Pre-production parties generally served one purpose and one purpose only. They were ice breakers. Social wrecking balls. No matter how up-tight, closed, off or just plain clueless you were, there was nothing like half a bottle of Jose to even the playing field. If you were going to be stuck with the same people day in, day out, for nine months, you might as well start the way you mean to continue; with copious amounts of whiskey.

Jared was still working on Nepalese time, and his brain was telling him that short of a warm, squishy bed, marinating in Jack Daniels was a pretty awesome way to spend the night. He'd caught the redeye, changing three times, once in China, in LA, then Seattle, and had been awake for close to three days by the time he set foot on the front porch of JD's Vancouver based house.

Jet, evil motherfucker that he was, looked none the worse for wear.

Jared still wasn't sure why his mentor had decided to accompany him. Jet said it was to 'expand his horizons' and check out the skiing at Whistler. Jared privately thought it was to make sure he didn't go ape shit and beat the crap out of someone. Again.

Either way, the bastard was smiling serenely when the front door swung open, and Chad tackled Jared head on.

"DUUUUDE!" Chad yelled, on the road to intoxication already. He hit Jared, arms flailing, and practically bounced off his chest. Not put out in the slightest, he tried again and damn near climbed Jared like a tree. "Man, I knew you were still alive. Fuck, did you get taller? You got taller. I knew it. Asshole. Hey ROSEY, get ya' ass out here bitch, our boy's home."

Jared would be lying if he said he hadn't missed Chad just a little bit, and he hugged his friend fiercely. "Man, I missed you, douche!" he squeezed tight enough that Chad made a gagging sound, and Jared hastily pushed him back a step.

Just in time to get jumped by Michel Rosenbaum and what looked like the cast Playboy's latest feature.

Mike's sentiments were shockingly similar to Chad's. Lots of 'oh my gawd, he's alive! Someone call the Enquirer!' Jared smiled and hugged and accepted fond hair ruffles without so much as blinking. He couldn't understand how he'd lived with this madness for twenty two years. He couldn't understand how he'd lived without it for three.

Chad shoved a bottle of Bud in his hand and squared up to Jet, who was smiling serenely at the whole scene. "Dude, did you like, bring a ninja with you or something?" Chad asked, speaking to Jared out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yes Chad, Jet's a ninja." Jared nodded seriously.

Jet's smile flickered ever so slightly and Chad nodded, awed. "Awesome."

Chad bounded on back into the house, shouting at the top of his voice that "Jay and his Ninja Warrior were out front, someone crack open another keg."

"Ninja?" Jet asked, looking as annoyed as he ever did. Which really wasn't all that noticeable.

Jared shrugged, grinning. "You've won a fanboy. When Chad was growing up he wanted to be Bruce Lee. Or Donatello." He added.

"The painter?" Jet frowned.

"The turtle."

Jet made a tiny little 'oh' sound and followed Jared into the house. Mike threw his arm around Jared's shoulder and babbled in his ear a mile a minute. Have you seen Kane since his hair grew out? Watch out for Sophia, she caught Chad drooling down some chick's cleavage. JD might strangle you if he is left unsupervised. How about Jensen? Have you seen him yet? Wait, am I allowed to mention him?

Jared's jaw was somewhere around his knees when he was saved from an inhalation of flies by JD. "How was the flight, kid?"

Jet had spent the whole trip playing the Nintendo Jared had unearthed at the bottom of his backpack. With sound effects. Zen like behavior did not extend itself to the adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. "It was an experience." Jared announced diplomatically. Hopefully one he wouldn't repeat any time soon.

JD grunted, exactly the same as he was three years ago. "Yeah, well, make yourselves at home. Touch my scotch and I'll feed you to my goldfish." He clapped Jared on the back and moved on to the next guest.

So far all his reunions had been rather anticlimactic. Either his friends hadn't missed him at all, or they were the most well adapted people in the world.

Jared highly, highly doubted it was the later.

There was a third possible cause, and it all centered around the man standing at the foot of JD's staircase in the most atrocious pink and white flowery shirt Jared had ever seen.

Jensen had truly awful fashion sense.

Truly fucking -

Somehow he'd crossed the gap between them in a trance.

What did he say?! Should they kiss? Yes? No? No. Probably no. He looked Jensen up and down. Make that defiantly no. Apologize? Maybe he should apologize. Maybe find some eloquent way of explaining why he'd not so much skipped town as he had skipped hemispheres in order to avoid having this very conversation. Some sweeping gesture of undying devotion that would make Jensen less likely to want his head on a sharp stick. A poem maybe.

"Hi." He squeaked.

Or he could go and be a dork about it.

Jensen blinked and mimicked Jared slow body scan before drawing back his fist and landing one right between Jared's eyes.

"Not the face!" JD bellowed! "That shit's a bitch to cover up."

Jet made a soft sound of amused disgust and followed a pretty brunette into the kitchen whilst Jared doubled over and tried to reattach his nose. Ow.

Shit.

Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, Jared looked up, his eyes watering. "Okay, I deserved that." He admitted.

Jensen grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall, scaring away loitering party goers with a new and improves version of that pissy scowl of his.

At least Jensen was sparing him an audience for his bloody execution.

He pulled Jared into the den, kicked the door closed and crowded Jared back against the wall.

Jared swallowed, waiting to be disemboweled or decapitated, and was instead surprised to find Jensen practically climb him.

"Fucking kill you." Jensen grunted, before sealing his mouth over Jared's and stealing his surprised little squeak.

Jensen's nose bumped Jared's, still sore from their less than Hallmark greetings, and the tiny twinge of pain was enough to convince Jared that Jensen really was kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Even in his most farfetched fantasies, he'd not imagined that possibility.

Well he had, but only in the really obscured, X rated ones.

"Sex. Now." Jensen demanded, clawing at Jared's shirt desperately. Buttons finally gave way, and Jensen got his hands on the smooth, warm flesh below. Jared was fucking built, if he did say so himself. "Jesus, what the hell have you been doing for the past three years?"

"Crunches." Jared grunted, backing Jensen against the opposite wall. "Three years of crunches."

Jensen nodded absently, his hands flat on Jared's abs. "Oh." He said breathlessly, flailing a little as Jared hauled him up into the air and rammed him against the wall of Jeff's expensively decorated games room.

Jared mouthed at Jensen's throat, tasting salt and skin. "Fucking missed you," he hissed, rutting up against Jensen's thigh. "Gonna fuck you so good, babe."

"Don't," Jensen panted, clutching Jared's hair tightly, "Call me babe." Jared's laugh tickled the side of this throat. "Not-not a ta-talking fucking pig."

Jared let his feet brush the ground, and he was spinning Jensen around, pressing him up against the wall, his hands down the back of Jensen's jeans. "Sweetheart, darlin', sugar..." he put his mouth back on Jensen's throat, leaving bruises in soft, tender skin. "Stop me when you hear one you like."

He'd managed to get his thumbs to pop the buttons of Jensen's jeans by the time his brain caught up with him. This wasn't how he wanted their reunion to go. They were supposed to talk, sit down like rational adults and discuss things.

Obviously he was neither rational, nor an adult. One look at Jensen's face and he was groping and humping like a horny teenager.

Jensen should be protesting, ranting, calling him every name under the sun, not doing that thing with his hips. "Jensen, we shouldn't." He panted, hands pausing, curled around Jensen's hips.

Jensen shot him a dark look over his shoulder. "If you don't fuck me right now, I'll make you wish you'd never gotten on that plane."

Jared swallowed. An order was an order, right? He grabbed a hold of Jensen's jeans and tugged. Banana Republic fucking boxers. He pushed them down as well, palming the soft, firm skin of Jensen's ass.

"Condom." Jensen barked, gruffly, his voice down there in the gutter with Jared's brain. Shit.

"I don't-"

"Pocket. Back. Fucking hurry up already." Past experience taught him that when Jensen started using one word sentences, he needed to be a good soldier and get with the program. Fast.

Rummaging in Jensen's pocket put his cheek level with Jensen's ass. He dropped a sneaky kiss to the smooth skin and made a little sound of triumph when his fingers curled around foil.

"What about-?" Lube was always a good thing. He might have been stuck with his hand for the past three years, but he still remembered the basics.

Jensen was back to growling. "I'm not some blushing virgin, you bastard, now fuck me."

Jared tried to remember if Jensen had been this demanding when they had been together. Not really. Not that he recalled. Jensen had been more of a needy, desperate fuck, soft little noises that went straight to Jared's spine. He'd been more malleable, willing to let Jared lead. Jared wasn't sure if he missed that, and was too turned on to care.

Spit. Spit was good. He pinched the top of the condom, pleased to find it smooth and lubricated, and rolled it on, easy as riding a bike. Jensen braced his legs as wide apart as his jeans would allow, his back a smooth, arched line. Jared spit into his palm and felt for the small ring of muscle he'd known so well.

Keening as Jared's finger slid inside of him, it sounded like Jensen was dying. "Fuck. Fuck!"

No way would he last. One finger, then another. Jensen was hot, so fucking hot, and tighter than Jared had remembered him ever being. Christ, he'd missed sex.

"Now, Goddamnit." Jensen demanded. All Jared's lessons on patience and calm went headfirst out the window. He squeezed himself, pushing back the roll of pleasure crashing down on him. Lined up and pushed in, slow.

It must have hurt. It had to have hurt. Jensen was so fucking tight Jared could barely think. He curled a hand around Jensen's hip and wondered if he'd stopped breathing.

Jesus fuck he'd missed this. Not just the sex, though yeah, he'd sure as fuck gotten tired of his hand, but this. Them. Jensen.

Fingers curled around Jensen's hip, he set up a quick, short pace, fast and breathless. Jensen's head fell back against Jared's shoulders, his short hair warm where it brushed over the collar of Jared's shirt. "Fuck." He breathed, his swift short panting the only real sound louder than the soft slap of flesh. He tried to remember if Jensen had ever been this quiet before.

Jensen came damn near the second Jared wrapped a hand around his cock. The door to the den burst open, Mike and Chad stumbling over themselves and singing drunkenly.

"Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!" Jared howled, pushing in, buried deep in hot, tight flesh.

"Holy-" Chad's jaw dropped.

Mike finished the sentence for him. "-shitcakes!"

Jensen had practically plastered himself to the wall, held up only by Jared's hands. Jared was well aware that things looked a little...suspect.

Who the fuck was he kidding? He had his dick in Jensen's ass. You could step on past suspect and stamp a big, fat 'guilty' on their foreheads.

"Well that didn't take very long." JD drawled, stepping up behind Mike and peering over his shoulder.

So within an hour of landing he'd managed to break his nose, fuck his ex -and oh god, he'd do permanent damaged if he didn't come soon- and get caught in the act by two of the biggest gossips in town. And his new boss.

Smooth, Padalecki, real smooth.

Fuck it. He growled and pressed his forehead against the back of Jensen's neck, thrusting forward once and coming.

If anyone asked, this was all Jensen's fault.

He just had a hard on and, you know, tripped. Wrong place, wrong time...

That was his story, damnit.