Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1373488.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan, Steve_Carlson/Christian_Kane, Misha
      Collins/Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan, Christian_Kane, Jared_Padalecki,
      Bisou_Morgan, Misha_Collins, Steve_Carlson
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, and_by_underage_I_mean_the_first_sex_occurs_when_Jensen_is
      16, Angst, backwards_storytelling, POV_First_Person, Alternate_Universe_-
      Modern_Setting, Infidelity, could_be_hints_of_future_Jensen/Misha_if_you
      squint, though_that's_entirely_optional_and_dependent_on_your_reading_of
      it, Fear_of_Discovery, Fear_of_Coming_Out, Alcohol, implied_drunk_sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-27 Words: 9879
****** Anything But Mine ******
by Whreflections
Summary
     Jensen Ackles falls in love with Jeffrey Dean Morgan on a trip down
     to the tip of Florida when he's 16. It takes him about two weeks to
     know it, and ten years to come to terms with it. Jeff, he knew a lot
     sooner. Pain is often a matter of timing.
Notes
     So I started this fic...wow, about four years ago. The inspiration
     came to me when I was down on Sanibel for vacation, and I wrote about
     3 pages or so and then put it aside to work on other Supernatural
     related things, thinking I'd be back to it soon. Long story short, I
     ended up drifting into other fandoms for a very long time.
     I never expected this to be the story I come back to the Supernatural
     fandom with, but I opened the document and it was the easiest thing
     in the world to just start writing. Honestly, I'm glad it happened
     like that, because I think this story came out all the better for it.
     It's not a happy story, but I'm proud of it.
     Anyway, if there is anything that bothers anyone/would bother anyone
     about this story that I forgot to tag, please tell me! I know
     underage really squicks a lot of people, so I wanted to make sure I
     had that tagged multiple ways, particularly with the 12 year age gap
     between these two. But, for those of you that are on the fence, I
     will give on spoiler and say that Jensen very much knows his own
     mind, and all sexual activity in this story is 100% consensual. It's
     not always healthy(infidelity, etc.), but it IS always consensual.
     That said, here goes...
The summer of 1998, me and my mom went on a much needed vacation.  More needed
for her than me, really, because she worked too hard.  My dad, he’s a good for
nothing son of a bitch.  Not that she sees that, and not that I’d ever tell her
I think that, but it’s true.  He ran off when she was 5 months pregnant, and
though we’ve never heard a word from him since to hear her talk you’d think one
day he’s just gonna waltz right back in the door.  Not that I think he will,
but if he ever did I’d be coming right in behind him to give a piece of my mind
and show him right back out. 
My mom, she’s wonderful.  I was lucky like that.  Better even than I knew as a
kid, and honestly probably even better than I think now.  She worked hard to
take care of both of us, but if we ever had money trouble when I was a kid she
never let me see it.  The older I got, though, the more I knew just how much
working those hours took out of her, and when she said we should really take a
real break, go down and spend a month on this little island near the tip of
Florida, I agreed even though I’d miss a couple of my best friend Chris’
parties that’d be goin’ on around town while I was gone.  At that age, it felt
like a big sacrifice.  And in my defense, Chris throws a great party. 
It was just our third day there when I met Jeff.  I’d gone over to Captiva
Island, right next to Sanibel where we were staying and even smaller, and I was
wandering around trying to mostly keep to myself.  He was fishing off a boat
dock, shirt half open.  He was just tan enough that you could tell he nearly
lived out on those waters, and everything about him just looked strong and a
little rough around the edges. 
Here, I should probably add something else to make this all make a little more
sense.  At that point in my life, I hadn’t even admitted to myself there was no
way I’d ever be happy with a woman.  I knew I wasn’t attracted to them, that
was easy enough to tell, but I wouldn’t let myself admit that I was attracted
to guys, either.  I knew what I wanted, and it involved medical school and a
nice house and 2.5 kids so I could prove that being a dad wasn’t something so
impossible you had to take off and run from it, even if you had no role model
to judge by.  In all of that, nowhere did it fit that I’d never met a woman I
wanted to so much as kiss much less marry.  Still, I had it there in my plan,
cemented in the back of my mind.  I couldn’t be gay, because it didn’t work
with where I needed to end up.  It didn’t fit.  To me then, it was as simple as
that.
Of course, none of that stopped the fact that hormonally, I was a 16 year old
boy who’d just seen the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on, and I think
initially it was instinct that made up its mind for the rest of me.  Don’t get
me wrong, though, it wasn’t justthat, not with us.  If all it had ever been
with Jeff was just really awesome sex, it would’ve been just as meaningless as
I tried to make it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.  Seeing him, that’s what
drew me.  The reality of Jeffrey Dean Morgan, that was why I stayed. 
I came up, asked what he was fishin’ for even though I had no clue what was
even in the waters or any idea at all how to talk remotely intelligently about
fishing.  16 year old me was a little bit too cocky.  Either way, if he knew I
was bullshitting him right off, he didn’t show it.  He told me, and I don’t
even remember his answer.  He asked me what I was doing out that way, and I
told him about vacation and getting away from Dallas for a while.  He said he
was from Seattle, and I told him I’d never be able to stand all that rain.  He
looked at me then, laughing, and he said “Neither could I, what  d’you think
I’m doin’ here?” 
It was something in his smile, I think, or maybe just in his eyes but as many
times as I’ve looked back on those first weeks, I think that was it, the moment
that really clenched it.  He was vibrant and full of life with a warmth to him
that I thought I’d have been able to feel even just seein’ him smile from
across a room.  I’d never been in love until then.
That realization, though…that’s all hindsight.  It’s the kind of clarity you
get when you run through something in your mind over and over.  At the time, I
just knew that I wanted to stay and talk, so I did.  All afternoon.  He was 28,
and he’d come down to Florida at 24 after spending 6 years in the Navy right
out of high school.  He’d done a lot of work on the ships, welding mostly, and
even though he didn’t ever want to go back in he was glad he’d served his
time.  He listened to me talk about applying to colleges and my plans for
medical school, and even though I was young then with him I didn’t feel it. 
I’d never exactly been the most outgoing guy around, either.  Hell, back home,
Chris had that title covered.  But with Jeff…I don’t know, it was different. 
He was easy to be around in general, easy to talk to and listen to and just as
easy to sit in silence with. 
Those first few days are kind of a blur, now.  The conversations all run into
each other and I’m not sure exactly which ones took place when, but that first
week we spent a lot of time talking.  He ran a little fishing boat that took
tourists out on the weekdays, but only for about half the day.  After that he
was free, and though the first couple days we kind of ‘accidentally’ ran into
each other, after that we gave up pretending it wasn’t planned.  We talked and
laughed and a couple times I watched him fish, though he found out pretty quick
I had next to no interest in learning how.  I joined him and his buddies in a
couple pickup football games in the sand, and we spent one afternoon with a
whole group of locals swimming off a beach on the Gulf side.   
That whole time, I didn’t think.  One of the good things about being that age,
I guess, because if I’d stopped to think about what I was doing, what I wanted,
I’d have probably stopped talking to him before things got too deep.  As it
was, I just kept right at it, spending all the time with him I could. 
To this day, I don’t know how he figured me out.  I mean, I guess I should
because it stands to reason that those kinds of signals are pretty universal. 
It’s kind of sad, really, how little about all of that I know even at my age
now.  Jeff’s the only man I’ve ever been with, the only man I’ve ever pursued
or been pursued by.  One way or another, he knew about me before I did.
It was about halfway through our second week there, and I was on the boat with
him, just a little ways out into the water somewhere between Sanibel and Fort
Myers.  We were leaning on the rail, and I’d been trying to tell him what
people from Texas saw in bull riding.  He was explaining all the reasons that
to him it seemed insane, and I was laughing because if I had to be honest, for
the most part he was right.  I looked over at him, and he leaned in and kissed
me. 
In my memories, it’s a lot more momentous than it really was at the time. 
There was no hesitation to it, nothing to make it into a big production.  For
me, though, it was one of the most important moments of my life up to that
point, because after it, I couldn’t really lie to myself anymore.  It wasn’t my
first kiss, and that was half of why it was such a big deal.  The girls that
I’d kissed, I’d never felt anything.  I went through the motions, but it was
more for them and for the sake of bragging to Chris than it was for me, because
I didn’t really give a damn either way.  Kissing them was mechanical; kissing
Jeff was sensory. 
In this memory as I relive it, I can feel the calluses on Jeff’s fingers, smell
the strange mix of salt and lime and fish that he often carried on the boat,
feel his exhale against my cheek, faint at first then heavier as he settled
into the kiss, as he realized I wasn’t going to push him away.  I laughed a
little when we pulled apart, a little high, a little shaky.  It was a goddamn
good kiss, and I was gay with certainty now, irreversibly, and Jeff was smiling
back at me and I couldn’t have held on any tighter to that railing if my life
depended on it.
But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea; this isn’t a summer movie.  You
know what I mean- lovers meet, whirlwind romance, maybe a separation but they
come back together, maybe they dance at their wedding on the beach or sail away
into some beautiful Atlantic sunset.
I can tell you from experience, the sunsets down here are that gorgeous, and it
feels good sometimes to sail out to meet them.  There’s a quiet out on the
water after dark that nothing in the world has but the ocean; it’s a peace that
feels as threatening as it does soothing.  The ocean doesn’t love you. 
Sometimes, she tolerates your presence.  The sunset and the boat, that I can
might can give you, but as for the rest, here’s the truth-
Jeffrey Dean Morgan died just under two months ago at the age of 38, the victim
of a brain tumor I never knew he had.   I knew him for ten years, and he was
mine for none of it.  Or all of it, depending on who you ask.  I don’t think I
deserve to lay any claim, but maybe when I’ve told it all you’ll see it
differently.  Somehow I doubt it. 
I tried to start with the beginning, but it’s too hard, knowing the end.  The
only way I can tell this now, I think, is to work backwards.  You’ll have to
connect the dots for yourself. 
                                   ---------
There is no grave.  Coming from a land of tradition, this is hard for me to
take.  Maybe Misha knows, maybe that’s at least half of why he pushes the urn
into my hands with such a careful touch.
“There’s not many ashes left.  We’ve mostly spread them already, but.”  He
shrugs, and his eyes meet mine.  He would deny it, but there’s accusation
there.  “He knew you’d come back.  I told him I’d save a bit.”
They’re in a little plastic sack, the kind my grandpa used to bring me little
tiny polished rocks in when I was a kid.  Just right for polished rocks and
little seashells and pinches of human ash.  I carry him to the dock where we
met, to the lighthouse, to his street thinking about the back of his Jeep where
we first made love.  I wonder if anyone has ever left bits of ash in a car. 
The Jeep’s gone, of course it is.  He’s been gone himself near two months.  In
its place, there’s a van.  By the look of the inflatable horses in the back
window of it, the new tenants have little girls. 
I go down to the wildlife refuge and walk until I see no other creatures but
the spoonbills, stepping slow as they sift through the water.  I turn the bag
over and over in my fingers, wondering which piece of him I hold. 
 
 
The postcard sits by my bed for ages.  I could lie and say it was buried by
medical textbooks and sheaves of notes, but it wasn’t; it was covered first by
junk mail, an empty bag of potato chips, a remote control, a new set of guitar
strings I haven’t had the time to put on.  By now, it’s almost completely
hidden.  The corner sticks off the edge of the nightstand just a bit, just
enough that Oscar has nibbled it round instead of sharp. 
On the front is the lighthouse, against a blue sky.  On the back, 42 words. 
“Hey, Jen.  If you get a chance to come before the summer, it’d be good to see
you.  I know you’re busy; it’s alright if you can’t make it.  I’m sure I’ll see
you soon.  Take care of yourself, alright? Love, Jeff”
Every time I catch the ragged corner peeking out from under that mound of shit,
for just a minute I remember that I should call, I should write, I should tell
him I’ll be down to Sanibel as soon as finals are over.  I never do, but I
console myself with the knowledge that after all, it’s my last year of medical
school.  Jeff will understand.  Jeff can wait. 
 
 
Misha Collins is no longer in a relationship. 
After a day spent learning how to deal out knowledge of imminent death, such
good news is pretty damn heartening.  I nearly dance, nearly cheer, nearly
stand up in the middle of friggin Pizza Hut and wave my laptop over my head
like a trophy.  Chris might have done at least one of those, Jared maybe two;
fortunately, I guess, neither of them is present.  I settle for freezing with
my fingers over the keys, my heart thudding stupidly loud.
I cannot comment on this status change.  I feel like the worst kind of ass,
perhaps appropriately, because this isn’t the sort of thing I should be
celebrating.  After all, Misha’s my friend too and it’s not as if I will take
the door this opens, as if I’ll call Jeff right now and make it right.  It’s
not as if the door being closed ever stopped me from doing it wrong, either.
I could fix some of that though, I’m almost sure I could.  If I called right
now I could probably just say I love you and it would matter, it would change
things.
My phone buzzes beside my plate, twice.  First, there’s Misha.
Not that I didn’t always know the best I could do was share him, but he’s all
yours now, for what it’s worth.
Then, Jared.
Jen, have you seen facebook?  You need to see facebook.
I laugh, mutter a ‘thanks, man’ at my phone that he obviously can’t hear.  As I
go to type, Misha sends another one.
If any of that sounded pissed, I’m not.  It’s time I bowed out gracefully.  The
rest is up to you, Jenny.
My fingers hesitate.  I have no answers, not for either of them. 
 
 
The rain is deafening.  It’s one excuse for the way we’re not talking; a poor
one, but it’s something.  Jeff hikes my leg higher against his hip, turns his
face against my neck.  He’s panting, I can feel it in the hot bursts of air on
my skin, in the way he struggles to muffle a groan because he’s still trying to
take in air. 
I arch against him in silence, everything in me tightening, my hands clawing at
his shoulders.  My arms go pretty weak after that, but I hold on long enough
for him to get off.  His last thrust knocks my calf into the nightstand,
rattles Bisou’s picture and the lampshade.  There’s a second of dismay where I
remember what it felt like to actually feel him spill inside me, hot and slick,
leaking when he pulled away.  Half the time I liked the feeling and half the
time it seemed like too messy to clean, but it’s a part of him I miss.  There’s
no part of Jeff I want to have to shield myself from, nothing at all. 
But that choice is one I’ve denied us, and at that realization, I squeeze his
shoulders and lower my legs to the floor.  My thighs are shaking, and though he
catches me against his chest, we aren’t looking at each other.  Bisou’s picture
has tipped sideways, half over, pushing a bottle of Tylenol perilously close to
the edge.  Overhead, the rain is pounding. 
Somehow, I still hear the sound of the screen door slamming, and I damn near
jump out of my skin.  Jeff lets go, easy enough to do when he was already
holding on so lightly. 
“There’s no rush, Jen.  He already knows what we’ve been doing.”  I have a
dozen questions, none of them easy, none of them willing to leave my tongue. 
How long has Misha known; from the beginning?  Does he care?  Obviously he
doesn’t, he couldn’t, could he?  Or is he just now learning, did Jeff tell him
last night?  Or is Jeff merely anticipating that there is no way to hide it,
that even if we do our best to look presentable there is nothing about the two
of us just now that doesn’t scream ‘sex’? 
Part of me wishes for the last, though it doesn’t feel quite true.  I feel half
high on Jeff, half sick.  I hate it; the situation or myself, it’s hard to
tell.   
Jeff pulls his pants on, shrugs into a shirt.  The red lines from my nails
crisscross into plain view with it gaping open, but he doesn’t button a single
one.  It should feel like a victory, like something, but he won’t look at me,
he still won’t look at me. 
I shouldn’t sit down, because if I do, I won’t want to get up.  I should stop
looking at Jeff, stop wondering when fucking like this became easier than
laying against his chest on the couch.  Since I came down here days ago, we
haven’t touched each other for anything that wasn’t sex. 
If I’m going to fuck his boyfriend, I should have the balls to face Misha like
a man.
At the very least, I should get my ass up off the floor and pull on some
pants. 
My head’s throbbing and I turn it to the side, let my ear press against the
wall.  If I focus, the rain is absolutely all I can hear. 
 
 
After an absence of over a year, this island, this house, it shouldn’t feel
like home.  It’s never been home, but it has that feel all the same.  What’s
that saying, the one that says home is the place where if you go there, they
have to take you in? 
The last time I saw Jeff, we’d just finished screaming at each other in a
parking lot in Tallahassee.  I was sober then, though I’m sure the poor
unfortunate souls in the rooms on the ground floor wouldn’t have believed it. 
I’m drunk now, more than I have been in ages.  It took a few shots to get me in
the door; the rest have come as everyone else has dwindled out, an already
small crowd narrowed down to Jeff and me and Jared. 
Jared’s careful when he takes himself out of it, his eyes checking mine half a
dozen times before he finally claps a hand to my shoulder and leaves and it’s
just us, watching each other over a cluttered coffee table.  It’s past time I
spoke up, but that takes another shot of Jack, so I pour.   Jeff slides another
shot glass onto the table, all the way over to click against mine.  I fill his
to the rim, until it’s spilling over. 
I should tell him I’m sorry.  Now’s the time, but if I do, what can I say
then?  I’m sorry, I’m ready, let’s do this?  I can’t say it, because I’m not. 
Ironically of all I’m capable of, I won’t lie to Jeff.  I could ask about
Misha, about how it happened, how they came together in the time I’ve been
away.  Just the thought makes my stomach roil more than the alcohol ever could,
so that thought’s goin’ nowhere just now. 
He says something I don’t quite follow about the tide and it’s awkward,
painful, but then we’re talking and I’ve missed the sound of his voice so much
he could give me a lecture on goddamn fishhooks and I’d be at his mercy. 
We don’t make it the length of a lecture like that; maybe I knew all along we
never would.  I can’t say who stands first; that’s too much to sort out when
I’m drunk enough that everything tilts when I turn my head.  All I know is that
after one shot that followed a couple of beers hours and hours ago he’s stable,
and I have the thought for just a second that I’m glad he’s sober because I
know what I want regardless, but I won’t have him make a choice he regrets.  At
least, if he’s going to regret it, he has to regret it honestly, as a choice he
made, not as an advantage I pressed. 
His hand closes around my wrist and though I think it appeared there to steady
me, he doesn’t let go.  He smells like the sea, even here.  It’s reflex to tilt
my face up to him so I do, and he’s right there, so close his lips brush mine
when he whispers.
“We’re not gonna do this, Jensen.  I can’t do this.” 
He can’t, but his arm’s around my waist, and it wasn’t there a minute ago. 
“Yeah.”  I whisper too, though I’m not sure why.  We’re alone here.  “Ok. 
Sorry.”  But I’m not, and besides as of yet, I’ve done nothing, really. 
“I mean it.”
I know he does, know it just as thoroughly as I know his protest is going to
fail.  We’re right up against each other; I can feel everything, the expansion
of his chest, the slightly increased pressure where his hips are flush against
mine. 
I could stop this, still.  All I have to do is pull away. 
His mouth closes over mine, and I lean into it, grasp clumsily at his belt, his
shirt.  My heart’s pounding in my ears.  Misha’s my friend, honest to God he
is, and I should feel something for that, I should, but all I can think is how
this was inevitable, how there can be nothing wrong in this, not when we both
need it so badly. 
Jeff would’ve had me make him an honest man; I’ve made him a cheater instead. 
He moans my name against my throat, ragged and wanting, and I’m not sorry.  I’m
not sorry at all. 
 
 
I venture out of the spare room only when I’m fairly sure I’m done crying. 
It’s not as if Chris hasn’t seen it before but shit, even with him I have a
measure of pride.  It’s seven AM, too fucking early or too fucking late
depending on your frame of reference.  At this point, I’ve been up over 24
hours; my whole body feels wrung out, my eyes full of sand and acid. 
It doesn’t matter that I’ve waited; Chris is sitting on the arm of his couch, a
cup of coffee in his hands, the neck of his guitar resting against his ankle. 
He barely looks me over as I shuffle in, his eyebrows rising slightly. 
“So.  Do I need to go down there?” 
In it, I hear every question he doesn’t outright ask.  Do I need to talk to
him?  Do I need to punch him?  Do you want to talk about this or do I need to
leave it alone?  He’d do any and all of the above; I know he would, and I’m
more grateful than I can say. 
I clear my throat.  “No.”  Jesus, even so, just the sound of my voice makes my
throat hurt even worse.  “It was my fault.” 
“D’you sleep at all, man?” 
Do I want to change the subject?  Yeah, yeah I do.  “No.  Not in…I don’t
know.”  But I do; I know the last time I slept.  I remember the touch of Jeff’s
hand against my belly, fingers damp from the washcloth he’d just used to clean
us off.  Go on, Jen.  You’re half out already, aren’t you?  A touch of pride
there, all of it deserved.  He was every bit good enough to leave me limp and
drifting, only now, the memory just makes my chest hurt.  The lingering ache in
my ass doesn’t help matters. 
I feel too weak to just stand there, so I lean against that stupid thing Steve
got for the cat, my fingers tightening on carpet Sashi’s never touched.  What
can I say?  It’s not like Jeff made an unreasonable demand.  All he asked for
was me, outright, in the open.  No hiding, no pretense.  If I tell Chris that,
I have to tell him I am every bit the last words Jeff screamed at me before I
slammed the car door.
You’re goddamn coward, you know that?
I do. 
 
 
For Sanibel in July, Chris and Steve have drawn quite the crowd.  They deserve
it; they make a better team than I would’ve ever imagined, but maybe that’s
just because I spent so much time watching Chris practice solo.  Seeing him
now, the way his eyes cut to Steve while he sings, Chris playing solo is
getting harder and harder to remember.   Steve looks back at him, and I wonder
if the whole room sees what I see.  I wonder how many would care.  I wonder,
too, how loving Steve came so easy to a boy who was raised in the same city I
was, surrounded by the same influences.
Or, maybe I know the truth and I hate it- that Chris has always been the
leader, always been braver than me. 
They start up a new song, and Jeff’s hands fall on my shoulders, heavy and
firm, kneading the muscle beneath as he leans down to me.  “Dance with me.”
God, yes.  I almost laugh, but it’s too close to a simple exhale to tell the
difference.  “Come on, I haven’t danced since high school and I was pretty
terrible then.  Ask Chris; he’ll tell you all about it.”
His lips reach my temple, stubble scraping light against soft skin of my ear on
the way.  “Everyone here is either a friend who knows about us or a stranger
who doesn’t know you from Adam.  I’ll lead.  Just dance with me.” 
In that, he isn’t wrong.  On the island, I have held his hand on the trails,
pulled him to me and kissed him underneath the lighthouse, both of us
laughing.  Down here, I have let myself be seen.  This place; it’s my
sanctuary.  In the fall, I head back off to my first year of medical school
back in Oklahoma.  I know I can’t make it back down here for Thanksgiving or
Christmas and after that, who knows?  Even under the best of circumstances,
when I leave here in August it’ll be months before we see each other again. 
I slide off my stool.  He holds out his hand right away, and I take it.  “You
better remember I tried to warn you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” 
Jeff pulls me in close, twines his fingers with mine and if I’m clumsy
following his steps, he doesn’t seem to notice.  His cheek nuzzles against mine
and I give in to impulse, past caring.  If I’m going to dance with him here, in
the sight of everyone, it can’t matter if I kiss him just as boldly.  They’ve
already seen; I have nothing to hide.  It’s a slow kiss, our movement slowing
to a sway to match it.  He comes away with his breath unsteady, and I wonder
for the thousandth time how it is I can do that to him.  I’ve never seen what
he found the least bit desirable about me, but that’s never stopped him. 
I turn just enough to lay my cheek against his again, to feel him breathe
against my neck.  Chris is still singing, a cover of a country song I know I’ve
heard but can’t place. 
And in the morning I’m leaving, making my way back to Cleveland
So tonight I hope that I will do just fine
And I don’t see how you could ever be
Anything but mine
 
 
 
It’s amazing how hot wood can get in the sun.  It burns the soles of my feet
like metal, though I try not to show it.  At least, not too much.  I’m pretty
fast getting to the towel, though, fast enough that I disturb Bisou.  She’s not
the type to growl, but I know that little grunt she makes has the same ‘cut it
the fuck out’ connotations, so I sit down careful. 
“Sorry, baby girl.”  I murmur the words against the top of her skull, her black
fur feeling just as hot under my lips as the dock did to my feet.  Her tail
swishes, just once, and I know I’m forgiven.  The grey marching determinedly up
her muzzle seems darker up close, darker than it looked just yesterday.  For
that, I kiss her again.  “Daddy’s neglecting you, isn’t he?”
“Daddy’s making sure she has food to eat.”  Jeff’s voice drifts up from the
boat, accented by the sounds of him taking the motor apart.  He couldn’t go out
this morning; with the first of the summer tourists in that’s not a setback he
can really afford to repeat. 
“Yeah, whatever you say, Captain Morgan.  She looks pretty lonely to me.”
“Call me Captain Morgan again and I come up there and kick your ass.” 
It’s tempting, but if he comes up here we’ll wrestle around, maybe end up in
the water, climb onto the boat and have sex below deck, come back out to dry
away from the cabin’s shade.  Insanely tempting, but I take enough of his time
away from paying customers as it is.  For now, I’ll be good. 
Besides, it’s barely past noon and we were up damn near all night.  It feels
good to lay on the dock, to stretch back and close my eyes to sun that burns
red against my eyelids.  Jeff’s humming as he works, no tune I know but it goes
with the soft clangs and clicks of engine work, with the lap of water against
the hull of Seattle Rain and the steady breathing of the dog next to me. 
I’m half asleep when I feel the blunt scratch of dog nails against my chest,
the shift of Bisou lifting up and settling the top half of her body against my
chest, her head right in the middle between her paws.  She sighs as she lays it
down, long and heavy.  In the boat, Jeff is still humming.  This time, it
sounds like The Rolling Stones. 
The thought flits into my mind that I’d be pretty damn happy if I never left
this island again. 
 
 
Looking around me, I realize this isn’t a place accustomed to Spring Break
crowds.  We’re a strange little collection, a jumbled mess of students that for
whatever reason wanted something more out of the way or got dragged here by
someone with an ulterior motive, like the two I coerced into following me
down.  Maybe if this goes well enough, though, Chris and Jared won’t kill me. 
I’m fairly sure Chris won’t but Jared, he’s still pretty new, easier to run
off.  He seemed happy enough when I told him he could bring the dogs; maybe
that’ll be enough. 
Chris is happy, anyway.  A few hours ago he met a guitar player on the beach, a
kid from Ojai, recently come to the island by way of Hawaii where he went to
live by the ocean and work on his steel guitar.  They’ve been talking music
nonstop ever since, and Chris looks happier than college has so far managed to
make him.  It’s a good change.     
The bar we’re at is one of the only ones here, small and cozy and dark and full
of heat from this patchwork crowd.  Jeff leans on the bar while he takes a shot
of tequila, first salting his hand even though they’d have given it to him on
the rim, all because he knows I like to watch him suck it off.  He sets the
glass down hard when he finishes, rim down.  The gaze he’s looking me over with
is downright predatory, enough that I know I’ve reddened at least a little
under his stare. 
We haven’t had a chance to be alone since I drove in, not properly, not really,
not for more than a kiss against the back of my car.  The others know,  but
kissing him here would be different, another thing entirely than kissing him on
the beach where no one really watches.  I want to kiss the taste of tequila off
his lips; I want to suck the last hint of salt off the webbing of his thumb. 
The way he’s looking at me, if I ask I can just about guarantee he’ll leave
here with me right now.  It’s probably what he wants anyway, he-
Is looking past me, to someone else he motions over with his eyes bright and
welcoming, the dark glint of sex for the moment gone.  I turn around in time to
see a guy about my age, maybe a little older.  Dark hair, startlingly blue
eyes, gorgeous enough all over.  For half a second I’m jealous, but then Jeff
is rising off his stool, his hand pressing to the small of my back as he hovers
all around me, his stance too possessive to be mistaken.  If I was a parrot,
I’d be preening. 
“Jen, I want you to meet a buddy of mine; this is Misha.  He’s at school over
at UF, some crazy physics nut. ”  This is a joke between them, I know, because
they both laugh.  “He came down here for the shells a few months ago but the
bastard just keeps coming back.” 
 I take Misha’s hand, half distracted by the stroke of Jeff’s thumb over the
thin cotton of my t-shirt.  “Hey, man.  I’m Jensen.” 
 
 
“I’m going to hell.”
Even over this tinny payphone, his laughter is rich and warm.  A good measure
of my guilt melts under the sound.  “It’s a good thing; I’ve been told I’m
headed there myself.”  I can hear him shift the phone against his shoulder, and
my mind supplies an image to go with it, utter conjecture.  Maybe Bisou is half
in his lap, maybe he’s drinking a beer and watching TV Land.  “What’d you do
this time, Jen?” 
Maybe a really stupid thing.  Maybe.  My palms are sweating, and I switch the
handset to my left hand, wipe my right on my jeans.  “Well, lying to momma
about why I’m not coming home for Thanksgiving definitely can’t have won me any
points; I’ll say that.” 
It takes him a heartbeat to get it, I think.  When he does, I hear rustling
again.  “Where are you?”
My laughter is nervous, and I hope he can’t tell.  I hope that to him I sound
nothing but confidant, though I know that can’t be true.  “A truck stop outside
of Mobile.  Think I’m gonna have to sleep in the car for a little bit, but I
wanted to-“
“Fuck, seriously?”  There’s no weirded out incredulity; nothing I feared.  Just
the joy I’d hoped might be there, the kind that seems to take ten years off
him.  It all comes back to me in a rush- this is why I lied to her, why I’m
skipping class Wednesday, why I’m driving 21 fucking hours with what’ll
probably be a rather pathetic nap in-between. 
“Seriously.  It’s ok?”
“No.  It’s perfect; it’s…”  His voice drops, rough and sincere.  “Hey.  I love
you.” 
It makes me as giddy as it did last summer.  My skin buzzes with its residue,
as if the words bounce like echoes in my bones.  I lean into the brick wall
beside the phone to make up for the sudden weakness that makes it hard to keep
standing.  “Yeah.  Love you too.”  The payphone chirps at me.  I didn’t have
much change.  “Jeff, this thing’s yellin’ at me so-“
“Go on and get some sleep; I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I can hear him smiling.  “I
can’t believe you.  You gotta be exhausted.”
“It’s not so bad.”  Not bad at all, not knowing I’ll have at least a couple
days with Jeff once I get to the end of this drive. 
“Be safe, Jen.”
The phone cuts me off before I can answer. 
 
 
The light across Jeff’s face flickers, tampered with by the shadows of moths as
they dance around the porch light.  It’s fucking four thirty in the morning,
too early for driving, too early for goodbyes.  This is the third time I’ve
left Jeff but the first time I’ve had to be the one to set the schedule, to
take myself away instead of leaving at my mother’s discretion, my last minutes
with Jeff squeezed in the day before.
I understand, now, why so many songs are written about goodbyes. 
Jeff smiles, reaches out to swipe his thumb along the sensitive skin just
underneath my eye.  “Probably should’ve gotten more sleep before your drive.”
No, sleep I can get along the way.  Him, I can’t.  “Can sleep when I’m dead.”
“No one sleeps when they’re dead.  Too busy.”  We’re both too tired, too
strained to be funny.  There’s stubble on his cheeks and I reach up to touch
it, to feel its scratch against my palms.  His head tilts left, into my hand. 
“Need to shave, I know.  It’s just too damn early.”
“No, you don’t.  I like it.”  Shit, I know I’m blushing, know it even more by
the way his smile widens.  Hell, I do like it; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. 
I should’ve told him days ago, the morning we stayed late in bed and the
scratch of stubble left the inside of my thighs red.  He apologized; he
shouldn’t have.  Even remembering, I shiver. 
“You do, don’t you?  I’ll have to remember that.”  He leans down for a kiss, so
tender it’d seem hesitant if his slow withdrawal from my mouth wasn’t so
blatant, his teeth tugging lightly on my lower lip.  “You should go.”  He
whispers, and I know he means, Before I don’t let you. 
Even breathing hurts.  Don’t let me; keep me here.  Another day, at least. 
“I’ll call when I get to Oklahoma.” 
For a moment, he takes me fully in his arms, holds me to his chest so tight I
can feel the reluctance in his exhalation just before he lets go.  “Do; I’d
like to know you got there safe.  You’ve got the map I marked for you?” 
I do, right beside the console in the passenger seat, flipped up to show the
roads back to the mainland first.  I nod, and he takes a step back, like the
miniscule distance it causes will help us get this over with. 
“Ok.” 
“Ok.” 
When it comes to it, I can’t actually say goodbye.  I just walk off the porch,
grateful I don’t miss the bottom step, more grateful still that this morning at
least, there’s no young alligator in the front yard.  I don’t stop moving until
I’ve crossed the bridge, until I’m heading through Fort Myers and I stop for
coffee at a gas station.  The man behind the counter offers me a map and before
I can think I say, “It’s ok, my boyfriend made some notes on an old map of his
for me.” 
My boyfriend.  It just slipped out, so easy.  I don’t know if it’s true yet, if
it ever will be, but it sure as hell felt right saying it. 
 
 
Getting dressed to leave the hotel, I tried my best to channel Chris.  I’ve
rarely felt so stupid as I did standing there over that damn suitcase, tossing
shit out onto the bed, the violence of those tosses getting rougher and rougher
with each shirt I didn’t pick.  It shouldn’t be this hard, dammit; I shouldn’t
still be this shy.  I reminded myself a dozen times that I’m no anxious virgin,
not anymore, but that doesn’t exactly help because after all, it was just the
once, and it’s been a year.  I’ve had no one since, not back in my hometown
where I’m too shy for anyone but Chris to even know about me, much less
anything else. 
It wasn’t much help asking myself what Chris would do, either.  He’d probably
go shirtless over a pair of tight jeans, and that I just don’t have the
confidence for, not now, not when I don’t even know if he’ll want me there. 
Last fall my faith in him seemed absolute; the closer we got to comin’ back,
the more doubts I realized I’d been carrying all along. 
Could be the whole thing hadn’t meant shit to him after all; could be he picked
up some kid like me every summer.  Maybe more than one.  Chances were, I’d go
to him and he wouldn’t even remember my name.  I had to try, sure, but I
couldn’t expect too much.  I couldn’t.
No matter my repetitions of that, either, I couldn’t calm down.  I shut the
door to my room, lay back and took my cock out.  No matter how often I’d used
last year’s memories they never got stale and I called to mind last year on the
deck of his ship around sunset, the first time a hand other than mine had
wrapped around my cock.  It didn’t take long to get off after that; I hoped
that’d be enough to at least take the edge off the tension. 
After that, I stopped overthinking it, grabbed a shirt that’s getting just a
little too small and a faded pair of jeans and told mom I was heading out. 
Playing the odds I assumed he’d be out at Captiva on his boat dock rather than
home on Sanibel, a bike ride of at least an hour.  If I’d asked for the car,
I’d have had to explain something, some lie.  Worse, I’d have had to plan when
to bring it back.  
So I took the bike, rode an hour and a half, came to wait here in enough time
to see the Seattle Rain pull in about 30 minutes after I found the right dock. 
My first glimpse of Jeff in a year shows me everything I remember, and a few
things new.  Sunglasses, mirrored, though he isn’t wearing them properly, just
pushed up on his head.  His tan seems darker, and the red of his Coca-Cola
shirt is a little lighter.  For the most part, he could’ve stepped right out of
my memory. 
The Seattle docks, and for a moment my heart’s pounding so loud I think maybe I
should slip in with the tourists getting off, maybe this wasn’t such a good
idea after all, because he’s  beautiful and I’ve missed him and if he doesn’t
know me, if he doesn’t care…
I’ve never had my heart broken.  Seeing what it’s done to momma, I’d really
rather not know what it’s like. 
Still, wise, or not, I hold my ground until the little group shuffles by, and
he looks up, and there I am.  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something
along the lines of Hey, it’s Jensen, I don’t know if you remember-
But he beats me, comes right up to the edge of the boat, just short of leaping
off onto the dock, and it’s in his eyes that he knows me, that he’s drinking
the sight of me in the way I did with him.  I don’t have to ask a damn thing. 
“Jensen.  It’s good to see you.”  He’s careful; I wish he wouldn’t be.  What
does he think, that I regret it?  If I did, why the hell would I be here? 
Shit. 
I nod toward the deck.  “Permission to come aboard?” 
His laughter is too soft, too uncertain.  “Of course, yeah, c’mon over here.” 
I hop down, reacquaint myself for a second with the way the rock of a boat
feels under your feet.  We look at each other properly, and I can see his
hesitation all over his face.  He does wonder; I’m either here because I want
to be with him or here to confront him because I changed my mind. 
I gesture toward the cabin, cool and dark and out of the line of sight of any
curious eyes still on the docks.  “Can we sit down?”  I’ve never felt less like
sitting down in my life, but it’ll get him out of the light. 
He nods, and I wait until we’re both inside.  My eyes are still adjusting, the
blinding white of above too much for the muted half black of below.  The
pounding of my heart goes pretty well with the disorientation.  I have to do
something; I have to.  This time, I have to be the brave one.
I’ve never been the type to imagine myself good at first moves, first kisses,
but I talk myself into it by refusing to hesitate, by telling myself this isn’t
our first kiss, our first anything.  We’ve done all that; everything from now
on is steps into something else. 
I catch his hand, manage to force his name a little strangled from my throat
and I’m trying, really trying to get up the nerve to pull him in and kiss him
but as it turns out, it seems I’ve done enough.  Whatever he was waiting to see
in me before he moved, he must see it now.  He turns quick, pushes me up
against the wall so hard the life ring just inside the cabin glances off my
elbow and bounces to the floor.  His hands cup my face in one swift movement
and God I’d forgotten how big they are, how big he is, what it’s like to feel
enveloped and wanted and adored. 
This kiss is rougher than any we’ve ever had, a mess of desire without
control.  Before, he was afraid to push too hard, to take too much.  Now, I
don’t think he’s holding anything back.  When he pulls away from my lips it’s
only to turn my head to bare my neck, his teeth skimming against my jaw on his
way down.
“I thought I’d never see you again.”  He says it with such breathless awe it
hurts, too honest to be denied.
“Don’t know why.  I told you I’d be back.”  Seems I can’t talk too well
either.  He bites down on the side of my neck and I moan, the sound catching me
off guard.  I never have this trouble jacking off; I never thought I’d be the
type to struggle to stay quiet.  He brings out something else in me, something
I haven’t been able to look too closely at.  I’m going hard already, enough to
make me squirm, half from the need to move and half because I remember that if
I do, he’ll give me the pressure of his thigh, maybe the heel of his hand. 
I’m not wrong.  He laves my throat with his tongue, cups the front of my jeans
and curses when I jerk up into his palm.  I can’t even care how desperate I
seem; I’ll take his hand, his mouth, his cock, anything, anything at all. 
“Mr. Morgan?”
A fucking tourist, up on the dock.  My head thunks back against the wall and I
let out a soft, breathless fuck.  Jeff’s hand squeezes over the front of my
jeans, lightly.  The rest of him has gone absolutely still. 
“Just a minute; be right up!”  He calls out in his public voice, forced happy,
the words just a little muffled against my throat.  He nuzzles against my ear,
speaks so quiet I’m hardly sure I’m not putting sound to silence. “Can’t
believe you’re here, Jen.  I hoped you’d come back.” 
I cling to his arms, his shoulders, slide my hands down his back and take a
grip of his shirt, wet with sweat and sticking across his spine.  It’s good to
hold on, since I know in about two seconds I’ll have to let him go up top.  “I
missed you too.” 
 
 
Jeff’s fingers come to rest against my belly, still sticky with lube.  My cock
brushes the back of his knuckles and I whine, writhing, only half pacified when
he catches my lips in a heated kiss.  I can feel the solid weight of his cock
against my ass.  It’s enough to drive a guy insane. 
“You sure about this, sweetheart?  We don’t have to.”  Yeah, I know we don’t. 
He’s given me about a dozen chances to opt out and I appreciate it, I do, but
I’m not confused and I’m not scared and I haven’t changed my mind in the last
five minutes. 
Well, alright.  Maybe I’m a little scared, but the part about changing my mind,
that one’s solid.  I know what I want, even if the actual execution of it’s a
little daunting.  I lick my lips, focus on stringing a few words together and
not letting them shake.
“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m sure.”  I arch against him, enough that I know he has to have
a good view of the mark he left on my collar just two days ago, bruising nicely
now.  “Please?”  It’s half question, half gasp.  Jeff’s answering pressure
against my stomach is satisfyingly strong, a sharp contrast to his lips against
the back of my neck.  His kisses are gentle, careful, all the more arousing for
his restraint. 
“Ok.  Ok.  But if you want to stop-“
“I know; I know, Jeff, please-“
“Shhh.  It’s alright.”  Finally, finally I feel his hand slide back around
between us.  The bottle hits the back of my thighs as he fumbles some more lube
onto his fingers for a final coat on his cock and then he’s lining up and
pushing in.  For all the work of his fingers, the head of his cock is wide, the
reality of his girth startling.  I know, logically, that he can’t be in more
than an inch or so but I’ve never felt so full in my life and it burns around
the edges, enough that I don’t know how this’ll work, how he’ll fit, how-
“Breathe, Jen.”  His breath is so hot against the shell of my ear, damp and
sexy.  Good thing, because right about now, my cock’s losing interest. 
Dammit.  “Relax for me, sweetheart; I know it hurts.  Do you-“
“No, no don’t stop.”  If we stop, I don’t know that I’ll ever get started
again. 
Despite a vague attempt by my hips to push backward, he pauses, keeps us in
equilibrium while he rubs his hand up and down my thigh.  He mouths at my
shoulder, warm and wet, and it’s good, more than good.  The stretch of his cock
is starting to feel more and more like an itch to be scratched rather than a
pain to be pulled away from.  He takes my cock in hand, a slow stroke, and I’m
hard again in his grip.  His hips shift, a slow, slight pull back before he
sinks in further. 
This time I cry out, more pleasure than pain.  My body twists, uncaring that
beneath the blanket I can feel the grooves of the Jeep’s trunk; my only focus
is pressing my hips back closer to his, taking him in another inch.   The moan
that draws from his chest has to be the single hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
We are coming apart together, me trembling, Jeff shouldering an illusion of
control I can feel sliding from him the closer he gets.  If this had hurt twice
as much as it does, it’d still be worth it. 
 
 
I’m clinging to the rail, hard enough that I know my knuckles must be white. 
For the first time in my life, I’ve actually been properly kissed. 
My eyes must be wide as an owl, because around his smile Jeff says, “Is this
ok?”  As if he didn’t know; as if I didn’t just kiss him back. 
I nod, maybe too quick because I feel the heat of blush on my cheeks.  I need
to stop that; I don’t want to look like some naïve kid but I’m new to this and
I’m lost for words and all I can do is look at him. 
God, he’s beautiful. 
Jeff chuckles, brushes the back of his knuckles against the side of my neck,
stroking.  Under his breath he says, “Come here, Jensen.”
So I do.
                                   ---------
Misha says that physics teaches us the amount of realities in existence is
infinite.  According to this belief, there is a world where I came back to
Florida before it was too late, a world where I spent the last days of Jeff’s
life being his partner in every way rather than merely in theory.  Somewhere,
there’s even a world where instead of driving away from that parking lot after
our biggest fight, I told him yes, he was right, we belonged together.
In that world, he never dated Misha, and we never became anything that would
leave a bitter taste in my mouth.  In that world, maybe Jeff lived.  Maybe we
get married after my internship.  Maybe we raise a family. 
Of course as a corollary to all this, I know there exist thousands of worlds
where we never met each other at all, but I don’t waste any time thinking about
those.  My choices in this one have been bad enough for a lifetime of
introspection. 
Last night, I sat out with Misha on the dock beside the Seattle.  She’s gone
unused for a few months; she’s dirty and bored.  He thinks we should take her
out this weekend; I think it’s a good idea.  Maybe out on the water, I’ll find
the right spot for those ashes, or maybe I’ll hold on just a little longer. 
Misha leans against the closest pillar, one leg dangling down toward the black
water as he sips a screwdriver.  It’s well past midnight, and he looks like he
just crawled out of bed.  For all I know, maybe he did.
“We were…ever since I came back down here that first year of medical school, me
and Jeff were-“
“I know.”  He is picture of absolute calm, though he takes a minute for a
longer drink.  “Did you miss the part where I told you I wasn’t mad?”
“No, but I didn’t know how much you knew.”  I never have, but I’ve always
wanted to know.  Now that I’m talking, I can’t shut up.  “Did Jeff tell you
from the beginning?”
He nods once, just a tip of his head.  “He did, but he didn’t have to.  I saw
it coming.  You two were perfect together, but you weren’t always good to each
other.”
It’s the most accurate and painful description of us I’ve ever heard.  I try to
keep from showing just how deep it cuts.
“I’d heard enough about you before I ever met you to know just how deep you’d
gone under his skin; long before anything ever happened between me and Jeff I
knew so long as you were an option, for him you’d be the only choice.  You were
it for Jeff, so here’s how I saw it- this was going to end one of two ways.” 
He finishes his drink, sets the glass down carefully on the dock before pulling
his leg up, crossing them both as he leans forward.  “You could start the
likely painfully slow process of getting your head out of your ass and
realizing what you had and in that case, when you finished school you’d move
closer.  Or, your fear would get the best of you and if it did, you’d move
farther, sever the last ties.  If the first, I’d be willing to back off.  If
the second, he’d eventually be ready to move on, and I’d be there to help
him.” 
He is, as ever, unflinchingly honest.  I like that about him, at least as much
as I hate it.  I certainly can’t say he’s wrong; I’ve spent far too many years
afraid of what choosing Jeff would mean.  Afraid of choosing myself, really. 
Facades are easier, even when they crack. 
I make myself hold his gaze, though it’s hard.  Those eyes are just too goddamn
blue.  “My internship, it’s in Savannah.” 
He smiles, slight and sad, but real.  “See?  Closer.  Jeff was right about
you.” 
My eyes burn and I turn toward the water, try to focus on the tiny pinpricks of
light that dot the horizon.  It’s coming up on the time of year when the beach
goes dark, paving the way for the turtles.  The distraction does no good; the
lights are swimming.  I blink, catch the tears on the back of my hand.  “Yeah,
maybe, but it’s not like it matters.  It’s too late.  I was too late.” 
His hands find mine, his hold light but strong.  “Everything matters, Jenny.” 
It’s in the back of my throat to say it’s only Chris that calls me Jenny but I
realize I don’t mind, not now. 
He clears his throat.  “Look, I know you think you owe me an apology even
though you don’t, but I owe you one.  I should’ve called, when he got sick.  He
didn’t want to worry you, so he asked me to keep it quiet.  He said you’d be
here soon enough.  He never doubted you’d come and he was right, but I never
should have agreed.  You had a right to know.  I’m sorry, Jensen.” 
I don’t know if I’m angry with him for that; I don’t even know if I have a
right to be.  Jeff asked me to come, in his own way, and I didn’t.  I’m the one
that has to live with that.  If you asked me how I plan to go about that, right
now, I’ve got nothing.  I have to hope I can figure it out.  After all,
everything has to start from somewhere and hell, maybe Misha’s right.  Maybe
all change matters, even if it comes too late.
I squeeze his fingers, lightly, enough for him to know it’s alright. 
“Yeah.  I’m sorry too.” 
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