Fic:"Rock Me Like a Hurricane part 2: How it all Began" Will be J2, but this part Jensen/Steve NC-17

[candygramme]

Title: Rock Me Like a Hurricane part 2: How it All Began
Author: candygramme
Word count: 10,208
Beta: spoonlessone
Rating: Slash, NC-17
Pairing: Eventually will be J/2. This part Jensen/Steve
Author's Notes: This is a long partwork. It is eventually going to be Jared/Jensen, but we have to get there.



2003

The young man standing at the bar with his beer clasped idly between his hands looked familiar, although Steve couldn't quite place him. He'd clapped and whistled loudly as Steve finished his set and came down off the tiny stage, and now as Steve went up to the bar, the young man greeted the musician with a shy smile.

"Can I buy you a beer?" The soft voice had a southern twang to it, and Steve looked up, smiling,

"Sure you can." He gave the youngster a sideways smirk. "Rule 1 in the musicians' handbook. Never turn down free booze. It's against our religion."

"Oh, yeah?" The candid green gaze seemed to grow suddenly more remote. "What religion would that be?"

"Confirmed drunkard." Steve noted the sudden withdrawal with interest. As the bartender put two beers on the counter, he turned and held out his hand. "Steve Carlson," he murmured. "You new in town?"

There was a moment's hesitation before the guarded look left the youngster's eyes, and they crinkled up into a smile that transformed his sulky looking face.

"Yeah, I haven't been here long. I'm Jensen." Steve's hand was taken and shaken vigorously. "Loved the set. You've got a cool sound."

"Thanks." As ever, Steve didn't want to talk about what was behind him; he wanted to hang out and play. The set had barely begun to slake his need for music, and as the audience was beginning to leave, he gave Jensen a wide smile. "Do you play?" he asked.

"A little." The young man's voice was deep and firm, but he spread his hands in a gesture of denial. "Not like you though. Nothing like as good."

Steve wasn't really sure why this kid had captured his attention, but there was something about this Jensen that drew him. As the bartender pushed a bottle of Jack over the bar for him, Steve nodded his thanks, reached to take it and turned to his new acquaintance.

"C'mon over and we'll find you a guitar. Me an' the boys like to jam a little after a gig."

Jensen's eyes opened wide, and he looked somewhat taken aback, but he grabbed hold of his beer and followed Steve back to the corner where Steve's friends were sitting. Steve introduced him around, and for a little while he sat watching, sipping his beer as first Steve, then another guy whose name was Corey, began to sing. When they launched into "Freebird," Jensen began to harmonize, his voice sweet as it wove between the voices of the other two.

Nodding, Steve gave him a wink and a smile. The kid could certainly sing, that was for sure, and he wondered what else Jensen could do. He reached onto the stage to grab a guitar one of the other musicians had left on its stand and passed it over to Jensen, nodding approvingly as the youngster quickly tuned it and then joined in with the song they were playing.

It was three am before the guy behind the bar finally came around, jingling his keys and growling that they'd outstayed their welcome and that he had a home to go to. Steve gave him a grin but rose to his feet to start packing his instruments away. Jensen, who had been sitting, softly crooning something he didn't recognize, reluctantly laid down the guitar he'd been strumming and rose to his feet. "Guess I should take off too," he said, slurring a little. "Got a call-back in the morning. Might be a part for me."

"How are you getting home?" Steve was closing up his guitar case as he spoke, and as he straightened up Jensen grinned at him, flushed and a little the worse for alcohol. "I'm walking. I only live about ten blocks over." He executed a little dance step and hiccupped slightly as he bumped into the bar.

"Whoa, whoa," Steve chuckled as he surveyed Jensen's slightly fuddled expression. "Not letting you walk home at this time in the morning. I'd worry. I'm gonna get a cab, so hold on, and I'll drop you off."

The youngster gave Steve a long, distrustful look before finally smiling at him and nodding his head. "Okay, thanks," he murmured, ducking his head in the bashful way Steve was starting to recognize. He'd recognized the distrust too, filed it away for probing later, if he got the opportunity. For now he just gathered up the guitar and his jacket, waved to the bartender and headed for the door with Jensen in tow.

The three floor apartment block Jensen indicated was somewhat dilapidated, and Jensen had his keys out of his pocket before the cab had come to a halt. Steve had ripped off the top from his empty matchbook and scribbled his number, handing it to Jensen, who rewarded him with a smile that crinkled up his eyes and took Steve's breath away. Pointing up at a window over the front door, Jensen showed Steve the Texas flag hanging there. "Cool drapes, yeah?" he murmured.

"Very cool," answered Steve, unable to do other than respond to the grin. "Listen, man, I had fun tonight. You wanna call me tomorrow, and we can arrange to get together and jam a little?"

"That'd be awesome." Whatever misgivings Jensen had had earlier seemed to have vaporized on the journey home. "I've got a call-back first thing."

"Yeah, good luck with that, kid." There was affection in Steve's voice. This youngster had somehow broken through Steve's reserve, and he suddenly determined that the two of them would be friends. "Listen, don't call me too early or you'll make my eyeballs bleed, okay?" Steve reached to ruffle the glossy, streaked hair, "Bout three in the afternoon is plenty soon enough, K?"

"Three. You got it." Jensen was already slipping out of the cab, a lithe figure with a cocky, bow-legged strut that suddenly dried out Steve's mouth and made him bite his lip.

As the cab pulled away, Steve was already mentally compiling the things he'd learned about Jensen, and making lists of things he wanted to know.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Jensen didn't call him the day after, and not the day after that either. Steve felt a little pang as the days passed, but he was busy, and he didn't have time to go looking for Jensen – didn't know his last name or his number . All he knew was the apartment block he'd delivered Jensen to, and finally decided that he'd go round and see what was up once the weekend rolled around.

Thursday night arrived. He was playing the Hotel Café, and he always loved that, got off on the way the regulars dug his music. He'd only played there a handful of times so far, but the place never failed to fill him with excitement; there was just something about it.

The doors opened at ten, and the lines outside began to file into the venue, eager to grab drinks and get good seats and be ready for the show. Steve had just finished his sound check when he saw Jensen come in. He waved and was going to go over to speak with him, but just at that moment David came to talk to him about the idea he'd had for a sax break in one of the songs they'd been rehearsing. By the time he was done, Jensen had melted into the crowd.

It was a good night, and Steve was very close to drunk by the time the set was done. Someone had sent up a bottle of Jack, and he’d stopped using a glass in favor of clapping the bottle to his lips and allowing it to trickle, salty and sharp, down into his mouth. When he finally stepped down off the stage to head to the gents, he was concentrating on walking a straight line, and almost didn’t see Jensen until he practically collided with him.

“Hey,“ he slurred, swaying slightly as he steadied himself. “Sorry, man.”

“S’okay.” Jensen shied away, face averted, but not before Steve had noticed the purple and yellow bruise that stained the high cheekbone and partly closed one of the youngster’s eyes.

“Whoa, wait up!” Steve reached for Jensen, grabbed his arm and tugged him close as he was attempting to make his getaway. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson or something.”

“I… I guess I’m clumsy,” said Jensen, his voice soft, his eyes lowered as he spoke. "Walked into a…"

"Don't give me that!" Steve frowned. "I can see the fingerprints on your cheek. What's going on, dude? Who hit you?"

The young man's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. When he finally did speak, all he said was, "Can we just play something?"

Nodding, Steve turned back towards the stage, a little gesture of his head inviting Jensen to join him. It wasn't long before they were engrossed in the music, fingers spidering over frets as they picked out tune after tune. Their voices seemed to blend, and when Jensen sang he closed his eyes, face uplifted as if the act of making music conferred grace on him.

Steve had always been a night owl, and it seemed that Jensen was too, but finally the bar staff came and told them that it was closing time, and reluctantly Steve began to pack away his instruments.

"Want a ride?" The flush that crept over Jensen's cheeks at Steve's words made him frown, and for a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to refuse, but finally his lips curved in a smile, and he nodded, shyly.

"Thanks, man. You know, you don't have to if it's out of your way."

"Don't be an idiot!" Steve was bending to put his guitar into its case. "Ain't gonna leave you to walk home at this time of night."

Jensen didn't answer, but he shouldered some of the PA equipment and turned to follow the guitarist out of the bar. The cab hadn't arrived yet, and Steve was just turning to go back into the bar when the tall, dark figure materialized out of the shadows.

"So that's where you are, you little shit!" The voice was deep and harsh, and Jensen made a soft little sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine.

"I was only…" He didn't manage to say anything further before the figure had stepped forward and seized him by the throat. Steve's eyes widened, and for a moment he froze, unable to believe what was taking place right in front of his eyes. With a small part of his mind he registered that the cab had pulled up and was waiting for them, but most of his attention was on the scene being played out in front of him. Some idiot was attacking his friend. Steve didn’t hesitate.

As Jensen began to struggle, Steve reached into his pocket for the Stevens Steel that he used to play his slide guitar and launched into the fray, smacking Jensen's abuser around the head with it and nodding grimly as the newcomer released his friend and staggered back to lean on the wall, nursing his ear.

"Get in the car." Steve's voice was stern, and Jensen didn't do more than gape at him as he stumbled to the cab and did as he was told. Without saying anything further, Steve turned and gave his address to the cabbie, then climbed in next to Jensen as the driver pulled away.

It was a few minutes before Steve turned to Jensen. He could feel the kid shaking next to him, and wondered how on earth he'd gotten himself into that kind of situation. He was about to say something when Jensen turned to him and met his eyes.

His voice was low, when he finally began to speak, and Steve had to strain to hear him.

"His name is Ritz," murmured the young man. "I met him when I moved in. He's in the next apartment along, and we were getting friendly, but then I made the mistake of going after a part in this soap he's on, and…" For a moment, Jensen didn't continue. It seemed as if he was thinking better about sharing his story, and Steve was about to let him off the hook when he suddenly began again.

"I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. My agent sent me to an audition, and I got a call-back, and this morning I heard that I got the part." He swallowed, coughed before continuing, his voice husky. "I didn't know that it was the part he'd been playing. See, they canned him for… for drinking, and I took his part. He spotted the directions to the audition on my dresser and… and called me a treacherous son of a bitch. We got into it, and there was a fight. He thinks that I made friends with him on purpose, so I could steal his job, but it's not true."

"He sounds kinda nuts to me. You probably should move." Steve put a hand on Jensen's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Get right away from the guy before he does something permanent to you."

"Yeah." Jensen hung his head. "There aren't that many cheap apartments around."

Nodding, Steve said nothing for a moment or two, but as the cabbie drew up outside the house where Steve was renting the basement, he smiled. "You can stay here tonight anyway," he murmured. "And you need to press charges. That dude is completely out of control."

"Yeah, I guess." Jensen sighed as Steve reached to touch the bruise on Jensen's cheek. "I didn't want it to look bad, considering I took his job."

"You don't want that asshole jumping out on you when you least expect it," said Steve as he unlocked the door and stood aside to usher Jensen in. "Apart from everything else, it's gonna piss the makeup girls off on your show if they have to keep concealing the shiners."

Smirking, the young man entered the house, looking around himself as he went. He'd brought one of Steve's guitars from the cab, and as Steve closed and bolted the door he looked around to see where he might set it down.

Steve's place was comfortably furnished, with oiled pine and Navajo rugs, and the first thing that caught the eye was the number of guitars scattered around. As Jensen turned back to ask where Steve wanted him to put the one in his hands, the musician was busy taking in the loose limbed, rangy body and graceful gait of his visitor. He'd already noticed the brilliant green eyes with their thickly fringed lashes, and the tender mouth that seemed to promise things he would never dare articulate. Stepping forward, he gave his guest a smile. "Just stick it in the corner over there and come take a load off," he said, tossing his denim jacket onto a chair.

Putting the guitar where Steve had indicated, Jensen turned back to Steve. "Listen, I really don't like to impose…" he said, his voice soft and somehow vulnerable.

"You aren't." Steve went into the kitchen to find a couple of highball glasses and a bottle of Jack. "Mi casa es su casa, and all that hospitable shit," he said, returning to hold out one of the glasses to Jensen. "I'm hoping that you're gonna help me out some."

"Help you?" Jensen looked baffled. He murmured his thanks as he took the glass from his host and brought it to his lips. "I'm kinda tempted to say, 'how can li'l ol' me he'p you,' 'cos you don't look like you need any help at all." The exaggerated Penelope Pitstop impression was high and shrill.

Laughing, Steve leaned forward, glass in hand. "That song I was putting together tonight. 'Come Around More, Nicole Kidman.' You did an awesome harmony. I want you to help me work on it, maybe put it onto tape. I'm gonna put out a CD, and while it's self-financed and won't go anywhere much, I want it to be as good as it can be, you know?"

Jensen's eyes sparkled, Steve was convinced that they glowed, an inner light shining from them in a way that hit him somewhere low in his belly, igniting a licking heat that warmed places he usually associated with rounder curves, softer cheeks and higher voices. Clearing his throat, he lapsed into silence, watching as the soft line of Jensen's full mouth curved up in a smile.

"You want me to sing?" There was pride in Jensen's expression, and a little fear too. "You know I ain't a performer really, except for acting a bit."

"Does it matter?" Steve dropped onto the couch beside Jensen, lounging bonelessly as he surveyed his guest. "You sing like a bird, and you can hear the harmony before I even think of it. Performer or not, it works for me. So what do you say?"

"'Course! I'd be proud to help out. Jensen gave him a soft smile and yawned widely, prompting Steve to go and retrieve the spare bedding. Returning with his arms full of pillows and sheets, he studied the young man he'd invited into his home. Jensen's face was pale, and the bruises stood out like graffiti on a work of art. His eyes, usually a lustrous green, seemed to be somehow faded, and dark shadows around them showed just how tired he was.

"You're running on empty, man," murmured Steve, quickly making up a bed for Jensen on the couch and going to find a couple of bottles of water. "Get some sleep. What time do you have to be out in the morning?" he asked as he passed a bottle over to Jensen.

"I don't have to be out any time tomorrow. I report to the Days of our Lives set on Monday at 8am, but until then I get to sleep." He yawned, smiling sleepily at Steve and began to shuck his clothes, skinning down to his boxers and hopping into the nest Steve had created for him, watching while the musician put his guitars away.

"Awesome. We can maybe work on that song tomorrow, if you don't have anywhere else to be?" he said, turning to look at Jensen. A moment later, he was shaking his head with a grin. Jensen was out for the count, thick lashes fanning out over bruised cheeks, and soft mouth slightly open as he snored gently. "Oh, well, goodnight, man," he said, grinning, and made for his own bed, extinguishing the lights on his way up the stairs.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Steve Carlson was by no means a morning person. When he finally stumbled out of bed it was almost noon, and he thought that his eyeballs might bleed if he looked too hard at the daylight. A shower and a handful of ibuprofen helped, and he felt strong enough to drag himself through to the kitchen and make himself a cup of corpse reviver.

As he passed through the still-darkened living room, he could hear the little, snuffling snores that indicated his guest was still lost to the world. Grinning to himself, he made for the kitchen and set about making a full pot of coffee. At the time Steve wasn't quite sure how – in after years he came to realize that the scent of coffee acted as a powerful stimulant for Jensen – but that first morning he was happily humming to himself as he scrambled eggs and put bacon on. He jumped as his young guest materialized in the doorway, eyes half closed and face flushed with sleep, and made directly for the coffee machine.

Casting a sideways glance at Jensen, Steve smiled to himself, recognizing a fellow addict and wordlessly passed him a mug. "Go for it," he said, winking, although Jensen, semi-comatose, didn't seem to notice. Reaching for the carafe holding the life-giving fluid, Jensen yanked it out of the coffee maker and substituted his mug to capture the liquid that was pouring through the grounds.

"I saw a movie once about the mummy. It had Christopher Lee in it, and he was kept animate because he was fed on tanna leaves. Kinda reminds me of you." Steve was grinning as he watched Jensen inhale the fragrance of the rich, brown liquid before sipping it and moaning softly through pursed lips.

There was a pause during which Jensen drank half the mug down without so much as a breath, then he turned to Steve and beamed. "'S'important to have a good breakfast; my mama told me that."

"I bet she didn't mean just coffee." Steve was buttering toast as he spoke, and finally laid a plate full of food in front of his guest. "So dig in. Wouldn't want to let your mama down, would we?"

For a moment, there was a lost look in his young visitor's eyes, and Steve frowned, but it was gone in an instant, and the youngster fell on the food as if he were starving, mumbling his thanks around a forkful of egg.

"You got places to be?" Steve watched as Jensen cleared his plate and reached for the carafe of coffee, refilling their mugs as he spoke.

"Not today. Was gonna do nothing – maybe write home to my mom and dad." Jensen eyed Steve speculatively. "Why? You want me to wash your car or something?"

About to frown and ask him what the hell he was talking about, Steve noticed the gleam of humor in Jensen's eyes and laughed. "You can wash it if you like, but leave the rust, because it's holding the bodywork on." Reaching for the sugar, he eyed Jensen. "I want you to do that song with me. The 'Come Around More' one."

"Yeah." Jensen nodded. "Okay, but you're gonna have to find another name for the girl. You can't leave Nicole Kidman in there, even if she is hot."

"Guess not. She’s certainly hot though." Steve made a gesture that indicated just how hot he thought Nicole Kidman was, and how he would handle her hotness, given half a chance.

“Dude, you and Nicole Kidman! Don’t even think it. The woman’s as tall as I am. She’d dwarf you if she wore high heels.” There was a laugh in Jensen’s voice as he pondered the actress in question.

“Ah, she’s used to it. Tom Cruise is a fucking midget!” Steve began to tidy up the breakfast things, clearing the table and setting the dishwasher going while Jensen drank his coffee. There was a companionable silence for a while, and then he heard Jensen take a deep breath.

"Why did you bring me home with you?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, and Steve frowned. He wasn't quite sure himself, except that the kid had appealed to him at a visceral level, and he hadn't wanted to let him go, had wanted to protect him.

He was about to deliver a non-committal answer, when something in Jensen's expression stopped him cold. "I guess I like you," he murmured, knocked somewhat off balance by the question and unsure what else to say. He was about to try and expand on that, when his young visitor suddenly gave him a brilliant smile and appeared to relax, smirking as he rose to follow Steve into his studio.

"Can't be too careful," he said. "Thought that you might want to white slave me. I'd fetch a pretty penny in Casablanca, you know."

"Shoot! I should've thought of that." Steve grinned as he dried his hands and tossed the dish towel over towards the laundry room. "Guess you're gonna be on your guard now, aren't you?"

"You bet your ass," smirked Jensen, rising to his feet. "You're going to have to lull me into a false sense of security if you’re looking to ship me out to a white slaver."

As Steve led Jensen through the house to the room he'd set up as a studio, he couldn't help wondering about this odd, pretty young man who'd apparently become his friend.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The song was progressing. Jensen’s voice complemented Steve’s, and they sang it through a couple of times before Jensen, who had taken a seat at Steve’s piano, turned to him. “Dude, Nicole Kidman just isn’t right for the song. We need to change that, because I can’t stop the giggles when we get to the chorus.” He let his fingers idle on the keys of the piano. “Come around, Ronald Reagan…” he sang, and dissolved into laughter.

“Hell, no! Make it O. J. Simpson,” smirked Steve, laughing.

“Or Alice Cooper.” Jensen played a fanfare to counterpoint his suggestion. Or - I got it! – M. C. Hammer!”

“Christie Brinkley?” Steve’s guitar played a triumphant chord.

“Well, at least she’s the right sex.” The piano was swift to respond, and Jensen gave Steve a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look like a mischievous five year old. He suddenly swiveled around on the stool and struck a choirboy pose, palms pressed together in an attitude of prayer. “Come around more, Barbara Walters,” he sang, voice high and sweet. Steve choked with laughter and threw a pen at him, causing him to chuckle as it bounced off his chest. “I dunno. It needs to be a single name, not a first and last name. Would sound better if it was something like… Anastasia?”

“Doesn’t fit. The scansion is wrong.” Steve set his guitar down. “Hmmm…. Carmelita? Barbarella? California?” He ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Oklahoma?”

“What’s with all the states? You trying to tell me you’re in a state about this?” Jensen was turning back to the piano when he suddenly paused. “I’ve got it. Alabama! Fits perfectly, and with a name like that she’d be bound to put out!”

“You’re a dirty child!” Steve shook his head at his guest, but reached for his guitar and sang the chorus through experimentally. “But it works. Okay, let’s go with Alabama.”

Smirking, Jensen turned back to the piano, running through the opening chords as Steve’s husky voice took up the melody of the verse. As the song came to an end, the two of them were grinning like fools. “That was pretty cool,” murmured Jensen. “I like it. Here’s to Alabama, wherever she is.” He raised his coffee mug aloft.

“She’s in Alabama, dork! That’s why she isn’t coming around.” Watching him, Steve felt something inside himself melt. He smiled as Jensen began to play a boogie, and soon joined in, fooling around and feeling somehow as if he’d found a missing piece of himself. He wasn’t at all sure what Jensen meant to him, but he intended to hang in and find out.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

They took to hanging out a lot after that. Jensen started work on Days, and found himself an apartment up above a comic store some eight blocks from Steve’s basement, but he was most often to be found at Steve’s, guitar in hand, voice raised in gleeful harmony. Steve tried his damnedest to get Jensen up on stage with him, but somehow Jensen never would.

It was almost Christmas, and Jensen had decided to throw a party. He’d told Steve that there would be a few friends, but somehow that had escalated, and people were spilling out of the apartment in every direction. Steve had never really thought of Jensen as the gregarious type, and he found himself blinking at the young actor’s sudden transformation from quietly mischievous to complete party animal.

The kitchen floor was sticky with booze, and there was still plenty of that left even though it was now midnight. There was beer and wine, a row of bottles of spirits that people had brought, and a somewhat questionable punch, that seemed to be fifty percent vodka and fifty percent Kool Aid, with grapes floating around in it. Steve had tried it and shuddered, but it seemed that Jensen was all for it.

The young actor had been happily drunk when Steve had arrived, and displaying a side of himself Steve had never seen. Gone was the thoughtful, quiet young man, and in his place was a wickedly funny, loud presence who was without a doubt the life and soul of the party, There was a new guy who’d been brought by one of the staff from “Days,” whose name was Jason something. He and Jensen had hit it off, and when Steve got there the two of them were jamming to a version of Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love.” Steve felt just a little choked that his boy was singing with someone else.

As the party progressed, Jensen got louder, and more inebriated. When Steve rolled himself a joint and took himself out onto the balcony to smoke it, Jensen, by this time slurring his words a little, followed him out and took a seat beside him. Steve drew a lungful of aromatic smoke in and held it, wordlessly handing off the joint to his companion. Jensen mumbled thanks and placed it between his lips as Steve looked on, fascinated.

Letting out the smoke, Steve reached to take it back, and Jensen giggled.

“Man, I am so wasted.” His eyes were hazy emeralds, clouded with alcohol and pot. The smile he wore was completely open, and although his face was a little flushed, his freckles still stood out, making him look somehow vulnerable.

“Yeah, you are.” Steve grinned at him as he lay back in his seat, long legs splayed in front of him.

“Wanted to have some fun for a change.” Jensen’s voice was low, a growl in it that Steve hadn’t heard before. He moved in his seat, surreptitiously adjusting his clothing. He wasn’t gay – he knew he wasn’t, but there was something about Jensen that always got to him. “Still do.”

Steve took another hit from the joint, prevaricating as he stared at Jensen, and jumped as Jensen leaned forward to pluck it from his lips and place it between his own. “Hey!” he said, completely off balance. “You’re pretty high. Maybe you should…?”

He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out. Jensen growled, “Shotgun,” and sucked the aromatic smoke deep into his lungs. Reaching to tangle his fingers in Steve’s long hair he tugged, aligning their lips and pressing in close to begin blowing the smoke into Steve’s very astonished mouth.

Jensen didn’t seem inclined to let him go after he’d finished the exhale, and his tongue seemed to have followed the stream of smoke and was now mapping out the contours of Steve’s oral cavity while the young actor made little, satisfied grunting sounds. All of a sudden there was nothing Steve wanted to do more than bend Jensen over the nearest article of furniture and possess him.

The young man tasted of that godawful punch, and tobacco and pot, and his lips were soft and plush. Long, thick eyelashes veiled eyes that were blown wide and black with only a tiny rim of green to show their color.

Letting him go for a moment, Jensen brought the joint up to Steve’s lips. “Your turn. It’s so much better when you share it,” and Steve couldn’t refuse, had to suck on the thing and take those lips again, sending the smoke back to Jensen.

He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He wasn’t sure how or why Jensen had gotten through his defenses, but he had, and Steve knew suddenly that there would be no going back from this. He took another, final drag, licked his way into Jensen’s mouth and sent the smoke flowing through as Jensen gasped in a breath. He was rewarded when Jensen’s fingers crept down into the V of his groin to press, finding his erection almost at once.

He felt dazed and horny. Jensen was warm in his arms, tongue curled against his as his hands explored, finding and teasing every hotspot on Steve’s body. It would be so easy to give himself over to the younger man. He could feel the tingling tightness in his thighs that spoke of easy pleasure and stiffened a little, drawing back from Jensen, who blinked up at him owlishly, lips puffy with kisses and eyes blown wide.

“Get off me, Jen; I can’t.” Steve was never sure where he found the willpower to turn down what Jensen was offering to him. His voice was hoarse, harsh with desire as he captured Jensen’s hands and brought them to his lips. “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he growled as Jensen’s eyes widened and his face began to crumple.

“What is it then? I can feel that you’re…” Jensen indicated the bulge in Steve’s pants as he spoke. His words were slurred a little, and his face had turned pink around the nose. He looked for all the world like a forlorn little boy.

“See, Jen, you’re wasted – you said that yourself. I’m not gonna take advantage of you while you’re trashed like this.” Jensen’s eyes filled with tears, and he made as if to say something. Steve lifted his hand and pressed the young man’s lips closed. “Listen, if you still want to get it on in the morning, when you’re sober, come tell me, and I’ll do my best to oblige, all right?”

For a moment more, Jensen gazed at Steve, face blank as he processed the singer’s words, and then the threatened tears spilled over to trickle down his cheeks. Steve’s belly ran cold, because he’d never been able to handle tears. He pulled Jensen close and made vague shushing sounds as Jensen huddled in against him. “Hush now; it’s okay. C’mon, Jen, don’t cry.”

“S’okay.” Jensen was full-on slurring now. “Just… you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

“I try.” Steve was frowning as he tried to divine Jensen’s state of mind. The young man was still snuggled against him, relaxed now as he pressed tight into Steve’s arms, and as Steve looked down at him he heard a faint snore. “Oh, shit!” he growled, mentally shaking his head. “Just what I need. A fucking puppy!”

Jensen made no response other than to snuffle a little and burrow deeper into Steve’s embrace, and Steve sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was likely to be there for some time.

Philosophically fumbling in his pockets for cigarette case and lighter, he took out another joint, lit it and allowed the fragrant smoke to send him spinning out into the universe.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

He awoke as the sun came up and poked grimy, glittering fingers into his eyes. His back was killing him, and his head was pounding in a way that made him wish he was dead. Jensen was still clinging to him, limpet-like as he slumbered on, drooling gently onto Steve’s shoulder. Sighing, Steve attempted to disengage himself from the younger man, and then, when that didn’t seem to be happening, struggled to his knees and shook the kid into semi-consciousness.

“C’mon, Jen. Need somewhere to lie down and die.” Jensen’s eyes didn’t seem to be tracking, but he stumbled to his feet and stood swaying, still clutching at Steve’s shoulder. For a moment, Steve thought that he might fall down, but then he began to lurch forward, back into the apartment.

It was quiet, save for a single, sleeping body that Steve vaguely recollected from earlier. Perhaps the man had crashed on the couch, but it seemed as though it had rejected him, because he was now sleeping peacefully on the floor next to it, and one of the cushions had slid off to lie on his back. Jensen paid him no mind, but led Steve through the debris to his bedroom.

“S’locked,” he croaked, fumbling through his pockets. “Dun’ wan’ anyone fuckin’ in m’bed.”

Steve understood that. As Jensen found his key and swayed into the door to lean with his forehead against it, he gently removed the key from Jensen’s grasp and used it, pushing the door open with a sigh of relief. Jensen was about to measure his length on the threadbare carpet as the support from the door was taken from him, and Steve cursed as he reached to grab him and stop his downward progress.

“Come on, Jen, let’s get you horizontal.” Fortunately it was only three steps to the bed, because it seemed that Jensen had relapsed into unconsciousness once again, and Steve was practically carrying him as they staggered together to collapse onto it.

He thought about moving, he really did. He thought about getting up and going to the couch, but somehow it didn’t seem worth the trouble. He paused to toe off his shoes and then succumbed to the need for sleep.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Steve had no idea what time it was when he finally woke up. The sun was no longer in his eyes, and, although daylight still gleamed offensively past Jensen’s thin curtains, it was obviously no longer morning. Jensen was curled up against him, his arm thrown over Steve’s chest, and his cheek pressed against the sleeve of his T-shirt. It was sweet in a way. However, his mouth tasted as if he’d been chewing dogshit, and his head still throbbed as if his brain had somehow shrunk enough to rattle around inside his skull.

He made to get off the bed, and there was a muffled protest from the young man beside him. Jensen raised his head a little and fixed him with a beseeching gaze. He could feel his willpower leaving him. “Come on, Jen, you gotta let me up to go rinse out my mouth and take a leak.”

The pout Jensen displayed was truly monumental. “Got water in the fridge,” he murmured, voice husky with too much booze and not enough recovery time. “Bring us some?”

Nodding and then regretting it as he felt his brain threaten to leak out his ears, Steve rolled to sitting and then gingerly stood up. “Bathroom first,” he croaked. “Can I borrow your toothbrush?”

“Only if you bring me water,” Jensen moaned as he lay back against the pillows. “Smells like you now. Nice,” he mumbled.

Carefully keeping his head as still as he possibly could, Steve stumbled out to find Jensen’s bathroom. The fallen body in the living room seemed to have gone elsewhere. Steve looked at the couch as if he suspected it of devouring the hapless drunk.

Rinsing out his mouth and emptying his bladder made him feel a little better. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his head under the cold water tap, then shambled off in search of the water Jensen promised was in the fridge.

Returning to the bedroom, Steve paused in the doorway, taking in the young man lying on the bed – they’d neither of them managed to undress or get under the covers before crashing out, and Jensen was still wearing his jeans and tight T-shirt, although somewhere along the line he’d shed his footwear. He looked debauched, mouth loose and puffy, and eyes glazed as he lay sprawled out on the coverlet. As Steve stepped in towards the bed, he lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand for the bottle in Steve’s hand, taking it from him and then fumbling as he tried to unscrew the cap.

“Give it here,” husked Steve, amusement in his voice as he took the bottle back and opened it for Jensen. The beaming smile with which he was gifted almost made up for the hangover he had, and he reached to touch Jensen’s shoulder affectionately before clearing his throat. “Guess I’ll be on my way. I need at least another four hours of sleep, and you look totally wrecked.”

“No!” Jensen reached to grip Steve’s wrist and tug him back towards the bed. “Stay here with me. We can get some more sleep. You shouldn’t drive.”

It was true; Steve knew that. He was still drunk, and if he left he ran the risk of getting picked up by the cops, but he was nervous. Jensen was right here, right now, inviting him into something he didn’t know if he could handle.

He meant to say ‘see you later.’ He meant to turn out and walk out the door, maybe take a nosedive onto the newly vacated couch for an hour or so. Instead, he found himself nodding and peeling off his jeans and dress shirt before climbing into the bed beside a beaming Jensen, clad only in his Calvin Kleins.

The bed was comfortable, and Jensen snuggled up against his side as the two of them drifted off into healing slumber.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The sun was on its way down by the time Steve came to again. He was disoriented, dehydrated and desperate to pee. Jensen was wrapped around him as if he were the kid’s favorite cuddly toy, and Steve struggled to escape the all-encompassing embrace before he exploded.

Squirming out of the bed, Steve fled to the bathroom to take care of his bladder and paused to drink several glasses of water and borrow Jensen’s toothbrush. Casting a frowning look towards the shower, he finally shrugged, deciding that it would be better to ask for forgiveness – rather than permission – later. Reaching forward to turn on the water, he waited, feeling the temperature and hoping that it would warm up a little. “Fucking rental places,” he growled to himself when that didn’t happen. Finally he stepped under the tepid trickle that emerged from the showerhead and began to wash.

Jensen’s shampoo smelled of herbs, and Steve closed his eyes as he worked it into his hair. An image of Jensen floated before his inner eye – soft, tender mouth, lips parted and teeth white behind them, thick, dark lashes curling to veil the brilliance of almond shaped eyes, and the dusting of freckles that trailed over the slight unevenness of his nose. He’d never considered a relationship with a guy before. When you’re a musician, there’s never any shortage of willing girls, but Jensen was… different. Jensen was vulnerable, and funny, and talented, and far more beautiful than any of the girls he’d been with.

Rinsing his hair free of the shampoo, he decided that if Jensen was still in bed when he was done with his shower, he’d join him and see what it was like to change his luck. If he’d gotten up, then that would be the sign that he should stay carefully hetero. He really wasn’t sure which way he wanted things to go.

He took his time. He toweled himself dry, dried his hair with the dryer that was laid neatly on the cabinet beside the washstand, and then wrapped the towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom.

Jensen was awake, and his eyes weren’t quite closed. Steve felt a flood of adrenaline hit, followed by a disturbing, tingling heat that tightened his groin and made his breathing faster, harder to manage.

So he was going to change his luck. He was going to do this. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Jensen turned his face to study him. “You look clean,” he murmured, voice still sleep-slurred. “Thanks for staying with me. I should have a shower.” He reached a hand over to the nightstand, fumbling for a cigarette, and Steve gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

“You were so trashed last night,” he murmured. “It was the least I could do.”

“You turned me down. I remember that.” Jensen studied the empty pack that had held his smokes. “In a way, I don’t blame you.”

“Couldn’t take advantage of you like that. Wouldn’t be right.” Steve gently took the package out of Jensen’s hands and tossed it onto the floor. “You’re sober now, though, aren’t you?” he asked, and felt that liquid flicker way down and dirty as he saw Jensen’s eyes rise to meet his own.

“Sure am,” nodded Jensen with a grimace. “I’m remorseful as hell, because Jack Daniels only ever pretends to be a friend of mine.”

“So you still wanna get it on with me?” Steve found himself holding his breath, until the sight of the smile that spread across Jensen’s face knocked it out of him. That smile was a definite yes, and Steve didn’t wait. If he’d waited, he’d have chickened out, but Jensen’s mouth was right there, lips moist and juicy caught against pearly teeth. He bent and applied his own to them, feeling their softness as he crushed his mouth against them.

In all his time doing the LA club circuit, Steve had met many women – he’d even fallen for one or two of them. None of his past romances prepared him for Jensen – for the feel of him, warm and pliant against his aching body, or for the taste of him, needy and demanding, urging him on to things he’d never done before – things he’d never even considered doing with another man. Somehow the fact that it was Jensen made it all amazingly, perfectly right.

“Oh, yeah, right there!” Jensen’s voice, usually deep and slow, was rising to a higher register as he begged Steve, pleaded with him in a way that girls usually didn’t. He had his hand on Jensen’s cock, fingers slip-sliding the sticky length of it as he kissed and bit, hard and urgent and altogether out of control.

Jensen matched him, gasping and wanton, and it was refreshing in a way to get down to the basics, each taking what they needed without apology or blame. When they were done, and he was gazing in awe at Jensen, who was looking back at him adoringly in his turn, his cum trickling from the sides of that sweet, tender mouth, it suddenly dawned on him that he wouldn’t be able to do without this, now that he’d found it.

“Wanted you so bad,” mumbled Jensen, licking around his lips in an effort to clean his face of residue. “Ever since I first saw you there in the club singing “Dynamite”, I wanted you.”

“You never said,” said Steve, brow furrowed as he tried to think back over the last year living in each others’ pockets. Jensen had given him no indication that he was anything but a charming, red-blooded Texas boy. There had been girls from time to time, and on one momentous occasion Jensen had brought three of them home at once, triplets with bouncy pony tails and equally bouncy breasts. Steve had lost sleep that night, and lain awake wondering who was doing what to whom. The girls had gone when he turned up at Jensen’s the following morning, but Steve’s imagination had run wild for weeks afterwards mentally picturing his roommate in amongst the prettiest group of girls he’d ever seen. Now everything he’d tried not to dream of was coming true, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Didn’t seem to be any point,” said Jensen, smiling lazily up at Steve, fingers carding through his still-damp hair. “I thought you were into chicks to the exclusion of everything. I only made a play for you because I was toasted.” He chuckled and lifted his face for a slow, wet kiss. “Alcohol is awesome. I’d never have dreamed you’d want me without my friend Jack.”

“I think I’ve wanted you since the day we met.” Steve’s voice was husky and unsure, because this was a new concept for him, but his words seemed to please Jensen, who pulled him down for another round of sex that just about blew the top of his skull off.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

That was the start of it all. Looking back, Steve thought he should have done many things differently. He should have been more… something – maybe harder, less inclined to put his heart on the line. But this was Jensen, and Jensen had a way of hitting you smack in the gut, beguiling a man with his wide eyes and his cupid’s bow and his stupid, girly freckles. It’s easy to be wise after the fact.

To tell the truth, he’d been a goner from the day they’d met, and, even though he’d always thought himself strictly heterosexual, he couldn’t get enough of Jensen, and Jensen, despite his stunning beauty, was anything but feminine.

For a while, the two of them were inseparable. Jensen and he sang together, played together, spent all their spare time together, and every night Steve lost himself in the sticky bliss afforded by Jensen’s warm arms, hard body and soft, plush lips.

Jensen was working steadily, and Steve was slowly getting his band known. As he did from time to time when finances needed topping up, Steve took a day job as a PA on one of the many shows that were being produced in and around Los Angeles. As he was led in to the studio to be shown the ropes by one of the assistant producers, he didn’t realize just how his life would change.

“Okay,” the skinny woman with the clipboard turned to him. “This is the guy you’re going to be taking over from. He’s leaving us next week, so you don’t have much lead time. He’ll show you what to do.”

Turning on her heel, she dashed away, leaving Steve with no further introduction. Shrugging helplessly, Steve gave the guy a smile and held out his hand. “Name’s Steve,” he said.

“Good to meet ya. I’m Christian.” The stocky guy with the intense blue eyes slapped Steve’s palm and gestured for him to come and take a look at the call sheets he had in his hand.

“That your name? You ain’t born again or anything, are you?” Steve’s words were overlaid by a snort of laughter from the other man.

“Once was quite enough,” Christian said, smirking. “C’mon. I’ll show you the ropes. It’s not exactly rocket science, but you have to jump when they want something, or you’ll soon be out on your ear.”

Swiftly showing Steve the headset and the radio that he would wear at all times when on duty, Chris took him on the coffee run that was demanded a few minutes later. When they had a moment to themselves, Chris showed him the little ‘nest’ he’d created for himself in amongst the spare flats and coils of cable that were strewn around the side of the set. He’d snagged a director’s chair, and a cart that still held some audio/visual equipment along with cans of soda and platters of food. As the two of them popped the tabs on cans of coke, Steve’s eyes were drawn to a guitar that was propped up behind the chair.

“You play?” he murmured, indicating the battered old Harmony Sovereign.

“You betcha ass, surfer boy. Why d’you ask? You play too?” Christian gave a low laugh, and Steve, who was beginning to like the guy, nodded enthusiastically.

“We should jam,” Steve said, reaching for the guitar and strumming it gently, eyes closed as he listened to the tone. “Nice sound, but the action’s a little high for me,” he said, deftly tuning it up and launching into “Radio in my Head.”

“Oh, yeah.” Christian was grinning now. “We should jam, for sure.”

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The addition of Christian Kane to their lives brought about a whole new level of fun and terror for Steve. Chris was a daredevil, short tempered but readily forgiving, who threw his whole self into whatever he decided to attempt.

He’d departed from his role as a PA the following week, leaving Steve with the words, “Don’t take no shit from nobody, son. If they give you hassle, tell them to shut the fuck up, and you’ll do good.”

Gone from the workplace he may have been, but his presence in their lives was constant. Steve and he were now playing together on a regular basis, writing songs and even performing once in a while. When he was inclined, Jensen joined in, lending his sweet voice to harmonies that made Steve shudder with delight.

Steve had introduced Chris to Jensen soon after they’d met, and Chris’s first meeting with his actor friend was the stuff of legend. Chris, hair newly shorn and tamed for his role as Lindsey on Angel, stood and stared at Jensen for entirely too long, and Jensen, who hated to be the subject of that kind of scrutiny, had begun to bristle. When Chris finally opened his mouth to speak, he gave a low whistle. “Well, will ya lookit that. Ain’t you a pretty thing?”

Jensen’s eyes widened, and, for a moment, Steve contemplated running for the hills, and then, miraculously, his eyes crinkled in a smile, and finally he and Chris started to laugh together.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Jensen said, and it was apparently enough for them to bond.

Steve lived increasingly for his music, although Chris had begun to accompany him and Jensen on forays down to the beach. After a particularly exhilarating day surfing, Chris, who had wiped out rather more than he’d managed to stand up on the board, had elbowed Steve with a grin as they made their way back to Steve’s car.

“I can introduce you to another sport,” he announced. Chris, despite the disreputable cut-offs he was wearing, still somehow managed to look as though he might be a professional of some kind, chilling out on his day off with his preppy hairstyle and carefully manicured nails a la Lindsey.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve wasn’t really listening. His board shorts were stiff with sand and his chest and shoulders were tanned deep, golden brown. He was bopping along to the music that seemed to run constantly through his head, and humming softly under his breath. It was left to Jensen to ask him for more details.

“Hood surfing! It’s a complete rush, man.” Chris began to tell Jensen about it, and Steve’s heart sank as he saw Jensen’s eyes begin to sparkle dangerously.

“Are you crazy?” The inquiry was lazy, but Steve was wary; he’d come to know Jensen, and he knew that despite the man’s reserved manner there was a devil of mischief inside the handsome young actor.

“It’s the only way to be, son,” smirked Chris. “C’mon, man. Let me show you how it’s done.”

The drive up Mulholland was something Steve would remember to his dying day. Chris, holding onto the hood of Steve’s car, emitting cackles of crazy laughter as Jensen drove them up the winding roadway as fast as the elderly vehicle would go.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

It seemed as though Christian Kane didn’t waste any time in invading their little group and becoming an integral part of it. It soon dawned on Steve that he was rapidly being supplanted in Jensen’s affections by the rough and ready Kane. His adrenaline junkie ways seemed to entertain the young actor in ways that laid-back Steve didn’t seem to know how to mimic. He and Jensen still shared a bed, still woke up tangled together, and their lovemaking was still as hot as ever, but deep down Steve knew that Jensen, easy lover that he was, would give it up to Chris sooner or later.

Steve had never had much luck in love, and he’d fallen hard for Jensen. Watching Chris sniff around him was breaking his heart although he knew better than to say anything. In all honesty there was nothing for him to say. Jensen was his own man, and his choices were law.

On a rare evening alone with Jensen, he decided to broach the conversation he’d been dreading. Jensen was dressed in wife-beater and ratty shorts, lounging barefoot on the couch, beer at his side as he wielded the remote, looking through the channels for something – anything – worth watching.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off Jensen, and Jensen must have known somehow, because after a moment he set the remote down and raised his eyes to Steve’s, flicking back the hair that threatened to flop into his eyes.

“What?” His mouth curved seductively, and Steve felt himself shiver with the need to touch, to bite into that succulent lower lip and shut his worries away. He must have paused for way too long, because the little half smile slowly faded from Jensen’s face, and he frowned. “C’mere,” he murmured, holding his hand out to Steve in invitation ,and Steve went, moving automatically to slide onto the couch beside Jensen, need in his eyes and hands clenched with the need to prevent himself from reaching out to hold him.

Jensen slid his arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him back to lie against his chest. “You think too much, man. Tell me what you’re brooding about.” He bent to run his lips over Steve’s ear and down until Steve could feel his tongue tip trace along his throat.

“You… You and Chris.” Steve knew he was being needy, but he couldn’t stop. “Feels like I’m gonna lose you.”

He felt rather than saw Jensen’s smile against his neck. For a moment or two Jensen didn’t speak, and when he did, his voice was deep and soft and all the things that Steve loved most about him. “I like Chris, y’know. He’s not afraid to ask for things.” Jensen sucked a bruise into the delicate skin below Steve’s ear. “But I’m not afraid to say no, either.” As Steve turned to look at Jensen, the young man smiled his eye crinkling smile, and Steve no longer cared about Chris, or losing Jensen, or anything except for the soft, plush mouth on his flesh, and the delicate fingers teasing and stroking him towards orgasm.

It was only after they’d spent themselves and lay together recovering that Jensen pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead and whispered, “Got a part in a TV series up in Vancouver. Gonna be out of town for a week, but I ain’t goin’ with Christian.”

And for a moment, Steve forgot his fears, because this was Jensen, right here in his arms, and possession was nine tenths of the law, right? Closing his eyes, he snuggled in close to Jensen’s side and dozed a little, waking only when Jensen shook him and suggested that they head for bed.

It was only a week and a half later that Jensen departed for Canada, and for Steve it seemed as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. Chris wasn’t working just then, and he came over, bringing his guitar with him, but for the couple of weeks that Jensen was up in the north, filming, he felt like he was missing a vital part of himself.

Chris mocked him for being a whiny bitch, and Steve laughed, understood where the man was coming from, but reserved the right to miss Jensen horribly. When he thought about Jensen, he wondered if he’d ever see him again as if Canada might have swallowed him whole, engulfed and digested him so that they would never have another time together. Jensen called him a couple of times, talking about the excitement of being in a James Cameron production, but Steve could read between the lines. Jensen wasn’t really having fun.

As it happened, it was Chris who picked him up from the airport the day he got back into LA. Steve couldn’t make it because his mom had summoned him. She was feeling unwell, and he’d spent the day making chicken soup and coddling her. Returning home in the middle of the evening, he’d heard the music before he even opened the door, and when he finally got inside Chris and Jensen were harmonizing on an old Willie Nelson song.

Jensen looked tired, but his eyes were closed, his head back as he sang the high harmony against Chris’s growling vocals, and Steve’s belly did a little flip, tightening up his gut and sending messages low down to harden him. For a moment he fought hard to resist the arousal before mentally uttering a curse and giving it up as a bad job.

Without disturbing them, he crept around to find his own guitar and swiftly strummed it, tightening his E string and then moving in to play a few glides and runs around the song they were singing.

They sounded good together, the three of them, and Steve would have given anything if he could’ve just kept on making music all night, but the song was over all too soon, and Chris gave him a smirk while Jensen offered him the bottle they had going.

“Hey, Jen, how was your trip?”

“James Cameron, dude!” Jensen’s smile was blinding. “I’m tellin’ ya, it doesn’t get much better than that.”

“You know, we sound good, the three of us.” Chris was looking at Steve rather than Jensen as he spoke. “We need to form a band and get ourselves a manager and some money. The world is waiting.”

“What do you think, Jen?”

The two of them eyed Jensen, who was chewing on his lower lip. Finally he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Long as you don’t mind me workin’ when I can, I’m in.”




Part 3