Happy Hour

Fandom: RPF

Category/Rated: NC-17

Year/Length: 2008/~3349 words

Pairing: Jesen Ackles/Steve Carlson

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and has no connection to the people it portrays.

Summary: "I've seen you sleep, man. Every sleep you have is the best sleep ever. You're a fucking dormouse."

Authors Notes: This is a fluffy, schmoopy PWP. I just wanted to make the boys happy for once. Thank you to keyweegirlie for the beautiful banner she made me. The story is for her.

Beta: By the lovely lorelei633 who wins at life. I can't thank her enough.

Vancouver at the end of summer, mellow light cutting reflections from the water, mountains standing knife-sharp as a backdrop, and the muted drone of the downtown traffic. Its Sunday morning, and the world is only just waking up.

It's just 10 a.m., and Jensen is still sleeping the sleep of the mentally and physically exhausted. He's past the REM phase and into the still, quiet calm of complete repose when the phone rings.

For a moment, he doesn't stir, but then, slowly, his hand emerges from under the covers to scrabble for the phone. At last, his grasping fingers find the receiver and drag it under the mound of sheets and blankets to his ear.

"Yeah?" The voice is hoarse, sleep-sodden, and there's only the one word, because his mind is still somewhere in the vast realm of elsewhere, chasing rainbows.

"Jensen?" It's not Kripke. It's not any of the production team. For a moment, Jensen can't identify the voice. He struggles up from the tangle of bedclothes and frowns ferociously at the idea of opening sleep-gummed eyes, still trying to shake off the wispy edges of unconsciousness.

"Who wants to know?" He coughs, clears his throat, and even before the other can speak, he knows. "Oh, my God. Steve?"

"In the flesh, old son. In the flesh." Jensen can hear Steves smile right through the phone, and he feels himself waking up fast. He rubs at his eyes, yawns once, and sits up to lean against the headboard. "Is everything okay? Where are you?"

"In a cab, heading your way. I had a couple days to spare, so I figured I'd come lighten your life. Get up! Youre not still in bed, are you?" There's lazy affection in Steve's voice. Jensen can feel it, warm as a fleece, wrapping itself around him. He yawns once more and then swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Okay, I'm up. You know where I am. How long are you gonna be?" Jensens getting control of his vocal chords now, and he's proud of that. Hes not exactly what you could call a morning person.

There's a brief, muffled conversation, barely heard over the phone, and then Steve's voice returns. "'Bout twenty minutes, give or take. Come on, sleepyhead. Ill buy you breakfast."

"You'd better be buying my ass coffee, dude. I was having the best sleep ever." Jensen's grinning now, eager. Steve laughs, warm and rich down the phone line.

"I've seen you sleep, man. Every sleep you have is the best sleep ever. You're a fucking dormouse."

They exchange a few more pleasantries, and then Jensen replaces the phone and heads to the bathroom to start his day.

Jensen's showered and dressed and in his right mind by the time Steve knocks on his door. Sauntering in and setting down his ever-present guitar case, he stands with his hands on his hips, looking at Jensen, one eyebrow raised in critical appraisal. "You look about ready to have some fun," he murmurs, stepping forward, invading Jensens personal space and pulling his face down for a kiss.

"Fun? What's that?" Jensen snorts. "I didn't get the memo." His fingers are tingling with the need to touch Steve, his lips with the memory of Steve's mouth on his.

"Tsk, tsk!" Steve kisses him again and laughs softly. "Get your hat, dude. We're going out."

As ever, after a separation, it takes Jensen a little while to settle into the relationship. He's used to Steve being diffident, but today the usually laid back musician isn't following the rules. Instead, he's taking charge, like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. "I'm taking you out for the day, and you're gonna have fun if it kills me," he says, taking Jensen's hand and tugging him towards the door.

"So where we going?" Jensen isn't sure, but he thinks he likes this new, assertive Steve.

"Wait and see," says Steve, tipping him a wink. "You'll love it. I guarantee it."

They eat breakfast in the hotel snack bar, then head out onto the street. Jensen pulls on his ‘Cowboys' cap and sunglasses, slouching alongside Steve, eyes widening behind the aviator shades as Steve stops at the corner bus stop.

"Were taking the bus?" he asks. "What the fuck, dude?"

"I read about this before I got on the plane. There's no parking where we're going. He pats Jensens shoulder. "Well be fine on the bus." The smirk Steve gives Jensen sends a little message to his groin, and he can't help the answering smile that brightens his features.

"Okay, dude. You'd better be right."

The number ten bus arrives. Steve climbs on and buys a ticket. Hes halfway down the aisle when he realizes Jensen isnt following. He turns back to find his companion standing in the doorway, red-faced. Steve grins and returns to the front of the bus, chuckling and digging out his wallet again. "Well, would you look at that," he teases as he leads Jensen to their seat. "Mister Big Shot T.V. star, bombing around town without a nickel in his pocket." He sits down next to Jensen and grins. "You do know buses cost money, dont you? All those limo rides must be spoilin you, boy. How come I just got here and I know more about how to get around Vancouver than you do?"

"Because you're weird?" Jensen grins as the bus pulls away from the curb. "Because you're out to impress me, so you can have your way with me later?" He nudges Steve with his elbow and smirks. "It's working! You gonna tell me where were going now?"

"Nope." Steve winks at him. "It'll spoil the surprise if I tell you. Just let it happen, dude."

The bus quickly becomes crowded. Jensen pulls his cap lower down over his eyes and hunches against Steve, but nobody notices him as the bus lurches its way along Hastings. The driver calls out the stops as they go, and it's when they arrive at the PNE that everyone stampedes to get off the bus. Steve prods Jensen, and they follow the crowd.

"Dude, what is this?" Jensen's eyes are wide as he looks at the line of people awaiting entry.

"How long have you worked up here, and you've never been to the PNE?" Steve is chuckling as he waits to buy tickets for them, then hands Jensen a bracelet too. "That's your admission to the funfair. It'll let you go on the roundabouts and stuff."

"Be still my heart," snarks Jensen, but he's grinning too, and he punches Steve's shoulder as they head into the park.

Once inside, they walk around, checking out the sideshows. Jensen buys cotton candy and feeds Steve with it, getting pink, sugary fluff all around his chin. They split a bag of mini donuts as they drift from stall to stall on their way to the funfair. They take in the demolition derby, and watch the duck races, and Jensen smacks Steve. "Don't even think about setting those ducks free," he growls, the menacing tone that's pure Dean Winchester at variance with his happy, smiling face.

Steve doesn't seem to be able to take his eyes off Jensen. His smoldering gaze does incredible things to Jensen's insides, tightening them up and sending shivers through them as they drink their sodas and finally head for the fair.

They ride the waltzer first, and laugh helplessly as they're spun and whirled until they're giddy. Steve takes his hat off, and Jensen clamps one hand on his, knowing that he needs to keep it on while he's around this many people. As the ride comes to an end, he hears screams. There's something that looks for all the world like a gigantic catapult behind them, and as the roustabout lets it go, the cradle is shot up into the air as far as the elastic holding it will allow. It bounces several times before it's finally drawn back to load up the next group of intrepid thrill seekers.

Jensen thinks he's in love.

"Hey, check it out," he says, but Steves way ahead of him. Hes already seen it, and he grabs Jensen's arm, already moving towards the attraction.

After a short wait in line, they're seated in the cradle. Jensen has his hat and his sunglasses off, firmly clutched in one hand. He thinks he might be having second thoughts, and casts a sideways glance at Steve, then slips his hand into the musician's, caressing the callused fingers with his own.

"Just thought I'd better warn you, I throw up to the left," murmurs Jensen as Steve squeezes his hand and gives him a soulful look.

"Throw up on me, and you're in deep shit, Sparky," growls Steve. Hes about to say something else when suddenly they are hurled towards the sky, whooping as they soar weightless into the clouds. The rubber stretches, and they slow, and at the apex of their climb, Jensen thinks he can see forever; then they begin the downward rush and laugh helplessly as they plummet towards earth. Jensen can't speak, he's laughing too hard, and, besides, the fall is taking his breath away from him.

Up again, down and up, each bounce a little less than the last, until finally they come to rest and they're drawn back to the podium to dismount.

"Dude, I hope you didn't pee yourself," smirks Jensen, holding onto the bar to disguise the wobbliness in his legs.

"So do I," murmurs Steve in answer, his own smile just as shaky. "That was a rush." Neither of them remember to put on their hats or sunglasses as they stagger down from the ride, and they cling to each other, identical goofy grins on their faces as they look around for anything even half as much fun.

They ride the Tilt-a-Whirl, then Jensen shoots for prizes, eventually winning Steve a fluffy ninja turtle that's almost as big as he is. Steve takes it with an ironic bow. "If this sucker needs its own fare on the bus back to town, it's not coming," he says.

"It suits you, dude," smirks Jensen. "Teach it to play the guitar, and you'll never be short of a backup singer." He's laughing as Steve tucks the thing under his arm and falls in alongside him again, arms brushing close as they traverse the paths that lead between the stalls.

It's starting to get dark now, and Jensen's stomach gives an audible rumble. Steve buys them both a hot dog, and then, because that isn't enough, a cardboard container of fries each. Jensen protests that he's going to need to spend all week in the gym, but it doesn't stop him. He digs in, giving breathy little moans of pleasure as he devours the rare treat.

Next, they join the crowd for a performance of the Superdogs. As the talented pups take the stage, Jensen leans over to Steve and jokes that Jared should be here to get ideas for tricks to teach his mutts. Steve, who's much more of a cat person than a dog person, instantly starts to make plans for a training regime for Jared and his dogs. Jensen laughs, telling Steve that he has no idea. Training Jared to do anything is as rewarding as herding cats, and he can tell that Steve feels safe in the knowledge that he won't be the one to supervise the program's implementation.

By seven o' clock, they've been there, done that, and all they want to do is go home and chill. The backs of their hands are touching as they leave Hastings Park. They're quiet as they walk down to catch the bus, each man contemplating the day and looking forward to the evening. The casual brush of shoulder against shoulder hits Jensen low down, tightening his groin and making his breath a little ragged. He's not sure what the difference is in Steve, only that there is one. Steve has clearly decided that hes running the show, and Jensen is only too happy to let him.

The bus back downtown is crowded enough that they have to stand, and Jensen takes refuge in the goddamn ninja turtle, holding it up in front of himself to hide his famous face. Steve laughs softly and calls him a dork, lapsing into the kind of surfer-speak he rarely uses these days.

By the time they get off the bus, its starting to rain. They hurry through the dark, quiet streets to Jensen's hotel, eager now to get out of the weather and have a drink or three. Steve's hand is on the small of Jensen's back as they ride the elevator up, his thumb stroking idly across the knobs of his spine and sending a curiously warm sensation through Jensen. When Jensen meets his eyes, he smiles a knowing smile, like he's got a secret.

Jensen's hand shakes a little as he tries to open the door. He knows that something's going to happen. All the signs point to it; somehow Steve's decided that he's claiming Jensen instead of asking for permission, and the very thought is enough to make Jensen melt.

Once inside the room, Steve doesn't give Jensen time to argue or protest. He goes for it, hand up and laced into the short, dark hair as he sends Jensen's ball cap flying. His eager mouth finds Jensens and worries at it, slick and soft, tugging and nipping as he maps it out. "Been thinkin' of this – of you – all day. Gonna give you the biggest ride yet, even bigger than that Drop Zone thing we went on. That okay with you?"

Usually Jensen's pretty quick with the snappy comeback, but he can't think of anything to say right now. He merely stands there, eyes wide and shining, pupils huge and cheeks flushed. Hes been thinking of it too. Its more than okay with him; in fact, he'd go so far as to say that it's absolutely necessary.

Steve's just standing there, looking at him, a proprietary little smile on his face. Stepping in close, he slides his hands down to Jensen's hips, pulls him closer until they're pressed tight to each other. Jensen can feel Steves heat along his body, his hard length pressed against Jensens groin as his strong hands grip Jensens hips tightly.

"Something just came up," Steve whispered, lips grazing Jensen's ear.

"I can tell," murmurs Jensen, voice gritty and soft as he slips his hands up around Steve's shoulders. "Did you bring it all this way just for me?" He does a little bump and grind of his own, rubbing against Steve's body, making the older man growl as he moves in to lick his way along Jensens parted lips.

Steve pushes up Jensens T-shirt, lets his hands slide over his lovers ribs and skim the muscles of his back. Jensen gives a sigh, lets his fingers slide through and then bury themselves in Steve's hair, pulling him closer, holding him, turning his head so that he could get a better angle to deepen the kiss.

Clothes are discarded, tossed to fly into the separate corners of the room, and they stumble to the couch without breaking the kiss as tongues twine, teeth clash, mouths suck and lick and bite.

"For sure, I did." There's something different about Steve today. Jensen's been noticing it since he first arrived this morning. He's less tentative – so much so that Jensen can barely keep still. He cant remember ever being this turned on before. He grinds against Steve, wanting to taste him, feel him, desperate to get skin against skin. Steve is kissing him, hands cupping his face as he claims his mouth, and Jensen kisses him back, hands sliding over his back to explore the soft, caramel skin and trace the tattoos on his arms. "That's it, Jen. Mine, you hear me?"

Jensen hears. The sound of Steve's soft voice, husky and shot through with need, affects him as much as the touch of the nimble fingers, sending little quivers of lust through him. I'll send my fingertips on a trip round your body… he thinks, and as the thought flashes through him, Steve's fingers begin their dance, touching, stroking, claiming.

Jensen wants. He lies back, allows Steve to spread him wide and makes appreciative sounds as Steve plays him the way he might play any other precious instrument, caressing and delicate, effortlessly finding every key to Jensens soul.

By the time Steve rolls the condom on, Jensen is already so lust-dazed and wanting that he can only watch, wide-eyed. Steve lifts Jensen's legs, lays them across his shoulders and bends to kiss him again, smirking as Jensen gasps at the sensation of being folded virtually in half.

"Mine," breathes Steve again, pressing his cock against the tight hole he craves. "Gonna let me in, because you belong to me, so let it go, Jen. Just relax for me." The pressure's there, and Steve's tender mouth mumbles kisses over Jensens as his fingers clamp down on his forearms and he pushes.

And then he's there, and Jensen's filled, ass burning but fine with it as Steve reaches down to capture his cock. He strokes it, bringing the sweet tingles back, holding his hips still to let Jensen get accustomed to the pressure inside him.

"Do it." Jensen's clinging to Steve, shaking with need, his arms around the musician's neck, lush lashes half-veiling eyes that are more black than green. "I'm good. I want you."

"Course you do, Jen," smiles Steve, tracing Jensen's pretty mouth with his tongue. "And you're gonna get it." His voice deepens slightly, his finger slowly tracing the shape of Jensens lips. "But Im running the show, and I say were taking it slow this time. I know how bad you want it, but you cant rush me, baby. I want to savor it."

Steve's eyes are smoky blue, and he tastes of the cinnamon gum he's been chewing. His fine, blond hair is tousled, and the look on his face is part ownership and part adoration, but he doesn't move, not until Jensen starts to feel the pulse that's shooting through the cock that's embedded so deep inside him. Jensen is trembling, almost as if he can no longer control his own body.

"Dude, you're making me crazy," he whines. "Please, Steve. Do it, please."

"Honey, I love you when you're crazy," is the soft reply as Steve smiles and kisses Jensen, still not moving.

And then he does, and it's slow, slow and sweet, gentle slide out and then slip back inside. No wasted energy, just burying that cock of his deep, deep back down, breath slow and easy as he reaches to take hold of Jensen's dick.

"Oh, Jesus," whispers Jensen, voice shot through with need.

"Just me, but I aim to make you see God," says Steve, grinding his hips a little and smirking at the gasp Jensen gives. "Oh, yeah," he says softly. "You make me wanna write filthy songs about you, Jen."

"Oh, fuck," gasps Jensen, and shudders as Steve pulls out, drives home again and gives that little wiggle of his hips that makes him bite his lip. "You make me wanna sing ‘em with you."

"I'll hold you to that." Steve's eyes bore down into Jensen's, and Jensen feels exposed, laid bare to him, all his artifices known and knowing he's loved in spite of them. Jensen feels Steve picking up the pace at last as he finds his rhythm and goes for it. Jensen wraps his arms around Steve, holding on for dear life as his lover takes him apart.

When he comes, it's to the sound of rumbled approval. Steve's hand caresses his belly, catching the warm fluid there, lifting it to his lips to taste. "Love you, Jen."

It isn't long before Steve follows him, tipping over the edge as he drives in, hips stuttering, body tight with the urgency of release, and Jensen can't stop the words he grits out in answer. Steve's his friend, his lover, the one that's always there for him. Steve's like home, and he can't imagine a life without knowing that Steves there to love him, to be there for him and catch him when he falls.

"Love you too, Steve; you know I do." And he thinks he's right, that Steve does know it, and hes going to make sure that he never forgets it.

---

| Back to My Stories –|– Email Dr. Ruthless |