| Title: Ride On 'Til Dawn Author: Jo Pairing: Christian Kane/Jensen Ackles Rating: PG Summary: Chris thinks too much sometimes. Disclaimer: Never happened, though I'd watch if it did. Notes: For Nan's birthday. Thanks to Brenda for the prompt & beta. Also for the slashfic25 prompt - enough.
"Argentina. And it was good." There's a soft laugh. "Yeah, okay, whatever." "Steve came down for a couple weeks. Got tore up on his birthday." Silence, then another soft laugh, but it's different this time, a little sharper, with an edge to it. "That's good, man. So. When you gonna be back in L.A.?" "A month. Dunno." "Lemme know, alright? I'll fly down for the weekend." Chris shakes his head, gears grinding a little as he shifts to take the hill. There's one of those really bad, old country songs playing on the radio – you know the ones, where the guy's singing in a whining twang about how his woman left him and his dog got run over. Perfect, is all Chris can think as he shakes his head again. "Just for the weekend, huh?" "Busy, man. Filming." "That's right. Guess it'll have to be a weekend, then." "Yeah. It'll be great. We'll get wasted, catch up." "Catch up," Chris mutters, the glow from the dashlight illuminating his face in the rear view mirror, pale green highlights against darker shadows. Catch up, my ass. They'll get wasted, sure, and then they'll end up buckass naked, fucking like minks on the nearest flat surface. And the next morning, they'll both pretend that nothing happened. Steve'll show up and look at the fresh bruises and bite marks with suspicion in his eyes. That's how it always works with them. Chris wonders why Jensen can't just come right out and say what he means, say he wants to get fucked into the middle of next week instead of making some lame-ass excuse to get together. He wonders why they've always got to play this game. It's stupid, and he's too old for it. Hell, Jensen's too old for it, too. But they still play it. And it still pisses Chris off faster than just about anything else about Jensen. The gears grind again, and Chris makes a mental note to get the transmission checked. The sky outside is getting lighter, that odd shade of dark gray-blue that signals the impending dawn. It's still the middle of the night in Vancouver, but Chris reaches for his phone anyway. He's halfway to Jensen's name on his contact list before he closes the phone with a snap and tosses it onto the seat. Fuck it. Maybe he just won't call Jensen next time he's home. Maybe he'll just fly in, pick up Steve, and fuck off to Ojai or Palm Desert or Joshua Tree. Steve'll be up for it. Right. After he calls Jensen to say, "Hey, Chris is here, you comin' in?" Jensen, of course, will be on the first plane down, and Steve, being Steve, will suddenly remember some commitment he has – another gig at the Hotel Café or some shit – and he'll beg off the trip, cowardly fucker that he is. Not that Chris can really blame Steve for not wanting to get in the middle of whatever this is he has going on with Jensen. Jared had tried that once, all unbridled enthusiasm and big ass grin. Things had been okay, even with Jared not taking the hint that neither one of them really wanted to talk about it. It had been pretty clear -- crystal, even -- when Jensen had told Jared in no uncertain terms to shut the fuck up and butt the fuck out. Jared hadn't talked to either of them for over a week. The sky's lighter now, the color of dirty dishwater, and there's a faint, rosy glow on the horizon. It's still the middle of the night in Vancouver. Not that Chris is thinking of calling Jensen and saying, "Hey, we need to talk." Talking isn't something they do. The shrilling ring of his phone, half under his hip, makes Chris jump. The truck swerves a little as he grabs for the phone, swearing under his breath until he flips it open. Without looking at the caller ID. "Hey…we…need to talk..."
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