rivers_bend

Title: Snake Eyes and Déjà Vu
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Adam Lambert (Jared/Sandy, Jensen/Jared UST, Adam/Kris UST implied)
Words: 5500
Rating: NC-17
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people mentioned here, and neither imagine nor mean to imply this happened or would ever happen ever.
Enticements/Warnings: Are we still warning for surprise!JDM? What about surprise!George Clooney? What if they're blink-and-you'll-miss-'em?
A/N: Part of the F**king is fun verse. Can stand alone.
Summary: "Some of Sandy's friends have a gig at a dive in the Valley tomorrow night and she said we'd go. You've gotta come with."



Jared's text comes at 5:47 PM, just as Jensen's thinking he's glad this is a buddy movie not a romantic comedy, because catering have gone to town on the anchovies in the Cesar salad dressing and there is not enough toothpaste in the world to make a kissing scene after this be anything but awkward. The text is just three words:

I need you.

Jensen's heart does a triple back flip dismount and lands a perfect ten in his throat. It takes about five minutes—or at least five seconds—to touch his screen the right way in the right place to turn the text into an outgoing phone call.

"Hey, that was fast," Jared says. "Figured you'd be shooting late tonight, seeing as last Friday you were all off early to party."

Jared doesn't sound like his dog just died or his wife just left him. "Dinner break," Jensen says once his heart is headed back where it belongs. "Your text sounded pretty urgent."

"Oh yeah. Some of Sandy's friends have a gig at a dive in the Valley tomorrow night and she said we'd go. You've gotta come with."

Jensen takes a moment to reflect on the myriad interpretations of the word need.

"This isn't one of those gigs that's actually an open mic where you're going to try to get me drunk and make me sing so that you can win a bet with my sister about how many hits the YouTube will get, is it?"

"Dude, that was one time. Besides. You totally loved it."

"Jared."

"Nah. It's not like that. One of the girls she met on Pussycat has a thing. There's a few bands playing, so even if hers sucks, maybe one of 'em'll be good."

"Hmm." Jensen doesn't particularly have plans for Saturday and he's almost completely forgotten the little episode after his day with Jared last weekend, so it probably won't kill him to go.

Jared clearly hears an affirmative in Jensen's hmm and says, "Yes!" Jensen can see Jared doing a fist pump on the other end of the phone. "You 'da man!"

"Jare, we talked about that."

"It's a classic," Jared insists.

"Let me finish my damn dinner so I can get back to jumping off a freeway overpass."

"It's just a gig Jen—no need to kill yourself."

Jensen hangs up on the sound of Jared laughing at his own joke.

Sandy calls Saturday afternoon to tell him it's not a dive bar, it's a club, and he's not to dress like he's going drinking with Jared in Texas. That one time she came to meet them for drinks and they showed up in the clothes they'd been wearing playing football with Jared's high school buddies seems to have scarred her for life.

"I'll have you know that people would pay good money to see me in shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off."

"You do have a very nice rib cage, Jensen." Sandy has her yes, dear voice on. "Just wear something nice, okay?"

Jensen asks if they're driving or if he should meet them there, because god forbid Jared give him any kind of useful information like that, and Sandy tells him her friend is designated driver and they'll pick Jensen up at eight.

The club's in a converted warehouse and is refreshingly free of both block-busting lines and paparazzi, though it is equipped with a giant faux leather door flanked by two guys who look enough like Dwayne Johnson to be his stunt doubles. Assuming The Rock needs stunt doubles.

"Are we early?" Sandy's friend—Jensen thinks her name is Harmony, but the music in the car was pretty loud—asks when they pull up out front.

"I think it's just not Hollywood," Sandy answers.

There's valet parking and Harmony hands over her keys even though Jensen can see at least half a dozen places on the street. Not his car; not his money.

Rock number one checks them off the guest list and Rock number two opens the door for them. Jensen catches him eying Jared up, clocking that Jared's an inch or two taller, though Jensen reckons in sock feet they'd be eye to eye. The bouncer has on black Nikes like he might have to run down a perp at any moment, and Jared's wearing his boots that add two inches. Like he needs the height. Good thing Sandy can walk in five inch heels or she'd be spending the night conversing with her husband's abs. Not that Jared's abs aren't worth conversing with.

The inside of the warehouse doesn't look quite as converted, assuming its original function was as a prop house for Alice in Wonderland movies. There are throne-like chairs and sofas against the walls with twelve-foot high gilt and velvet backs, and tables and stools painted bright colors, many of which stand only six or eight inches off the ground. No one sitting down looks very comfortable. Fortunately there's a large dance floor with plenty of standing room, and a long bar opposite the door with plenty of bartenders. Jensen suspects this night will require a lot of alcohol.

The band on stage is totally Scott Evil's crappy high school garage band, only the Seth Green-alike front man is somehow both shorter and dorkier. Jensen had no idea that was even possible. What the band lacks in skill they also lack in enthusiasm, and Jensen really hopes their set is almost over. He adds a couple shots to his order of three beers plus a diet Coke with a twist for Harmony.

Jared toasts him with the tequila and it's down the hatch before they carry the rest of drinks over to where the girls are hugging and squealing greetings to their other friends on the edge of the dance floor.

"Thank you, baby!" Sandy cries, throwing her arms around Jared's neck and using her grip to pull herself up so she's tall enough to kiss him. Jensen thinks it would be easier for Jared to bend down, but Sandy actually seems happy to be hanging off her husband with her high heels dangling a foot and a half off the floor, so Jensen doesn't give Jared shit about it. She introduces them both to all her friends, but the names swirl past, drowned out by a clash of guitars.

One of the girls is looking at Jensen like he's lunch, and when Sandy sees it, she says to Jared, "We have tons of catching up to do. Why don't you and Jensen go have fun? We'll be boring for you guys."

Jensen remembers the story she told them about a friend who was a star-fucker with a very rich husband who would buy her whatever she wanted every time she cheated in the hopes of convincing her to stay. Jensen isn't sure this girl is her, but even if he felt like taking a woman home tonight, it wouldn't be worth the risk. Husbands, unless they want to join in the fun, have a tendency to complicate things. Jensen does his best to avoid complicated.

In the corner farthest from the bar Jared and Jensen spot an empty sofa paired with an almost-normal sized table, and they claim it before someone else can. That seems to start a veritable flood of good fortune. The Evil garage band wraps and are replaced by bland but inoffensive piped top-forty music while the next band sets up. It's loud enough to mellow out the din of the hundred or so people in the crowd, but not so loud that he and Jared can't talk. The band setting up is comprised of three really hot guys and a fearsomely gorgeous woman in a silk Chinese-patterned dress and platform boots. She wouldn't even have to go on tip-toe to kiss Jared. On the forehead, possibly. Jared's watching her with a mixture of terror and lust, which is hilarious.

Even better, when they start playing they're actually really good. The woman has a throaty voice with a hell of a range, and plays a mean bass, and the two guitar players keep shooting each other looks that say if there weren't quite so many people here they'd be ripping each other's clothes off. Jensen kind of wishes they'd say fuck the audience and do it anyway.

After the first song there's a chorus of whooping, stamping, and cheering from up near the front; clearly the band has friends in the house. Jensen's just settling back to listen to the next song—a Joan Jett cover—when he suddenly has a lap full of screaming, bouncing Mrs. Padalecki.

"What the hell?" he says, but Sandy just flaps her hands and Jared just looks at him like he has no fucking clue.

"Sandy?" he tries.

"You'll totally introduce me, right?" She flings her arms around Jensen's neck in a hug, cutting off his air for a second, and then flops sideways so her head is on Jared's shoulder and she can gaze up at Jensen pleadingly.

"To who?" As far as he knows, Jensen doesn't know anyone here but Jared and Sandy, and they hardly need introductions.

"To Adam Lambert," she says like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

Jensen feels his face heat up, and has a brief moment where he worries about the fact that his best friend's wife is squirming in his lap, but he gets himself chill with no untoward incidents.

"Jared told me you know him now," Sandy continues. She didn't have to put quite that much emphasis on know.

Jensen looks at Jared and Jared shrugs. It's not like Jensen didn't know that would happen, but still.

"I take it he's here?" Jared asks, clearly amused.

"I guess he's friends with the band. He and some other people are up at the front screaming." Sandy wiggles and shifts until she's sitting on Jared's lap instead of Jensen's. It's a relief, though it does mean there's nothing but willpower keeping Jensen from standing up and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Adam himself. Good thing Jensen has willpower.

"How drunk are you?" Jared asks his wife, grinning down at her.

"There were cocktails. Harmony didn't want hers so I drank it."

The crowd parts as people ramp up the jumping around to I Love Rock and Roll, and Jensen spies a tall guy with shaggy black hair, skin-tight black jeans, and a concert t-shirt that looks like it lost a fight with a bedazzler. The guy turns and has Adam's profile too. Tonight he's got on cowboy boots. Not that a self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead in anything quite so hipster-glam, but Jensen doubts Adam plans to finish up his evening roping calves. He looks like he's having a great time.

As a sop to Sandy's earlier pleading, Jensen's wearing the black pants he had on the night an attention-seeking George Clooney told him he had a nice ass and groped it on the red carpet—much to Jeff's fucking delight; Jensen thought he'd never live that down—and a black-and-grey striped shirt with French cuffs but no cufflinks, collar open. He has his own hipster-but-not-glam cowboy boots on. Kane would laugh his ass off if he saw them, but Jensen doesn't plan to end his evening roping calves either, and his Tony Lamas don't look right with French cuffs.

"I will introduce you on two conditions." Jensen tears his gaze away from Adam's ass to look Sandy in the eye. "One: you will not scream and flail when I do." He raises an eyebrow and waits for her to nod. "Two: you will not try to sell me to him like I am your last unmarried daughter."

"I wouldn't!" Sandy looks scandalized. Jared hooks his arm tighter around her waist and guffaws.

"I love your little delusions, honey. They're adorable," he says and kisses her head.

Sandy glares at them both and struggles to her feet, hampered by Jared's monkey arms, before looking at them expectantly.

"I'm not going over and interrupting him while he's listening to his friends," Jensen protests when he gets what she's driving at. "We'll find him in the break before the next set."

With a look over her shoulder at her group, Sandy gives Jensen her best put-on pout and then blows them both kisses and goes back to dancing.

"You gonna introduce me, too?" Jared asks, looking oddly like it's a genuine question and he isn't sure what Jensen is going to say.

"'Course." Jensen hasn't introduced Jared to many of his one-night stands, it's true, but why would he? Though maybe the question has more to do with Jared feeling guilty about the way he'd always pretty much been a dick to Clay when Jensen was dating him and he's worried Jensen still holds it against him.

"Cool," Jared says, leaning back, arm across Jensen's shoulders like he forgot the sofa's back is twelve feet high and thought he'd be resting it there. He doesn't move it though, just tips his beer into his mouth and watches the crowd.

Jensen watches too, as a tiny girl with huge hair breaks off from Adam's group and heads to the bar. She hoists herself up onto it like she's preparing to get out of a swimming pool and gives the bartender a kiss with her order. He starts putting far more drinks than she'll be able to carry in front of her. Jensen's thinking about chivalry and about the heat of Jared's arm against the back of his neck, and about what he might say to Adam, when Adam himself turns and heads for his friend.

"Need another beer," Jensen says.

Jared looks at him. "Reckon you do. I wouldn't say no as long as you're up."

Jensen's route to the bar is less congested than Adam's so they arrive at almost the same time. Adam's already grinning at something his friend said when he turns and notices Jensen, but his eyes do an appreciative sweep of Jensen's body that is just as satisfying as a smile meant only for him.

"You looked like you might need a hand with those," Jensen says to Adam's friend, "but someone's come to rescue you."

She looks from Adam to Jensen and back and lets out a delicious and dirty laugh. "Six hands are better than four," she says. There are now ten drinks on the bar, so she's not just matchmaking.

"Mel, Jensen. Jensen, Mel," Adam says. Jensen and Mel shake hands. "Her girlfriend's the one on stage, lucky bitch," Adam adds.

"Keep your hands off my girlfriend." Mel looks delighted and sounds outraged.

"I meant she's the lucky bitch," Adam says, so charming Jensen can almost taste it.

"Help me carry these drinks then," Mel says, grabbing two of the fruitier-looking cocktails and stalking off, haughty and saucy.

"She's a kick," Jensen says, smiling after her.

"That she is."

Adam manages the four drinks in Martini glasses, leaving three bottles and a pint of beer for Jensen. Jensen looks over at Jared—a drinks'll be a minute, you okay there? look—and Adam's eyes follow his gaze.

"Sam Winchester, as I live and breathe," Adam says as Jared gives Jensen a nod. "My ex was convinced you two were sleeping together."

Jensen nearly drops the bottles he's trying to pick up between his fingers, but hopefully recovers before Adam notices. "Dean and Sam or me and Jared?" He's heard everything in the last six years; nothing surprises him anymore.

Adam chuckles. "All of the above, possibly. I never thought to ask him about Sam and Dean."

"Well," Jensen says. "The answer's none of the above." He doesn't mean to look back at Jared again as he says it, but he does, and Adam sees and gets a very knowing glint in his eyes.

But he only says, "I should have taken the bet." Then, over his shoulder as he starts heading back to the front, "I'd love to meet him when we've delivered these drinks, if that's okay."

Jensen nods a little dumbly.

As they're passing the drinks around Jensen spies Sandy peeking at him through the crowd. Even though he knows she'll be cool, he kind of wants to introduce Adam to Jared first, so he ignores her. Then changes his mind and holds up a finger giving her his best be patient stare. She nods and winks and goes back to shaking her groove thing. Jensen kind of loves her, even when it might be easier to hate her.

He's still looking in her direction when Adam's arm hooks round his waist and starts leading him back to the bar. "You are going to let me buy you and your friend a drink, right?"

Jensen tries to ignore the low burn in his belly at the feel of Adam's arm. "Of course." Then he realizes they're in a very public place, and Jensen tries not to be obvious about looking around for people with camera phones aimed in their direction. Then Adam leans in to order drinks, letting go of Jensen's waist, and doesn't put his arm back when he's done, and Jensen is perversely disappointed.

Jared stands as they approach, takes the beer from Adam's right hand, shaking it warmly. "Jared," he says, eyes taking in the eyeliner, rhinestones, and silver-adorned boots, but he's not being a dick about it.

"Adam," Adam says.

They shuffle around the table and sit, Jensen in the middle. He settles stiff against the sofa's back while the other two lean elbows on knees and talk over him. They're both a lot better at small talk than Jensen is, chatting about the gig, and Adam's last show in Dallas, and working in television versus movies. When the music ramps up Adam leans across Jensen's lap, resting his arm on Jensen's knees and his hand on Jared's leg. Jensen finds himself staring at Adam's earrings, remembering feeling the press of them against his throat.

Sandy waits until the next song starts before she comes over. Despite her earlier begging, she doesn't wait for any introductions, just sticks her hand out, saying, "Sandy McCoy," and giving Adam her most adorable smile, letting him know she's glad to meet him.

"My wife," Jared says.

"You're even more beautiful in person than in People," Adam tells her.

Sandy blinks at that for a second before clearly remembering the spot she and Jared had in the Hot Hollywood Couples issue almost two years ago, and thanks him, giving Adam a flirty smile.

"I totally need to get back to my friends," Adam says, "but it's an absolute pleasure to meet you, and if you're sticking around for the next set maybe I'll see you later?"

Jensen's sure he didn't imagine that Adam's eyes fixed on him for a second when he said "later."

"Is it something I said?" Sandy asks, dropping into the seat Adam vacated.

"Yes," Jared tells her. "You say your name and people flee in fear and awe."

Sandy reaches across Jensen to poke Jared in the thigh. "Thought so."

When Adam's friends finish their set, the piped music comes back on and Jared and Sandy head back to the bar to get more drinks. Jensen has his head tipped back and is resting his eyes when he feels fingers slipping into his front pocket. Dean Winchester reacts before Jensen even really registers the sensation, hand flying out to grab the intruder's arm and wrench him off balance, standing and twisting around to gain the advantage. By the time Jensen even catches up with what he's doing, he's got Adam pinned to the sofa, wrist trapped above his head, Jensen's arm across his shoulders and his knee between his thighs.

Adam looks shocked, and maybe a little turned on.

Jensen jumps back like he's been electrocuted.

"Well, that was interesting." Adam laughs, and Jensen relaxes a little.

"Sorry," he says. "Hunter reflexes. God. I really am sorry."

"My fault. I shouldn't have tried to put my number in your phone without asking." Adam laughs again. "Though if I'm gonna be completely honest, I don't think I'm going to let you get away without getting your number after that." He pulls his own phone out of his back pocket. "And that's more of a surprise to me than it is to you, believe me."

Jensen is hardly going to argue—with any of it—so he gives an expectant Adam his number and fishes his own phone out when it vibrates seconds later with a text that says, "Call me."

"Do you even have time?" he asks as he's adding Adam's name to the contact. "Doesn't your tour start in a couple weeks?"

Adam grins broadly and Jensen realizes he maybe sounds a little like a stalker. "It does. And I'm totally in rehearsals every second of the day. But I'm the boss and I get weekends off—this weekend at least—which means I'm free all day tomorrow."

"What a coincidence. So am I."

Adam goes to get up and Jensen realizes he's still standing between Adam's knees, so he gets out of the way.

"I'll call you tomorrow, then," Adam says, hauling Jensen close enough to kiss his cheek European style. Except for how he adds a little nip to the edge of Jensen's jaw before he pulls away.

Adam's friends appear, he slips into their orbit, and in a bubble of laughter they're out the door.


Sandy's friends were next up and they only played four songs, and as soon as they were off stage Harmony was asking if they could leave, which meant Jensen didn't end the evening quite as wasted as he'd expected. Plus he declined the invitation to keep partying with the gang afterward and so he wakes up on Sunday morning without a hangover, even if he doesn't exactly feel his sparkling best. Coffee, half an hour on the treadmill, and a hot shower make him feel much better. He's got the fridge open trying to decide if he should eat a salad or something more interesting for lunch when his phone rings.

Adam's voice is low and filthy like he's been sucking cock all night and he apologizes and says he let his friends talk him into karaoke after the gig and his tour manager will probably kill him if he still sounds like this at rehearsal tomorrow, but that's tomorrow, and does Jensen still want to hang out.

"If you come now you'll get here at the same time as the food," Adam says.

Jensen already has his car keys in his hand.

They eat Thai food and Adam tells Jensen all about LA's newest drag king karaoke bar where Mel made Adam use half his eyeliner pencil drawing her a goatee so she could sing badly arranged David Cook songs. Then he wants to hear about Jensen's new movie and about what he does when he's not filming, and Jensen is starting to feel like they might actually kind of be friends.

It's wierd—Jensen does friends and he does one-night stands, and they don't tend to overlap—but he doesn't really want to argue. And it's pretty clear neither of them are in the market for a boyfriend, so why not? He's not opposed to fuck buddies in theory, it's just that no one's ever exactly offered.

After lunch Adam asks if he wants to try out the hot tub.

"I didn't bring my bathing suit," Jensen says, just checking, because this whole friends thing is new.

Adam gives him one of those delighted smiles. "I should certainly hope not!"

The tub is not actually hot apparently—Adam mentions as they head out back that in the summer he just keeps it at sun-warmed temperature—but the bubbles still look appealing. Though not as appealing as Adam, who gets them large, fluffy towels out of a glass-and-hardwood cabana and then strips off, throwing his clothes on one of the lounge chairs shaded by a flower-covered trellis. He knows he's being watched, and puts on a little bit of a show—one that Jensen recognizes as only half cocky and the other half hiding self-consciousness, because he's done the same himself a hundred times.

"You can look all you want," Adam says, "but it's more fun if you're naked too."

When Jensen starts undressing, Adam climbs into the water, not bothering to hide the fact that he thinks it's his turn to watch. His frank appreciation is disconcerting, but Jensen neither blushes nor turns his back, and manages to return Adam's smile as he walks over to join him in the water.

He's no sooner settled on the bench than Adam's up and straddling his lap, knees either side of his hips, cupping Jensen's face, kissing him. Jensen's left hand tangles in Adam's hair and his right slips down over his ass, fingers teasing at his crack, tickling at his balls. There's a jet hitting Jensen's back right in the spot that's still a little sore from the stunts Friday night, perfect counterpoint to the thrust and sweep of Adam's tongue in his mouth, the stroking of his fingers down Jensen's neck. Spreading his thighs wider, Adam settles more firmly on Jensen's lap, and their cocks bob together in the swirling water.

"Mmmm," Adam says, thumbs tracing Jensen's cheekbones. He pulls back so he can look Jensen in the face. "You feel so good."

Jensen just nods, because, yeah, Adam feels good too, but he's not used to talking about it. At least not when there's no dick sucking happening.

"Dean Winchester is so not my type; you took me by surprise the other night," Adam says.

Conversation time, then. "You a Sam boy?"

Adam laughs. "No. Not at all. I'm more—wasn't there another brother a few times? Smaller? Big blue eyes?"

"Jake?" Jensen looks at Adam. "Yeah, I can see you with Jake, though I'm not sure you're his type."

"I'm everyone's type."

"That's what Jared said." Jensen smoothes a hand up Adam's back, scooping water with it, watching it roll over his shoulder and down his chest.

"Really?" Adam pulls back further, like he needs more distance in order to tell if Jensen's kidding.

"He said you could turn straight guys gay. Of course people said that about me for years, and I never noticed it being true." Jensen's tone is light, but Adam's mouth goes serious anyway.

"Yeah. That really doesn't work, does it?" he says.

"You too?"

"You could say I've been there. Never could figure out if it's worse when their wives are perfect and adorable, or better."

"Worse and better," Jensen says.

"Probably." Adam shifts a little so Jensen's fingers are more firmly seated between his cheeks and leans in to lick a drop of water off Jensen's lip. "If either of them had said yes, though, we wouldn't be here now, and that would be a terrible shame."

Jensen's brain goes back to the fantasy of sucking Adam while Jared fucked him, but he knows Adam's right, and they wouldn't be here. "If you can't fuck the one you love, fuck the one you're with?" he says.

Adam chuckles, wry but not bitter. "My thoughts exactly."

They don't actually fuck in the hot tub—dangerous, and ow, and only actually possible if you're using condom-unfriendly grease, which just, no—but they do make out for an impossibly long time while Adam brings Jensen just to the edge of coming again and again, holding him off at the last moment with fingers tight around his cock. Finally Jensen's shaking so bad he'd worry about bruises on his shoulder blades—if he could feel anything but the want in his belly—and interrupting Adam's kisses with threats and promises and pleading.

"Okay, baby, okay, just hold on a little more," Adam croons, pushing off the side of the tub to float backward and stand.

He helps Jensen up and out and over to one of the cushioned lounge chairs, hampered by the fact that Jensen can't stop clinging to him, rubbing up against him, trying to get that last bit of friction he needs to just fucking come already.

"God you're sexy all desperate like this, want to fuck you so hard—" Adam whispers the words in Jensen's ear as he guides him down on his hands and knees, petting his back and his ass as he reaches into his discarded clothes with his other hand, pulling out supplies from the folds.

"No prep," Jensen demands. "Just—fuck, jesus—just fuck me."

Adam, gorgeous fucking top that he is, does as he's told, slicking lube on his cock and holding Jensen's cheeks open with his thumbs as he pushes in. Jensen loves that sharp burn cutting through the need when he's this far gone; he can feel it behind his breast bone and at the base of his skull as well as in his ass, and it's like the whole world shifts into a higher gear for a minute while his body adjusts.

"Do it do it do it," he's saying, but the words aren't necessary; Adam's rocking in and in with little thrusts, rubbing Jensen's hole with a thumb, palm circling low over Jensen's back, shushing him.

Jensen's elbows give out as he takes it, and his teeth find a fold of towel to bite into as Adam sinks in deep as he can go.

"You good?" Adam asks, but it's a rhetorical question. He's saying, "Yeah, you're good. So fucking good, yeah," before Jensen can even think about getting enough air to answer, and he's pulling back again, riding forward, hands slipping over to tug Jensen's hips to a better angle.

Adam fucks hard enough that Jensen has to cling to the lounge not to slide right off the top, even with Adam's grip on his hips. Jensen's sure he can hear the quiet slap of his cock on his belly over the louder sound of Adam's thighs on his ass and the whirr of the hot tub's motor, even though that's probably impossible, and he concentrates on the sound, letting it send little sparks up his spine that say, closer, closer, until he's there, almost there, just a little hand—

"That's it, baby." Adam's panting, breath catching on the words. "You come now, just do it. Jerk yourself for me—"

Jensen gives in, finally, finally, all that tension spiraling out and snapping back and he's coming, Adam buried deep inside.

He's barely aware of Adam pulling out, catching him as he slumps sideways, but he watches as Adam smears a hand through the mess on Jensen's stomach, finishing himself off so his come mixes with Jensen's own.

"Why am I the one who gets all dirty?" Jensen asks, eying the patterns Adam's drawing on his chest.

"Dirty's fun." Adam stops playing and flops half on top of Jensen, wiggling around to smear the jizz between them. "See?"

Jensen scoffs, but he's got an arm around Adam's shoulders and the other around his waist, and he's resting his cheek on Adam's hair, so he suspects his argument is invalid.

They shift to get more comfortable—as comfortable as two grown men can get on a scrunched-up towel on a lounge chair, even a large, heavy, expensive one—and Adam sighs.

"Hmm?" Jensen enquires.

"If I tell you I like your freckles, will you get like I'd get if you said the same to me?"

"You mean will I think you're crazy?"

Adam huffs amusement, tracing a line between the spots on Jensen's left arm. "That. Yeah."

"Probably."

"Well, it's true anyway." Adam tips his head so he can nip gently at the skin above Jensen's nipple.

"The freckles are always greener?"

"Thank god that's not true." Adam stops his perusal of Jensen's freckles and props his chin on one fist to look at Jensen's face. "But we could do you some green glitter, bring out those eyes of yours…"

Jensen shoves him, laughing despite himself. "Not on your life. Glitter works for you. I have a nice green Henley that does the same thing and is a lot less fuss."

Adam grins. "Someday you will learn the power of the sparkle." When Jensen just raises an eyebrow Adam stands and holds out a hand. "C'mon. There's a shower in the cabana. I've got an early start tomorrow, but if you're good I'll let you buy me a drink before I kick you out."