Chapter Text
Jensen rolled to a stop in front of a large, two-story antebellum house and turned off the engine. This sleepy little corner of the world had seen a recent upswing in urbanites leaving the chaos of city life in lieu of quiet, country living. Most didn’t last long. Spotty internet and non-existent wifi coupled with a distinct lack of mainstream retail usually made them long for the creature comforts of broadband and Target within a year.
This home was for the decompression of a web designer from Charlotte and his Digital Marketing Executive wife. They’d purchased the derelict plantation house and were paying Jensen’s father’s construction company a small fortune to restore the “Gone with the Wind-esque” grandeur of the home – at least in theme. The materials being used in the remodel were more cost effective, modern reproductions – high-quality laminate flooring instead of hardwood and composite trim rather than real wood. The place had been in desperate need of some major TLC and, even in the beginning stages of the renovation, Jensen could tell it would be a beautiful home for the couple when it was finished.
He gave them six months before a Ryder truck was parked out front and they were running back to Charlotte.
Tilting his face skyward, his eyes slipped closed and he basked in the feel of the summer sun on his face. It had rained for the past two weeks and the first thing he did this morning when he woke up to warm, yellow rays was take the soft top off the Jeep. Grabbing the roll bar, he swung out and landed lightly on the ground with preternatural grace. He rounded to the back and lifted a stack of 1x4s out, easily slinging them up to his shoulder.
Weeds poked his feet as he crossed the unmanicured lawn, bees merrily buzzing and leafy boughs rustling in the gentle breeze. The air felt good, ruffled the humid heavy cotton of his tank top away from his sweaty skin.
He climbed the front stairs, eyes going from the flaking paint on the railing to the peeling paint on the massive ionic columns studding the porch. It hadn’t been the first time Craig decided to go on a weekend bender and show up the following Monday still reeking of cheap whisky and even cheaper perfume. There really wasn’t anything else to do but let him go. That put them short a painter on his job. Unfortunately, good painters were hard to come by and was the main reason Craig had been given so many chances. When he was sober, Craig was one of the best – fast, but meticulous. Jensen didn’t envy the search for a suitable replacement.
“You gonna just stand there and stare at the place or you gonna bring that lumber inside?”
Jensen scowled at Chris standing with his arms crossed over his chest, outlined by the massive front doorway. “Asshole,” he murmured lowly, barely refraining from making a rude hand gesture. You never knew when a client was making a surprise visit.
A broad grin lit Chris’ face in amusement, ears easily hearing the mumbled insult despite the distance. “Your Daddy know you use language like that?”
“Yeah,” Jensen snorted, “and he knows who taught it to me.” He shrugged his shoulder, jostling the wood. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“In here’s fine.” Jerking his head back toward the dark home, Chris turned on his heel and disappeared inside.
Jensen climbed the last few steps and followed his friend. He sighed in relief at the cool interior when he stepped into the foyer. The crew had all the windows open, monopolizing on the breeze, and the lights were off in an attempt to combat the sweltering temperature outside. Dust motes swirled on little eddies of air, dancing in the sunlight streaming in through the open panes. Sneezing violently as the particles tickled his sensitive nose, he dropped the stack of wood on the floor near the staircase.
“Hey! Watch it!” Chris scolded, glaring at the small dent in the drywall from the corner of one of the planks.
“Dorry.” Jensen rubbed his irritated and now running nose.
“I see our resident bull has finally arrived at the china shop.” Steve descended the stairs, a roll of blueprints peeking out from under his arm. Checking his watch, he smirked. “You know you could’ve just gotten that wood at the store. You didn’t have to go out and cut the trees yourself.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Jensen snapped. “I was at the lake when Dad called.” He indicated his swim trunks and flip flops, rolling his palm over his itching nose.
Steve nudged him, holding out a tissue. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Jensen blew his nose. “How do you keep it from affecting you?” He balled up the tissue and alley-ooped it into a nearby trash container.
“Get used to it, I guess.” Chris shrugged.
Steve toed through a pile of saw dust on the floor. “Be happy we aren’t cutting wood down here.”
“True.” Jensen took a deep breath through his recently cleared passages.
“Better now, princess?” Chris joked.
“Yes, thank you.” Batting his eyelashes, Jensen layered his voice with mock politeness.
The wind changed, the remains of the previous owner’s curtains on the west windows stilled and those draping the north windows began to flutter. Beneath the smell of dust and construction, a new scent wafted to Jensen. It washed away the age and disuse clinging to his nose, replacing it with youth and vitality. “What’s that…” He tipped his head toward the back of the house, nostrils flaring with each inhale in hopes of getting more of that tantalizing smell – sweet fruit, salty sweat, green leaves and something else.
“What’s what?”
A large hand clapped down on his shoulder and the normally companionable gesture elicited a deep, throaty growl as Jensen’s baser instincts perceived a challenge.
Chris snatched back his hand and regarded his friend with alarmed eyes.
“Dude! Heel!” Steve barked, equally surprised by the aggressive reaction. He’d known Jensen since they were pups – tussling in the grass and playfully nipping at each other’s ears and tails – and never once in a lifetime of friendship had he heard him growl like that.
Jensen blinked. He’d scared his friends. Their fear was palpable in the air, pushing out everything else and granting him enough clarity to come to his senses.
Chris laughed nervously, rubbing the retracted hand along the back of his neck. “Anyone who doesn’t believe you could run the Pack someday should have seen that. It would’ve cleared up any doubts.”
“It’s not funny, Chris,” Steve snapped, stepping closer to the long-haired man. “What was that, Jen?”
“No clue.” Jensen rubbed the side of his nose in embarrassment, disturbed by his friend’s protective stance. Though, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. “I’m really sorry.”
Chris moved next to Steve, his expression telegraphing exactly how much he didn’t enjoy being treated as a damsel-in-distress. Steve stiffened, but relaxed when Christ put a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
From the back of the house they could hear the crew talking about lunch, the door slamming as they went out to eat their meal.
“Anyway,” Chris segued breezily. “What were you asking before you went all knothead on us, Jenny?”
Jensen glared at the name. He took a tentative sniff, hoping to keep his reaction in check. The scent was still there, still entrancing, but fainter, like the memory of a dream upon waking. “Nothing,” he shook his head, “wasn’t important.”
Steve eyed him warily. “Didn’t seem like nothing,” he mumbled lowly.
Chris’ gaze volleyed between the two men. He knew Jensen hadn’t meant it, but could understand Steve’s protectiveness. Deciding a change of subject was needed, he pulled the blueprints from under Steve’s arm and leaned them up against the wall. “Come on, Jen. You gotta see what this crazy woman decided to do in the bathroom.”
Following the younger man toward the stairs, he exchanged a look with Steve and shrugged.
*****
“She actually asked for bone white tile with charcoal grout?” Jensen traced the lines of black separating the stark tiles, left side of his upper lip curling in disgust.
“Yep.” Chris gave the bathroom floor a skeptical look.
“Where on Earth did she get that idea?” Jensen turned his head sideways still unsure if he liked it or not and hoping a different angle would help him decide.
“Pinterest,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jensen bit back a smile. Steve’s feelings for the website and its influences on his design concepts were clear in his tone.
“Hey, Newbie!” A voice floated in through the open window, raised above the general noise of the crew enjoying their lunch. “Where you going? Don’t you know that lunch hour means you get an hour?”
“Leave him alone, Brian.” Jensen recognized Mike, but the bite to the words was unusual.
Frowning, he turned his attention to his friends. “What’s that about?”
“The crew ribbing the new painter.” Chris stepped over to the window and peered down at the group.
“Oh! You’ve already found Craig’s replacement?” Jensen was shocked. Apparently, the search wasn’t going to be as labor intensive as he thought.
“Yeah,” Chris nodded, “started a couple of days ago.”
Steve gave the tile one last reproachful glare. “Heck of a guy, too.” His expression brightened. “Just as good as Craig without all the drama. And, unlike some, when he has downtime, he tries to help the other crews. Yesterday, he laid floor with Mike and Tom while the trim in the dining room dried.”
“Huh.” It was a common problem. While everyone their father hired was good at what they did, they often didn’t play well with each other.
“Let’s head down. He’s working in the kitchen and I gotta show you the light fixture she picked out for over the island.” He leaned in, but whispered loud enough to be easily heard. “It’s made entirely out of rolling pins.” He ushered Jensen toward the stairs with a wave of his hand.
Looking back over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow. “Rolling pins? Really?”
“It’s inspirational.” Chris winked at him.
“Fucking Pinterest,” Steve muttered, darkly.
Jensen stopped and laughed at his friends, holding onto the rail to maintain his balance. Seeing Steve’s glower, he let his chuckles die quickly on a few deep breaths. Suddenly, every muscle in his body went tense, every nerve on alert in an ears perked reaction. Sweet fruit, salty sweat, green leaves and that something elusive.
Unblinking, he licked his lips. “What is that?” he breathed.
Taking in Jensen’s posture, both Steve and Chris stiffened defensively. “What’s what?” Sniffing the air, they tried to figure out what their friend was sensing.
“That scent.” Jensen leaned over the rail. “Can’t you smell it?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Steve took a long, deep inhale. “There’s like fifty million smells in this place.”
Jensen expanded his chest, drawing in as much as he could, mouth dropping open, wanting to taste the exquisiteness. “That!” Entranced, he slowly descended the stairs, letting the siren smell joyfully lead him to his death. It grew stronger as he navigated around ladders and supplies in the foyer, overwhelming his senses and blinding him to everything else including the two worried shadows trailing him.
He stopped in an archway at the end of the hall. Crouched beside the open pantry door on the other side of the room, carefully cutting in paint around the jamb was a young man clad in a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Jensen could see long, leanly muscled limbs and a strong back. Chestnut hair skirted his shirt collar and, when the boy turned to dip his brush in the can, his profile showed a pointed nose and defined cheekbones. “Who’s that?”
“That’s the new painter.”
Jensen’s heart raced. This boy was the origin of that smell. This close to the source it was strong, filling the room and bathing him in it, and for the first time Jensen understood the subtle underlying aroma.
His eyes went wide with realization. “He’s human?”
It wasn’t unheard of for humans to work on were-crews – weres and humans had been on equal footing longer than men and woman had been – but it was uncommon. Construction workers were typically strong personalities, on both sides of the spectrum, and pairing an alpha human type with Alpha wolves tended to cause friction.
“Yeah, he’s been working on Morgan’s crew since last year. JD’s getting set to retire and heard about Craig so he called and recommended the kid. Said he was the best painter he ever hired.” Chris ran his hand over the newly dried white enamel on the casing.
Jensen raised an impressed eyebrow. JD was usually stingy with praise so the kid must be pretty damn good. He took in the play of muscles as the boy manipulated the brush. A strong breeze swept through the kitchen, lifting the edges of the drop cloths on the floor and swaying the rolling pin eyesore hanging from the ceiling. The boy paused and dropped his chin to his chest, letting the air ruffle through the damp strands along his nape and cool the sweat slicking the underlying skin.
Jensen gripped the hems of his shorts, nails rasping against the material, as the scent slammed into him like a storm surge, flooding him with that irresistible smell, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in it.
“Jensen? You okay, man? You’re acting weird.”
He forced his eyes up and away. Steve was beside him, hands hovering in the space between them, apparently properly cautious after what had happened with Chris earlier. Jensen nodded stiffly, gaze drifting to the painter again before he jerked it back to his friends. “Fine,” he managed.
“You sure?” Chris’ blue eyes were filled with concern.
“Yeah.” Jensen shook his head and smiled. “Just feel a little off. Probably too much sun or got overheated or something.” He motioned toward the boy on the floor who seemed completely unaware of their presence or conversation. “You gonna introduce me?”
Chris watched him for another moment and Jensen let his smile go bright and cheesy. Snorting a laugh, Chris nodded. “Yeah.”
As they approached, Jensen could make out thin black wires snaking out from under the shaggy hair and over the kid’s shoulder, disappearing into his pocket. The barest trace of a melody surrounded him.
“Hey.” Steve gently touched the boy’s arm, causing him to jerk away and fall back on his ass. Hazel eyes stared up then dropped to the floorboards between splayed knees. The boy pulled an ancient looking MP3 player from his pocket, the case battered and display pixelated from abuse, and thumbed the silver power button, silencing the hint of music. He tugged on the black wires and a pair of earbuds dropped into his waiting hand. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, kindly. “If I worked around Brian so much, I’d find a way to drown him out, too.”
Hidden behind a fall of bangs, pink blossomed over a shy smile. “Was there something I could help you with?” The voice was quiet but held an unmistakable male timber. Jensen shivered.
“We wanted to introduce you to Walter’s son.” Steve clapped Jensen on the shoulder. “He’s around here a lot – dropping off supplies, sometimes lending a hand, but usually he’s just a general pain in the ass.”
Jensen twitched at the jab but didn’t respond, preoccupied with watching the boy stand up, long legs unfolding and body straightening to an impressive height.
“Jared, this is Jensen. Jensen, Jared.” Chris waved his hand from one to the other with the introduction.
The boy – Jared – rubbed his hands on his shorts, white paint streaking the material in the wake of each pass. A jerky motion shook bangs out of multi-colored eyes as a large hand filled the space between them. “Nice to meet you, Jensen.” The words were still soft and that shy smile was back, bringing with it a hint of dimples.
Jensen’s higher brain functions left – packed a bag and took a vacation – leaving his body to fend for itself. His arm drifted up, hand clasping the outstretched calloused one. A word, primal and possessive, rumbled to the forefront of his mind. Mine.