goodnightmoon

The Night in Question
By: Logan
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R for adult themes and alcohol use.
Beta:

marciaelena
Notes: For the

insmallpackages holiday fic exchange.

It was all Michael Rosenbaum's fault. That's what Jensen told his mama, it's what he told the police -- hell, it's what he'd tell his grandchildren one day. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. It didn't matter that he hadn't talked to the guy in months, didn't even know where he was living now. But Jensen knew that when words like "criminal mischief" and "TMZ" were being bandied around, Michael was just as good a patsy as anyone could ask for.

Not that anyone could have even verified that Michael hadn't been there. Because given what little Jensen could remember, there had been so many people at that house on Mulholland Drive that Michael Jackson could have moonwalked through the dining room and no one would have been sober enough to remember.

But there was one part that Jensen wouldn't tell anyone else.. Not his mother or the police or his grandchildren. And that was that the night in question may or may not have been the first time he and Jared had sex. Only they had both been too drunk to remember.

All Jensen knew for sure what that there had been Jagermeister. And then Goldschlager. And then something green that someone claimed was Absinthe, and that he'd woken up the next morning on a futon in West Hollywood in the apartment of some girl named Toni. Only he hadn't woken up on that futon *with* Toni. He never even saw her. She'd left a note that she had to go to work, to help themselves to the juice in the fridge and have the doorman call them a taxi when they were ready to leave.

He'd woken up next to -- okay, maybe not next to. More like *plastered* to -- Jared. And they were both naked.

Now, in retrospect, he wished he could have waxed poetic about waking up next to this guy that meant just about everything to him, about how the light had slanted across his face and how incredibly hot he'd looked. But it wouldn't be true. Because he had been so wretchedly, miserably hung over that it had taken every ounce of control he could muster to crawl over Jared's snoring form and stumble to the bathroom before he got sick. When he came out, Jared had his jeans on and was cradling his head in his hands like he thought it might explode if he let go. In the state they were in, Jensen couldn't have promised him that wouldn't happen.

They didn't talk about it during the cab ride back to Mulholland to retrieve Jared's car. They were both dizzy and half sick and just breathing hurt. And they didn't talk about it when they returned to the scene of the crime -- Jensen still didn't know whose house it actually was -- because the police were there, and they had questions. Lots of them. By the time Jared, who somehow -- miraculously -- could speak in whole sentences at that point, convinced them that they had left long before the couch ended up in the swimming pool and had no knowledge of a naked Vespa race in the quiet, gated community, they went back to their hotel, to their separate rooms, and slept for many, many hours.

If Jensen dreamed of big hands on his hips and a wet mouth on his neck and digging his fingers into someone's broad shoulders, he chalked it up to the green stuff he'd drunk and pulled the blankets tighter around him and gone back to sleep.

The next morning it was coffee and Visine and aspirin and a 7 a.m. flight back up North, so they didn't have time to talk about it then. Or the next day. Or the next. On the fourth day, Misha took Jensen aside and showed him a text he'd just gotten. It was a picture of two people. Two men that if you squinted just right could have been him and Jared, and these two people weren't just kissing; they were trying to fuse together on a subatomic level.

"Where did you get this?" Jensen asked, scratched at the back of his neck. "And, uh, Jared hasn't seen it yet, has he?"

"I know people," Misha replied -- cryptic bastard-- and slipped the phone into his pocket. "But I'm told it's going to hit Perez Hilton any minute, so I thought you should know. I haven't shown it to Jared, I just got it, and he's in makeup. Oh, and call your mother."

"My mother? When did you talk to my mother? *Why* did you talk to my mother?"

"We play scrabble through Facebook. She messaged me."

"I --" Jensen had no response. He turned and went to his trailer, sighing heavily as he sank down onto the couch.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about kissing Jared before. It wasn't even that some part of him hadn't for a while now thought that eventually, maybe, they'd get around to actually doing it. What bothered him was that he had absolutely no memory of the moment captured in that grainy picture, or any of the proceeding moments that had led to him waking up naked tangled in Jared's arms the next morning.

Maybe he was too much of a romantic, but he'd always thought they'd talk, be sure of where they stood with each other before they got to the kissing part. And that they'd be sober. Maybe there would be wine involved, but not cases of it. Maybe even some music, but not Kanye West blaring so loudly that Jensen thought his ears might still be ringing from it.

He got up, determined to go tell Jared before he found out from someone else, and deal with it like the mature adult he could occasionally pretend to be. Only he was called to set just as he opened his trailer door.

It was nearly 11p.m. before he had a whole five minutes alone with Jared, and that was on the ride home.

"God, I'm beat," Jared said from the passenger seat, tilting his head to drain the last of his Red Bull before his phone beeped and he pulled it from his jacket pocket. Jensen watched out of the corner of his eye as he read a text message and sent back a response.

"Something important?" Jensen finally asked, unable to stand the suspense any more.

"My mom. I told her we were in a committed monogamous relationship so she'd quit worrying about those pictures that showed up online today," Jared replied, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "So, stop for food on the way home?"

Jensen's body reacted while his brain was still trying to process the words. He pulled the SUV over to the side of the road and put it in park. "You what?" he said, blinking at Jared.

"Gotcha!" Jared crowed, laughing so hard that Jensen considered punching him to shut him up. Lucky for Jared's pretty face, he sobered quickly and turned to look at Jensen, only a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But seriously, Jen, you've been avoiding this for days and now these pictures are all over the place, we've got to say something to somebody. I think we should start with each other."

Jensen sighed, rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment. "Yeah, okay, fair enough," he replied, then put the Rover in drive and pulled back onto the road. They stopped for takeout, then went home and let the dogs out, changed clothes and sat down to eat, all while deftly maneuvering around the humongous elephant in the room. Finally the food was gone, the cartons cleared away, and the two of them were sitting on the sofa, beers in hand, and the elephant demanded attention.

"So, what are we gonna do about the pictures?" Jensen asked. "They're not gonna go away. Do we deny it's us? Hell, for all I know, maybe it's not. Do we go through our publicists or what? *Has* your mom seen them?"

Jared looked pensive, which worried Jensen more than anything else. He watched Jared's hands as he picked at the label on his bottle, then took a long drink from it. He looked nervous when he finally looked at Jensen.

"Doesn't it bother you, Jen, that apparently... that that happened and we don't even remember what it feels like?" Jared's voice was soft.

"I guess it does," Jensen murmured, his heart in his throat. Jared's lips looked soft, sweet, entirely too kissable.

"I guess I... if it ever did happen, it'd be this big event in our lives, not tabloid fodder. It bugs the shit out of me," Jared replied. "And yeah, she knows. I just told her that it was between you and me, and it was all okay. It is, isn't it? We're okay?"

The look in his eyes, the little spark of fear and the concern and the trust, it rocked Jensen to the core. That Jared trusted him so completely, expected their friendship to withstand all the crap that was going to come from those pictures, it made Jensen love him even more.

Love. Just like that, Jensen knew. He smiled softly. "If we're gonna have to deal with all the backlash, I think I deserve to know if you can use that mouth for anything besides talking constantly." He licked his lips, and reached for Jared, and it was as simple and right as drawing in his next breath.

Not that breathing was simple for the rest of that night. Not with Jared's mouth pressed against his, his hands on him, and his bulk cuddling up to Jensen like he was a human electric blanket. But it was okay. They were okay.

The statement they released to Perez Hilton read that they were in a committed, monogamous relationship and had been cleared of the vandalism charges stemming from the party on Mulholland Drive.

Michael Rosenbaum was charged with vandalism, public intoxication and nudity, disturbing the peace and criminal mischief, despite the fact that he wasn't in L.A. on the night in question. He plead guilty to all charges, because he didn't think the few memories he had of that night, between the beer bong and the body shots and flashing the cashier at Dunkin Donuts would make a very good alibi.

The End