Fic - Treading Water - Jared/Peter
Mar. 18th, 2013 01:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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franklin_bashTitle: Treading Water
Author: candypinksocks
Wordcount: 4,700
Rating: PG:13
Pairing(s): Jared/Peter
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vic_amy_z. And not just because she's awesome at fixing my messy...
You know, I was at the beach house this summer and I found about ten gifts I'd given you over the years, all unused, all still in their original boxes. Just like that.
What Jared didn't tell Leonard was that Peter found the gifts.
They take a week in August. There's an ass of a case beforehand, both of them getting their asses kicked and then handed to them on a platter by Swatello, until Carmen came through and found them just what they needed to hand Swatello her ass back. Carmen got a bonus and Jared got him and Peter a week off.
*
They pack up the Prius, Peter's board on the roof and his bike on the back. Jared's too tired to argue taking the Bronco, probably wouldn't have made it anyway. He calls his mom one last time to confirm and then they hit the road.
"Here's one." Peter scratches his fingers back through his hair as he looks from the road to Jared and back to the road. "You get a cabin in the woods - no not that cabin in the woods - for a long weekend with any woman you want."
"That's too easy, what's the catch?" Jared scoots down in his seat some more, kicks his shoes off and gets his feet on the dash, ignores Peter's frown and lets the last week work its way out of him.
"You have to survive one night with Jason first."
"Original Jason or remake Jason?"
"Original Jason."
"Weapons?"
"Only what you have at the cabin, no cell phone either and he's cut the phone lines."
"Any woman I want and one night with Jason?"
"Yup."
"Harsh - but I guess if I get a long weekend, after which she'll inevitably fall in love with my badass self, then deal."
"Not that you'd survive one night with Jason."
"Dude, you've seen the movies, they only get killed 'cause they leave a locked room to go see if he's still there. I get supplies and lock the door and I'm golden."
"Pussy."
"An alive pussy with ScarJo for a long weekend after. I win."
*
They stop for tacos at the roadside place about halfway there that Jared's dad would never stop at, eat them on the hood of the car looking out over the surf. Peter calls the waves and Jared watches surfers wipe out and get back on their boards only to wipe out again. He remembers Peter being just as stubborn that summer Colleen took them on vacation when they were thirteen. How Jared had decided there and then that every summer should be like this even though he knew his dad wouldn't go for it. He's smiling as he finishes his taco, screws up the greasy wax paper wrapper and stuffs it back into the bag between them.
"What?" Peter's got lettuce hanging out of his mouth and taco sauce on his chin and Jared never wanted to kiss him more. Except they don't do that anymore, haven't since Janie. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to, he just doesn't say it out loud.
"Nothin' - just - you remember that summer? The one you got your first long board and wouldn't come out of the water 'til you got the perfect wave, even though me and Colleen were bored shitless waiting on the beach for you?"
"Oh man, best vacation ever, remember thinking we shouldn't do anything else ever again, just us three, every summer."
"First and last time we ever got to do that."
"Yeah." Peter screws up his own wrapper, wipes his hands on the front of his shorts and gets a hand on the back of Jared's neck, scratches his fingers up through Jared's hair. It's not fair and a tiny part of him hates Peter that they can still have this but not anything else. "That sucked, I was so pissed at your dad, even tried to talk my mom into kidnapping you."
"You never told me that." Jared leans closer, 'cause closer and Peter is his default and he stopped over-thinking it about the same time they figured each other out.
Peter shrugs. "She didn't go for it."
"Obviously. Move your ass."
*
Peter's out of the car and heading for the surf before Jared's even had chance to pop the trunk. He comes out a couple hours later, skin red from the salt, hair a mess and Jared would swear up and down that Peter does it deliberately, just to see how far he can push it, push Jared. Except Peter's not even trying, he's just being Peter and as much as Jared wants to hate him a little bit for it, he just can't.
Dinner's steaks on the grill that Jared helped build the summer he was fifteen, took out all of his frustration on it at being told he couldn't bring Peter with him, couldn't go with Peter to Six Flags either, was stuck the entire summer with his mom drinking too much wine and his dad pretty much absent with work and whoever he was screwing at the time. That summer sucked ass in more ways than one and when he looks, the 'this summer sucks ass' he scratched in the mortar behind the grill before it dried, is still there. His dad never spotted it, but then again his dad never used the grill past that one time after he 'supervised' Jared building it.
Peter gets Jared another beer and they sit on the deck, watch the sun go down and the surfers call it a night. They talk shit about nothing at all and drink all the beer before they start on Leonard's good scotch and Jared doesn't think about the case or Swatello or how a little bit of who they are's getting worn away every time they walk into Infeld Daniels, how Peter's in his element and Jared's mostly treading water.
They fall asleep like that, their lounge chairs laid right back and close enough that their elbows are knocking. Jared wakes up when his toes are cold and kicks Peter's leg before he makes his way inside. He doesn't sleep hardly at all after that, hangover pressing at his temples, and spends most of the rest of the night punching his pillow and staring at the wall between his and Peter's bedrooms.
*
Jared doesn't get out of bed 'til he hears Peter leave. Waits 'til he can smell coffee and the machine gurgling is the only sound apart from the surf.
He's being a pussy. He knows he is.
It's not like they don't spend pretty much their whole lives together, not like they don't do this all the time. He's not sure what crawled up his ass, doesn't know why he can't just be Jared. He'd blame the case, except it's been going on for longer than that. Can't even say it's the whole 'big corporate law firm' thing either. Can't put a finger on it and it's driving him nuts and Peter being Peter isn't helping any.
So he just wanders around the house, poking through drawers and cupboards he hasn't looked in in years, flicks through the photo albums full of pictures he doesn't remember sitting for, most of them of him on his own, or with his mom. Jared would like to think it was 'cause his dad was holding the camera, but he'd be kidding himself.
When Peter comes back, Jared's still in the shorts and undershirt he slept in, a pile of books and photos spread out around him on the floor.
"Where's my breakfast, woman?"
"I got your breakfast right here."
"You're hot when you're sassy."
"And you're dripping on Leonard's three thousand dollar Persian rug. On second thoughts, carry on."
Peter scrubs a towel through his hair, grins as he steals Jared's forgotten, now cold coffee, pulls a face as he sits down next to Jared and picks up one of the albums.
"What's all this?"
"They're photos, Peter, it's that new fangled thing you've probably heard about."
"Fuck you." Peter nudges at Jared's shoulder with his own, it's cold, but Jared doesn't feel it, just leans a little closer, like always.
"I don't know - I just - it's been years, Peter, I thought maybe it'd be different this time, you know seeing as we're all growed up and shit, but - ah, fuck it, ignore me - you want eggs? I can make eggs."
Jared goes to get up and Peter stops him with a hand on his arm, shakes his head and pulls Jared into a bear hug, curls his fingers in the back of Jared's shirt 'til Jared relaxes and just lets go.
He doesn't cry, doesn't say anything, just buries his face in Peter's neck, breathes in salt and sweat and fresh air and holds onto Peter 'til the moment's gone, 'til Peter lets him go with a too-hard pat on the back.
"Eggs would be awesome."
Jared nods and ignores how his knees creak when he gets up, stretches out his back with a groan before he heads to the kitchen.
He can definitely make eggs.
He comes back into the living room with two plates piled with eggs and toast and a carton of juice tucked under one arm, finds Peter just where he left him, but there's more stuff there now. Boxes and envelopes, most of them unopened, one of them in Peter's hands. And when Peter looks up he's not smiling, drops the box on the floor in front of him and stands up too quick, like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Jared, I - " and Peter looks really guilty; something Jared's not seen in more years than he can remember. Peter feels bad about stuff, of course he does, he just doesn't ever look like he'd rather eat his own suit pants than 'fess up to whatever he's done.
"It's just stuff, Peter, nothing I wouldn't want you to see." Jared slides the plates onto the coffee table and reaches for the box Peter dropped. "It's not like I've got any embarrassing shit here. Well not any embarrassing shit you don't already know about, anyway."
The box looks familiar and he realizes just why as he cracks it open. "Oh."
"Sorry, I just went looking for more incriminating photos; you know, something with you naked on a sheepskin rug or something for the firm's Christmas show and tell. I didn't mean to, you know -" Peter's waving his hand in front of the box, the way he does when he can't think of what to say that won't suck.
But Jared's not listening, he's just staring at the box in his hands, fingers tight enough that the tips are turning white.
"Son of a bitch."
"Hey come on, man, I said I was sorry."
"Are there any more?"
"Some - in the desk drawer. Jared - don't, okay? Come on, the eggs are getting cold. You're hungry, right?"
Jared's still not listening, he's over by his dad's desk now, pulling out each drawer, the gifts he'd bought his dad for every Father's Day, Christmas and Birthday still in their boxes, some with the cards still attached, shoved under papers and files.
"Son. Of. A. Bitch!" Louder now, and his hands are shaking as he pulls each one out, opens them all only to drop them on the floor at his feet.
He's upset, sure, but more than that, he's fucking angry. That his father didn't even open them, that after everything and all this time he can still fucking get to Jared. And he doesn't want Peter to see him, can't even look at him right now, so he turns around without saying another word, grabs the car keys, shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees and doesn't even bother shutting the door behind him.
*
It hits him about halfway into town that it's eleven am and he's still in yesterday's underwear and nothing else, Peter's too-big beach shoes falling off his feet when he toes the gas. He doesn't smell that good either; kinda sour and a lot ripe. He hasn't chanced a look in the rear view at himself yet, knows he's not gonna like what he sees. And right now he hates Leonard more because of that. His life sucks because Leonard Franklin is an asshole.
And then it hits him again that he's so full of shit he'd be surprised anyone could stand downwind from him and live, turns the car 'round and heads back to the beach house.
Peter's in the kitchen when he gets back, drying dishes and stacking them the exact way Jared's mom likes them. He doesn't look up when Jared walks in just points at the stairs and rubs a little too hard at the already dry plate in his hand.
"Go take a shower."
"Peter -"
"Shower." Peter's still not looking at him, just staring at the plate in his hand.
"'Kay."
He has the water too hot, scrubs hard enough at his hair that it hurts and when he's done he feels a little more human. He grabs sweats and a ratty old t-shirt from the closet, dumps his towel on the bathroom floor on his way back through and heads back downstairs.
Peter's got a cup of coffee in his hand, passes another to Jared before he's even pulled one of the high kitchen stools out to sit down.
"Sorry." Jared doesn't look at the neat little pile of boxes and envelopes on the counter.
"You can't let him do this to you, man." Peter sounds so fucking sad. Jared would give anything not to hear Peter sound like that ever again.
"I know." The coffee cup's kinda burning his hand, he's holding on so tight. Can't seem to let go.
"It's not you, you know."
"I know, Peter." It's the same conversation they've had a million times and Peter's right. Peter's always right, but it doesn't stop his dad getting right there under his skin, making him question every decision he's ever made in his life, right from the first bike he ever saved his allowance for when he was eight, right up to not going to work at Franklin and Franklin. Every one of them chewed over and second guessed, stubbornness most times overruling common sense and if he's under oath he'd say it was a not-so-unconscious dig at his dad.
He's smiling when he thinks about that. And how most of those decisions, he ran by Peter first, Peter playing both Devil's Advocate and enabler and he loves Peter for that more than he's ever been able to say. Jared's not a pussy as far as his dad's concerned, they both know that, but with Peter at his back, it's all a little bit easier.
Jared downs his coffee in a couple of huge gulps, slides the cup across the counter in a silent 'top me off' and reaches for one of the packages. And then another, lining them all up in front of him. And they're still box fresh; shiny and unused, tie clips and cufflinks and handkerchiefs, bought when Jared didn't know anything about his father. He still doesn't, not really, not much past the secretaries and the PAs and the strippers and the weekends away from Jared and his mom more often than not. Jared knows he's a hard ass corporate type; ruthless and heartless, making his thousand bucks an hour and not caring much past winning. It's everything Jared never wanted to be. Peter with him every step of the way regardless.
"You know. I kinda get it." He turns one of the boxes so Peter can see a particularly gaudy tiepin.
Peter just smiles at him, fills Jared's coffee cup, shakes out and then tears into two sugar packets and dumps them into the cup as he pours two percent 'til it's the exact color Jared likes.
And it's also the exact same way Jared makes his own coffee. He never noticed that before.
"But then you knew that anyway, right?"
Peter has this face. It's his 'yeah I'm fucking awesome' face and he's pulling it right now. Jared throws one of the balled up envelopes at that smug, stupid, perfect face and misses by a mile. "Fuck off. I can't help that I'm dumb and Leonard yanks my chain."
Peter throws the envelope back and doesn't miss. "Except that you can, 'cause you know he yanks your chain and you still let him do it."
"Point."
Peter jabs at Jared's shoulder with his finger, knocks Jared's hand away as he's going for Peter's shoulder and now they're six for ten and Peter's still fucking winning.
"Asshole."
"Original."
"Fuck you."
"Later. Right now you need to eat something." And with that Peter slides off his stool and turns back to the kitchen.
Jared's trying not to think too hard about the 'later'. It's not like Peter hasn't said shit like that before since they stopped the actual fucking, but it doesn't mean Jared hasn't and won't still think that maybe it's something they should be doing again. It's wishful and kinda stupid, knows if it was going to happen again, it would have by now. But he can't help but smile at Peter's back anyway.
Peter talks shit about nothing at all, chops and stirs and bangs his mom's expensive French pots and pans like they're their own crappy ones from Walmart and Jared in turn makes the appropriate listening noises and stares some more at the pile of gifts on the counter, dares himself to open just the one and ends up pulling the whole pile closer.
"You could stare at them all day or you could just open them and get it over with." Peter's still got his back to Jared, still stirring something that smells fucking fantastic and Jared wonders not for the first time if Peter's some genetic mutant with eyes in the back of his head.
"Or I could just throw them back in the drawer." He knows he's not going to do that, knows Peter knows he's not going to either.
Peter just snorts, turns 'round with a wooden spoon coated in sauce and sticks it in Jared's face. "Needs more marjoram, right?"
"Right."
And Peter doesn't look at him. Jared knows he's not going to either, just like he knows Peter'll turn 'round just as soon as Jared makes a single unhappy noise.
Jared bites his lip, takes a deep breath and grabs the box off the top.
He doesn't need to open it to know what it is, it's out of its wrapper at least, the box some shiny faux leather that thirteen year old Jared thought looked sort of expensive, even though he knew his dad would spot the difference. It creaks when he opens it, the cufflinks inside still held to the bright purple pad with elastic. His dad hadn't even taken them out. Jared can imagine his dad just glancing at them and snapping the box shut again, more concerned about the ice melting in his glass of scotch than his sleeping son upstairs.
Jesus Christ he's getting maudlin and it's only the first fucking box.
Jared snaps it shut and tosses it to skid across the counter, thinks maybe he could see if the next one he tosses can knock it on the floor.
The next three are all still wrapped in increasingly gaudy paper; Jared remembers picking it specifically to piss his dad off. Each one more tacky than the one before it; birthday, Christmas and Father's Day when Jared was sixteen and got a job that wasn't filing for Franklin and Franklin. Shitty money, but it was his shitty money and not 'taxed' for his living expenses. He doesn't bother opening those; they're all ties, just as fugly as the paper they're wrapped in. And they obviously did the job if his dad didn't even bother to open them. The ties don't slide across the counter half as dramatically as the cufflink box and end up halfway to the end, very much blocking the path of any further missiles.
Jared makes his way through the rest of the boxes; tie clips, cufflinks and a gold pin he picked up the year he and Peter blew their rent money on a trip to Vegas and won it all back and then some before they came home. He lingers a little over that one, stares down at it and can't help but smile. Three days on cheap buffet and ramen until they hit it kinda big and got moved way upstairs, only to have Peter refuse to go out on the balcony in case it fell off in some freak accident, so instead they bought the lounge chairs and patio set inside and sat by the open French doors, drank too much champagne and made out 'til Jared's chair collapsed under their weight.
That was before they called it quits. Before Janie.
When Jared looks up, Peter's turned around, but he's not looking at Jared, he's looking at the box in Jared's hand.
"I vote we keep that one." He's smiling as he looks up, that same damned smile Jared fell for in the first place. And Jared kind of hates Peter a little for it. Except that he doesn't and he can't, not really. Sometimes he's really stupid. "Come on, dinner's ready. "
Jared leaves the boxes and badly wrapped ties on the counter. He doesn't finish opening them and he doesn't put them away again.
Jared falls asleep on the couch before the movie they're watching is even halfway through. He wakes up with the sun, a blanket draped over him and a note on the coffee table in front of him.
Surfing - your turn to make breakfast.
*
They don't talk about the stuff on the counter, just shove it further toward the edge when they need the space, neither of them bothering to pick the boxes up that eventually fall. Jared knows it'll all need to be away again before they leave in a few days, but he can't bring himself to do it just yet, letting it sit there like some sick reminder of how much his father doesn't care and how much Jared lets that get to him. As much as he tells anyone that asks that it doesn't.
They waste the rest of the day under a pile of chips and fake butter popcorn that makes the microwave stink; play Madden 'til Jared can't see straight and fall asleep on the couch again like neither of them have perfectly good beds to go to.
Jared's not alone when he wakes up the next morning.
He could move, get off the couch and make the coffee and pretend that Peter isn't pressed tight along his back, that Peter hasn't got his knee jammed between Jared's thighs and that his breath isn't hot on the back of Jared's neck. He could cough and shift and give Peter the out.
Instead he leans back just that little bit, closes his hand tighter where it's wrapped around Peter's over his chest, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and hopes that Peter doesn't wake up just yet, that he can have this for just a little longer.
The sun's up over the veranda and it's too bright in the room by the time Jared feels Peter shift, hears the change in his breathing. He waits for Peter to pull back, to mutter an apology and climb off the couch. Except that Jared will swear that Peter's smiling against the back of his neck, that Peter's thumb is brushing tiny circles over Jared's t-shirt. He's not imagining it, he can't be, but Peter wouldn't be, can't be, they don't -
"Peter - " His voice tight, barely more than a whisper.
"I've missed this." And Peter's a son of a bitch for saying it when Jared hasn't even dared think about it.
"Don't - I can't - " But he wants to. Wants to just turn around and kiss Peter stupid and then kiss him some more just to be sure. He doesn't, instead he grips Peter's hand hard enough to hurt and screws his eyes shut. If they do this now he's going to want it all and that's never going to happen. "We're not doing this, remember?"
It was Jared who called a halt, Jared who told Peter he should make a go of it with Janie, Jared who didn't make a secret of hating Janie as much as she seemed to hate him back, Jared who went out the night Peter told him he was moving out of the cave and in with Janie and picked up a guy with the same stupid hair, but the wrong shade of eyes and bought him home and made enough noise for Pindar to bang on his door, Jared who didn't even bother trying to sneak the guy out the next morning, just sat at the counter in his shorts and undershirt, watching as he made awkward small talk with Peter. And it was Jared who refused to talk about it after Janie threw Peter out and back to his 'boyfriend'.
Jared, who felt like an asshole for pushing Peter away because he didn't want to admit that maybe he wanted more than just fuck buddies.
"Because you're a pig-headed, stubborn asshole."
And Jared does turn 'round then, only just avoids smacking Peter's forehead with his own. He should try harder next time.
"Don't sugar coat it, man." He sounds pissed and he is.
"And I'm an idiot." Jared frowns and Peter pulls him closer, gets a leg over Jared's hip and his hands in Jared's hair and he's pretty sure he'd have to knee Peter in the nuts to get out. Just as well he doesn't want to. "We've been dancing around each other for years, man, and I'm done."
The bottom of Jared's world drops out and he doesn't care that he'll have to knee Peter in the nuts to get out, he's getting out, he doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to get let off or go or whatever.
And Peter just holds on tighter, gets a good handful of Jared's hair while he's at it and kisses him.
It's stale and hot and too hard and it's the best kiss Jared's had since the last time, when Jared thought it was the last time.
"I'm done with us fucking around and not actually fucking around. Twenty five years and you still don't have a fucking clue." Peter kisses him again and Jared's confused and horny and holding on 'cause he can't do anything but. "I'm an idiot and you're clueless and I don't want to waste another twenty five years 'cause who knows what you'll look like naked then and like how you look naked now, so I'm going to let go of you and you're either going to punch me in the face or we're gonna do this." Peter doesn't kiss him again, he just lets go.
Jared's brain takes a second to catch up.
"I fucking hate you so much right now." Even as he's grinning so hard his face might actually stay that way and pushing Peter back so he can get his thighs either side of Peter's hips and his hands 'round Peter's face, his fingers pushing up into Peter's hair. "But I want to fuck you more than I hate you so it can wait."
Neither of them care about the antique leather couch or the imported afghan Jared's mother had commissioned. It's messy and too fast and they don't even make it out of their shorts, just rut and bite and hold on too hard, lose it too quickly and don't bother moving 'til Peter complains about Jared's heavy ass cutting off his circulation.
They make it upstairs later and into the shower and into Peter's bed and Jared takes his time this time, reminds himself and Peter, tries to make up for wasting twenty five years, whispers sorry against Peter's skin and lets it all go.
*
Jared's alone when he wakes up in the morning, the comforter barely covering his legs and his face smooshed up in the pillows. He doesn't panic, just rolls over to find the note on the side table.
Surfing. Don't get dressed.
/end
Author: candypinksocks
Wordcount: 4,700
Rating: PG:13
Pairing(s): Jared/Peter
Notes: For
vic_amy_z. And not just because she's awesome at fixing my messy...You know, I was at the beach house this summer and I found about ten gifts I'd given you over the years, all unused, all still in their original boxes. Just like that.
What Jared didn't tell Leonard was that Peter found the gifts.
They take a week in August. There's an ass of a case beforehand, both of them getting their asses kicked and then handed to them on a platter by Swatello, until Carmen came through and found them just what they needed to hand Swatello her ass back. Carmen got a bonus and Jared got him and Peter a week off.
*
They pack up the Prius, Peter's board on the roof and his bike on the back. Jared's too tired to argue taking the Bronco, probably wouldn't have made it anyway. He calls his mom one last time to confirm and then they hit the road.
"Here's one." Peter scratches his fingers back through his hair as he looks from the road to Jared and back to the road. "You get a cabin in the woods - no not that cabin in the woods - for a long weekend with any woman you want."
"That's too easy, what's the catch?" Jared scoots down in his seat some more, kicks his shoes off and gets his feet on the dash, ignores Peter's frown and lets the last week work its way out of him.
"You have to survive one night with Jason first."
"Original Jason or remake Jason?"
"Original Jason."
"Weapons?"
"Only what you have at the cabin, no cell phone either and he's cut the phone lines."
"Any woman I want and one night with Jason?"
"Yup."
"Harsh - but I guess if I get a long weekend, after which she'll inevitably fall in love with my badass self, then deal."
"Not that you'd survive one night with Jason."
"Dude, you've seen the movies, they only get killed 'cause they leave a locked room to go see if he's still there. I get supplies and lock the door and I'm golden."
"Pussy."
"An alive pussy with ScarJo for a long weekend after. I win."
*
They stop for tacos at the roadside place about halfway there that Jared's dad would never stop at, eat them on the hood of the car looking out over the surf. Peter calls the waves and Jared watches surfers wipe out and get back on their boards only to wipe out again. He remembers Peter being just as stubborn that summer Colleen took them on vacation when they were thirteen. How Jared had decided there and then that every summer should be like this even though he knew his dad wouldn't go for it. He's smiling as he finishes his taco, screws up the greasy wax paper wrapper and stuffs it back into the bag between them.
"What?" Peter's got lettuce hanging out of his mouth and taco sauce on his chin and Jared never wanted to kiss him more. Except they don't do that anymore, haven't since Janie. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to, he just doesn't say it out loud.
"Nothin' - just - you remember that summer? The one you got your first long board and wouldn't come out of the water 'til you got the perfect wave, even though me and Colleen were bored shitless waiting on the beach for you?"
"Oh man, best vacation ever, remember thinking we shouldn't do anything else ever again, just us three, every summer."
"First and last time we ever got to do that."
"Yeah." Peter screws up his own wrapper, wipes his hands on the front of his shorts and gets a hand on the back of Jared's neck, scratches his fingers up through Jared's hair. It's not fair and a tiny part of him hates Peter that they can still have this but not anything else. "That sucked, I was so pissed at your dad, even tried to talk my mom into kidnapping you."
"You never told me that." Jared leans closer, 'cause closer and Peter is his default and he stopped over-thinking it about the same time they figured each other out.
Peter shrugs. "She didn't go for it."
"Obviously. Move your ass."
*
Peter's out of the car and heading for the surf before Jared's even had chance to pop the trunk. He comes out a couple hours later, skin red from the salt, hair a mess and Jared would swear up and down that Peter does it deliberately, just to see how far he can push it, push Jared. Except Peter's not even trying, he's just being Peter and as much as Jared wants to hate him a little bit for it, he just can't.
Dinner's steaks on the grill that Jared helped build the summer he was fifteen, took out all of his frustration on it at being told he couldn't bring Peter with him, couldn't go with Peter to Six Flags either, was stuck the entire summer with his mom drinking too much wine and his dad pretty much absent with work and whoever he was screwing at the time. That summer sucked ass in more ways than one and when he looks, the 'this summer sucks ass' he scratched in the mortar behind the grill before it dried, is still there. His dad never spotted it, but then again his dad never used the grill past that one time after he 'supervised' Jared building it.
Peter gets Jared another beer and they sit on the deck, watch the sun go down and the surfers call it a night. They talk shit about nothing at all and drink all the beer before they start on Leonard's good scotch and Jared doesn't think about the case or Swatello or how a little bit of who they are's getting worn away every time they walk into Infeld Daniels, how Peter's in his element and Jared's mostly treading water.
They fall asleep like that, their lounge chairs laid right back and close enough that their elbows are knocking. Jared wakes up when his toes are cold and kicks Peter's leg before he makes his way inside. He doesn't sleep hardly at all after that, hangover pressing at his temples, and spends most of the rest of the night punching his pillow and staring at the wall between his and Peter's bedrooms.
*
Jared doesn't get out of bed 'til he hears Peter leave. Waits 'til he can smell coffee and the machine gurgling is the only sound apart from the surf.
He's being a pussy. He knows he is.
It's not like they don't spend pretty much their whole lives together, not like they don't do this all the time. He's not sure what crawled up his ass, doesn't know why he can't just be Jared. He'd blame the case, except it's been going on for longer than that. Can't even say it's the whole 'big corporate law firm' thing either. Can't put a finger on it and it's driving him nuts and Peter being Peter isn't helping any.
So he just wanders around the house, poking through drawers and cupboards he hasn't looked in in years, flicks through the photo albums full of pictures he doesn't remember sitting for, most of them of him on his own, or with his mom. Jared would like to think it was 'cause his dad was holding the camera, but he'd be kidding himself.
When Peter comes back, Jared's still in the shorts and undershirt he slept in, a pile of books and photos spread out around him on the floor.
"Where's my breakfast, woman?"
"I got your breakfast right here."
"You're hot when you're sassy."
"And you're dripping on Leonard's three thousand dollar Persian rug. On second thoughts, carry on."
Peter scrubs a towel through his hair, grins as he steals Jared's forgotten, now cold coffee, pulls a face as he sits down next to Jared and picks up one of the albums.
"What's all this?"
"They're photos, Peter, it's that new fangled thing you've probably heard about."
"Fuck you." Peter nudges at Jared's shoulder with his own, it's cold, but Jared doesn't feel it, just leans a little closer, like always.
"I don't know - I just - it's been years, Peter, I thought maybe it'd be different this time, you know seeing as we're all growed up and shit, but - ah, fuck it, ignore me - you want eggs? I can make eggs."
Jared goes to get up and Peter stops him with a hand on his arm, shakes his head and pulls Jared into a bear hug, curls his fingers in the back of Jared's shirt 'til Jared relaxes and just lets go.
He doesn't cry, doesn't say anything, just buries his face in Peter's neck, breathes in salt and sweat and fresh air and holds onto Peter 'til the moment's gone, 'til Peter lets him go with a too-hard pat on the back.
"Eggs would be awesome."
Jared nods and ignores how his knees creak when he gets up, stretches out his back with a groan before he heads to the kitchen.
He can definitely make eggs.
He comes back into the living room with two plates piled with eggs and toast and a carton of juice tucked under one arm, finds Peter just where he left him, but there's more stuff there now. Boxes and envelopes, most of them unopened, one of them in Peter's hands. And when Peter looks up he's not smiling, drops the box on the floor in front of him and stands up too quick, like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Jared, I - " and Peter looks really guilty; something Jared's not seen in more years than he can remember. Peter feels bad about stuff, of course he does, he just doesn't ever look like he'd rather eat his own suit pants than 'fess up to whatever he's done.
"It's just stuff, Peter, nothing I wouldn't want you to see." Jared slides the plates onto the coffee table and reaches for the box Peter dropped. "It's not like I've got any embarrassing shit here. Well not any embarrassing shit you don't already know about, anyway."
The box looks familiar and he realizes just why as he cracks it open. "Oh."
"Sorry, I just went looking for more incriminating photos; you know, something with you naked on a sheepskin rug or something for the firm's Christmas show and tell. I didn't mean to, you know -" Peter's waving his hand in front of the box, the way he does when he can't think of what to say that won't suck.
But Jared's not listening, he's just staring at the box in his hands, fingers tight enough that the tips are turning white.
"Son of a bitch."
"Hey come on, man, I said I was sorry."
"Are there any more?"
"Some - in the desk drawer. Jared - don't, okay? Come on, the eggs are getting cold. You're hungry, right?"
Jared's still not listening, he's over by his dad's desk now, pulling out each drawer, the gifts he'd bought his dad for every Father's Day, Christmas and Birthday still in their boxes, some with the cards still attached, shoved under papers and files.
"Son. Of. A. Bitch!" Louder now, and his hands are shaking as he pulls each one out, opens them all only to drop them on the floor at his feet.
He's upset, sure, but more than that, he's fucking angry. That his father didn't even open them, that after everything and all this time he can still fucking get to Jared. And he doesn't want Peter to see him, can't even look at him right now, so he turns around without saying another word, grabs the car keys, shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees and doesn't even bother shutting the door behind him.
*
It hits him about halfway into town that it's eleven am and he's still in yesterday's underwear and nothing else, Peter's too-big beach shoes falling off his feet when he toes the gas. He doesn't smell that good either; kinda sour and a lot ripe. He hasn't chanced a look in the rear view at himself yet, knows he's not gonna like what he sees. And right now he hates Leonard more because of that. His life sucks because Leonard Franklin is an asshole.
And then it hits him again that he's so full of shit he'd be surprised anyone could stand downwind from him and live, turns the car 'round and heads back to the beach house.
Peter's in the kitchen when he gets back, drying dishes and stacking them the exact way Jared's mom likes them. He doesn't look up when Jared walks in just points at the stairs and rubs a little too hard at the already dry plate in his hand.
"Go take a shower."
"Peter -"
"Shower." Peter's still not looking at him, just staring at the plate in his hand.
"'Kay."
He has the water too hot, scrubs hard enough at his hair that it hurts and when he's done he feels a little more human. He grabs sweats and a ratty old t-shirt from the closet, dumps his towel on the bathroom floor on his way back through and heads back downstairs.
Peter's got a cup of coffee in his hand, passes another to Jared before he's even pulled one of the high kitchen stools out to sit down.
"Sorry." Jared doesn't look at the neat little pile of boxes and envelopes on the counter.
"You can't let him do this to you, man." Peter sounds so fucking sad. Jared would give anything not to hear Peter sound like that ever again.
"I know." The coffee cup's kinda burning his hand, he's holding on so tight. Can't seem to let go.
"It's not you, you know."
"I know, Peter." It's the same conversation they've had a million times and Peter's right. Peter's always right, but it doesn't stop his dad getting right there under his skin, making him question every decision he's ever made in his life, right from the first bike he ever saved his allowance for when he was eight, right up to not going to work at Franklin and Franklin. Every one of them chewed over and second guessed, stubbornness most times overruling common sense and if he's under oath he'd say it was a not-so-unconscious dig at his dad.
He's smiling when he thinks about that. And how most of those decisions, he ran by Peter first, Peter playing both Devil's Advocate and enabler and he loves Peter for that more than he's ever been able to say. Jared's not a pussy as far as his dad's concerned, they both know that, but with Peter at his back, it's all a little bit easier.
Jared downs his coffee in a couple of huge gulps, slides the cup across the counter in a silent 'top me off' and reaches for one of the packages. And then another, lining them all up in front of him. And they're still box fresh; shiny and unused, tie clips and cufflinks and handkerchiefs, bought when Jared didn't know anything about his father. He still doesn't, not really, not much past the secretaries and the PAs and the strippers and the weekends away from Jared and his mom more often than not. Jared knows he's a hard ass corporate type; ruthless and heartless, making his thousand bucks an hour and not caring much past winning. It's everything Jared never wanted to be. Peter with him every step of the way regardless.
"You know. I kinda get it." He turns one of the boxes so Peter can see a particularly gaudy tiepin.
Peter just smiles at him, fills Jared's coffee cup, shakes out and then tears into two sugar packets and dumps them into the cup as he pours two percent 'til it's the exact color Jared likes.
And it's also the exact same way Jared makes his own coffee. He never noticed that before.
"But then you knew that anyway, right?"
Peter has this face. It's his 'yeah I'm fucking awesome' face and he's pulling it right now. Jared throws one of the balled up envelopes at that smug, stupid, perfect face and misses by a mile. "Fuck off. I can't help that I'm dumb and Leonard yanks my chain."
Peter throws the envelope back and doesn't miss. "Except that you can, 'cause you know he yanks your chain and you still let him do it."
"Point."
Peter jabs at Jared's shoulder with his finger, knocks Jared's hand away as he's going for Peter's shoulder and now they're six for ten and Peter's still fucking winning.
"Asshole."
"Original."
"Fuck you."
"Later. Right now you need to eat something." And with that Peter slides off his stool and turns back to the kitchen.
Jared's trying not to think too hard about the 'later'. It's not like Peter hasn't said shit like that before since they stopped the actual fucking, but it doesn't mean Jared hasn't and won't still think that maybe it's something they should be doing again. It's wishful and kinda stupid, knows if it was going to happen again, it would have by now. But he can't help but smile at Peter's back anyway.
Peter talks shit about nothing at all, chops and stirs and bangs his mom's expensive French pots and pans like they're their own crappy ones from Walmart and Jared in turn makes the appropriate listening noises and stares some more at the pile of gifts on the counter, dares himself to open just the one and ends up pulling the whole pile closer.
"You could stare at them all day or you could just open them and get it over with." Peter's still got his back to Jared, still stirring something that smells fucking fantastic and Jared wonders not for the first time if Peter's some genetic mutant with eyes in the back of his head.
"Or I could just throw them back in the drawer." He knows he's not going to do that, knows Peter knows he's not going to either.
Peter just snorts, turns 'round with a wooden spoon coated in sauce and sticks it in Jared's face. "Needs more marjoram, right?"
"Right."
And Peter doesn't look at him. Jared knows he's not going to either, just like he knows Peter'll turn 'round just as soon as Jared makes a single unhappy noise.
Jared bites his lip, takes a deep breath and grabs the box off the top.
He doesn't need to open it to know what it is, it's out of its wrapper at least, the box some shiny faux leather that thirteen year old Jared thought looked sort of expensive, even though he knew his dad would spot the difference. It creaks when he opens it, the cufflinks inside still held to the bright purple pad with elastic. His dad hadn't even taken them out. Jared can imagine his dad just glancing at them and snapping the box shut again, more concerned about the ice melting in his glass of scotch than his sleeping son upstairs.
Jesus Christ he's getting maudlin and it's only the first fucking box.
Jared snaps it shut and tosses it to skid across the counter, thinks maybe he could see if the next one he tosses can knock it on the floor.
The next three are all still wrapped in increasingly gaudy paper; Jared remembers picking it specifically to piss his dad off. Each one more tacky than the one before it; birthday, Christmas and Father's Day when Jared was sixteen and got a job that wasn't filing for Franklin and Franklin. Shitty money, but it was his shitty money and not 'taxed' for his living expenses. He doesn't bother opening those; they're all ties, just as fugly as the paper they're wrapped in. And they obviously did the job if his dad didn't even bother to open them. The ties don't slide across the counter half as dramatically as the cufflink box and end up halfway to the end, very much blocking the path of any further missiles.
Jared makes his way through the rest of the boxes; tie clips, cufflinks and a gold pin he picked up the year he and Peter blew their rent money on a trip to Vegas and won it all back and then some before they came home. He lingers a little over that one, stares down at it and can't help but smile. Three days on cheap buffet and ramen until they hit it kinda big and got moved way upstairs, only to have Peter refuse to go out on the balcony in case it fell off in some freak accident, so instead they bought the lounge chairs and patio set inside and sat by the open French doors, drank too much champagne and made out 'til Jared's chair collapsed under their weight.
That was before they called it quits. Before Janie.
When Jared looks up, Peter's turned around, but he's not looking at Jared, he's looking at the box in Jared's hand.
"I vote we keep that one." He's smiling as he looks up, that same damned smile Jared fell for in the first place. And Jared kind of hates Peter a little for it. Except that he doesn't and he can't, not really. Sometimes he's really stupid. "Come on, dinner's ready. "
Jared leaves the boxes and badly wrapped ties on the counter. He doesn't finish opening them and he doesn't put them away again.
Jared falls asleep on the couch before the movie they're watching is even halfway through. He wakes up with the sun, a blanket draped over him and a note on the coffee table in front of him.
Surfing - your turn to make breakfast.
*
They don't talk about the stuff on the counter, just shove it further toward the edge when they need the space, neither of them bothering to pick the boxes up that eventually fall. Jared knows it'll all need to be away again before they leave in a few days, but he can't bring himself to do it just yet, letting it sit there like some sick reminder of how much his father doesn't care and how much Jared lets that get to him. As much as he tells anyone that asks that it doesn't.
They waste the rest of the day under a pile of chips and fake butter popcorn that makes the microwave stink; play Madden 'til Jared can't see straight and fall asleep on the couch again like neither of them have perfectly good beds to go to.
Jared's not alone when he wakes up the next morning.
He could move, get off the couch and make the coffee and pretend that Peter isn't pressed tight along his back, that Peter hasn't got his knee jammed between Jared's thighs and that his breath isn't hot on the back of Jared's neck. He could cough and shift and give Peter the out.
Instead he leans back just that little bit, closes his hand tighter where it's wrapped around Peter's over his chest, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and hopes that Peter doesn't wake up just yet, that he can have this for just a little longer.
The sun's up over the veranda and it's too bright in the room by the time Jared feels Peter shift, hears the change in his breathing. He waits for Peter to pull back, to mutter an apology and climb off the couch. Except that Jared will swear that Peter's smiling against the back of his neck, that Peter's thumb is brushing tiny circles over Jared's t-shirt. He's not imagining it, he can't be, but Peter wouldn't be, can't be, they don't -
"Peter - " His voice tight, barely more than a whisper.
"I've missed this." And Peter's a son of a bitch for saying it when Jared hasn't even dared think about it.
"Don't - I can't - " But he wants to. Wants to just turn around and kiss Peter stupid and then kiss him some more just to be sure. He doesn't, instead he grips Peter's hand hard enough to hurt and screws his eyes shut. If they do this now he's going to want it all and that's never going to happen. "We're not doing this, remember?"
It was Jared who called a halt, Jared who told Peter he should make a go of it with Janie, Jared who didn't make a secret of hating Janie as much as she seemed to hate him back, Jared who went out the night Peter told him he was moving out of the cave and in with Janie and picked up a guy with the same stupid hair, but the wrong shade of eyes and bought him home and made enough noise for Pindar to bang on his door, Jared who didn't even bother trying to sneak the guy out the next morning, just sat at the counter in his shorts and undershirt, watching as he made awkward small talk with Peter. And it was Jared who refused to talk about it after Janie threw Peter out and back to his 'boyfriend'.
Jared, who felt like an asshole for pushing Peter away because he didn't want to admit that maybe he wanted more than just fuck buddies.
"Because you're a pig-headed, stubborn asshole."
And Jared does turn 'round then, only just avoids smacking Peter's forehead with his own. He should try harder next time.
"Don't sugar coat it, man." He sounds pissed and he is.
"And I'm an idiot." Jared frowns and Peter pulls him closer, gets a leg over Jared's hip and his hands in Jared's hair and he's pretty sure he'd have to knee Peter in the nuts to get out. Just as well he doesn't want to. "We've been dancing around each other for years, man, and I'm done."
The bottom of Jared's world drops out and he doesn't care that he'll have to knee Peter in the nuts to get out, he's getting out, he doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to get let off or go or whatever.
And Peter just holds on tighter, gets a good handful of Jared's hair while he's at it and kisses him.
It's stale and hot and too hard and it's the best kiss Jared's had since the last time, when Jared thought it was the last time.
"I'm done with us fucking around and not actually fucking around. Twenty five years and you still don't have a fucking clue." Peter kisses him again and Jared's confused and horny and holding on 'cause he can't do anything but. "I'm an idiot and you're clueless and I don't want to waste another twenty five years 'cause who knows what you'll look like naked then and like how you look naked now, so I'm going to let go of you and you're either going to punch me in the face or we're gonna do this." Peter doesn't kiss him again, he just lets go.
Jared's brain takes a second to catch up.
"I fucking hate you so much right now." Even as he's grinning so hard his face might actually stay that way and pushing Peter back so he can get his thighs either side of Peter's hips and his hands 'round Peter's face, his fingers pushing up into Peter's hair. "But I want to fuck you more than I hate you so it can wait."
Neither of them care about the antique leather couch or the imported afghan Jared's mother had commissioned. It's messy and too fast and they don't even make it out of their shorts, just rut and bite and hold on too hard, lose it too quickly and don't bother moving 'til Peter complains about Jared's heavy ass cutting off his circulation.
They make it upstairs later and into the shower and into Peter's bed and Jared takes his time this time, reminds himself and Peter, tries to make up for wasting twenty five years, whispers sorry against Peter's skin and lets it all go.
*
Jared's alone when he wakes up in the morning, the comforter barely covering his legs and his face smooshed up in the pillows. He doesn't panic, just rolls over to find the note on the side table.
Surfing. Don't get dressed.
/end
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