RPS, Jared/Jensen | PG13
Word count: ~600
Summary: It hits him like a punch in the face then, no warning, just a drunk guy in a bar blindly looking for an alcohol-induced fight and then bam. He wants to go home. Jensen gets homesick sometimes.


You Are Here

Sometimes three layers of blankets aren’t enough. Nights in Vancouver can get really fucking cold, and Jensen burrows deeper into the cocoon of sheets and imagines he was in Texas. He read somewhere that that kind of thing works, thinking about warm places will fool your brain into thinking it actually is warm, so— Texas. Where everything is bigger and greasier and warmer. Nick and Sam’s steakhouse. Barbeques in their backyard.

It hits him like a punch in the face then, no warning, just a drunk guy in a bar blindly looking for an alcohol-induced fight and then bam. He wants to go home, aches for it, misses taking a shower with cold water after a hot day. His teeth start to clatter in the dark.

Jensen tries to stop his jaw from being such a wuss, clenches hard and breathes in, out, in, out, when he feels Jared’s arm come around him under the covers. Heated and heavy and like a startling relief over his chest, but not nearly enough. Jensen sighs, and then Jared’s whole body is right there behind him, enveloping. Jensen closes his eyes. The man’s a fucking furnace.

“Hawaii,” Jared mumbles into his ear.

Jensen’s busy moving back into his heat, trying to put as much of Jared’s skin against his own. “Hm?” he says, pulling Jared’s thigh over his.

“I’mma take us to Hawaii,” Jared drawls, so slow and languid that Jensen wonders if he’s talking in his sleep. “S’warm, there.”

Jensen laughs. “I noticed,” he says, and doesn’t thank Jared for saving him yet again from another of his stupid homesickness fits. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Sometimes they’ll be on the couch watching TV and something someone says would (very) indirectly remind Jensen of Dallas, and he’ll hug the throw pillow tighter and sort of sober up. Jared would notice right away, anyway, all the fucking time. He’d hand him a beer and talk on and on and on until Jensen can’t remember why he felt bad at all.

Jensen kind of really wants to tell Jared just what that means- how amazing it is that he can make Jensen feel like home is less of a place and more of a person, more of lingering touches and kisses on trailer doors, than actual doors.

But no one wants to hear about shit like that, so instead Jensen just turns under the layers of blankets, kind of ruining the whole setup he’s managed to arrange with their bodies (for maximum heat with the least chance of cramps) to face Jared, completely folds himself into him, his arms trapped between their bodies.

Jared looks down at him, eyes sleepy and soft and— loving. And it’s like Jensen’s gut drops then, and bounces back straight up into his throat. He chokes on everything he wants to say. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, takes a breath. He bites his lip.

Jared snickers. “Well don’t hurt yourself,” he says, foot stroking Jensen’s idly, hand running up and down Jensen’s back in lazy patterns.

“Fuck you,” Jensen mutters, and frowns at Jared’s collar bone. Jared laughs softly, the puff of breath hitting Jensen’s hair.

They’re silent for a while, then Jared’s breathing against Jensen’s forehead sort of evens out and his hand on his back slows to a halt.

Jensen waits another couple of minutes, then he kisses the underside of Jared’s chin. “Thank you,” he whispers, and goes back to sleep, warmth spreading inside him like a flood.


END