Fic: I Am Trying to Make You Sing (PG, JA/JP)

[unamaga]

I Am Trying to Make You Sing
Jensen/Jared, PG; 564 words of pure schmoop; for lyric_ficathon

Lazy yellow moon coming up tonight, shining through the trees.
Crickets are singing and lightening bugs are floating on the breeze.

It’s three minutes past midnight when Jared rolls over onto his side in the high grass and kisses Jensen, right on the mouth. Jensen doesn’t even startle, just slips his hands up Jared’s back and into his long hair, twisting a little so Jared will tip his head down—yeah, just like that.

“Do you think it was meant to be like this?” Jensen asks when he’s caught his breath. Jared flops back on the ground next to him and his side is warm against Jensen’s arm, a barrier against the night’s chill.

“Like what?” Jared eventually mumbles, lazy and slow.

“Us,” Jensen says. He brushes his thumb over the inside of Jared’s open palm, tracing the curves and spidery lines. “Meeting like we did.”

Jared turns his head, bangs falling over his eyes, and gives Jensen a very long look. For a minute, Jensen can hear the crickets all around them, chirping to each other from the underbrush in a secret song that he can almost understand the words to.

A lightning bug drifts leisurely by.

“What are you thinkin’ about, Jen?” Jared asks, reaching up with his free hand and pressing gentle fingers to Jensen’s jaw. Jensen sighs, quiet and sweet like a breeze through the cattails.

“Nothing,” he says finally and turns to kiss Jared’s fingers. “It’s not important.”

Jared sends him another inscrutable look, squeezing their hands together. “It is important if it’s bothering you,” he says. “Tell me.”

“It’s…” Jensen pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. Those same fingers flutter inquisitively over his brow and he has a sudden moment of deja vu. “Do you ever get the feeling we’ve done this before?”

“What? We’ve never been to this part of Texas—”

“No,” Jensen interrupts. He fidgets and then sits up, letting go of Jared’s hand to link his own together above his knees. “I mean this,” he says. “Sometimes, I can finish your sentences before you even start them. And you’ve said yourself that you can tell when I come into a room.”

Jared looks at him solemnly, his fox-sharp eyes narrow and serious, and says, “It’s because your soul cries out to me like a foghorn—Jaaareeed.”

“Why you little,” Jensen growls, and then he’s wrestling with Jared, elbowing him hard in the side until he can get him into a headlock, arms pinned between their torsos. “I knew I shouldn’t have bought you that Friends DVD set.”

Jared’s shaking, laughing loud and honest, even though Jensen keeps crushing pressure against his windpipe. “Come on, you were asking for it!”

“See if I ever try to have a serious conversation with you again,” Jensen snorts, letting go and falling back onto the grass. “You are such an ass.”

Suddenly, Jared’s leaning over him, a dark shadow against the moon’s light. For a moment, he looks like he has a halo. Then, he shifts closer and Jensen can see his eyes, wide and amused. “Aw, come on,” he says again. “You don’t really believe that stuff, do you, Jen?”

Jensen shifts, annoyed.

“Man, it’s a bunch of bull. Just because we click doesn’t mean there’s anything weird about it,” Jared says. He leans in and kisses Jensen, lips soft and coaxing. “I just know you. Ok?”

He breathes out against Jensen’s ear, and Jensen shivers. “Yeah,” he says, reaching up to grip Jared’s sides. “Yeah, you’re right.”