Jensen has all sorts of problems. He needs a car with functional air conditioning, none of his houseplants survive past the first month, and Mulligan, his cat, has diabetes.

Up until Jared Padalecki moved into the one-story rental next door, Jensen had never considered his shyness to be a problem. He's worked from home since the software company let him go and Jensen's spent the last four years "not getting out much," as his sister would say. But, the day Jensen sat in his kitchen nook and watched as the bronzed epitome of his every fantasy unloaded boxes from a U-Haul, he cursed his inability to string together a coherent sentence in front of a stranger. If Jensen can't manage any interaction short of awkward with the UPS guy delivering packages to Jensen's door twice a week, there's no way he'll be able to face the suntanned God now living less than thirty feet away.

With a new neighbor, Jensen's work-from-home lifestyle becomes more entertaining. It's not stalking since Jensen never goes anywhere, but that doesn't mean he won't linger at a window if he can see Mr. Fantasy in his yard. On one unremarkable Thursday, the guy finally comes over and introduces himself. Jared Padalecki -- bar manager, extraordinaire -- really good to meet you, man. With a bright red flush that can't be blamed on spending too much time outside, Jensen stammers and listens to Jared's quick moving-in story. He's pretty sure he never explicitly tells Jared his name, but it's printed on his mailbox, so in the end it works out fine.

From then on, while Jensen's hiding behind his curtains, he's planning their potential interactions. In his head, things always go extremely well. Jensen will see Jared out mowing -- because he always mows on Saturdays, cloudy or sunny -- and he'll head out with a couple of cold beers. They'll talk, Jared laughing in that full, head-thrown-back way he has, as Jensen expertly retells one of the jokes he's printed out and memorized. Then he'll walk away, letting Jared check out his ass in the new jeans Jensen ordered from J. Crew.

Too bad it only goes that way in his head.

Jensen buys beer from a microbrewery, some brand that got five out of five stars on a connoisseur website. When the beer is chilled and perfect for the heat and humidity of a Texas afternoon, Jensen brings two bottles out when he sees Jared pushing his lawnmower back into the garage.

His feet are figuratively stuck to the concrete, eyes raking over every detail of Jared's body that he never gets to see from his windows. I thought you could use one of these. Say it! The words don't come out and Jared finally looks up.

"Hey, Jensen." Jared's smile does stupid, stupid things to Jensen's anatomy. His mouth forms an airtight seal and won't open back up, so he holds out the beers instead. The giddy little shivers running through Jensen's body grind to a halt and about face when Jared's grin falters and flattens out. "Oh. Sorry, man. Listen, I don't really drink, but thanks. I know, it's weird, working in a bar and not drinking, but it probably builds character, right? Do you want to --"

But Jensen's already turning around, cursing the beer and the stupid website that told him to buy it, and running back to his house. Jared doesn't drink. He doesn't drink. Jensen commits that to memory. Ten minutes later he sees Jared hanging out on his front stoop, rubbing his arm across his forehead and leaving sweaty streaks Jensen would love to see up close. Jared's head tilts towards Jensen's front window. Fuck. Probably waiting for Jensen to come back out, but he's too mortified to leave the house.

He considers moving out of the neighborhood, or at least never going outside again, but Jared proves too enticing. The way he walks, the way he moves -- Jensen can't stop watching whenever he gets a glimpse. Not to mention how carefree Jared seems, rolling around in his yard with his massive dogs, laughing loudly enough that Jensen hears it through his window and smiles.

Jensen swears their next meeting is going to be better. It has to be, because it's not as if Jensen could behave like more of a neanderthal. He meticulously plans this one down to the way he's going to say hello -- and the exact words he's going to use -- before Jared can mess it up with his stupidly sexy voice. Jensen crosses his yard with what he hopes is a confident stride, heart so loud it drowns his thoughts, to where Jared and his two dogs are sprawled messily across the grass, green blades reaching up to tickle Jared's cheeks.

"Jensen!" He sits up immediately. His dogs are much less interested in the newcomer invading their territory, only raising their big ears and snuffling.

"Hi, I wanted to see if you were --"

"I'm glad you came --"

They both stop talking in the same breath. Jared waves him on. "Seriously, go ahead."

Remember the plan. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," Jensen hesitates. "Like, okay in the house? Not health-wise okay, because I can see that you're fine and you look healthy, so --"

"Yeah." Jared's drawl lengthens the word until it stretches all the way across the awkward scene. "The house is good. I'm good."

"Good. You're good." Jensen's brain is pondering that. Jared looks really good. Legs long enough to wrap all the way around Jensen's waist if they were -- Wide palms Jensen has no trouble imagining grabbing onto his -- And his shoulders. Jensen's had many an afternoon delight fantasizing about Jared's broad, muscular, and impeccably toned --

"Jensen?"

How'd he miss Jared standing up and getting that close?

"Sorry!"

"It looked like you were a million miles away," Jared jokes.

More like fifty feet away, Jensen thinks. Over in his bedroom where Jared's tan skin would look amazing laid out against black sheets, and where Jensen's stammers won't matter.

"No, I was just thinking about, well, someone -- thing! Thinking about something."

Jensen's treated to a full show of dimples when Jared smiles. "You know, you're pretty cute when you're just thinking."

Like a rush of wind, Jensen's spinning around and dashing for his own front door. Twice now, Jensen's on a roll. He might have muttered some form of goodbye, but there's a good chance he ran off like an idiot. Shyness -- 2. Jensen -- 0.

After that, Jensen really starts resenting his sheltered personality. He Googles, "What to do when you're shy," and a thousand and one articles come up. He reads up on how to control your emotions, don't let them control you. Project confidence! Own the situation! And other trite cliches that don't mean anything. Jensen takes his dilemma to the message boards. Maven21 -- he says his name is Drew -- writes back that Jensen needs to give up on scripted conversations. Drew also suggests that Jensen "get J.P. drunk, LOL!" That way, whatever Jensen does manage to say won't sound so ridiculous. And, hey, if that doesn't work, Drew is totally up for a little cyber-action if Jensen gets lonely. Jensen stops reading what he has to say after that.

Five days and two more botched attempts at normal, human interaction later, Jensen throws in the towel and waves a white flag. Well, the white towel that hangs off his oven -- it's more of a private gesture of hopelessness. At least he amuses Jared, the timidly optimistic part of Jensen's brain decides. Jared smiles each and every time Jensen blushes and turns tail. Too bad entertainment value doesn't translate into romantic or, even better, sexual affection.

Next Saturday, before Jensen can formulate and throw-out another ill-conceived attempt at conversation (because as much as Jensen likes talking about his job, not everyone cares about the intricacies of blogging), there's a solid series of knocks at his door. Jared's there, the line of his fantastically carved shoulders under soft cotton filling Jensen's door frame.

His jaw drops, not that his brain can scrape together a decent sentence, but Jared holds up his hand. "You don't need to say anything."

Jensen's mouth audibly snaps shut.

"Look," Jared says. "I can't do this anymore. You come over and you can barely talk to me, and then you just stand there blushing -- God, yeah, like that."

Jensen's face is on fire but he the only heat he feels is from Jared's mouth when it crashes over his. Kissing -- holy fuck, Jared is kissing him. He needs to come with his own warning label so Jensen could be prepared because this is no ordinary kiss. Jensen, whenever he got to this point in his daydreams, settled for tentative first kisses, shy and hesitant. Jared sweeps that possibility off the table right away and Jensen doesn't miss it at all. The Kiss, now capitalized forever in Jensen's memory, is encompassing, ravishing, and other multi-syllable words Jensen will add on later when his tongue's not being flicked smoothly by Jared's

"I -- Jared, what -- I don't --" He only gets a few words out when Jared pulls back to breathe.

"That's the hottest thing about you." Jared works his mouth down over Jensen's throat, to that soft skin under his chin. "So fucking shy."

It's on Jensen's lips to be offended but Jared returns to kiss it away. After that it wouldn't matter if Jared called him an imbecile or completely ridiculous so long as it's followed with another Kiss.

"I get hit on all the fucking time," Jared hisses, his perfect teeth making a meal out of Jensen's lips. "Stupid pick up lines and guys just wanting to take me home and get me into bed..."

Jensen might be nodding. He might even be talking back but his brain has severed all connections with his body in a bid for self-preservation.

"But you --" Jared lays a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses across Jensen's jaw, up to his ear. Jensen's knees buckle when Jared's tongue slips along the curls of cartilage, wobbly joints barely taking his weight. "The way you blush and run away -- it's like I know you really like me." At that point, even if what Jared's saying makes no sense, Jensen's pretty sure he whimpers with every line Jared whispers in his ear. When Jensen's aroused, Jared's logic is impeccable. "It's so damn flattering, I just want to --"

Jared doesn't get to finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. Going completely off-script, Jensen hauls Jared the rest of the way inside his front door. He nearly collapses on top of Jared when they hit the dining room table. The impact does nothing to break them apart, Jensen's hands getting assertive in a way his voice cannot. This part he knows from a dozen jerk-off sessions spent thinking about what he'd do to Jared. It's remarkably easy to turn fantasy into reality when he's got the length of Jared's body rubbing against him, every sensation in Technicolor right in front of his face. Better than any jerk-off fantasy because he'd never known how soft Jared's lips were, or how there's no imaginary substitute for the span of Jared's palms across his back, fusing them together. Jensen pushes up on his tip-toes -- never thought the height difference would turn his crank -- making the kiss more equal, taking as much as he's giving.

Jared breaks off with a gasp. "Jesus, Jensen..."

"I -- sorry. Should I stop?"

"No." Jared yanks him back, tongue overtaking Jensen's mouth. "Absolutely not, no way. I want -- Jesus, I want everything. And, preferably, as soon as humanly possible."

"You -- my bedroom?" Jensen stammers, immediately feeling like his intentions will be misconstrued. He definitely -- definitely -- wants to have sex with Jared right now. But he also wants to have sex with Jared tomorrow morning, and a hundred days from now. "Sorry. You said, about getting you into bed. I don't -- I mean -- will you?"

"Sleep with you?" Jared gasps. "Yeah -- hell yeah. Been waiting for you to ask me out, but this works just fine."

"I couldn't ask."

"I know," Jared grins softly. "But it doesn't matter anymore. Now, which way to the bedroom?"

Jensen can barely lift his arm towards the back of the house before he's grabbed and dragged in that direction. The sight of Jared on the dark sheets is better than Jensen ever pictured, more so when Jared pulls him down.

"No need to be shy now," he whispers, mouth back at the weak point he'd discovered beneath Jensen's ear.

"I --" Jensen can't help but blush even with his dick demanding the majority of his blood supply.

"Fuck, still so hot."

Another kiss, and Jared enthusiastically dedicates the next few hours learning just how far down Jensen's blush can go, while Jensen teaches him all of the ways in which conversation is superfluous. No more envisioning encounters in his head, Jensen can't think of a better ending than this.



FIN.