Word Count: 883
Summery: Nothing's real when you're drunk.
Warnings: Angst, a little boy touching.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned them, but alas, they own themselves.
A/N: Beta read by both the frickin' fabulous starxd_sparrow, who is a doll for looking this over, since she totally doesn't get the RPS thing, and rejeneration, who managed to take a story and give it the help it desperately needed to make it decent. Oh, and the title and cut text are lyrics from an old Pearl Jam song, “Black.”
“The thing is,” Jared said, the two of them cloistered in the corner of the dark bar, “The thing is, it was never supposed to be real, you know?”
“I know,” Jensen murmured, striking a match against the table, watched it burn down in his hand. “I know.”
The first time it happened, Jared was drunk. Jensen wasn't, not even a little bit. Jensen remembered every second of that night, even though Jared claimed otherwise.
Jared's cock in his mouth, Jared's fingers sliding into Jensen's ass. Jared fucking him, hard and deep, pulling harsh moans from Jensen's throat.
In the morning, Jared laughed. “Look, Jen. We were drunk. Nothing's real when you're drunk.”
Jensen just smiled tightly and let it go.
It happened again. Again and again. Mostly with Jared drunk. Even if Jensen wasn't with him, Jared would show up at all hours, find Jensen's suite, bang on the door until he'd let him in, Jared never satisfied until he was fucking into him, deep and dirty, pressing Jensen against the grain.
And that's how it always went. Jared fucking Jensen hard enough to make Jensen go blind, to make the lights dim around him, but never the other way around, 'cause that would make things too damn real.
Jensen wanted to ask how much more genuine the thing could get. It felt pretty damn real when Jared's cock was in his ass.
It only happened a couple times, but on the rare occasions they fucked when Jared was sober, Jared wouldn't shut up. Sandy was too far away. Jared was so damned lonely. He'd mutter through the whole damn thing until Jensen had no choice but to close his eyes, try to ignore every word.
They both had reasons for doing this, for letting it happen, and he didn't care what Jared's were.
When Sandy visited, Jensen made himself scarce. It wasn't hard to avoid Jared, since Jared was doing the same.
Except that he wasn't, because three days into her visit, Jared showed up at Jensen's door, stone sober, with a nervous smile.
Jensen greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a sigh. “Doesn't this make it real, Jared? You showing up here when your girlfriend's in town?”
Jared shoved past him without a word, shedding his clothes as he made his way to the bed.
Jared sucked Jensen for the first time that night.
Jensen thought it was a step in the worst direction they could go, but he let it happen, he wanted it to happen.
When Sandy left town, Jared stopped sleeping in his own suite. Every night he was in bed next to Jensen, even on the nights they didn't fuck.
He stopped saying it wasn't real, but he still said Sandy's name sometimes when they'd fuck.
Sandy broke up with Jared in November. Jensen never knew exactly why, but he knew it wasn't because of him. They'd kept their relationship so secret no one but the two of them knew what happened in their bed.
Jared fell apart, a million tiny pieces Jensen couldn't repair with words, with hands, with any part of himself.
And for the first time in months, Jared wasn't around.
December was hard. Jensen watched Jared fuck his way through a dozen different people, men and women alike.
He stayed out of Jensen's bed, and Jensen never asked him over. They'd never been about invitation, they'd been about fucking with the lights off, hand jobs with closed eyes.
They weren't fucking real, and Jensen finally got what Jared had been trying to get across.
“Just a way to pass the time, right, man?”
Yeah, Jay. Yeah.
When Jared finally came back to him, it was spring. He knocked on Jensen's door in the middle of the night, and for the first time since they'd started fucking all those months ago, he kissed Jensen.
And finally, finally, it was real.
They liked a tiny bar out in the middle of nowhere. No one gave them shit, or paid attention to who they were. The patrons didn't care if they were on TV, as long as they minded their own business and paid their tab.
They could sit in the back, shoot the shit, play quarters until they got quietly drunk.
Tonight, Jared was somber, eyes flitting away from Jensen's whenever they'd meet, scraping the label off his Heineken with his fingernail.
Jensen toyed with the book of matches sitting on the middle of the table, thumbing one out.
Jared spoke after a long silence. “The thing is, it was never supposed to be real, you know?”
Jensen felt the sinking in his stomach, because he'd heard it before, knew what was coming.
He struck the match on the table, watched it flicker to life and begin to burn its way down.
"I know," he said, a fist of sharp emotion, something he didn't want to define, clutching at his heart. "I know."
There was a long pause, the flame of the match burning its way towards his fingertips.
Jared said, voice so low Jensen had to strain to hear. “But it is.”
And the fire went out.