. Jared pulls Jen flush against his chest and throws both arms around his shoulders. One long leg hooks around Jen's hip. "Fine, have it your way. You can carry me." He hops aboard piggyback, and Jen collapses forward into the door, smacking his head against the heavy wood.

"You shit!" Jensen grumbles, his voice an angry rasp. He dumps Jared off and rubs at his head. "We're supposed to be setting an example, not playing up the spazzy queer boy stereotype. Can't we at least try to make a good impression with the neighbors?

Jared shrugs and turns the key in the lock. "It's the top floor, Jen. All ours. No one's gonna see us." His hand pauses on the doorknob as he leans back and cranes his neck over his shoulder. "But…” his grin broadens even as his eyebrows lower suggestively, “they will hear it when I fuck you on every surface in here.” The grin twists into a smirk. "Gotta christen the place good and proper, you know."

"Will you get in there?” Jen pushes Jared through the doorway, more to hide the hungry grin that's splitting his face than anything. "You act like we haven't already been living together for four years."

Jared stumbles inside. His giant feet (entirely proportional, thank you very much) clap loudly against the hardwood. The echo that returns reminds them both just how massive the place is, nothing at all like their little house in Vancouver.

Most of their belongings are stacked in boxes at the foot of stairs that spiral up around the fireplace into the loft bedroom. The rest of the flat stands empty, light glaring off the polished floors in all the places where furniture should be.

"Yeah, but this place is ours. No more leases or security deposits, no renter's insurance. And it's bigger than our entire backyard in Vancouver," Jared says, pleased. His eyes crinkle at the corners with the spread of the smile across his face. "Sadie and Harley are gonna have a blast."

"Yeah, once they figure out how to stand up on these slippery floors," Jen says skeptically.

"Won't be a problem," Jared promises, as his long legs stroll around to the front of the fireplace. "I got them some of those non-skid dog boots."

Jen drops the keys onto the nearest box top, rolling up his sleeves. He leans over to start the unpacking when, 'what the fuck?' crosses his mind, and he raises an eyebrow in Jared's direction. "You didn't."

"I did."

Jen stands to full height again. "Dude, this is Sadie and Harley we're talking about, not Stinkerbell the frufru dog princess."

Jared finds the box he's apparently been looking for and strips the tape off. "Fragile" is stenciled across it in black Sharpie. Jen recognizes it as the carton of framed pictures. A house isn't a home without family photos, after all. Jared would unpack those first. The giant sap.

"The vet said Harley's hips aren’t getting any better," Jared explains. "We'll need the boots to keep him from having his legs splay out from under him too many times, or else he's definitely gonna have to have the surgery." Jared doesn't look up when he speaks. Jen knows that the dogs and their inability to stop getting old is a sore subject with Jared, and he's sorry for being an ass. It's just another reminder why Jen is trying really hard not to get too excited about this new beginning of theirs. Beginnings tend to end.

"Oh," he mumbles. He slides around behind Jared and takes the first photograph out of his hands, drops one hand to Jay's shoulder in apology.

The first picture is his favorite; the one of he and Jared at his parents' anniversary party last year. Jensen stood in the foreground, Jared behind him, face alight as he wrapped his arms around Jensen’s waist and rested his head on Jen's shoulder.

Jen remembers his father taking the picture, telling them to stand closer, saying "Go ahead, put your arms around him, son," to Jared. It had been the first time Alan had ever done more than tolerate the physical closeness between Jen and Jared. He'd loved Jared as Jensen's best friend, but as his lover, well, that had put some sort of perceived deficit in the Ackles family values. Jen supposed his parents' anniversary had reminded his father that love didn't just go away, no matter who frowned upon it.

Three and a half years it had taken for the Ackles' to accept that their baby boy wasn't just going to find himself a nice cheery, grade school teacher to raise a family with. The fact that Jared’s got a five year teaching fellowship at Juilliard is an irony that’s not lost on him, though he knows his parents will never find it quite as good as what they’d been planning for their son. That picture is like the diploma the two of them have earned for sitting through three and half years worth of uncomfortable family discussions and stomach-turning 'post-coming out' holiday meals.

Yeah, that's definitely Jen's favorite picture.

He slides the heavy frame up on the mantle. Jared had insisted on a mantle for family pictures and as a place to display Jen's photography, which Jared always seems to think more highly of than Jen does. Jensen would be just as happy leaving his snapshots in the envelopes that came from the developers. They never look the way he envisions them in his mind.

When the fourth picture is placed, it sits unevenly, and as Jen smoothes a hand beneath it to find the cause, a small piece of bone slides out and onto the tile at his feet. Jared sees it fall and picks it up. He's rolling it around in his hands and studying it intently when Jen stoops beside him. "Say, isn't this...?"

"Looks like a guitar pick," Jen says. He takes it from Jared's hand. One side is white, looks like ivory, and the other is painted with a pastoral landscape. Must've taken a really small brush and a magnifying glass to get it so detailed. Jen raises it to his eye and squints. "Says Coda-Chrome on the back." He raises his eyesbrows. "Huh. Kind of a pun on the musical term, I guess."

Jared takes the pick from Jen and studies it himself. A broad grin breaks across his face, eyes twinkling, and he says, "This is like an omen, you know?" He's practically beaming as he claps his hand on Jen's shoulder. "Us moving here, you pursuing your music, me doing the mentoring thing at Juilliard, it's a coda to the life we had making Supernatural. It's our alternate ending, Jen, and this," he lofts the pick in front of himself, "is our lucky charm. Like the key to our future." He smooches it and holds it for Jen to do the same. "I think I'm gonna have it framed."

Damn, Jared's hot when he's holding their future in his hands. Jen raises his hand and wraps his fingers around Jared's, the guitar pick pressed between. He presses his lips to their clasped hands, that one touch more intimate and endearing than any of their earlier groping. Jen forgets about beginnings and endings for just a moment and melts forward against Jared's chest. He raises his chin to gaze into Jay's eyes. "Just shut up and kiss me, why don't you?"

Jared does.

#

The ropes groan and stretch, twisting through the pulleys, and even though they're being handled by three very capable looking (and smelling) movers who do this sort of thing for a living, Jen can't help but lean over the window ledge protectively. That's not some ugly piece of furniture or bad artwork they're hoisting up from the crowded Manhattan street. That's his piano.

Sunlight glints off the lacquer piano top, nearly as bright and glaring as the patented Jared Padalecki high beam smile in a room full of network execs and critics. The instrument itself is a huge baby grand, way bigger than he needs. Jen's only been taking lessons, whenever he can snag them, for a couple of years now. He still mostly just reads the chords and improvises. A cheap keyboard and an amp would have been plenty. But this is just typical Jared, giving too much and not caring what kind of a scene he makes.
The piano is Jared's housewarming gift to Jensen. The ropes, groaning under the weight and the glare, well, those are Jen.

He leans a little farther over the edge. It seems to him that the whole rig is swinging wildly beneath him, and he knows, he just knows that it's going to come apart and go crashing to the street below. The workmen might do this every day, might have everything planned out perfectly, but plans fall through. Jensen plans for plans to fall through.

And, damn, it's a long way down. Jensen's been down, and he doesn't want to go back. Life's just a pattern of hills and valleys, though, and Jared's a mountain. So yeah, it's a long way down.

The piano's even with ledge, and Jen doesn't know what he thinks he's doing, but he reaches out like he's going to reel it in himself. He just needs to feel it solid under his hand, to know it isn't going to fall. He reaches a little too far and realizes it's probably he who's in danger of falling as the ledge tilts beneath him. His heart skips a beat, but not in surprise. He's been waiting for the bottom to drop out of this life, and he knows it just did.

Just like he knows the big strong hands that reach around his chest and pull him back inside are Jared.

Jared's heart pounds against Jen's back the way it does when they're collapsed together in a heap, come and sweat between them like glue.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jared hisses in his ear, his arms tighter than they need to be. Jen doesn't answer, mostly because he can't breathe, but partially because he doesn’t have a good answer. He supposes 'tempting fate' wouldn't be acceptable as Jared nuzzles into the back of his neck and swings him back inside.

Jen's immediately sorry for being so stupid. His world comes crashing down around him all the time, but Jared's isn't allowed to. It just isn't. Not that he can say that. Instead he says, "Making sure the birds don't shit on my piano," and relaxes into Jared's embrace as Jay chuckles into his neck. Yeah, that's what he's talking about.

"So, did you get 'em?" Jen asks, turning around.

Jared opens his mouth to answer, but he doesn't get the chance as Sadie comes barreling across the floor toward them, toenails clicking on the slick surface. They all realize too late that there's no way she's going to be able to stop and end up in a heap on the floor. Embarrassed, Sadie stands up, shakes her head, and sits, staring down at them as though they'd just tumbled to the ground of their own accord. Jen can just hear her thinking, 'silly humans' and knows she'd be rolling her eyes if she could.

A second later, Harley pads up much more slowly, thinks they look pretty cozy, and plops down between them.

"Uh, Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"About those non-skid boots..."

#

"Mmm," Jensen hums in the back of his throat, a vibration pitched just shy of a whimper. Jared's lips on his keep him from talking, but really, he can never form a coherent thought while Jay's kissing him anyway.

Jared draws back after awhile and Jen finds himself leaning into the palms that cup his face, not wanting the connection broken so soon. He grins sleepily into Jay's eyes, the notebook in his lap already forgotten with the promise of strong arms and a lazy roll in the sheets reflecting back at him in watercolor washes of green.

"What was that about?" Jen asks as Jared pulls back the covers and slides in beside him on the bed.

"Do I need an excuse to kiss you?" Jared slides closer and wraps an arm around Jen's waist. His head falls on Jensen's shoulder, long bangs tickling over a collar bone still bruised from the night before. Jen knows Jared's reading the notebook, wondering what quasi-masterpiece is being written in there, but he doesn't hide it. No one else even knows there is a notebook. Jared knows every word by heart.

"No," Jen laughs softly, "but that didn't feel like your run-of-the-mill 'good night' or 'God, I can't wait to get you naked,' kiss," he observes, heart still pounding with the intensity of the liplock. His breath has barely evened out when he reaches for the alarm clock on the side of the bed and shows it to Jared. "Definitely not a 'good morning, and let's get a quickie before breakfast' kiss either, so, you know, I'm just trying to figure out what's going on in that shaggy head of yours."

Jared doesn't lift his head from Jen's shoulder but picks at the bedspread with his free hand. "Nothing. I'm just proud of you," he says.

Jen laughs nervously, a scoff tickling at his throat that he keeps swallowed back. He's used to Jared's sentimental girlie crap by now. "For what?"

Jared rubs a hand over Jen's shoulder, warm and almost apologetic. "I know you're a little out of your comfort zone, with the move, and buying the apartment so you could be closer to your record producer, but your music deserves a chance, Jen. It's such a big part of you. I'm so proud of you for giving it a go.” A beat. “I just..."

"What?" Jen tries to turn and study Jared's expression but his shoulder is pinned against Jared, so all he can do is crane his neck awkwardly. His eyebrows stretch up in compensation.

Jared places a gentle kiss on Jensen's temple, leans back slightly, and hooks his index finger under Jen's chin, locking their eyes together. "I just wish you didn't look so worried all the time. This is going to work out, Jen."

The notebook falls flat on the comforter with a rustle of pages. Jen lifts his chin out of Jared's grasp and looks down at the pencil rolling between his fingers. "Is it?" He sighs and drops the pencil atop the paper. "I mean, was it the right thing to do? I could've stayed in L.A. and cut a record in between acting gigs. I didn't have to jump in with both feet. I don't know why everything always has to be all or nothing with me. And this isn't just about me. It's one thing if I sink, but God, Jay, I don't want to drag you down, too."

"Hey...Hey," Jay says insistently. "Look at me."

Jen does, because he can never deny Jared anything, and really, looking at Jared every morning and every night is the one thing in his life that allows him to believe things just might be okay. Jared makes him feel like he can do anything.

Jay gazes back at him earnestly, his eyelashes sagging and so close that his eyes are slightly crossed. "Jensen Ackles, you are not dragging anyone anywhere," he promises, nose nuzzling at the stubble on Jensen's chin. "I'm here because I want to be, because I know you need to do this. If you don't, you'll always wonder if you could have. And as for me, I was ready to get behind the camera anyway. Teaching is awesome. Tons of actors take time off to go to school. I’m teaching! How friggin’ awesome is that? I always wanted to give something back, ya know? And I’m not closing any doors."

Jensen closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall against Jared's. "But how do I know if I'm good? Am I really good enough to sell records? How do I know that I didn't just get the recording deal because I'm Jensen Ackles, like one of those celebs who gets their book published when there are a million better writers out there who can't get a foot in the door? What if this is someone else's chance I'm getting? What if I'm a total bomb, and I end up like this giant joke that everyone gets but me? What if you hate Juilliard..."

Jared stops his rambling with another kiss, bites on Jen's lower lip as he pulls away. A silent plea of 'hush' breathes between them. He leans back against the headboard and pulls Jensen into his lap so that Jen's back is to his chest. His chin nestles into the crook of Jen's neck, both arms around his smooth chest. "You're good, Jen. It doesn't matter how or why you got the record and ended up all the way across the country. What matters is that what people will get when they buy the record is you. They won't be able to get enough."

Jen's hands stroke over Jared's forearms. "How do you know?"

"Because I have you, and even after four years, I still can't get enough."

Jen smiles. A silent laugh vibrates in his belly beneath Jared's soft caress. "So, I'm not just a one hit wonder, then?" He teases.

Jared closes around him like a morning glory folding up under the midday sun. His hips thrust up so that Jen can feel his throbbing erection pressed between them. "Does that answer your question?" Jared sighs in a purr against Jen's ear.

"Not really," Jen chuckles. He draws Jared's hand down into his lap, lets him feel what it is those arms and that voice do to him, "But it does raise one of its own."

Jared kisses the back of his neck and palms Jen's cock with a quiet reverence. "I love you," he whispers.

Jen lets his head fall back; grinds himself into Jared's lap, "Back at ya."

#

Please forgive me, if I act little strange, for I know not what I do.

It's not like Jen couldn't lay there forever, wrapped up in Jared, while hot breath parts the hair behind his ear and whuffling snores pant along his neck. But forever is a long time, something you earn with hard work and perseverance, and this is too nice, too easy, too real to last. All the world's a stage, after all, just a mishmash of constantly shifting scenes and interludes. The moments are all lost in the dramedy and forgotten. Nothing real ever lasts. It all turns to lies and masks, gaudy costumes covered in distracting sequins.

Something coils in Jensen's chest like loops of razor wire atop a prison yard fence. Sometimes it's just there, a perimeter around something he's afraid to let out, and other times, it twists so tightly that whatever's inside squeezes through, just a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by the time it hits the surface.

He rubs a hand roughly over his already stubbled cheek, scratches away the last vestiges of afterglow before they just evaporate and leave him in shadow.

Jared sleeps like the dead these days, and Jen? He's more of an undead sleeper, which only means he has a lot more time alone with his own head than is probably healthy. As much as he loves the warm cocoon of their bed, Jared pressed up against, around, and inside, the chill of the night runs electrified fingertips along the drying sweat at his neck, reminds him how quickly it all disappears.

Jensen raises Jared's lax hand to his lips, kisses over the knuckles and nuzzles into it briefly, before he lets it fall beside him and slips away. He leaves Jared coiled in sex-dampened sheets, all long, muscled limbs, stark angles, and slow-rippling flesh like a rigging of sails with no wind behind them. It's just Jensen's nature to think he's the breeze that's missing, the driving force riding shotgun. He can't help but think that if this thing fails, it will be because he didn't do something, wasn't enough.

He can take disappointment. He can. He just can't be one. Jared believes, and Jensen can't, but he wants to so damn bad.

Feels like lightning running through my veins...

Some nights he can ignore the cold. Some nights he has to do something about it.

His hand finds the notebook and pencil on the nightstand, his foot the discarded boxer briefs on the floor. He slides them on and pads quietly down the stairs.

#

Throw a stone and watch the ripples flow...

Moonlight washes over the main living area like melting snow off a rooftop, in drips and dribbles around motes of dust and old ghosts. It pools atop the piano, the only unbroken reflection in the room. Except it isn't unbroken anymore.

Even from halfway up the staircase, in the shadow of the baked stone chimney, he can see the smudges on the piano sounding board where Jared had huffed a cloud of breath across it and drawn a heart with his fingertip.

"Jay? What the fuck is that?"

"It's a heart. I drew it myself."

Jensen's in no mood, though, and there aren't enough eyebrow waggles in the world to smooth over the mess.

"Dude, it took me half an hour to get off all the smudges the movers left."

He hadn't mentioned, at the time, that the half hour he'd spent polishing was immediately preceded by three hours of staring at a blank notebook and banging out original tunes that always seemed to end up sounding like variations on the "Charlie Brown" theme.

"I bet you were the kid in school who wrote cuss words on clean blackboards just because you couldn't stand to see them empty. You know, kids like you are the reason teachers kept yardsticks in the chalk rail!"

"It's for inspiration. So you can think of me while you're writing."

"That is not an inspiration. It's distraction. How am I supposed to get any work done with that girly shit staring back at me? Might as well put up some Care Bear wallpaper while you're at it, since you have no respect for my workspace as it is. I'm sorry I'm not writing fast enough for you. I am. I 'm sorry you spent all this money and gave up all your friends and your life to come here and watch me do nothing."

"Jen...That's not what I meant. I'm sorry."

A beat.

"Don't be. I am enough for the both of us."

Jen doesn't know why he's such an ass sometimes. Well, yeah, he does, but insecurity is earned, just like success. There have been enough failures and dead ends in his life to justify it, he's sure. And if Jared can't deal...well, now, that's really what this is all about isn't it? What if Jared can't deal?

Now, though, Jen's sorry he gave Jared such a hard time. He couldn't have known, then, what it would do to him, now, as he comes down the stairs and finds a bigger, gaudier smudge, this time with ‘J2’ written in the center. It goes through him like the pointy arrow Jared's added for emphasis.

Yeah, Jen's sorry.

Love and forgiveness written in smudges across moonlight, like ripples parting a sea of self-doubt. There really should be a song about that.

#

After two hours of plunking on piano keys and leaving frustrated teeth marks up and down the length of his pencil, Jen's fingers find a particularly foul-sounding chord, and he groans. His eyes squint painfully as the pencil snaps between his jaws. He spits out the splintered bits of graphite and wood, futility's flavor of the month, and lets his head fall onto the music rail. His forehead will leave yet another greasy mark to be polished off in the light of day, but Jen can't bring himself to care.

Help me out here, all my words are falling short.

"You're trying too hard."

Jensen doesn't start with surprise as Jared places warm hands on his shoulders. He knows Jared's been there for awhile now, watching him struggle. The weight and heat of Jared's gaze has always been connected to tripwires in Jen's heart. He's rigged for emotional ambush, and most people would find him going to ground before they get within arm's reach. But Jay isn't most people. When Jared's around, the tripwires all ring bells over doorways that only open inward.

Jensen realizes how chilly he's gotten as the heat of Jared's touch melts through him like wax dripping off a candle. He probably should've put on more than just his underwear, but he hadn't intended on being down here this long. He lifts his own hands off the keyboard and puts them over Jared's, leaning into the touch.

"Don't stop," Jared says, and that does surprise Jen just a little. He'd expected a 'come to bed,' or a 'things will look better in the morning.' And he's a little disappointed that Jared hasn't offered him that excuse to quit. He needs Jared's permission to fail, and he's too tired to keep trying.

Jensen wonders if there's some difference in the way he smells with frustration seeping out of his pores. Jared must sense the fatigue somehow, because his long fingers massage lightly over Jen's and guide them back to the keyboard.

Jensen waits for Jared to draw back, but he doesn't.

"I can't see the keys," he says.

"Then don't look. Just close your eyes and play."

"But I..."

"...can do it, Jen. I know you can. I've heard you."

"You actually like the 'Charlie Brown' theme?"

"Shut up and play."

It shouldn't even be possible to play with Jared draped over him, the weight of his presence pressing down through his skin, but it is. It's easier. Jensen's fingers warm to the keys with Jay's hands floating above them, and he lets his eyes fall shut.

There's so much I wanna say...

A hum rises out of his chest, and he's not sure if it's music or just arousal. Jared this close is like an electrical storm in his boxers, and he knows the press of his cock against the fabric is more than just static cling. Still, there's a definite progression in the melody as more soft notes float through his head.

Want to tell ya just how good it feels...

After a few searching clunks and pings, his fingers find the same progression, melt into chords, and the hum becomes words.

When you look at me that way.

Suddenly, Jensen knows exactly what he's trying to say and just the way he wants to say it. He leans forward, head bent over the keyboard, and doesn't protest when Jared's hands slide back up his arms to smooth over the tension in his shoulders.

I got half a mind, to scream out loud. I got half a mind to die. So I won't ever have to lose you. Won't ever have to say goodbye. I won't ever have to lie. Won't ever have to say goodbye.

When he gets to the last line, Jensen's found a syncopation that brings it all together, accents all the hurts and worries with just the right intonation to make them real. The music crescendos far beyond the stealthy, under cover of night, plunking that had been going on just moments earlier. Neighbors be damned.

The chill's replaced with a sheen of sweat that's like ice on the lip of an active volcano.

Jensen's nearly panting when he finally becomes aware of Jared's arms wrapping around him. He doesn't know what's just happened, but it's as intense sex, and he's aching with need by the time his fingers slide off the keys. He reaches behind himself, kneads one hand into Jared's thigh and the other up and into Jared's hair, drawing him down into Jensen's neck.

Jensen throws his head back, exposes the line of his throat to playful kitten licks that quickly grow in intensity, turn into the scrape of eyeteeth over tender flesh. A shiver works through his entire body, despite the sweat dripping down into his eyes as Jared's hands smooth over his chest and over the already hardened nipples.

Jay's hand undulates its way down Jensen's sternum, five fingers working in tandem like inchworms that stretch and curl, pulling the heel of the hand over the heaving abs, ever closer to the waistband of Jen’s shorts.

Jensen can't help the gasp that escapes his opened mouth when those long fingers finally slip inside the elastic and caress the twitching muscle through the forest of wiry hair. Jared slides the hand all the way in, between Jen's stomach and his cock until he's all the way at the base, the thick length lying over the back of his knuckles.

Jen cries out again when Jared takes him by the root and pulls. His mouth falls open, and he strains his neck around to find that nine miles of Padalicki (Jared's tongue). When the tip tickles at his lips, he inhales sharp and fast, sucks the writhing muscle into his throat and whimpers as Jared strokes him inside his boxers.

By the time Jared presses him up against the piano top, Jensen's too far gone to care about the smudges he's leaving with his hands, chest, face, all smearing through the J2 heart as Jared presses in. Nothing more than a feather duster is ever touching that work of art again.

When it's over, they curl together on the window seat in the corner of the music room, moonlight feeding the afterglow, painting it hues of blue and white. Jensen weaves his legs between Jared's, his fingers into the dark strands of hair. He presses soft kisses over the bridge of Jared's nose and looks dead into those green eyes.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise."

"I promise."

On to Chapter Two

P.S. If y'all have a minute and are interested in seeing a fic awards comm, Please check Ten Commandments Post

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