Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jensen backs his truck up carefully, swinging it into the loading dock in a smooth arc, lining the trailer up perfectly. It took him a couple of months, but he's finally gotten the hang of getting the rig lined up with the ramp so that they don't have to try and lift Cougar's ridiculously heavy timpani out of the trailer and up onto the dock.

"Nice," Cougar says, and Jensen gives a little flourish with his hand. They unload the copper kettle drums, Jensen taking the smallest one because Cougar doesn't trust him with the bigger ones. It was one time, and it didn't even dent the damn thing – but Cougar is overprotective of his drums. Sometimes Jensen thinks he should get Cougar a puppy so he has something else to lavish his attention on.

The copper bottoms of the big drums are gleaming, no doubt polished by Cougar last night. Jensen tries not to judge; he's protective of his drum kit, too. He doesn't think he'd go so far as polishing it, though. Then again, there's nothing much to polish… except his cymbals, which could probably use a little love.

They get the set of timpani into the hall in record time and Cougar grabs his garment bag out of the front seat before Jensen goes to park the truck.

When he gets backstage, Cougar's got all four fat-bellied drums lined up so he can drag them onstage at intermission with the least amount of fuss. It's weird, that. There's a strange sort of mathematical precision to it that is Cougar's trademark. Never take two steps when you can take only one.

Roque's backstage too, and Jensen goes over to see if he needs help putting his baby together. The marimba's in pieces, the tubular resonating chambers attached to the stand, but the rosewood keys in two neat rows on an obviously handmade quilt.

"Need some help?" Jensen asks, and Roque looks up and shrugs.

"Sure," he says, grabbing one end of the first string of rosewood blocks. Jensen grabs the other and they settle the top row of keys in place, Roque moving across the top of the marimba to make sure they're all suspended in their cradles just right. When he's satisfied, he bends over to pick up the other row and they go through the procedure all over again.

Jensen watches as he nestles the ropes into their brackets, not daring to touch a finger to the instrument now that it's all put together. Roque pulls out a pair of fuzzy-headed mallets and does a quick chromatic scale up the length of the instrument. The low notes resonate with a beautiful rich sound and the scale moves rapidly upward through the half-steps into the brighter mid-range of the instrument.

Roque makes all his own adjustments to the keys and tubes – Jensen knows he doesn't trust anyone else's ear – and the sound of the high range is beautiful and smooth, not tinny like cheap marimbas can be. It's perfectly in tune, too, every note in the scale precisely equidistant. Sometimes he wonders how he fell in with guys like Roque and Cougar.

"Sounds good," Cougar says, coming over to shake Roque's hand.

"Thanks," Roque says, picking the quilt up off the floor and chucking it into the case for the keys. Jensen helps him haul it offstage and move it out of the way in the wings. "Will you head out to the audience, give me a sound check?" Roque asks him.

Jensen grins. Roque asking him instead of Cougar makes him want to rub it in – until he realizes Cougar's disappeared and is probably in the dressing rooms, changing out of his civvies. "Sure, anywhere in particular?"

"Orchestra seats're fine," Roque says, picking up his huge stick bag and walking on stage. Jensen doesn't bother with the stairs, he just follows Roque onstage and jumps off the side, wandering up the empty aisle and picking the seat he would have liked to sit in if it wasn't for Cougar having some weird affinity for heights.

Roque starts a Musser étude and Jensen tries not to roll his eyes. Hearing Roque's concerto before the concert is hardly like seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding, but Roque's got some weird performance superstitions.

"Sounds good," Jensen says, relaxing back into his seat. "Try something softer."

Roque grunts and starts the étude again, two dynamic levels softer. It's still clear as a bell, but now the sound has an ethereal quality to it that Jensen finds extremely compelling.

"Okay," Jensen says. "Now something fast."

Roque makes another noise – one Jensen can't really read. It could be agreement or it could be annoyance, but he starts in on Flight of the Bumblebee anyway. It's hilarious, Roque's sticks flying up and down the keyboard so fast they're a blur. He has a couple of trip-ups, his sticks clacking together loudly in the empty hall, but mostly the notes are bright and distinct, and Roque's just his typical awesome self.

"You're all set," Jensen says, standing up and stretching, looking around Symphony Hall. It's a really nice space, big and beautiful with its crystal chandeliers and two balconies. Jensen had been thrilled when Cougar got the Boston Symphony gig – probably more excited than even Cougar had been. He's always loved the BSO but he's really never been able to afford tickets, so it'd always been a huge treat when he'd scraped the money together to go watch Maestro Dex conduct one of his favorite pieces.

He still can't afford season tickets, so he's dependent on Cougar's comps, which are usually the highest and furthest back seats available. Whether that's the box office's choice or Cougar's, Jensen will never know.

One of the ushers pokes her head in and Jensen gives Roque a wave. "Time to wrap it up," he says, and heads for the side door so he can start the long climb to his seat.

~~~

Jensen scans the orchestra seats, looking for Clay. Nothing yet. Aisha's talking to some young man, looking stunning in her backless red gown. He thought she and Clay might have gotten tickets together; he thinks they might be having a thing. Of course, he'd thought she might be having a thing with Roque, too - and he still isn't entirely sure that Clay and Roque don't have a thing. Maybe the three of them are all getting it on together. He sighs and scans the crowd again.

Pretty much, he figures everyone's having a thing except him. Pooch and Jolene got married three years ago and her growing belly proves they're thinging it plenty. Cougar has a thing with every woman who looks his way.

Speak of the devil, he appears at the end of Jensen's row and makes his way over to sit down gracefully in the seat on Jensen's left. He's in his tux now, hair up in a knot that Jensen's pretty sure most men would get beat up for. Cougar just makes it look hot. Damn him.

It's not that Jensen couldn't have lots of women if he wanted them. His band is big enough locally that they have groupies, and groupies looooooove a drummer. Bucky gets his choice, of course - the frontman is always cooler than the drummer. But there are plenty of fish in their groupie sea, and he's gotten his fair share of longing glances. It's just... There's a problem.

Cougar.

Specifically, the huge crush Jensen has on Cougar.

He's had crushes on guys before. He had a massive thing for Bucky back in the day. After that, it was Reed, up until Reed started dating his sister. Then it just got kind of weird.

Cougar, though. His crush is lasting longer than usual.

Both Bucky and Reed had cooled toward him when things got awkward. He never said anything to them, but he touched them too much and Sue told him he made puppy eyes at them all the time. That's what sisters are for, he supposes.

He's heard from reliable sources (Roque) that he makes puppy eyes at Cougar, and he doesn't need anyone to tell him that no one else hugs Cougar hello and goodbye at every rehearsal. Still, Cougar's just the same. They hang out together when they can. Cougar comes to Jensen's shows sometimes; Jensen goes to Cougar's concerts sometimes. They're friends.

It all makes Jensen want to poke himself in the eye. He has a best friend, which, while completely new and amazing, is also frustrating in the extreme. Each time their schedules conflict for weeks on end, Jensen will think: this is it – I won't want him anymore and we can be just friends. But each time he sees Cougar after weeks away, his heart skips a beat and he jogs over to give the guy a hug, doing everything in his power to avoid pressing his lips against Cougar's neck.

Cougar elbows him, jerking his head at one of the entrances to the mezzanine. Pooch, in a spiffy new pinstripe number, is escorting Jolene in. She's found a gorgeous deep green gown that flatters her little bump and makes her look like she really is glowing. Pooch looks up at them in their nosebleed seats – Cougar always has to be up high – and gives a little wave.

Cougar nods at Pooch and Jensen returns the wave, smiling even bigger when Clay catches his eye from the good seats. There's no way he'll be able to see Roque's stickwork from up here and that's Jensen's favorite part. He pouts, though he knows it will never change anything, because Cougar likes to see the whole orchestra and watch the conductor.

That part, Jensen understands. There isn't another conductor like him. Personally, Jensen thinks it's because he's a percussionist – they're all born with an innate showmanship (except Cougar) – but it doesn't matter. Whatever the reason, Maestro Dex is a wonder of the musical world.

Seeing the orchestra filter into their seats around the marimba standing, lonely, onstage, Jensen squints down at the carefully arranged chairs and lack of timpani. "Hey, how come you're not playing on this?"

Cougar shrugs, nodding at the stage. "String orchestra," he answers, which is obvious from the orchestra set up and so not what Jensen was asking.

"You sat in on rehearsals?" Jensen asks. He'd give his left kidney for that privilege, but Cougar's only been with the symphony for a couple of months and most of his other acquaintances are either on call, like Sheppard, or not high enough in the roster to ask for favors, like Dr. Parrish.

"Yes," Cougar says, pausing for a second before adding, "Ronon is a friend. From conservatory."

"Oh!" Jensen exclaims. Cougar went to New England Conservatory; Jensen sometimes forgets and underestimates Cougar's brain. Jensen didn't get into NEC, much less have the luxury of choosing between NEC and Julliard. Boston Conservatory is nothing to sneeze at but it's not even close to the same league.

The last few members of the orchestra stroll onto the stage and Jensen sees several people he knows. Kyra on cello, Parrish in the back of the violas.

"Have you talked to Dr. Sheppard lately?" Cougar asks, and Jensen blinks at the unsolicited question.

"No." Jensen's suddenly curious about the gossip Cougar must have. "Why?"

Cougar smiles, a slinky, cat-like smile. "He's going on sabbatical in the fall."

"What? Seriously?" Jensen can feel his eyes bugging a little. "He's never taken a sabbatical." He flicks a glance at Cougar to gauge the level of smugness. He must know something. "Has he got plans?"

Cougar nods and Jensen realizes it has definitely been too long since he and Professor Sheppard have gone out for drinks.

"Touring," Cougar adds, and Jensen turns to gape at Cougar. "You'll catch flies," Cougar says, grinning again just as the lights go down and the orchestra's warm-up sounds fade to nothing. Cougar has always had impeccable timing.

Chaya walks on stage to a smattering of applause and the orchestra tunes – two cents flat, Jensen thinks, or maybe three. Cougar tuts and shakes his head slowly.

"I know," Jensen whispers, leaning in close enough to smell Cougar's hair product. "What's wrong with A440?"

A teenager in front of them shushes Jensen and he has an urge to say something loud and obnoxious. Maestro Dex and Roque aren't even on stage yet, for pete's sake. Cougar's hand on Jensen's shoulder brings him up short, especially when Cougar presses him back into his seat. Jensen huffs, but only a little, so he doesn't dislodge Cougar's hand.

"Shh," Cougar says, squeezing Jensen's shoulder and pulling away as Maestro Dex and Roque make their way to the front of the stage.

After their half-bow, half-nods of acknowledgement, Maestro Dex looks at Roque while he picks up his sticks and gets them settled, two mallets in each hand, wiggling them a little to test his movement. He puts them over the keyboard and looks up at the maestro, giving a sharp nod.

The conductor's baton moves in a quick, angular motion, and the music starts, asymmetrical and rhythmic, Roque's body moving side to side as he plays the loping cadence. Jensen loves asymmetry more than most things, and can't help the way his whole body moves with the rhythmic pounding of the orchestra.

Jensen glances at Cougar and is surprised to see his eyes closed. He's listening intently, his mouth open slightly and his brows drawn down. Jensen's never seen this expression before. Whenever Cougar's playing, his eyes are sharp and his movements sharper. They don't get to come to concerts together very often – Cougar's usually playing in them – and the few they've seen have always shown Jensen a similar expression of eagle-eyed scrutiny. He has an urge to spend some weekend on Cougar's couch, pulling out his CD collection and just watching him listen to his favorite pieces.

The introduction winds down and Cougar's eyes flutter open as he leans forward, gazing with his normal freakish intensity. Jensen looks at the stage, taking in the maestro's solid conducting and Roque, traveling up and down the marimba with two of his mallets on the keys and the other two sticking up into the air.

The movement ends as abruptly as it started, and Roque does a smooth but quick stick change before the second movement starts, picking up white fluffy mallets that Jensen can see even from the nosebleed seats. The sound isn't muffled, though, it's still clear, if a bit rounded, and when the marimba plays the solo chorale section, Jensen and Cougar are both sitting on the edge of their seats, straining to see Roque's subtle sticking. There is an undeniable musicality in his line, a philosophy laid out plainly with precision and care.

Cougar sighs and Jensen can't help smiling. He sits back in his seat, watching Roque move into the technical section with a more detached interest. Roque's stickwork is meticulous – never a missed note or the click of his mallets hitting each other instead of the keys. The movement still flows like a Bach chorale, even with the river of fast notes Roque is laying down as the foundation for the violin solo soaring over the top.

The movement fades to a close and Cougar sits up in his chair, like a wolf scenting prey. Jensen can almost see the laser-like beam of his focus on Roque's sticks, which hang in the air over the marimba while he waits for the downbeat from Maestro Dex.

As soon as it comes, the dance movement takes off, a romp that makes Jensen's fingers itch to hold mallets. He hasn't wanted to play a marimba in years, but the concerto looks like it'd be a hell of a lot of fun and has a gorgeous melody built into it, too.

The last movement has hints of Copland all over it, the quartal harmonies mixed with off-kilter rhythms, and Jensen gives in and decides to get the music. Even if he's never going to perform it with the Boston Symphony like Roque, it looks like it'll be fun to play around with.

He gives up all pretense of watching Roque – not being able to see the mallets means it's just going to frustrate him, so he sits back and watches Cougar instead. He's tapping two fingers against his thigh, the asymmetrical rhythm clear and accurate. Jensen's always envied that about him. Rhythm is completely internal in Cougar – it's like he's made of rhythm. Jensen has to move; he's never sure the rhythm is right unless his body is swaying or jumping or pounding along with it. It works out okay with the band – flamboyant drummers aren't a detriment in rock and roll – but it was always a struggle in conservatory, reining in his impulse to move all over the stage with the music. He'd gotten bitched out by every conductor in the place, and most of his classmates at one time or another. He can't wait to see their faces when Winter Soldiers hits platinum someday.

Cougar's head is tilted away from Jensen ever so slightly, giving him a profile that Jensen has to swallow hard to keep from reaching out to touch. The concerto ends and Cougar starts grinning, turning to look at Jensen as the audience erupts into applause. His forehead crinkles just a little, like he's wondering why Jensen isn't on his feet and cheering, but he just grins wider, standing and putting his fingers in his mouth to give an ear-splitting whistle.

Jensen finally gets his ass out of the seat then, clapping outrageously as Roque bows, shakes hands with Chaya, and heads offstage, Maestro Dex trailing behind him. He comes out for a second bow while the whole place is still standing, and brings the maestro along for the third. Cougar leans in as Roque bows and Jensen gravitates toward him, an ear tilted Cougar's direction to hear what he has to say. When he doesn't hear anything, he looks up at Cougar's face and realizes Cougar is just giving him the sign that he's got to go for the second half of the concert. Brahms 1 is on the program and Cougar'll need to get his timpani set up. Jensen nods and stands up straight, smiling as Cougar runs out the door to beat the crowds and get backstage.

Jensen looks down where Pooch and Jolene are sitting and sees Jolene already out the door to the lobby – smart lady. He can see Aisha approaching Clay and it looks like they intend to head backstage to congratulate Roque. Jensen figures he can do that afterward. He's going to have to meet Cougar anyway, and they always go out after, pie and coffee at the diner. He decides to chase down Pooch, see if there are any open seats in the mezzanine.

"Pooch!" he calls as he approaches the back of the drinks line. Pooch shakes his head, but gives a little "come on" wave, so Jensen butts in line to go stand with him.

"I'm not buying you a beer," Pooch says, punching Jensen in the arm as he comes up.

"Hey," Jensen says, "Did I ask for a beer?"

"I know how you feel about Brahms," Pooch answers, and Jensen can't do anything but shrug. He's never really liked Brahms, and the first movement would probably put him to sleep if he wasn't going to have his eyes glued to Cougar the whole time.

"How about a coke?" Jensen asks, pulling out his wallet and giving Pooch a five. "I'll need the caffeine."

Pooch takes the money and orders, getting a coke for himself as well. Jolene probably wouldn't mind if Pooch had a little alcohol, but Jensen's always appreciated that Pooch pays attention to the little things. He'd be willing to bet Jolene does too.

"Jensen," Jolene says, and he can't help jumping a little. For someone so obviously pregnant, she's surprisingly stealthy.

"Jolene." He hands her the white soda and grabs his and Pooch's drinks while Pooch pays. "You're looking radiant this evening."

She grins at him. "Radiant, hm? It's probably the hot flashes." She fans herself with her little clutch purse, taking a long drink of the soda and crunching on an ice cube. "I'll probably have chills in the second half."

They wander the lobby with their drinks, Jolene greeting a bunch of well-dressed people that Jensen doesn't recognize. They're probably other doctors or VIPs from Mass General, the hospital where she works. They're unanimously discussing their excitement for the Brahms, and Jensen makes sure to turn his back before rolling his eyes. Pooch grins at him. "Roque really nailed the Rosauro," he says, bumping his shoulder into Jensen's. "I like it. May have to get it for a student of mine."

"I was thinking of getting it for myself," Jensen admits. "That third movement looked like a lot fun. And the fourth sounded just like–"

"Copland," Pooch says with him, nodding. "Yeah, that was pretty cool. Do you even have a marimba to play on?"

"No," Jensen says with a half-shrug, knowing he probably can't afford one either. "Thought maybe I'd stop by after school sometimes, borrow yours." He does that whenever he needs a fix of old fashioned percussion stuff, or when he gets above himself and wonders if maybe he could make it into a professional symphony.

Pooch chuckles. "My school is your school."

"Thanks, man," Jensen says, and follows them back upstairs to the mezzanine. Jolene points out a seat that was empty during the first half and Jensen grabs it, grinning at the old lady on his right.

She smiles back at him wanly, looking him up and down like she's not sure she likes what she sees. He just keeps grinning, turning to the stage to watch Cougar, bent over his timpani. He can just imagine Cougar's concentration face while he's making the tiniest sounds on the drum heads. Jensen's probably lost a good quarter of his hearing from his bands' steadily-growing amps, but he's pretty sure he's never been able to tune a drum perfectly with a finger tap in the middle of a stage full of musicians warming up.

Cougar sits up as the strings drop off and the lights start to dim. Jensen watches him select his mallets, holding them crossed in front of him as Ronon comes out and the orchestra stands for the applause. They sit down and settle in, Cougar sitting forward on his stool with his mallet just above the timpani, waiting for Maestro Dex's upbeat.

The music starts, a desperate and dark melody accompanied by Cougar's implacable drumbeats, a march to the edge of oblivion. The storm continues in the winds for a moment and Jensen keeps his eyes glued to Cougar, watching him wait for his entrance, absolutely unmoving. When the march starts again, Cougar raises his mallet in a reflection of the conductor's upbeat, stylistically perfect, and Jensen knows what it's going to sound like even as Cougar's mallet falls toward the timpani in a precise arc.

The slow march of the introduction bores Jensen. There's too much of Cougar sitting absolutely still and not enough of him moving fluidly through the air. Jensen's never really been a huge fan of orchestral sound, not even the pleasant winds of the BSO or the strings that don't sound like screeching cats. He lets the music flow, watching Cougar until his eyes cross and he needs to see something moving before he wonders if he's fallen asleep. He turns to watch the conductor then, appreciating the way the whole orchestra is described in his baton, much the way Cougar's sound is described in the weight and speed and rigidity of his stroke.

His eyes flicker back to Cougar when he moves, the slightest soft tapping on the timpani – so perfectly mixed with the winds that it almost sounds like one of them. Jensen will never stop marveling at Cougar's ability to do that – like he's got some magical power over the drums to turn them into other instruments.

Jensen can see where Cougar got his name when he needs to reach in and stop the sound with his hand on the drum. The quick movement is not uncommon to timpanists everywhere, but Cougar looks just like a cat, crouched to spring. He looks like he might jump across the orchestra to land on Maestro Dex's head.

He shifts out of the position as the sound of the orchestra comes in again and he moves forward slightly on his seat, a movement that catches Jensen's attention. Something about the next section makes Cougar uneasy. Jensen hadn't thought it was possible for Cougar to concentrate any harder than he already does during a concert, but the shift in his posture and slight tilt of his head while he watches the conductor over the top of his music prove Jensen wrong.

Cougar is perfectly in time with every rubato moment of the last phrases of the movement; no matter how much the conductor stretches, Cougar has dissected his every movement and knows exactly where to place the triplets that make up the knock of fate. Jensen doesn't much like Brahms, but he will forgive him a lot for giving such an important part of the piece to the timpani.

The second movement starts and Jensen hides a yawn behind his hand. This is the part normal people like – the winds and beautiful melodies. Cougar obviously likes it, his mallets resting on the stand next to him and his eyes closed. Jensen sighs silently and alternates between watching the conductor and Cougar – luckily catching Cougar's couple of measures in the middle of the back and forth between the strings and winds, and then a little while later, a few more bars. He's surprised – he thought Cougar would be done until the final movement. Score another one for Brahms. Maybe he's not so bad.

The third movement is a lot like the second, with more clarinet stuff than normal – Jensen can't really remember hearing that much solo clarinet before – but is surprisingly short, thankfully. Then the dramatic fourth movement starts, and Cougar is back to moving and pouncing and generally being awesome enough to make Jensen feel a strange combination of pride and envy.

When Cougar joins the pastoral theme, his delicate beats telegraphed in his careful posture, Jensen has to take a minute to swallow and get rid of the feeling of his heart in his throat – and give Brahms a little more credit, because the feeling has got to be coming at least partially from the music. There's no way Jensen is that stuck on Cougar.

The music and orchestra swirl their way to a close, the harmonies and melodies wrapping more and more tightly together with such a Bach-like flair that Jensen almost thinks about giving Brahms another try. The last time he did harmonic analysis on Brahms, he couldn't stand how messy it was, how seemingly random. Maybe he needs to give it another try. Professor Sheppard always loved Brahms – to an almost creepy extent – and Jensen just never got it, not through any of the theory classes he took with Sheppard.

Before he can think on it any more though, they're at the end, and Cougar is finally letting loose, each stroke still exactly placed, but a certain excitement creeps in that Cougar almost never lets anyone see. Jensen loves that, the uncontrollable love of what he's doing. Very little about Cougar is ever uncontrollable. The final notes ring in the hall, and upon Maestro Dex's cutoff, Cougar smiles for just a few seconds – a bright, satisfied gleam of white teeth – and then he's back to his stoic self, setting down his mallets and waiting to stand with the rest of the orchestra.

Jensen's clapping like mad at the same time he's moving for the door; he hates getting caught in crowds as he's trying to go backstage. Pooch and Jolene are hot on his heels as he exits the auditorium, and they make their way quickly backstage.

Jolene goes over to Maestro Dex, getting in the short line to talk to him, but Jensen just nods and says, "Awesome, man!" as he walks by. The maestro gives him a toothy grin and a nod and goes back to leaning in toward the elderly gentleman who is trying to talk his ear off.

Jensen hangs at the back of Roque's clump of followers – Clay and Aisha are already here – and raises a fist at Roque. "Brav-fucking-o," he says. "Damn, Roque."

Roque grins at him, not bothering with anything else because there really isn't anything to say. He and Clay are already talking ensemble pieces – they agreed to try to pull together another concert and haven't been all in one place to do it until tonight. They're hitting the South Street Diner after all the glad-handing to work out their next program.

Jensen moves out of the crowd of people around Roque and works his way around the back of the stage to where Cougar has just finished packing up his stick bag and is about to start moving his timpani.

"Strong work, man," Jensen says, coming in for a fist bump before grabbing onto the smallest timpani and kicking off the brake. "Let's get you loaded up so we can go get some food. I'm starving."

Cougar nods and takes the largest timpani, following Jensen to the loading dock. Jensen jumps down to go get his truck and by the time he pulls up, Cougar's got the other two timpani ready to go. They load the trailer, tying Cougs' babies in tight, and head out to the diner. They'll probably be the first people there, which means they can take up two thirds of one side of the booth and their asses won't be hanging out – and they won't have to sit on anyone's lap. Not that Jensen would really mind having Cougar sit on his lap, but he's pretty sure he couldn't ever get that lucky and live to tell about it.

~~~

Pooch and Jolene have actually managed to get in first, taking up most of one side of a booth. Cougs and Pooch share a fistbump as Jolene congratulates Cougar on his performance. "I didn't realize how much timpani there was in the Brahms," she says as Cougar and Jensen subtly fight over who is going to slide into the booth first. The person in the corner always gets squashed and Jensen has no intentions of trying to eat his food twisted half-sideways.

"I auditioned on that piece," Cougar says, slipping right out of Jensen's headlock and pushing him off-balance enough that he has to sit down or end up on the floor.

"Totally unfair!" Jensen complains, but Cougar slides in next to him, shifting over every time Jensen does, keeping their sides pressed tightly together.

"And Rite of Spring, right?" Pooch adds. "I remember practicing that with you forever."

Cougar nods, picking up one of the menus and looking it over like he isn't going to order the same thing he orders every single time they come to this joint. "Bartók and Prokofiev, too."

"And they wouldn't even let him play his own drums for the first round auditions," Jensen adds. He's heard the story more than a few times. Every percussionist Cougar meets asks the same questions. He's been at masterclasses Cougar's given and had the same four questions asked.

Cougar elbows him in the ribs and then moves into the space created by Jensen's flinch just as Roque walks up to their table. He slides into their side of the booth smoothly – plenty of room for him now that Jensen's been folded into the corner and forced to put his arm over the top of the booth to make way for Cougar's awfully pointy elbows.

"Great job," Pooch says, putting his arm around Jolene in the way Jensen can only wish he could do to Cougar. As it is, his arm is lying along the top of the booth and he's trying to find a way to keep his hand from getting anywhere near Roque. He needs his hands – a rock drummer is still a drummer – and he doesn't trust Roque not to break his fingers if his hand accidentally slips too low and touches the back of Roque's neck.

Aisha comes in, spotting them instantly and hurrying over to take the last seat in the booth, next to Jolene. "You're going to end up on his lap, you know," Jolene says, and Aisha grins.

"Maybe he'll end up on mine."

"Or maybe you'll be squashed flat and we'll have to call up the Crusaders and tell them they've lost their percussion coach. That'll go over well." Roque eyes her briefly and raises an eyebrow. "You could sit on my lap, little girl."

"I am not a girl," Aisha retorts, though she's smiling. She raises an eyebrow of her own. "Clay could sit on your lap."

"He's got a terrible lap," Clay says, right in Aisha's ear. She jumps and screeches just a bit before she gets a hand over her mouth. Jensen had seen Clay coming, so he was a little excited to have felt the minutest of twitches when Cougar got caught by surprise. "Bony knees," Clay explains.

Roque shrugs. "Your loss."

Clay stands next to the booth, leaning a hip into it like he’s planning to stand there all day. They know Lorraine will never stand for that though, the aisle is too narrow to navigate even when it’s not half-taken up with Clay. Aisha eventually rolls her eyes and slides out of the booth.

"I’d sit on Jolene’s lap if there was any room for me," she says, shoving Clay into the booth and plopping herself on his lap.

Pooch puts a possessive arm around Jolene. "No you wouldn’t."

"I think that’d be up to Jolene," Aisha says, her eyes twinkling. Jensen scowls. Aisha flirts with everyone – including Pooch’s pregnant wife! – but never a word of encouragement for him. It’s not like he’d be stupid enough to take her up on it, but a little flirting never hurt anyone.

"Okay," Pooch says once Aisha's done wiggling around on Clay's lap in the name of getting comfortable. "Let's do this thing."

"When are we talking?" Roque asks, pulling out his iPhone. "I've got gigs through October, but the end of the year is pretty empty so far. December would be good."

"December?!" Aisha huffs noisily. "What are the rest of us supposed to do until then?"

"It's just the performance," Roque says, eyeing her where she's still trying to get settled on Clay's lap. "We work around your schedule in the summer. No one else is busy then."

"Speak for yourself, man," Jensen says, raising his hand as Lorraine walks by. "Is everybody ready to order?"

"Oh, give me a sec," Pooch says, looking over the menu like he doesn't know the thing by heart.

"Let me get your drinks, dears," Lorraine says with her usual big smile. She goes around the table, nodding after everyone's order but not writing anything down.

"So… December," Clay says, looking around the table. No one argues with him, but Aisha's back to wriggling on his lap. "What venue?"

They've performed almost everywhere in Boston by now – there are plenty of venues and usually at least one of them has an in, or at least knows someone who knows someone.

"We could do Seully Hall," Jensen ventures. He likes going back to his alma mater. It gives him an excuse to pop in on everybody. He never seems to make it over there otherwise.

"We did that three concerts ago," Pooch complains from behind the menu. "We should be trying to branch out. What about local churches? There's got to be someone that'll rent out to us."

Cougar shifts uncomfortably but stays silent. Jensen knows he hates performing in churches, but he's never been able to figure out why. Cougar's hardly forthcoming about such things. "Why don't we do Pierce Hall at New England Conservatory?" Jensen suggests. "We haven't been there in ages."

Cougar looks at Jensen sharply, frowning. He gives Jensen a sidelong glare before he shrugs. "I can probably book it."

No one seems to object so the conversation turns to the discussion of repertoire, after Pooch finally makes up his mind and Lorraine puts their order in. "I've been dying to do some Cage," Aisha says, and Roque and Cougar nod their heads at the same time. Jensen's never really been one for indeterminate music, even as much as he enjoys a good improv session now and again. He supposes it's because he doesn't click with a lot of other musicians; these guys and his band are pretty much the only exceptions to that rule.

"First Construction?" Pooch asks. "I did that in school and it was a blast."

"All right," Clay agrees. "I'll pick up the music for that one. What else?"

"Xenakis?" Cougar asks. "Persephasse?"

"Ooh, good one," Pooch says. "I've always wanted to play Xenakis. Him and Roldan."

"Roldan's too big." Roque dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand.

"We could all bring a friend," Jensen jokes, and everybody laughs except Clay. The laughing dies away and the table gets quiet as they look anxiously between Roque and Clay.

"No," Roque says, scowling Clay's direction before Clay can even get a word out. "We can hardly get the six of us together, there's no way –"

"We could do Ionisation."

The table is hushed, Clay's suggestion hanging over them.

"I don't actually have friends," Jensen says, but Clay shuts him down.

"Ionisation needs a pianist," he says, and Jensen squints at him.

"Not a real pianist," Jensen says, but he already knows that Sheppard would jump at the chance. He jumps at the chance to do anything interesting.

"Cougar doesn't have any friends either," Jensen offers, but Cougar elbows him in the ribs and mutters, "Ronon."

"Oh, that is so unfair!" Jensen puts his arm down to protect his bruised ribs, crowding Cougar into Roque. Cougar turns his back to Jensen and shoves him even further into the corner of the booth, settling in against him like a body pillow.

"Fahd," Aisha says. "And maybe my dad, if he gets to play the siren."

Clay looks expectantly at Roque.

Roque stares back at Clay, the two of them locked in some kind of invisible fight to the death. "Max," Roque says in a flat voice. "You want me to ask that asshole to play with us."

Clay shrugs, turning to look at Pooch.

Pooch sighs. "I suppose I can ask Wade."

Jensen only knows Max and Wade by reputation, but their reputations are that they're notoriously hard to work with.

"What about you?" Aisha asks. "We're still short one."

Clay smirks, a smile Jensen knows means he's going to play dirty. "I was thinking about asking Danny boy."

Jensen doesn't know anyone local named Dan or Danny. He searches his memory, thinking of all the professors and performers he knows of in the Northeast and sucks in a breath when he figures out who Clay's talking about.

"Daniel Jackson?" Jensen asks incredulously, and Cougar nearly brains him with how quickly he looks up at the name. He looks at Jensen briefly before turning his steely gaze on Clay.

Clay's still smirking, and he shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. "He owes me one."

"No way." Pooch shakes his head emphatically. "You do not get to say 'Daniel Jackson owes me one' and not tell that story."

With her impeccable timing, Lorraine rolls up to their table with their drinks, giving Clay a reprieve as she chats with them about the concert.

They eat and argue and finalize the program and Clay slips out, saying he's going to go to the bathroom but actually paying the bill and heading out the side door.

They take off two at a time, Roque giving Aisha a ride and Pooch herding Jolene out the door when she puts her head down on the table, looking like she really might fall asleep right there.

Cougar's still pressed against Jensen on their side of the booth, warm and comfortable and smelling of maple syrup. Jensen would rather die that suggest something that means Cougar will move away, but once Pooch and Jolene leave there is absolutely no pretense for the two of them to be cuddled up on their side of booth. Besides, it's starting to get busy and he has a hard enough time trying to make conversation with Cougar without the noise. "C'mon," Jensen says. "Let's get your babies home."

~~~

Jensen drops Cougar off a little after 2am – normally that'd be too late for Cougar, but he doesn't have anything before call the next night, so Jensen knows he can sleep in if he wants. When he finally remembers to turn his cell back on, he sees that Bucky called him eighteen times since he turned the phone off just before the concert started.

"Where the hell have you been?" Bucky yells into the phone, after picking up before the first ring even finished.

"I was at the BSO," Jensen says, "Chill."

"Hell no, man," Bucky says, "you need to get over here right now."

Jensen sighs. He'd sort of been planning to go home and spend a couple of hours thinking hard about Cougar pressed up against him while he stuffed his face with french toast. "Can't it wait 'til tomorrow? We've got rehearsal at three anyway."

"No!" Bucky shouts, and Jensen catches something high and hyper in his voice. It's good news.

"All right," Jensen says. "I'll be there in half an hour."

~~~

When Jensen pulls into Bucky's place, there's a party going on. It's hardly an unusual occurrence – Bucky has parties every other night – but something about it feels off. He recognizes about half the cars in the driveway, for one thing, and that is an unusual occurrence.

The living room is full of close-ish friends and acquaintances, the band and their families, their manager, the guy that produced their last album… Jensen can feel his heart skip up a couple of notches. Whatever it is, it's big.

"What's going on?" he asks, fist bumping with Jim and taking a beer from Gabe.

"We're going on tour," Bucky says, grinning a mile wide. Jensen blinks. They've toured before, small venues all over the States, close little spaces filled with diehard fans, drunks, and hecklers. He thought they were on hiatus for a while – it's only been two months since their last tour and Jensen's back still isn't one hundred percent.

"On tour," Jensen says, closing his eyes as his heart sinks. "I thought we were taking a break."

"Not a headlining tour," Bucky says, and great, Jensen thinks. Now they're back to playing warm-up to other second-rate bands.

"Don't look so glum," Gabe says. "We're not playing second fiddle to some teenage boy band."

"Who?"

Bucky grins wide, tipping his beer bottle in to clink with Jensen's. "Red Hot Chili Peppers."

Jensen gapes. "You're kidding!"

Jim slaps him on the shoulder, making Jensen stumble forward. "No way, man. We leave in three weeks."

"Sweet!" Jensen shouts, his excitement finally catching up to him. He takes a long swig of his beer while Bucky laughs.

~~~

The next three weeks are a haze of rehearsing eight hours a day, subletting his apartment, and putting stuff in storage. The tour is eight months long – exactly the right length to make all the practical shit a pain in the ass. It isn't until a couple of days before he leaves that he realizes he hasn't talked to Cougar since the concert – he doesn't even know Jensen's going on tour.

It's not weird for them to go a couple of weeks without talking, but it'd sure as hell be awkward if Cougar stopped by Jensen's apartment while he was gone only to find Amy answering the door.

Jensen dials Cougar's number and doesn't think about how long eight months on the road is. Cougar's no good with any form of communication except body language. Electronic communication is the worst. He doesn't talk enough to make phone calls worth it, he can't seem to figure out how to text, and he regularly forgets his email password and has to call Jensen to figure it out for him.

"Yes?"

"Hey Cougs," Jensen says. He wonders what the hell it means, that the possibility Jensen's crush on Cougar will finally fade makes him sad and a little angry. "I need to see you. Can you do dinner?"

"Rehearsal," Cougar says, and of course he has rehearsal.

"Late dinner?" Jensen asks. "It's kind of important."

"Pick me up at Symphony Hall at ten," Cougar says, hanging up without so much as a goodbye.

Jensen sighs.

~~~

Jensen practices for a couple of hours, the rhythm and the motion soothing. He stops just early enough to shower and change before picking Cougar up. His muscles are nice and loose, but his stomach is twisting in knots. He doesn't really understand why this is stressing him out so much – he regularly goes a month at a time without seeing Cougar and it's never rattled him before.

Cougs is standing outside, waiting for him, and he slides into Jensen's passenger seat easily. "Hey," he says in a low voice.

"Hey," Jensen says, suddenly at a loss for what to say and where to go for dinner and why it's so important that Cougar's in his car, warm and a little sweaty from rehearsal. "What're you hungry for?"

"Pizza," Cougar says decisively, and Jensen grins. He can work with that.

He drives them to The Upper Crust, singing along with the radio because he doesn't want to start babbling and accidentally let something slip while he can't see Cougar's face. Cougar beats the drum line out on his thighs, proving once again that he's twice the musician Jensen is. He wonders why Cougar didn't do popular music; he knows the guy's amazing on set and he certainly looks the part.

"How come you decided to go into symphonic music?" Jensen asks, curious now that he's thought about it.

"I like it," Cougar says, shrugging. "I like the sound of the thing."

Jensen nods, even though he doesn't really get it. He was always bored playing in orchestra – too much sitting around and too little beating on drums.

"How come you decided to become a rock star?" Cougar asks, and Jensen has to laugh. No one decides to be a rock star. Even the ones that play in bands from when they're teenagers only get lucky in the end.

"It's the only thing I do well," Jensen admits. "I suck at mallets and I don't have the discipline to play symphonic music."

"Bullshit," Cougar says, and Jensen knows Cougar's right – he's spent plenty of hours in a practice room playing the same rhythm over and over and over again until it etched itself on him, soaked into muscles and bones.

"I don't have the patience for it," Jensen amends, and Cougar nods his agreement with that.

They pull up to the restaurant and Jensen squeezes his truck between two really poorly parked cars, so close that Cougar can't open his door and has to climb out the driver's side. It smells really good in the parking lot and suddenly Jensen is famished.

They sit down and Jensen chews on his lip while he keeps looking at the menu, like he's considering ordering something other than their usual.

"What is wrong with you?" Cougar asks, and Jensen looks up guiltily. "Are you sick?"

"No," Jensen says hurriedly, taking a deep breath and blowing it out. "I'm going on tour."

Cougar smiles, leaning back in his chair and nodding, obviously happy for Jensen. "Headlining?"

Jensen shakes his head. That wipes the smile right off Cougar's face.

"I thought you said you were only going to do headlining tours."

Jensen nods, sighing. "It's a once in a lifetime kind of thing," he says. "It's with the Chili Peppers."

Cougar's eyebrows go up and he smiles again. "So it is congratulations."

Jensen shrugs, grabbing for the coke their waitress sets on the table. "It's pretty cool."

"But?" Cougar asks, leaning back in and folding his arms on the table.

"It's an eight month gig," Jensen says, looking down at the table and immediately lifting his eyes back to Cougar's. He should never have looked down – any reaction Cougar had would have been the moment Jensen said the words. He's stony-faced now, unreadable. Jensen will never get anything else out of him. "I've already sublet my apartment and my stuff is all in storage," Jensen babbles, "but I've been so busy getting ready, I haven't told anybody."

Cougar nods. "You'll be back in..."

"December, yeah."

Cougar nods some more, looking thoughtful. "Hiatus?" he asks.

"We've got four days off after Texas," Jensen says. "But I don't know if it's even worth it to try and fly back." It’d be worth it – completely worth it, if Cougar says he'll clear his schedule or try to make time for Jensen or even just offers Jensen his couch.

Cougar doesn't offer any of those things, just stares at Jensen with his unreadable expression.

Jensen swallows and sucks on his coke some more.

"Told Pooch?" Cougar asks and Jensen scowls at him.

"I told you, I've been busy," Jensen complains, and tries not to roll his eyes at how thick Cougar is. Jensen can call Pooch from backstage a month from now and it won't matter. Pooch rolls with that kind of stuff – and Pooch will occasionally pick up the phone or email.

The pizza comes and gives them a reason for the drawn-out silence, the two of them concentrating on the food like it might save them from the awkward conversation. Cougar's the one avoiding Jensen's eyes now, and he wonders if maybe he should say something. He doesn't know how well "I think I'm in love with you oh god please don't kill me" would go over, but it already feels like he's dying by inches so at least he might be able to get it over with quickly.

The insane urge passes and they eventually change the subject to music, the only thing Cougar talks about at length. Jensen keeps stuffing his face while Cougar talks about Les Six, complaining about some Poulenc thing Ronon's making them play.

They keep things light until Jensen pulls up in front of Cougar's house. He debates whether or not he should put the truck in park – normally it's a fistbump and Cougar's out of the car with one of his half-grins, but Jensen feels like he needs more than that.

"Come in," Cougar says, before Jensen can decide one way or another, and Jensen's heart skips right out of his chest. He's been to Cougar's plenty of times, but this seems momentous, somehow. They tend to drink beer and listen to music, usually because Cougs has a new recording he wants to listen to and Jensen always says yes if Cougar asks him to do something and he has the time.

He pulls forward and parks after Cougar gets out, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. It's probably nothing. It's probably Cougar wanting to play him something he thought of while he was complaining about French music.

Cougs is already in the house before Jensen has it together enough to get out of his car. He saunters up the walk, hoping he looks cool and collected and not like he's stalling. He watches the lights go on in Cougar's window and sees his silhouette standing next to his stereo.

Right, music. Of course it's music, Jensen should never have thought it could be anything else. He shakes his head at himself and walks into Cougar's place, closing the front door behind him. He can hear symphonic music – something that starts sounding almost Classical and then shifts into a more obviously modern piece. Suddenly the whole thing takes a quartal turn and there's a timpani sound over the top – something Jensen doesn't think he's ever heard.

"Is that a timpani concerto?" he asks.

Cougar nods. "Rosauro."

"Oh, that explains the quartal stuff."

Cougar nods again. "I looked it up after Roque's performance."

"So you're working on it?" Jensen asks, wondering if Maestro Dex will let him play it with the BSO. The idea of Cougar in a tux and topknot at the front of the stage instead of the back makes Jensen's mouth go dry.

Cougar nods. "And Adams, Guinivan, Carter, and Jones."

Jensen knows the Adams, and knows of the Carter. "Which Jones? I don't think I've even heard of that. And I don't know the Guinivan, either."

Cougar nods and picks up his music bag, pulling out a couple of pieces and throwing them to Jensen. "Maybe the Arakaki, too."

"Are they all concertos?" Jensen asks. He knows the Carter is unaccompanied, so he's trying to figure out whether Cougar is practicing for a solo gig or a recital.

"Solos, except the Rosauro and Adams," Cougar says. "I mentioned the Rosauro to Ronon and he said he'd rather conduct the Adams." Cougar grimaces. Jensen knows he doesn't really like the minimalists, but he'll do anything his conductor asks him to.

Cougar shrugs. "Once I started looking, I thought maybe a recital. Adams has an unaccompanied one, too."

"Holy shit, Cougs," Jensen says as he flips through the Jones and then the piece with tape – the Guinivan. They're massive pieces with incredible amounts of technique – and at least one set of drums Cougar would have to buy. "These are huge! How long will it take you to learn these?"

Cougar shrugs. "Couple of years, with normal practice. A year, maybe."

Jensen grins. He's already looking forward to this recital. "What about the concerto? Are you going to play with the BSO?"

"Probably." Cougar pulls the Adams out of the stack of music and flips through it. "Ronon said season after next if it's ready by the time he starts programming."

"When's that?" Jensen asks. He's never really understood the rhythm of a symphony; he's not a planning sort of guy and he knows they schedule this stuff years in advance.

"Six months, maybe." Cougar goes over to where his timpani are set up, passing a hand over the head of one. "Do you have time?"

"Of course," Jensen says, setting aside the music and kicking his legs up on the couch. Cougar fusses for a bit, setting up his music and sticks, adjusting his stool five times while Jensen watches, his arms folded over the back of the couch. If Jensen didn't know better, he'd think Cougar was nervous.

He checks the tuning on the drums, one finger slid across the top of the head making their copper bellies reverberate. Of course they're all exactly where Cougar wants them, and that seems to settle him. He picks up a pair of small-headed sticks and places them on the middle two drums.

The opening is soft and subtle, Cougar leaning in to the drums like he's having a whispered conversation. The phrase grows and Cougar's body moves upward to accommodate the bigger strokes, and then the real Adams-esque stuff kicks in, the repetition of the same motive, over and over, morphing slowly into something else. Jensen can feel himself moving along with the rhythm, his head, his shoulders, even his legs are getting twitchy. Cougar is stillness itself, though, his sticks the only thing moving as the rhythm continues, trancelike.

He stops abruptly, looking at Jensen with a pained expression.

"What?" Jensen looks at Cougar warily. He knows his movements sometimes distract Cougar; he's usually careful to keep it under control, but he loves the minimalists. The pureness of the rhythm, the creation of something bigger from minute changes in a pattern... He can't help himself.

"How do you do that?" Cougar asks, setting his mallets on the drum heads.

"Do what?" Jensen asks, bewildered. He wasn't doing anything – and Cougar is starting to freak him out, his expression a jumble of emotions.

"Move."

Jensen stands up like a shot. He looks around to see if he accidentally knocked something valuable over while he was rocking it out.

"No," Cougar sighs, rolling his eyes. "How do you move with the music like that?"

Jensen blinks. "What, like..."

"Yes." Cougar grabs his hair and ties it back into a sloppy bun, frustration still coming off him in waves. "Ronon said I don't move right."

Jensen has to think about that. He knows how Cougar plays, so he'd expected him to move exactly like he did, like precision and economy personified. Cougar's not really a soloist, though – when he thinks about Roque's natural movement, the rhythm living in his arms, his legs, the way he moves up and down the marimba, how he leans over and draws the sound right out of it. Every soloist he knows is a mover, more like him than Cougar.

"Well," Jensen says warily, "it's just... there. I have to move. It's like dancing, kind of."

The pained expression is back, and Jensen knows he's hit a nerve. Cougar doesn't dance, has never gone with them when they've gone out dancing.

"Here," Jensen says, walking over to the timpani and picking up Cougar's sticks. He crowds in, playing the motive Cougar was playing when he stopped and starting to loop it. He's on the wrong side of the semicircle of drums so he has to stretch awkwardly to get some of the notes, but that works its way into his movements too, a loping, teardrop-shaped sort of groove. "C'mon," he says, swaying into the motive. "Join me."

Cougar picks up a second pair of mallets – softer – and it gives the rhythm a fuzzier feel when he starts to play along, his rhythm precise and his feet grounded.

"Come on," Jensen wheedles, baiting Cougar by hitting his mallets instead of the drums. "Move into the sticking. Let it guide you."

Cougar moves jerkily, his arms following Jensen's movements, but his body remaining square. He has to stretch to make the motion work and Jensen grabs onto his mallet on the next go-round, yanking hard on it. Cougar's so solidly grounded the stick just quivers between them, and he looks up at Jensen in annoyance.

"No, man, that's too tense," Jensen says, letting the mallet go. "You catch my stick this time."

Jensen starts the motive, going through it a half-dozen times and just starting to wonder if Cougar's actually going to do anything when he grabs Jensen's mallet and yanks. Jensen goes with it, pulled forward so quickly he's terrified he's going to fall into the drums. "Shit!" he shouts, but Cougar grabs his shoulders, catching him and absorbing his momentum.

For a second he doesn't know what happened and the terror that he's going to break Cougar's stuff is still foremost in his brain. Then he realizes that his face is only inches from Cougar's and he's unable to move, either into a kiss or away from the possibility. He stares at Cougar and waits, breathing hot into the space between them.

Cougar is unreadable again, the frustration from earlier gone and a calm consideration on his face. Jensen finally gets his motor control back and pulls himself back across the timpani, managing to get himself upright with only a little flailing. "See?" he says. "Loose."

Cougar snorts. Jensen grins, shrugging, and pretty soon they're both laughing. Cougar takes the mallets out of Jensen's hands and puts them on the stand with his own, coming around the drums and flopping on the couch.

They listen to the tape that goes with the Guinivan and Jensen whistles, reading the score as the soundscape goes by in the background. "You've got your work cut out for you."

Cougar brings out the beer halfway through that piece and the session moves into the recording of Roque's Rosauro that Cougar's somehow gotten his hands on. Either he's a sneaky little thief or he's got some kind of knack for quickly befriending the right people. He knew the recording engineer at his last gig, too, and Jensen is fairly certain he has recordings of himself playing solo on stage at the Troy Music Hall.

The first movement comes to an end and Jensen glances at his watch – nearly one am. Cougar's fading. If Jensen can keep still for another few minutes, Cougar's head will start bobbing to his chest. He waits, pleasantly calm, a little buzzed, and watches Cougar drift into a doze. He could sit for hours and stare at Cougar with his eyes closed and chin on his chest.

Cougar suddenly takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, turning to look at Jensen. "Sorry," he says, stretching and yawning.

"Don't do that," Jensen says, putting a hand over his mouth while he yawns too. "I have to drive home yet."

"You should stay," Cougar says, staring at Jensen. For what feels like the millionth time that night, Jensen's heart starts hammering in his chest as he stares back. "You've had too much beer," Cougar says, sounding concerned. There's a soft smile on his face, the one that Jensen always thinks of as his I'm too lazy to roll my eyes at you smile.

Jensen nods, trying not to look too disappointed. "I can just hang out and listen for a while longer. I'll sober up after an hour."

"I have to sleep," Cougar complains.

"I can lock up and let myself out," Jensen says, tilting his head toward the hallway he knows leads to Cougar's bedroom. "Go on."

"I have a guest room," Cougar says, and somehow, that makes it even worse.

"Nah," Jensen says. "I'm good. Go to bed, sleeping beauty."

Jensen stays for another hour and a half. He listens to the rest of Roque's recording and then shuts down the stereo, careful to make sure it's done exactly as Cougar likes it. Then he sits on the couch for over an hour trying to either work up the nerve to go peek into Cougar's bedroom or give up the idea entirely so he can get in his truck and go home. When he looks down at his watch and sees it's two-thirty and he has rehearsal at Bucky's at ten, his inertia finally evaporates. He carefully turns out all the lights and locks the door on his way out.

~~

It occurs to him the next day, as they're packing his drums into the band's trailer, that he hasn't made plans for his truck. He's left it with his sister before, but she just bought a shiny new Audi TT. She's keeping it in her garage – cleaned especially for the occasion – and it would be more trouble than it's worth for her to play leapfrog with the cars every day, since parking on the street at night is illegal in her little town.

Cougar's house has plenty of parking on the street and his neighbors are used to Jensen's truck hanging around. Not to mention it'd be good for Cougar to have a vehicle that can properly tow his little trailer with his timpani in. He only uses the good ones for the big performances, but he's got enough of those that Jensen's usually hauling his stuff around at least once a month.

"Cougs," Jensen says as soon as he picks up the call. "Want my truck for a few months?"

Cougar is silent as always and Jensen goes forward with his suggestion. "You can use it to haul your stuff while I'm gone – or get Pooch to drive it for you, if you want." He knows Cougar doesn't like automatics, but Jensen's essentially lazy by nature, and he always needs to be able to have at least one hand free to eat while he's driving.

"'Kay," Cougar says, and Jensen grins.

"Cool. I'll drop it off tomorrow night before we get on the road."

~~~

It's kind of brilliant, Jensen thinks, asking Bucky to follow him to Cougar's when he drops off his truck. He won't have time for things to be all weird, he'll be too embarrassed to do stupid things like stand around and make puppy dog eyes at Cougar in front of Bucky, he can just generally do the macho thing and say goodbye with a wave and get whisked off by Bucky in his ugly little Honda.

Trust Cougar to make Jensen's plan go straight out the window.

Jensen parks the truck, locking it up and spinning the keys around his finger. He'd expected Cougar to meet him outside. He'd texted that he was on his way and in a hurry, and while he knows Cougar sucks at sending texts, he has some kind of magic phone that allows him to read them just fine. He keeps spinning the keys, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Bucky.

"Hurry up, man," Bucky calls, "we're leaving in half an hour!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jensen says, jogging up the walk. Cougar steps out just as Jensen gets to the bottom of his front porch steps.

"Hey," Jensen says, flipping the keys around his finger even faster. "Thanks for watching my truck."

Cougar shrugs. "No problem."

"So, we're about to get on the road," Jensen says, cupping the keys in his hand for a moment before throwing them in a high arc at Cougar. "Bucky's waiting, I gotta go."

Cougar looks at Bucky's little red Brio and shakes his head. He mumbles something that Jensen can't quite understand, and then all of a sudden Jensen's got an armful of Cougar, giving him a crushing bear hug.

"Be safe," Cougar says, which is the weirdest thing ever – what's unsafe about going on tour? It's not like he's going to wrestle mountain lions or something.

"O.... kay," Jensen says, settling his suddenly flailing arms around Cougar's back. "I promise not to do any stage diving."

Cougar nods, his hair rubbing against Jensen's neck, and then lets go as suddenly as he glommed on.

"Uh, yeah, so... I'll see you in..." Jensen doesn't know how to finish the sentence. It's not a couple months, or a few months, and eight seems eerily precise. "...when I see you."

Cougar's face clouds, but he nods and gives Jensen the fakest smile he's ever seen – and his dad was a used car salesman. "Take care."

"Yeah," Jensen says, frowning when Bucky honks his toy car horn. "You too."

Jensen turns and takes the first staggering step away from Cougar, covering by turning it into a loping jog as he crosses the lawn and then the asphalt to Bucky's car. He climbs in and looks out the window, answering Cougar's raised hand with a short wave as Bucky guns it.

"You gay for him?" Bucky asks, and Jensen tenses. He and Bucky have never actually discussed his man-crushes, especially since Bucky was the first one, back when it was still a boy-crush.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Jensen says, pointedly staring out the window.

"Oh come on, Jake, you don't think I care you're a little twinkly around the edges, do you?"

A laugh is startled out of Jensen at the description. "Seriously?"

Bucky grins at him, his smile perfect and warm, still Jensen's favorite thing about him. "I didn't know how to deal with it when I was fourteen, all right? I get it now, and it never did matter anyway."

Jensen turns his eyes back to the scenery, storefronts going by, restaurants and fashion stores and coffee shops. "You didn't talk to me for two months."

"You creeped me out, man. I didn't understand." Bucky sighs heavily. "I'm sorry. It was a shitty thing to do."

Jensen just keeps staring out at the shops going by. He never thought he would get an acknowledgement out of Bucky, much less an apology.

"You like that guy, though, right?" Bucky asks. "You always get weird around guys you like."

Jensen shuts his eyes and leans his head against the window. "Yeah."

"He doesn't seem too bothered by your weirdness," Bucky observes. "Maybe he likes you too."

"Shut up now," Jensen says, and for once, Bucky does.

~~~

The first few songs are always the hardest. Most of the fans in the huge venues are fans of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That means that basically, the Soldiers are making them wait to hear what they came for. If they don't get the crowd on their side in the first song or two, they'll have to grit out a performance to people who at best, don't give a shit, and at worst, boo and heckle.

Bucky's a good-looking guy, so usually the women give him a shot – or don't mind him criss-crossing the stage while he sings. He's a great singer, too, so if they can read the crowd and pick the right songs, they've got it in the bag.

The first night goes more or less perfectly. They have a set list, but it's more a suggestion and timekeeper than anything else. They have forty-five minutes each night to play their hearts out and there's no one better at reading the crowd than Gabe – so he is almost always the one to call out the next song, or just start with a wailing guitar solo and wait for Jensen to catch on and back him up with some rhythm.

The first song of the first night is "No Escape," their most upbeat song, and Jensen's able to just let loose, go all animal on the drums while he watches Bucky alternately scream and beg at the crowd. It works like a charm, so Gabe doesn't even let the final chord ring in the stadium, just moves immediately into "Reborn" without time to think, and Jensen can't help grinning.

The rest of the set goes perfectly like that – one song to the next before the cheering even stops – except for after "Fear Itself," when Bucky puts his hand up for a pause and has a little heart to heart with the audience.

They sell four thousand CDs after the show, more than they've ever sold in one shot before. They celebrate on the bus, a bottle of moderately expensive tequila passed around as they play "I Never."

At sunrise, when most of his bandmates are snoring or drooling, Jensen picks up the phone and calls Pooch. They're somewhere in the Midwest, driving to the next gig (St. Louis, maybe?) and it's a school day, so he knows Pooch will be awake.

"Hey, man," Pooch answers, too awake for this hour of the morning. "First show last night, huh?"

Jensen smiles. Cougar must have called Pooch to tell him. "Yeah."

"How'd it go?"

"Awesome." Jensen smiles at the phone sleepily. He loves Pooch. "We sold four thousand, two hundred and eight CDs."

"Wow. That must be a record."

"Yup. And Jack thought bringing all those boxes of CDs along was a bad idea." Pooch laughs, and Jensen catches a gurgling sort of noise in the background. "I didn't wake Pooch, Jr., did I?"

"No, I'm just burping him after his morning bottle. Jolene's about ready to take him."

"Okay, well, I should go anyway," Jensen says. "I have to do this all again tonight."

"Oh, hey," Pooch says, and Jensen can hear the shuffle that means the baby's getting handed off to Jolene. "Did Cougs seem okay to you when you saw him last?"

Jensen's brain stops working altogether. He knows he's drunk enough that he has to tread carefully or he will tell Pooch something he will later regret. "He was a little weird," Jensen says honestly. "Little mother hen-ish."

"Yeah," Pooch answers. "He seemed a little... off."

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" Jensen asks. "I don't think he has any friends but us losers, and I worry."

"All right," Pooch says, but there's doubt in his voice. Probably about Jensen's sanity, or his ability to think clearly despite his general state of drunkenness. "Go to bed, Jensen. Call me when you sober up."

~~~

Jensen's eardrums hurt. Even with the earplugs he wears (that may be the one truly useful thing he learned at conservatory), the volume is enough to make his head hurt most days. He never notices while he's onstage – the rush of being in front of a crowd of screaming people never gets old – but by the time he gets back into the bus his ears are ringing painfully.

It takes a full month before the monotony sets in. It's a weird sense of numbness, punctuated with bursts of adrenaline every night they perform in front of huge crowds, an experience that blows his daydreams out of the water.

Their agent tells them their sales and radio play time are dramatically increased and Jack keeps up on the daily numbers with great glee. Jim takes care of their online stuff – Twitter, Facebook, and about fifty other things Jensen's never even heard of – and Bucky schmoozes the fans. Jensen usually hangs around Bucky for a while after the show and he gets his share of adoring looks, but he just signs whatever people want him to sign and heads back to the bus to take some Advil.

They met the Chili Peppers briefly before they went on the road and see them in passing every show, but it's not like Jensen had hoped, not him and Chad Smith kicking back and talking about sticks and kits and what kind of bass drum line to lay down. They get a few words here and there, but it's basically like working in the office next door to the coolest people ever.

Sometimes, when it's too late to call anybody, Jensen writes elaborate emails on his phone. Usually it's just a description of the show that night or some hilarious bus kitchen antics, but once in a while he writes down things like every part of Cougar he'd like to taste, or his top ten bits of Cougar body language. He's careful to store those emails in his drafts, which is turning into a strange diary-like timeline of the tour, a mix of the thrill of doing what he loves and being lonely while he does it.

~~~

"You gotta stop moping," Bucky tells him somewhere in Colorado.

"I'm not moping!" Jensen takes another deep drink from his mug. Coffee has become his drug of choice since going on the road. "I love this. I love the shows, I love the people. I'm happy."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "The shows are fine. It's you I'm worried about. You mooning over that guy?"

Jensen glares at Bucky over the rim of his mug.

"Why don't you call him? I only ever hear you on the phone with Pooch."

Jensen gets up to fill his mug. "He doesn't talk. Phone's no good."

"He's got a phone, though. You could text him." Bucky comes over to where Jensen's standing, puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder. "You should text him."

Jensen shakes his head. "He can't text back. And before you ask, he doesn't email, either."

"What, is he a technophobe?" Bucky laughs. "Afraid he's being watched?"

"Too busy with his music to bother." Jensen thinks about Cougar practicing all hours of the day and night. He wonders if Cougar's gotten into the zone where he forgets everything but rehearsal and practice. Jensen's had to drag him out of the house when that happens, make him go to the movies or a football game or – one really memorable time – to a rollerskating rink.

He looks up at Bucky and sees the concern written all over his friend's face. He's right, Jensen's being an idiot. He's got everything he ever wanted and he's pining after a guy that can't even be bothered to figure out how to send Jensen a text message.

"I'm fine," Jensen says firmly. Bucky gives him a disbelieving raised eyebrow. "No, you're right, I'm being stupid. I'll stop."

"Okay," Bucky says, fake cheerfulness in his tone. "Good. Glad we had this talk."

~~~

Jensen makes a determined effort not to think about Cougar after that. It works surprisingly well. He gets crossword puzzles he can never solve to do while on the bus, and he starts schmoozing the fans with Bucky after the show. There are a surprising number of people that want to talk to him, ask him things about the music and the shows, and it doesn't take long for him to get into it. He and Pooch have started emailing back and forth, just a paragraph or two every week about what's going on in their worlds. He gets a couple pictures of Pooch, Jr. in one of the tour t-shirts Jensen sent, and one he thinks Pooch probably hadn't meant to attach the one of Jolene in nothing but the t-shirt, a naughty grin on her face.

Clay gives him a call once to talk about scheduling rehearsals for their gig, and Jensen has to admit there's no way for him to make anything before December.

"On tour?" Clay asks, sounding incredulous. "But I thought you just got off tour back in March."

"We did. But when the Red Hot Chili Peppers call and ask you to open for them, you don't really say no."

"Oh. Well, congrats," Clay says grumpily. "You don't have any time off that you could fly back?"

"One hiatus, four days in early October." Jensen still hasn't decided what he wants to do. Part of him wants to get a hotel room and do nothing but sleep in a real bed and watch porn. The lack of privacy on the bus frustrates him sometimes, especially when he's horny.

"Roque's booked up all October," Clay says. Jensen can hear the scrape of him running a hand across his stubble. "Are you really free in December? We might have to pull a two-rehearsal-one-performance weekend."

"I'm good with that," Jensen agrees. "We're all professionals."

Clay snorts. "Professional slackers."

~~~

Jensen texts less and less as the summer wears on, pretty much reserving it for posting to Twitter. He doesn't post much, and answers people even less, but Jim's on him about publicity or whatever. He tries to be moderately amusing, but he probably comes off as dorky or incomprehensible.

That's why it's not until Pooch emails him with a funny story about teaching Cougar how to text that he checks his text messages and finds three from Cougar amongst his Twitter flotsam and jetsam.

i hate adams is first, followed a day later by how is it and finally, yesterday, are you ok. There's no punctuation or capitalization – Pooch told him Cougar wanted the most stripped down version ever and took notes while Pooch explained it to him.

Jensen pulls away from the crowd, staring down at his phone and the three messages in disbelief. He replies to the last text message with Sorry, thought you were Twitter. Things are good. Adams rules.

He tries to get back into talking to the group of kids that have been at the last couple shows, one of them asking him about a riff he did in "No Escape" that was new. He's waiting for his phone to buzz, though, and it distracts him so much he begs off and climbs onto the bus, pulling out the book of crosswords and setting his phone on his thigh while he fills in completely wrong answers. He's found it's more fun to just make stuff up than to try and get things right.

His phone finally buzzes almost half an hour later with the message i was worried.

Sorry. Jensen punches in, not really sure what else to say. He adds Things are good here. How about you? and sends it off, his heart in his throat in a way it hasn't been in months now.

He doesn't have to wait half as long this time – his phone buzzes, showing Cougar's number on the screen.

"Hey," Jensen answers, as cool as he can manage under the circumstances.

"Messaging is annoying."

Jensen laughs. "I know. It gets easier with time. Stick with it – it's good for finger strength."

Cougar's hmph of disapproval tells Jensen exactly what Cougar thinks of that. "Tour is going well?" he asks, and Jensen immediately opens his mouth and doesn't shut up for half an hour.

"Where's your next show?"

Jensen groans. He can't keep track of the towns – doesn't bother since Gabe types them on the top of the set lists every night. "No clue. We're in Charlotte, North Carolina tonight." Cougar is silent on the other end of the line. Jensen decides to poke him a little. "So, are you getting out at all? Any rollerskating dates on your calendar?"

The silence continues. And this is why we don't talk on the phone, Jensen thinks, waiting Cougar out for once.

"I get out," Cougar says, and Jensen doesn't believe him at all. He'll have to tell Pooch to take Cougar to the movies before he gets to the point where he can't even have a conversation with a non-musician. "I have plans for Wednesday. A concert."

"Oh," Jensen says, honestly surprised. "Good. Enjoy."

"I will," Cougar says, sounding amused.

They manage to talk a little longer, Cougar spending a couple of minutes on how much he hates Adams, and how much he hates Ronon, and why he ever thought he might want to play a timpani solo with an orchestra. Jensen tuts his way through the conversation, letting Cougar vent, offering innocuous suggestions when he can. The suggestion that Cougar learn how to dance, or at least try, will never, ever leave his brain.

Jensen wonders how this phone call is going to end; he can't say "I miss you" or "I can't wait to see you again" or anything even remotely like that. Cougar chooses "Talk to you soon," which means Jensen is probably in for more awkward phone calls in the coming weeks. He's surprisingly okay with that.

~~~

Jensen emails Pooch the next day, thanking him for giving Cougar texting lessons and asking what concert they're going to. Pooch emails back saying he didn't know he was going to a concert with Cougar, and who are they supposedly seeing?

Jensen's a little annoyed he didn't ask Cougar, but it hadn't seemed important at the time. He'd just been happy Cougar was getting out of the house. Now he can't be sure that Cougar's not going out on a date – and maybe Cougar's been busy dating half of Boston while Jensen's been away. Not that Jensen had a real chance with Cougar anyway, but the disappointment still crushes him.

On Wednesday, he texts Cougar, asking what concert he's going to. He doesn't get an answer, which Jensen figures means Cougar's taking his date out to dinner as well as a concert, which sucks. Jensen leaves his phone on the bus. It's stupid, but he doesn't want to think about Cougar and his stupid date.

Usually he sticks around, either backstage or in the green room while the Red Hot Chili Peppers play, but he can't sit still and Gabe and Jim keep giving him looks until he gets up and leaves. He heads to the bus, dying to know if Cougar's texted back, even if it's about his imaginary date.

The phone stares at him from where it's sitting on his bunk, and he feels unaccountably nervous. If Cougar is taking someone who is not him or Pooch to a concert, it's serious. He doesn't share his music with just anyone. Jensen steels himself and picks up the phone. He opens the waiting text message and reads red hot chili peepers, and has to check twice to be sure he's reading it right. He texts back Where are you?! as he flies off the bus.

He stalks through the collection of buses and trailers, about to start around the front of the building when his phone buzzes. stand still, it reads, and he stops moving to look around, trying to figure out where Cougar is.

"You can't go in there," Jensen hears someone say, and turns around to see a security guy holding Cougar at bay on the other end of the parking lot.

"It's okay!" he yells, running over. "It's okay, he's with me." The security guard looks Jensen up and down with a skeptical look. "Do you have your ID?"

They're given different colored passes and cards and all kinds of shit at each venue, and Jensen inevitably loses his. He searches his pockets, just in case he stuffed it in one before they went on stage. No luck. "Here," he says, finally, pulling out his driver's license. "You've got to have a list of the bands and crews somewhere."

The guard takes a step back to start talking on his radio and Jensen grins at Cougar over the barricade between them. "New Jersey?" he asks with a laugh. "You came to New Jersey to see me?"

Cougar shrugs. "I had a couple of days."

Jensen can't help the stupid grin plastered all over his face. "It's really good to see you."

"You too," Cougar says as the guard comes back over.

"Okay, you're on the list, but he isn't allowed. You have to put your guests on the list before the show starts."

Jensen puts his hands together pleadingly and says, "He's a drum tech. He's here to fix my kit."

Cougar pulls out his wallet and hands the guard his license before he can ask.

The guard gives Jensen a sour look but takes Cougar's license. "Okay," he says, calling it in over his walkie talkie and moving the barrier aside so Cougar can come in. "Get one of the purple lanyards from Kelly backstage if you're going to be wandering around."

"Gotcha," Jensen throws over his shoulder at the security guy, grabbing Cougar's wrist and speed-walking them over to the bus.

Once they're inside, Jensen turns to look at Cougar, eyes roaming up and down him to make sure he's not a hallucination. "New Jersey, seriously?"

Cougar shrugs. "Ronon suggested I needed to take some time off."

Jensen can feel his mouth drop open. "Cougs, what did you do?" Jensen's only known Ronon as long as Cougar's been with the symphony, but he doesn't seem like the type to dismiss his people lightly.

Another shrug. "I've been working with him on the Adams. It…" Cougar looks at Jensen, a strange look on his face – more than frustration, more than sadness. He coughs. "I can't get the movement right."

"Oh Cougs," Jensen says, yanking him in for the hug he should've given him the second they were in the bus. Cougar wraps his arms around Jensen and clings in a way he's never done in all the years they've known each other. Jensen doesn't say anything else, just holds on for as long as he can.

Cougar gets ahold of himself after a couple of minutes, giving Jensen a squeeze that makes the breath go out of him in a whoosh, and letting go. He takes a step back and avoids Jensen's eyes. "You have to help me."

"Okay," Jensen says, the thrill of having Cougar track him down on the road abating some. He never expected to be the person Cougar came to for musical advice, so that's kind of cool, but he thought maybe he and Cougar were having a thing, or starting one – he was sure there was thinging in his future for one bright, shining moment. He takes a deep breath and lets the disappointment settle before he crows about Cougar asking him for musical advice.

"I can't believe you drove to New Jersey just for me to teach you some moves," he says, and then realizes – had Cougar driven? Cougs doesn't really like to drive that much. "You did drive, didn't you?"

"No," Cougar says. "Flew into Newark."

"Shit, Cougs," Jensen says, "we're on the road after this. We only have a couple of hours."

Cougar nods. "I have to get back anyway. Rehearsal tomorrow night."

"Better get to work, then," Jensen says with fake cheer, leading the way to the back of the bus.

Cougar's eyes dart around, checking out the double bunks and the tiny kitchenette, and when they get to the table he asks, "You live like this?"

Jensen laughs. "Good thing we all get along, huh?"

Cougar nods, looking back at the bunks. "You sleep on top?"

Jensen can't help the grin – he's twelve at heart and Cougar knows it – and points to his bunk, above Gabe's. "What can I say, I like being up high." He pulls his sticks out of his back pocket and says, "Let's do this." He starts up a patter of sixteenth notes on the dinette table. "Start small," he says, "and bend your knees on the beats." Cougar scowls, but Jensen ignores him and keeps accenting the first of each group of sixteenths, nodding his head along and bending his knees on the downbeats. "Come on," Jensen goads. "Just try it."

Cougar rolls his eyes, but bends his knees on every other beat. He's doing some awkward thing, bending and coming up stiffly, like he's doing a Jane Fonda workout video. "What are you doing?" Jensen asks, honestly curious, but he regrets his flippant tone when he sees the embarrassment and then the anger rise on Cougar's face. "No, man, I just mean–" Jensen waves his hands helplessly. "Your movements should be an expression of the music. You don't play like a stiff in a starched collar. Why does your body move like one?"

"That's not music," Cougar grumbles, still looking abashed at Jensen's criticism.

Jensen refuses to let Cougar bait him, though. "According to Cage, it is." Cougar's expression goes from embarrassed to positively chagrined. "Whatever," Jensen says, handing his sticks to Cougar. "Not the point – the point is to get you to move, so stop stalling." He stands at Cougar's side, casting a critical eye over Cougar's picture-perfect stance. "Now you play, and I'll see what I can do from here."

Cougar starts the sixteenth notes with the exact precision of someone who has spent hours doing nothing but tapping out millions of those beats in time with a rigidly strict metronome.

"Be still my heart," Jensen murmurs, and Cougar switches smoothly to one handed sticking without missing a beat, elbowing Jensen in the side. "Ow," Jensen complains, rubbing his sore ribs. "I know your perfection is thrilling but could you play something with more of a groove?"

Cougar stiffens – and Jensen would have sworn it was impossible for him to get any stiffer – but adds a couple of rotating accents, every fourth and ninth sixteenth notes, just to make things interesting. "Yeah, that's good," Jensen says, leaning into the off-kilter beats. "You try," Jensen says. "One two three four, one two three four five." He leans into the beats, setting up the motion for Cougar.

Cougar moves imperceptibly at first – something Jensen can sense more than see. Then he seems to feel Jensen's motion and his movements start to match up. Once they've got a nice groove going, Cougar switches it up, adding a third accent on the seventh sixteenth that gives their swaying a goofy little hitch in the middle. It's very Cougar, an interesting rhythm, but one that's tough to move to. There's a little catch as they figure out what to do with this new asymmetrical groove – Jensen has to close his eyes and just listen for a while, eventually coming up with a sideways jerking motion that follows Cougar's accents. As soon as he's settled into it, Cougar switches it up again and Jensen has to change tack, listening for a couple of go-rounds before settling into the new rhythm.

Cougar does it again as soon as Jensen has the new groove and Jensen opens his eyes to glare. His annoyed comment stays in his mouth when he sees how intently Cougar is watching him, though. He clears his throat. "This is about teaching you to move, Cougs," he says, less pissed off than he intended.

"Watching you helps," Cougar says, and Jensen swallows his disappointment. He would say Cougar is just messing with him, but he's never known Cougar to be coy about anything. Reluctant, sure. Silent, yes. But not coy.

"You really should just learn how to dance," Jensen blurts out, eyes going wide as soon as he realizes what he said. Shit. He rolls with it; he's talked himself out of worse. "It's just… this is what I do when I dance. Figure out the groove and then move with it. It's not hard."

That's probably a mistake. Cougar raises an eyebrow that says he disagrees, but he doesn't say anything.

Before Jensen can dig himself any deeper, they hear noise outside the bus and the door is yanked open. Gabe, Jack, Jim, Bucky, and five girls file in. "Hey Jake," Bucky yells from the back of the conga line, "we brought you something to cheer you up."

Cougar looks at Jensen suspiciously, but Jensen puts his hands up. "Not my idea, we can–"

"Oh, sorry man," Gabe says as he gets far enough forward to see Cougar in the tiny kitchenette. He turns to Jensen. "We thought you were moping in here."

"I have to go," Cougar says, smiling at Gabe and the two women directly behind him. "Excuse me."

He pushes forward into the tiny space and winds his way through the people with surprising ease, proving the accuracy of his nickname again. "Cougar!" Jensen calls, pushing through behind him, shoving the guys down into the lower bunks so he can chase after Cougar's retreating back.

Cougar's halfway across the parking lot before Jensen makes his way off the bus, and he really hopes Cougar's not going to bolt. "Cougar!" he yells again, and Cougar stops, turning around to face him.

"I'm sorry," Jensen says, though he's not a hundred percent sure what he's apologizing for. "They're idiots, but they were just trying to cheer me up."

"Why do you need to be cheered up?" Cougar's arms are crossed, and he's angry. He looks more like some martial arts hero out of the movies than a symphonic timpanist.

Jensen chews his lip while he decides what to say. He's never had the guts to say anything to any of his man-crushes before, but he has more faith in Cougar than anyone so far – he trusts that Cougar will just say no and they will still be friends. Maybe that's what this will take, a definite no so he can stop being stupid about it.

"I thought you were out on a date," Jensen says. "I've been moping about you going to a concert with someone who wasn't me or Pooch."

Cougar's expression is hilarious, moving from anger to surprise to amusement so fast Jensen feels a little dizzy. "You were jealous?" Cougar asks, one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk.

"Yeah." Jensen puts his hands in his pockets and looks down, waiting for the inevitable "let's just be friends" speech he's gotten from every woman he's ever tried to date more than twice.

Cougar steps forward, taking Jensen's chin in his hand. "You are an idiot," he says, and kisses Jensen once on the mouth, hard but sweet.

"I have to go." Cougar presses a softer kiss to Jensen's lips and lets go of his chin. "Come home for hiatus."

Jensen stands there, frozen, as Cougar walks away. "Okay," he says weakly, and Cougar glances over his shoulder at that and nods.

~~~

Jensen stares after Cougar wondering what the hell just happened. Part of him is dancing with joy because Cougar just kissed him and that has to mean they're having a thing – or will, when he goes home for hiatus.

Part of him is pissed at himself for being too shocked to move and participate in the kissing. If he could've grabbed on to Cougar, there might have been more kisses and that would be great. Especially great since it's six weeks to hiatus and all he has is two chaste kisses to hold him over.

And that's where doubt creeps in, and he thinks maybe Cougar was just being European or something, and there isn't a thing in his future, maybe there's just being friends and Jensen will eventually waste away and die from pining after someone who will never love him back.

"Go after him, dumbass!" Bucky yells. Cougar's just gone around the corner of the building and Jensen turns to look at Bucky where he's standing at the back of the bus. He makes shooing motions with his hands. "Go!"

Jensen nods numbly, feeling stupid because he hadn't even thought of that. He runs after Cougar, vaulting cleanly over the barricade – a combination of desperation and luck. "Cougar!" he yells, hoping he can still catch him before he gets lost in the horde of people streaming out of the stadium.

Cougar's still only halfway around the building, and he stops when he hears his name, turning around and waiting for Jensen to run up. "Yes?" he asks, like he couldn't possibly know what Jensen was running after him for.

The doubt rears its head again, but Jensen can only take so much uncertainty and he's passed his limit for at least the next decade. "Are we having a thing now?" he asks. "And if we are can I kiss you some more? Because I didn't really have time to process and –"

Cougar puts a hand over Jensen's mouth. "Yes."

It takes a second to sink in, but as soon as he catches on, he's grinning like a fool. Cougar drops his hand, a fond smile on his face. He stands like a man waiting for something, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Jensen's never kissed a guy before, and certainly not a Cougar, who is more complex by half. He doesn't really know what to do and that means full steam ahead, he can figure it out on the way. He takes two steps closer, trying to decide where to put his hands. Every single idea he has feels stupid – or, knowing Cougar, dangerous – and they're just a few inches apart now. Cougar is still smiling at him, amused and patient.

"Oh, fuck it," Jensen says, and brings one hand up, threading his fingers through Cougar's hair until he can cup Cougar's skull. Cougar's eyes widen, his mouth drops open a little, and Jensen does a little internal victory dance as he leans down the last couple of inches to actually kiss Cougar.

Cougar has other ideas, though, and he grabs Jensen's shoulders and shoves him backwards, three or four shambling steps until his back is up against the stadium – which is surprisingly cold against his ass. "Hey," Jensen says, hooking a foot around Cougar's ankle and flipping them around so Cougar's the one against the stadium with a cold ass.

Cougar gets his pointy elbow between them then and gives Jensen a good one right in the ribs. Jensen takes a step back to rub the sore spot. "I said kissing, not wrestling." He tries pouting but Cougar just laughs at him. "Seriously, Cougs, do you sharpen your elbows?"

"You pulled my hair."

Jensen can't help the ridiculous look he knows is on his face, but the mental image of him pulling Cougar's pigtails is just too funny to ignore. Cougar must be feeling magnanimous because he doesn't look even a little bit threatening.

"All right, all right, I give up. I'm sorry I pulled your hair. Can I try again?"

"At the hair pulling?" Cougar asks, and his tone says he's not entirely joking.

"Well, putting my hands in it, I guess," Jensen says earnestly, which gets him a nod complete with rolled eyes from Cougar.

"Go on."

Jensen hesitates, not even for a full second – there's only the briefest of moments where he's making sure Cougar actually said yes – but Cougar takes a play from his book, grabbing Jensen by the shoulders and flipping them around again so Jensen's back is against the stadium. Jensen's weight is on his back, the leather jacket he's wearing keeping the chill away, as long as he keeps his ass off the cement.

He's not sure how, exactly, to put his hands in Cougar's hair without pulling. And if he's honest with himself – which he tries not to be too often – he isn't really interested in Cougar's hair so much as getting some kind of hold on him to make sure this is all real. He stares at Cougar for a minute, unthinkingly giving Cougar the same considered stare Cougar's been giving him for years now. He doesn't really understand he's doing it until Cougar looks away, turning his head to give Jensen the profile he has practically memorized from so many concerts and movies where they sit side by side and Jensen ignores whatever is going on in favor of staring at the lines and angles that make up Cougar's face.

This is different, though. Cougar's twisting his head to the side and the muscles in his neck are stretched taut under his skin. Then he sees it – the slight flutter at the notch of Cougar's collarbone. He can see Cougar's pulse, steady and strong but a little fast. Knowing Cougar's in this with him releases him from the strange stasis he was in and he reaches out. Not for Cougar's hair, but for the unbroken rhythm beating solidly at the base of Cougar's neck. He sets his thumb against it, feeling the thump of the blood rushing against the gentle pressure he's exerting.

Cougar's eyes close and that's when Jensen absolutely breaks, his fingers curving gently around Cougar's neck and his hand moving smoothly upward, Cougar's warm skin under his palm and the feathery sensation of Cougar's hair over the back of his hand. He cups his hand around the base of Cougar's skull – exactly how he intended to do it the first time – and when Cougar turns back and opens his eyes, there's something in them that Jensen's never seen before.

Surprise probably looks the same on everyone, but it sits oddly on Cougar's face. It makes Jensen sad, that so little has ever surpassed Cougar's expectations. He pulls Cougar in, drawing him closer with his fingers in Cougar's hair and his other hand on Cougar's waist, making Cougar stumble forward half a step until their chests bump together.

Cougar practically falls into the kiss, stopping them from what would probably be a painful headbutt by squeezing Jensen's biceps so hard he's sure to have bruises. It slows him down just enough to land heavily in the kiss, and Jensen huffs out a breath into Cougar's mouth. He can feel Cougar's quick grin before he kisses Jensen again, things getting serious so fast Jensen can't even keep track of anything but his hands on Cougar – and he is never letting go.

There are a bunch of quick, hard kisses and then somehow tongues get involved and then teeth – and Jensen could have sworn teeth were not supposed to be sexy, but when Cougar takes Jensen's lip between his teeth Jensen thinks he might pass out from all the blood rushing straight to his dick. "Wait, wait," Jensen says, tilting his head back to sigh out a breath. He doesn't have anything against being out of control, but he wants to remember this. It's going to be a long six weeks before he sees Cougar again. When he looks at Cougar after a moment, there's a semi-patient amusement there, like he knows what Jensen's up to. "I just…" Jensen starts, and then decides the words really wouldn't mean anything. He leans forward and bites at Cougar's collarbone instead, just to the right of where he can still see Cougar's pulse, faster now, and stronger.

Cougar sucks in a quick breath, quiet, but Jensen's ear is right next to Cougar's throat and he can hear it clear as day. He licks his tongue over the spot before biting again. This time Cougar groans and Jensen bites a little harder, breathing in the smell of Cougar's skin, feeling Cougar's grip on his arms loosen and give, his hands falling back to his sides, like it's too much to keep track of them.

Jensen realizes, as he feels the give of Cougar's skin and muscle under his teeth, that he's straining to meet Cougar's shoulder. Suddenly he needs more and the hand that was on Cougar’s waist, steadying him, slides around to Cougar’s ass. Jensen yanks Cougar up at the same time he presses his hips up to meet Cougar’s. They’re jutting out diagonally from the wall, Jensen’s shoulders taking their weight and Cougar’s erection making itself felt through his jeans. Jensen moans, his mouth still on Cougar’s neck which is now easily within reach and warm against his lips, the musky smell of Cougar enough to make Jensen crazy even before Cougar shifts, stretching up on tiptoe and grabbing Jensen’s hips, rubbing his erection against Jensen's and shuddering.

“Shit, Cougs,” Jensen says, turning half-sideways so his hipbone juts up against Cougar, giving him something sharper to rub up against. Cougar takes advantage of it,resting his forehead against Jensen’s shoulder and jerking his hips against Jensen a couple more times. He’s breathing harder and faster now, Jensen can hear the ragged hitch as he breathes in and feel the way his chest expands, pressing into Jensen’s own. He can barely breathe himself.

His pocket buzzes and the sensation is so overwhelming he can't help lowering his hips back to the wall, Cougar slipping down his body on the way. The phone buzzes again and he bends forward at the waist, landing his head against Cougar's chest as he digs his phone out of its extremely uncomfortable place in his pocket. "Jesus."

He straightens up, fumbling with the phone, trying to figure out how to turn the damn thing off when he sees that it's Bucky. "Damn it."

Cougar looks down at the phone too, eyes a little glassy until he figures out who it is and scowls ferociously.

"I have to," Jensen says. "They're probably waiting on me so the bus can leave."

Cougar nods, leaning in and resting his forehead on Jensen's shoulder. Jensen clears his throat and picks up. "Yeah?"

"Hey man, we gotta go. We've got six hours on the road tonight."

Jensen sighs. "Your timing sucks."

Bucky laughs. "Hey, we gave you as much time as we could. Can't help it you're too slow to take advantage of it."

"Dude, it was like ten minutes!"

Bucky just laughs some more and says, "Hurry up. We're leaving in three minutes with or without you. And don't forget, Gabe wants to watch you chase after the bus."

Jensen rolls his eyes and hangs up without comment. Gabe's been trying to get their driver to leave without one of them since the tour started.

"You have no idea how sorry I am about this," Jensen says, resting his cheek against Cougar's hair. It's soft and smells good. "But I really have to go."

"I know," Cougar says, worming his arms around Jensen to give him a hug. "Six weeks."

"Yeah," Jensen says. "Six weeks."

He kisses Cougar a few more times just because, soft kisses like promises on his jaw and neck and shoulder. He ends up chasing after the bus, but he doesn't regret it.

~~~