FIC: Around for the Dawn (5/?)

[nilchance]

Title: Around for the Dawn (5/?)
Author: nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: CWRPS, JA/JDM.
A/N: Mpreg. Jeff's friends Jeremy and Zach.



If Jeff had lard in his kitchen, he'd have thrown it in the waffles. As it is, he puts in enough butter to clog an artery and half a bag of chocolate chips, plus full fat whipped cream, before he goes to find Jensen with peace offering in hand.

He finds Jensen in the guest room, his feet slung up on the spare bed. Jensen seems startled to see him, one hand going down to cover his scar. "Jeff?"

"Hey," Jeff says. His voice slips down into a pitch for scared animals. "Hi. Waffle?"

"Oh." Jensen blinks. "Thank you."

"I like cooking." There's a pillow and a blanket still on the guest bed. Jeff grabs both, sitting down beside Jensen. He sets the plate on Jensen's belly first. "Here, lift your head. That can't be comfortable."

"It's fine," Jensen protests, but he lifts his head. He probably thinks Jeff is going to put the pillow under, but Jeff folds his legs up and puts Jensen's head back on his lap. Jensen opens his mouth, all indignant, but shuts it when Jeff starts to rub the corded tendons of his neck. "Oh. Oh, you... hmm."

"Hmm," Jeff teases. "C'mon, put the pillow under your ass. It'll help."

To his surprise, Jensen does with a minimum of resisting, sighing as his spine stretches long. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, almost shyly, seeking touch. Jeff touches him, stroking the muscles of his throat, coaxing them to release one by one. It doesn't do wonders for his own back, already aching from sitting like this, but he'll survive.

"I thought I was supposed to stay in," Jeff says, digging his thumbs into the hollows at the base of Jensen's skull.

Jensen's eyelashes flutter, then squeeze closed. "I can put my feet up for the same effect. You were... busy."

"Not that busy. You're my priority right now."

Mouth thinning, Jensen says, "You did your duty."

"I came, you mean? That's not the same thing."

Jensen's eyes open. He studies Jeff upside down, frowning. "This isn't necessary."

Yeah. But Jensen isn't getting up or trying to move away. "I got that. Just eat your waffles."

Warily, Jensen leans his head into Jeff's lap. He eats like he did last night, wolfing everything down like Jeff's going to pull it away. Maybe he thinks Jeff will. They don't know each other, not really. The sex... the sex is awesome, but it won't fix anything.

"What happens if I get you pregnant?" Jeff asks, once Jensen's reduced to scraping the plate for the last of the cream.

Jensen freezes, tensing against Jeff's hand. He sets the plate aside and rolls up to his knees, away from Jeff. Jeff puts out a hand to steady him, automatic, and Jensen pushes it away. Pushes him away.

"Listen," Jensen says savagely. "You need to stop it. All right? Stop."

"Stop what?"

"This. All of--" Jensen gestures, taking in the room: the empty plate, the pillow, the blanket. "Whatever this is. I don't need to like you. You don't need to be nice. It's bullshit. All you have to do is fuck me."

"I did," Jeff says slowly, "we already did that part. I just want--"

"We're not going to be friends, Morgan. We're not." Jensen shakes his head. "You've done your part. I'll see you in 36."

"But--"

There's a feverish light in Jensen's eyes. "Go read your manual. If I decide I need you for something other than your sperm count, I'll come find you."

Jeff stares at him, torn between yelling that it's his goddamn house and just... squeezing him. But he's pretty sure any attempt to touch Jensen is going to cost him an arm. How old is Jensen, twenty something? Thirty at the oldest? How long has he been doing this? Jeff doesn't ask. What he says, finally, is, "If that's so, then what was this morning?"

Jensen looks away.

Something unfolds in Jeff's chest, hot and tender. "Jensen, I--"

Downstairs, Bisou starts to bark. It's her greeting bark; somebody's come to visit. Jensen grabs the blanket and pulls it over himself, then hands Jeff the dirty plate. His expression dares Jeff to try to argue.

The front door opens, and Jeff hears a kid squeal. Maggie. "Shit," he says sincerely, and takes the plate. "We're gonna talk later."

Jensen's mouth curls, not quite a smile. "You gonna lock me up before you go?"

Jeff manages not to tell him to fuck off, but it's a close thing. He shuts the door behind him. He's down the steps before it occurs to him that Jensen wasn't kidding.

Jesus. This is so fucked.

Plastering on a smile, Jeff snags Maggie before she gets to the spilled weed on his coffee table. She squeals, heels kicking as he dumps her onto his lap. "Hey, kiddo," he tells her, "let's wait a while before you hit the hard stuff, huh?"

Maggie beams at him. "Hi, Uncle Jeff," she says, and shoves her rubber alligator at him. "You have to kiss Bear."

Jeff kisses Bear, then Maggie, before nudging both off the couch. "There. You gotta let me clean up, okay? Where are your dads?"

"Here." Zach appears, rumpled and grinning, lugging a cooler. One look at Jeff and his eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, dude, partying kind of hard there?"

"The occasion called for it." Jeff scrubs a hand across his face, scanning the room to be sure he didn't leave anything else out. Maggie was so much easier when she couldn't walk. Or find back issues of skin mags. He's too high to deal with a four year old right now, let alone her damn parents. "Uh. Mags, you want to play with Bisou in the kitchen?"

Maggie perks right up at that. She adores Bisou, mostly because she doesn't have a girl dog at home. Which sure as hell doesn't stop her from putting dresses on Jeremy's poor mutt Winston. "Can I?"

"Don't play with the stove," Zach says, which, Jesus, that hadn't even occurred to Jeff. His kid is obviously going to set himself (herself?) on fire. Zach watches Maggie go into the kitchen, then gives Jeff the look. It's strange to be getting grief from one of the biggest potheads Jeff knows, but they don't smoke up around Maggie. Not Zach and Jeremy; they're careful with Maggie, so careful it borders on religious awe. Kids are rare in the US. Even Jeff, close as he is to Jeremy and Zach, doesn't know exactly where Maggie came from. "Jeff, what the f-u-c-k, dude?"

"Are we spelling now?" Jeff drops onto his couch, brushing the buds into his hand.

"Yeah. You don't even want to know what she learned last week and repeated to Grandma." Zach sits beside him, their knees bumping. "Guess you're not hitting the zoo."

"It completely slipped my mind, Z. Sorry."

"S'cool. You'll owe her one, but she's not that fired up that a stuffed panda or whatever won't fix it." Zach hands over the trashcan for Jeff to drop in the pot. "Now, is this a make fun of you forever kind of thing, or--"

Zach stops short. Since it typically takes a nuclear blast to shut Zach up these days, Jeff glances his way, and catches sight of Jensen (clothed, thankfully) on the stairs. For a long few seconds, Zach and Jensen stare at each other like they've both seen a dead man. Then Jensen thumps down the stairs and out the sliding door, onto the porch, gone.

Zach swallows; Jeff can see his throat working. "I, uh." Zach blinks, shaking his head hard, and gets up. "Tell Jeremy I'll be right back."

And then Zach's following Jensen out the back door, leaving Jeff with the trash can and a lot of questions. He's still sitting there when Jeremy comes in and flops down next to him. "Hey, man," Jeremy says, then frowns. "Dude. Weed?"

"I know. I'm a bad uncle." Jeff thumps the trashcan down. "It's been a bad fu- fudging week. Your boyfriend just took off after my breeder."

Jeremy gives him a sharp look. "Breeder?"

Jeff shrugs. "My number came up."

"Ah, sh-- shoot, man." Jeremy touches his arm, and his sympathy chokes Jeff a little. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Well. It's not so bad once you get past the rape." When Jeremy hisses, Jeff glares at him. "Want me to spell that, too?"

"She didn't hear it. Wouldn't get it anyway. It's not-- Jeff. I know you. I know..." Jeremy sighs, rubbing Jeff's arm. "When?"

"Last night. Hence," Jeff gestures at the discarded weed in the trashcan. When Jeremy grunts, Jeff gives him a sidelong look. "Why would Zach know my breeder, Jeremy?"

Jeremy's jaw clenches. He looks into the kitchen, after his daughter's delighted giggle, and shakes his head. "I can't," he says, almost too quiet to hear. "Sorry."

Jeff huffs out a laugh that hurts his throat. "Yeah. We're all sorry."