Underneath the Oak Tree -- Chapter Four

[lotrspnfangirl]

May 18th, 1958
Boston, Massachussetts

Jensen couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he approached the beat up old ford and saw his Grandfather leaning up against it. He looked old, worn down, but the smile he gave Jensen when their eyes met was nothing short of brilliant.

“Look at you!” Albert called out when Jensen was close enough. Albert pushed away from the vehicle to meet Jensen in a warm hug. “Boy, how tall are you going to get?”

“Taller than you,” Jensen replied with a shy grin before pulling back and squeezing his grandfather’s arm as he did so. “It’s so good to see you, Grandpa.”

“Likewise. Your grandmother’s been scurrying around all week getting things ready for you! Had to remind her you were family and after a day with the pigs you’d be caked in too much dirt to notice if the linens had been pressed or simply washed, hung and folded.”

“I bet she didn’t like that,” Jensen chuckled and watched as his grandfather reached behind him to take hold of a cane that had been leaning against the passenger door. Jensen smiled sadly as he watched the painful expression cross over his grandfather’s face when he shifted his weight to move further from the door.

“Don’t you start that,” Albert warned, swatting Jensen’s leg with the cane.

“Start what? I didn’t-“

“I saw that look… you have eyes just like your grandmother, can’t hide a damn thing.” Jensen looked up quickly, afraid he’d already managed to anger his grandfather, but relaxed when he saw the old man smile. “Now come on, none of that worrying. I’m fine, I’m gonna continue being fine. Now get in the truck.” For a moment the old farmer wondered if he should ask about the boy’s swollen lip and bruised cheek but then decided that it was a subject for later. Now he just wanted to enjoy his wonderful grandson’s welcome company.

“Yes, sir,” Jensen laughed happily and tossed his bag over into the bed of the truck before slipping into the cab. He leaned back against the seat, inhaling the familiar smells of tobacco and the farm from the seats, and didn’t bother stopping the laugh that broke free. He was going home.

May 22nd, 1958
Somerset, Vermont

“How’s Grandpa doing? Really?” Jensen slid into the kitchen, plucking a large apple from the big wooden bowl on the counter as he went by, and hopped up onto one of the kitchen stools. Martha looked over her shoulder and eyed her grandson carefully before plopping a cutting board in front of him.

“You’re gonna come in my kitchen chatting, you’re gonna be working,” she smiled at him and handed over a knife and the already peeled apples she’d been preparing over the sink. Jensen shrugged, and started coring and thin slicing the apples, waiting for her reply. “He’s… well, you know your grandfather, Jensen. He’s a stubborn old mule!”

Jensen smiled and nodded his head. They heard the front door open and both of them paused, waiting to see if someone else would join them in the kitchen. When the door opened and shut again, Martha continued.

“Doctors said it was a stroke… but your grandfather doesn’t feel inclined to believe it. Says he’s lived off the farm his entire life, healthy as a horse! Plus, he doesn’t have any of the defects that some of the other people who’ve suffered strokes have. Just kind of a weakness in his one leg…” She sighed, handing Jensen the newest apple she’d peeled before grabbing another. “Doesn’t want to listen to me when I tell him he’s not as young as he used to be. Apparently that man thinks he’s going to live forever. No wonder his son has the same belief…”

Jensen paused for a moment and gave his grandmother a strange look. He would’ve never thought to compare his father and his grandfather… sometimes he couldn’t even believe they were from the same family…

“Oh yes, our son may be a bit harder and more rough around the edges, but that stubbornness he got straight from his Daddy.” Martha chuckled as if she’d read Jensen’s mind. Jensen shrugged in response and focused back on his apples. “You know… I think your Grandfather might be suggesting to your Daddy about you coming to live up here full time and help out… what would you think about that?”

“Me?” Jensen looked up again, surprised. “But… The Padaleckis live here now…”

“You’re right, of course, Jensen,” Martha nodded, dropping the last apple onto the board and turning around for a towel to wipe her hands. “But your Grandfather’s looking to strike a deal and get another 25 head of Guernseys in here… Wants to expand the dairy side of things, maybe make it so we’re a complete dairy farm. Course, we’d always have the farm stand for the locals and such…”

“Oh, Jared will love that…” Jensen muttered, a small smile playing at his lips.

“You think so?” Martha cocked her head. “I didn’t think that boy was too fond of them… can’t get him to fetch me a pail of fresh milk even if I beg him.”

Jensen snorted and shook his head.

“Speaking of the Padaleckis… when will they be back?” Jensen finished slicing the last of the apples, sweeping the mound of slices into the bowl. Martha nodded her thanks and took it back to the sink, reaching into the cupboard for cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger. She seasoned the apples, added a bit of sugar, and then poured them into the waiting pie shell.

“I think Sherri said they would be back tomorrow evening… I bet you Gerry will be out of sorts that they didn’t wait for you too. We didn’t know if you’d be coming… this early.” Martha hesitated for a second and Jensen knew what they were both thinking. We didn’t know if Alan would let you come at all.

“Yeah, well… I’m eighteen now, plenty old enough to decide what and where I want to be for my summer.” Martha hummed a response and Jensen didn’t feel like pushing the subject. The fight he’d had with his father before he left had been more than enough…

Martha smiled sadly as she suddenly understood that swollen lip and the bruises the boy had when he’d arrived a few days before. Her son had apparently not inherited his father’s gentle ways.





“Jensen!” the voice was strident and loud, the tone demanding an instant response.

Mackenzie froze, eyes darting up from the table where they had cards spread out before them to fearfully meet her older brother’s.

“What did you do now?” She hissed and Jensen rolled his eyes, tossing his cards down. It wouldn’t be likely he’d be back any time soon to finish them…

“Yes, Sir?” Jensen made his way into the living room. Alan was waiting with his arm over the back of the arm chair, slowly twisting a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Sit.” Alan ordered, his eyes were cold as they focused on Jensen. Donna was already sitting on the couch, her legs tucked in beneath her and her hands clenched tightly on her lap. Jensen hesitated for a moment before reminding himself to ‘pick his battles’ and he sat down beside his mother. “Donna… why don’t you tell Jensen what you told me?”

For a brief moment Jensen’s eyes darted questioningly to his obviously distressed mother.

Donna inhaled sharply, refusing to look at her son. “Th-that Jensen had given his notice at Crowley’s.”

Jensen sighed, rolling his eyes away from his mother to look at Alan.

“Is this true?” his father demanded.

“Yes,” Jensen answered simply, watching as his father’s fingers turned white around the glass, the ice inside rattling.

“I am assuming you have a perfectly good reason for this?” Alan almost whispered and even though it came out soft, beside him Donna flinched. Jensen gave her a quick look, for a second feeling bad for her.

“Of course I do, I’m not an idiot.” Jensen returned his attention back to his father and fought hard not to laugh at the expression on his face. If he were any redder… Jensen was sure he would’ve exploded like a cherry bomb.

“I didn’t call you in here to play games, boy.”

“No, you called me in here to… what exactly? I made the decision to stop working at Crowley’s –for the summer, by the way—because I have other plans. I talked with the owners and they agreed that it was easy for them to hire summer help from the high school kids and I could come back in the fall and work.”

“And what the hell do you expect to be doing during the summer?” Alan spat, pushing off of the armchair and slamming his glass down on the table beside it. Donna jumped, her leg bumping into Jensen’s as she did so. Alan moved quickly, reaching down to pull Jensen up from the couch, his hands twisted in the front of his son’s shirt. “You sure as hell aren’t going to be sitting around here doing nothing!”

“No, I’m not going to be sitting around here period. I already bought my ticket to Vermont.” Jensen reached up, gripping his father’s wrists and trying to pull them away, his body starting to shake from the anger welling up inside of his chest. Now that he had achieved his father’s height it was so much easier to look the man in the eye and present a challenge to his bullying ways and physical intimidation.

“What is it with you and that damned farm?” Alan yelled and Jensen felt himself laugh, the shocked look on Alan’s face as the man took a step back making him laugh harder.

“What is it with me and that farm?! What is it with you and being so against it?” Jensen’s long-simmering anger, at his father’s constant disregard and utter disrespect for all his grandparents’ hard work and way of life, finally made its way to the surface. He set his feet and clenched his fists. He snarled back, “Too afraid of some real goddamn work, Sir? Actually getting up in the wee hours of the morning, working so hard your back and your legs and your neck ache to the point where you don’t think you could move another muscle? Actually working for something, building towards something, being a part of a family and a community instead of sitting around on your ass getting drunk and beating your—“

The first punch rocked Jensen back on his heels, nearly landing him backwards onto the couch. His right hand flew forward to grip Alan’s forearm, trying to steady himself. The moment he had raised his voice to the old man, he’d halfway expected it anyways. The second punch however, he hadn’t been expecting… He felt something warm run down his chin and then the metallic taste of blood was on his tongue.

“Alan!” Donna screamed and Jensen felt himself falling, Alan was instantly on him, straddling his hips and pinning him to the floor.

Suddenly Jensen could hear a chair scraping the floor in the kitchen as Alan raised his fist again. Mackenzie shouldn’t see this… couldn’t see this. Jensen reacted quickly, his own fist catching Alan’s jaw, the sound of his teeth slamming together making Jensen cringe.

Mackenzie gasped and suddenly Donna was there, pulling Alan off, delicate fingers pressing against his face, whispering concern. Jensen hated her at that moment. Too many memories of his mother never standing up for her children against the old man’s unrelenting, anger and constant drunken bullying flashed through the seventeen-year-old’s mind.

Alan roughly shoved her away, angrily jabbing a finger at Jensen, whose head was now cradled in Mackenzie’s lap. “Get out of my house,” Alan’s voice shook, his pupils blown as he stared down at his son. “Get the fuck out of my house, now!”

Jensen scrambled up off the floor and stormed from the room, moving angrily up the stairs to pack the quickest bag he could. He snatched his wallet off the nightstand, hastily gathering the jar of savings from the tips he’d gotten at the bar, his shaving kit and a few sets of clothes to shove them haphazardly into his duffel before heading back down the stairs. As his foot left the last step he was stunned by the dead silence. Mackenzie and his parents were gone from the living room, nowhere to be seen. Jensen hesitated for only a moment, wondering if he should at least find Mac to tell her goodbye, before he silently stomped out the door.

She would understand.



“So, uh…” Jensen cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from his face where his fingers were absentmindedly stroking across the yellowing bruise on his cheek. “I probably should head over and meet Mrs. Padalecki face to face, huh?”

“I’ll teach you boys some manners yet,” Martha laughed and gave Jensen a gentle smile. “Off you go then… and if you see your Grandfather tell him I’ve got his lunch ready.”

May 23rd, 1958
Somerset, Vermont

Jensen blinked once against the glare of the setting sun, confused when he saw a tall, lanky boy walking towards him. Over the boy’s shoulder he recognized Gerry, a little thicker around the middle now maybe and with a head full of greying hair instead of brown. Beside the man stood Jeffrey who had gotten even taller than the last time Jensen had seen him and more grown up. But the boy…

Jensen snapped his eyes back to the boy and gasped when he met large, hazel eyes that he most definitely recognized. “Jared?”

“Jensen!” The boy’s face split into a wide smile and he jogged the rest of the way down the driveway, dropping his bag onto the porch to give Jensen a hug. The boy—Jared­—was almost as tall as Jensen was!

“You’re… you’re… big!” Jensen stumbled through what he was trying to say and when Jared laughed he realized how stupid he’d sounded. “I mean, like… you’re tall and…”

“Not eight years old anymore?” Jared stepped back and gave Jensen a once over. “It’s been six years, Jensen! Did you think I would stay that old forever? What the hell happened to your eye?”

“Just… nothing,” Jensen shook his head quickly and watched as Jared bent down to pick up the bag he’d dropped, his t-shirt pulling tight against the defined muscles of his shoulders. Jensen shifted, rubbing his own arm self-consciously.

Jared gave him a look as he stood, smirking when he shook his head, and then he was gone, leaving Jensen with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He bit his lower lip, turning to follow after Jared who was retreating down the path to the Padalecki house, but Gerry stepped forward to take Jared’s place and Jensen was immediately wrapped into another warm, wonderful hug.

“It’s gonna’ be good to have you here this summer, son.” Gerry clapped him on the back and Jensen smiled, all other thoughts he had slipping easily away.

“Don’t know how you’ve managed without me, really.” Jensen teased and Gerry shoved him playfully before turning around to Jeff.

“Bring that stuff to the house and then get back here, Jeff. I’m sure Martha and your mother have been fretting over making a big supper all day long.”

“And pie…” Jensen added, giving Jeff a smile in greeting.

“You had me at food,” Jeff shrugged his bag higher onto his shoulder and ran off, leaving Gerry to laugh and happily nudge a smiling Jensen back up the porch steps and into the big, old farmhouse.

June 29th, 1958
Somerset, Vermont

Jensen was so screwed.

He exhaled slowly, climbing the rest of the way up into the barn loft, his stomach twisting into knots as he went. He didn’t have to look or hell, even listen, to know that Jared was up there. He could see Jared’s long legs swinging over the side of the loft, free floating in the air. He could hear the teen humming and singing along to whatever song happened to be stuck in his head at that time, laughing to himself every few moments when he either forgot the words or they came out wrong. Jensen could’ve been both deaf and blind and he still would have known Jared was there.

Because Jensen was hyperaware of everything about Jared.

He thought about how it had taken him almost three days once Jared, his brother and father had returned from their hiking trip in May for Jensen to recognize the feelings he’d experienced on the porch and during supper that night as he saw Jared for the first time in nearly six years.

Jared had been so excited, talking animatedly with his hands throughout their meal, about how they’d followed the creek on the property to Deerfield River, followed it almost ten miles out to the reservoir where they’d been able to watch the bear and deer that congregated there. He had talked about how Gerry had shown him and Jeff every constellation he could remember, laughing when he’d brutalized the names and Jeff had to correct him. Jared talked, and laughed, and it took everything Jensen had to concentrate on the actual words coming out of Jared’s mouth instead of the way his lips moved when he said them.


At first during the early weeks when the June sun was brutal and the creek water felt so cool against his sunburnt skin, Jensen had started taking a late afternoon swim. But then after a few days Jared and Jeff had begun to join him, and Jensen found his eyes drifting across the water to watch the water slicking down Jared’s muscular back and… Christ, the kid was fourteen years old and didn’t need some faggot leering at him.

Jensen began to avoid time alone with the younger boy despite the magnetic pull he felt for him.

Since he had finally put a label on his lustful glances, Jensen started using every excuse he could muster up to get out of going to the creek and had taken to lounging in the loft instead when he needed to cool down. The heat was still stifling, the smell of horses and hay almost suffocating, but Jensen didn’t have to worry, because at least in the loft he was alone.

Until ten days ago when Jared had finally discovered his hiding spot and was seemingly determined not to let Jensen spend his relaxing moments in peace. Because Jared would follow him… or would meet him there… or would get there first. Jared would hum and whistle and talk, and when the heat became too much and Jensen suggested he go and find Jeff or take a dip, Jared would just shrug and make things even worse by pulling his shirt off, balling it up behind his head so he could lay spread out against the wood.

And Jensen’s mind went wild. He tried not to look. He busied himself talking about farm work, about Mackenzie, about how big a harvest they would get this year. Jensen would talk and then Jared would reply and it was rude not to acknowledge his added comments.

Somehow, Jensen’s eyes always trailed back to Jared’s large, hazel ones. They always shone, even in the dim light of the barn, and Jensen swore if he looked too long that Jared would be able to see straight through him.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Jared was already here and waiting for him. Jensen honestly should have expected it. But images from the dream he’d had the night before suddenly were at the forefront of his mind and he shivered as his stomach rolled.

“Jensen?” Jared’s voice oozed concern as he realized the older boy had been on the steps for a while just staring into space. When Jensen focused his eyes he saw Jared pushing up off the loft floor, easing closer to him.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he forced himself to smile and moved quickly to take his regular spot, careful not to brush against Jared in even the slightest bit as the other boy resumed his previous position. The fact that Jared was concerned for him when Jensen’s mind played all sorts of dirty, wrong scenarios out about him… well, it just worried Jensen that much more.

Jared resumed his humming, his foot knocking into the edge of the wood and sending little vibrations through it and to Jensen’s body. He felt warmer, Jared’s presence now even more suffocating than the stench of hay and manure. He could leave… could claim he had a stomach ache and push himself back into the house. He could lock himself into his room and no one would question it – Jensen was rarely ever sick, but sometimes the heat got to all of them. But that would require leaving, it would require leaving Jared’s warmth, the sound of his voice…. And Jensen wouldn’t leave that if someone paid him.

It’s was why he continued coming back, even knowing he was wrong, knowing he was going to hell for the way he felt and for the images of wrapping himself around Jared that come to him in his dreams at night.

Jensen was screwed already, so one more day sitting up in the loft with Jared beside him wasn’t going to hurt anything at all.

July 19th, 1958
Somerset, Vermont

“What do you think about the military?”

Jensen turned his head and looked at Jared, shaking his head slowly to clear his mind.

“Um… what do you mean? What about it?” he asked when Jared didn’t continue.

“I mean… about joining it. You know, fighting for our country, traveling…”

“Jared… going to war isn’t traveling.” Jensen sighed and looked away. “I’ve… never really thought about it.”

“Jeff is thinking about it,” Jared’s voice was soft and Jensen turned to look back at him. Jared had his lower lip caught between his teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully as he stared up at the rafters. Jensen felt his heart thump in his chest at the expression on Jared’s face. “Dad and him… they were talking about it last night after they thought everyone else went to bed…”

“Oh,” Jensen replied. “What did your dad say?”

“That he would be proud of him no matter what he wanted to do.” Jared shrugged and Jensen nodded. Silence fell between them and Jensen found himself watching Jared’s face. “Jeff said he was surprised that you and Josh hadn’t,” Jared suddenly continued, turning his head to meet Jensen’s eyes. “Because of your Dad having been a soldier and all... you know.”

“I don’t want to be anything like my father.” Jensen replied, shaking his head quickly. “I just… I can sort of remember him… from before the war, you know? I don’t remember always hating him…” Jensen trailed off, tearing his eyes away from Jared at his confession. Hating his parents… another thing he was going to hell for. Jensen almost laughed. “Josh decided on school instead, a path to support his family. I haven’t decided what I want to do yet… but… not war… not that.”

“Do you think Jeff will come back changed if he does sign up? If he goes?” Jared whispered and Jensen found himself snapping his attention back up to the younger boy instead of staring down at the tips of his boots.

“Jared, I think that your family is pretty much a snapshot of good ol’ American, apple pie life. And… I mean, I don’t know about what would or wouldn’t change. But I know that your family? Out of any family? Would be the one that could get through anything. No matter what happened, Jeff would know that.”

Jared nodded slowly before looking back up at the rafters. “At least our troops are home from Korea finally,” Jared whispered after a moment and Jensen nodded in agreement.

August 18th, 1958
Somerset, Vermont

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to kiss someone?”

Jared was in the barn in his regular position beside him, legs dangling over the hayloft ledge and swinging, free in the air. Jensen glanced over at him, his heart twisting as he took in the sight. As per usual, Jared was lying on his back on the wooden floor, had his arms crossed behind his head, a few pieces of golden hay stuck in his hair. He was staring up at the roof, large, hazel eyes dancing in the lantern light, his shirt pulled tight across his chest.

Jensen swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, his heart pounding in his chest as he registered the question. “I’ve kissed someone once… a girl named Rosemary.”

“Oh…” Jared fell silent and Jensen resisted the urge to look at him again. “Have you ever thought of what it would be like to kiss a boy?” Jared’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but Jensen felt as if Jared had dug deep inside his mind to pull out his worst sinful thought to scream it to the world.

“No. Why would you ask that? Of course not.” Jensen’s voice was short and clipped -a tone he’d taken straight from his father’s personal handbook. Jensen wanted to scream, wanted to run… He was glad, at least, that it was dark and most of their families had already gone to bed. Now, however, he regretted the decision to start joining Jared in the loft after supper instead of only earlier in the day. “Don’t ask such foolish questions, Jared! It’s not right. You don’t want anyone thinking you’re some… some queer.”

“Right…” Jared whispered back and when Jensen looked at him, Jared’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Jensen’s heart started pounding faster, his supper suddenly churning uncomfortably in his gut.

“Plus…” He spoke again, making sure his tone was softer this time, hoping his voice was steady. “Why would you want to kiss a boy anyways? Too many pretty girls out there…”

“Would you hate me, Jensen?” Jared sat up suddenly, causing Jensen to jump. He looked up and cringed when he saw the expression on Jared’s face, a mix of fear and sadness, shame and… “Would you hate me if I did want to kiss a boy?”

Jensen took a deep breath and held it, counting back slowly from ten before he answered. “No, Jared. I wouldn’t… I could never hate you. But a lot of other people would. You can’t… They don’t…” he swallowed hard and shook his head. Then he whispered, “No. No, I wouldn’t think of you any differently at all.”

Jared nodded and ran his fingers back through his hair, catching an errant piece of the hay and pulling it out. He held it between his fingernails, splitting the strand. When he let it fall and placed his hand back down on the floor, it was closer to Jensen’s arm than it had been before. Jensen felt himself shiver. “Would you… think of me differently… if it was you I wanted to kiss?”

Jensen stopped breathing.

Jared had tucked his plump bottom lip into his mouth and just like that first night, suddenly that was all Jensen could think of… Jared’s perfect pink lips, the wet heat of his mouth. He wondered what Jared would taste like if he pressed his tongue against those lips. His throat felt dry, suddenly thick and choking and there was nothing Jensen could say, nothing he could do, to make the sudden, unbearable ache in his chest go away.

This was wrong, what they were talking about, what Jared was suggesting was… wrong. The fact that it coincided with every single one of Jensen’s fantasies and dreams…

A look of hurt crossed Jared’s features, making him look far older than his fourteen years and Jensen wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him he understood, he really, truly did. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit it out loud because that would make it real. And it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. Fear sliced through his body and Jensen pushed away from Jared suddenly and he nearly tumbled out of the loft and to the ground far below in his haste to get away.

“I… I… c-c-can’t…” he heard himself stutter, felt himself shaking his head, and the moment Jared opened his mouth again, Jensen ran.

The light rain that had started when they’d entered the barn had now turned into a full-blown storm; huge, fat drops of rain pelted his back and face, instantly soaking him to the skin. Jensen ran blindly through the yard and past the house. He couldn’t go inside, not like this, not to the concerned and questioning looks his grandparents would give him. They would know, they would know just like Jared apparently did, that he wasn’t right.

He threw open the front gate to the farm road and ran for the woods. He could hear Jared calling from behind him and almost slipped in the mud. He pushed on faster, racing through the path in the trees and up the slope. The woods finally opened onto the clearing and Jensen made a beeline for the solitary oak. He threw himself against the massive trunk, hands clinging desperately to the rough bark, his arms supporting all the weight his quaking knees could not.

“Jensen!” Jared ran up the grassy hill after him and Jensen wanted to scream at him.

Don’t do this! Don’t, Jared, just stop! Don’t push this, it’s wrong, what you’re suggesting is wrong. I can’t, we can’t… please… please go home…

“Jared,” Jensen croaked out weakly, his chest heaving…rising and falling just as fast as his heart was beating in his chest. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Jared needed to leave… needed to go back home and they could just forget about this and tomorrow would be different; it would be back to normal. Nothing had to change.

Jensen could hear Jared breathing hard behind him suddenly and now felt a large, warm hand on his shoulder. He was instantly hit with the memory of Tom, strong and handsome Tom with dark blue eyes that haunted his dreams until they were replaced by luminescent hazel. He pulled away from Jared, rolling his body out of the grasp and turned to face Jared, eyes flashing. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand?

Jared’s lips were turned up into a small smile, large drops of rain clinging momentarily to his eyelashes before rolling down his face. Jensen was shaking, whether from the chill wind whipping against his rain-soaked clothes and skin or from the body heat rolling off of Jared’s body as he stepped closer, he wasn’t sure.

He should tell Jared to stop, to stop inching closer, to stop smiling as if he knew something. This was disgusting and dangerous and so terribly wrong. Jensen opened his mouth to say just that, but only a pained strangled noise fell from his lips.

Jared shook his head, rain flying from the strands of his hair and landing on Jensen’s face. Jensen licked his lower lip, collecting a few drops that had landed there, and shivered again. When Jared’s hand pressed flat against his chest, he should’ve shoved Jared back, should’ve punched him for touching him that way. Instead he closed his eyes.

“You can tell me to stop, Jensen,” Jared whispered and Jensen squeezed his eyes tighter, his cheeks hot and wet. When Jared swept his thumb across Jensen’s cheek, the touch sending a shiver down his spine, he realized he was crying. Then, Jared’s lips were against his, warm and soft in a chaste kiss, a simple touch of skin against skin. Jensen froze against him, gasped into Jared’s mouth, and that was all Jared needed.

Jared’s hands were on Jensen’s hips, his body pressing him into the tree, and Jensen couldn’t think to do anything except twist his hands into Jared’s flannel shirt and let himself be kissed. Jared tasted like corn and summertime, his body was hard and warm, his lips soft. Why did something so wrong feel so perfect? Jensen tore himself away from Jared’s mouth, shoving Jared away hard. The other boy stumbled once, his mouth slightly open as he stared back at Jensen in confusion.

“Jensen?”

“No! I’m not a fag, Jared.” Jensen shoved away from him and ran. “I’m not!” he screamed into the storm. He slipped once in the mud, his left leg completely coated in muck, but he pushed on, not stopping until he reached the tree line. He looked back once and saw Jared still standing at the tree, fingers pressed against his lips and watching forlornly as Jensen ran away.

Master Post || Chapter Three || Chapter Five