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Some sweet Jarrich to start your week off right, by the very talented @darwinthemonkey-art (NSFW!). Click through for full size.

“Oh, Richard, look, I didn’t even know Le Creuset made a deviled egg tray!”

Richard took in his partner’s giddy smile, then glanced at the price tag. “Jared, this thing costs $70–can it be used for anything other than displaying weird egg snacks?” Jared set down the tray, but his enthusiastic smile remained undimmed. “Let’s focus on picking a pattern for tableware… you said you wanted a botanical theme, right?”

Jared nodded, but his attention was quickly captured by a store employee moving a display off in the distance. “Oh,” he breathed, “my goodness. Oh gosh. Richard. We could order a chicken coop. Look at all the features–” He started to make a beeline for the display. Richard grabbed his sleeve, a little desperate. 

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” he tried. “We agreed we would do the registry stuff and then look at the rest of the store afterwards, remember?”

“I know,” Jared said, momentarily subdued. Then his eyes brightened again. “It’s just…” He clasped Richard’s hand. “This is just so exciting. Putting together a home with you. Choosing something that’ll be special, just for us.” His cheeks flushed a little. “It’s so… oh, Richard. I feel so incredibly lucky to be here with you.”

“What, at the mall?” Richard was skeptical. He had a limited tolerance for brick-and-mortar shopping.

“Silly–being together with you, anywhere. Everywhere.” Jared’s smile deepened. “I love you so much. But also, specifically, yes, being here in the cookware aisle of Williams-Sonoma with you–there’s something just… It feels so intimate, so romantic, so… rousing…” He swallowed. Richard watched his throat bob. “Actually, maybe we should… talk about our budget. Outside. In the car.”

“But we spent three hours last night putting it together–” Richard protested, then reconsidered when he saw the shine in Jared’s eyes and the high spots of color on his cheeks. “Oh! The budget. I, um–yes. Let’s, uh. In the car.”

*

Twenty minutes later, Jared was deep in excited conversation with a retail associate, happily considering the merits of porcelain versus stoneware. He looked remarkably unruffled, unlike his fiancé, who looked unmistakably like he had just gotten a blowjob in the back of a Chevy Volt. Richard stood back as Jared debated the purchase of a small cow creamer, trying to surreptitiously un-wrinkle his buttondown and smooth down his hair (he never quite understood how he was the one who always wound up looking debauched when he had his dick down Jared’s throat and both hands fisted in his smooth dark hair). Then Jared turned to him.

“I don’t know,” Jared sighed, “maybe it’s just too whimsical for everyday use.” He mimed pouring cream from the small cow into a cup of tea, then set it back on the counter. Before he could second-guess himself, Richard snatched it back up. 

Another old prompt! This one is only two months late.

–

Six days, Jared thought, getting ready to turn in for the night.

Six days since Richard went back to the hostel.

That was how Jared liked to think of it. It was less sad than thinking, six days since Richard went home.

After Jared signed the lease on this place, he’d gone out to his car, alone, and wept. My own home!, he’d thought, sobbing brazenly with fear and joy and gratitude. He’d allowed himself - just once - to feel triumphant, to exult in the splendor life had granted him, all the very things he never thought he’d get.

A place to himself. Jared could decorate as he wished, listen to Bonnie Raitt as loud as he desired. He could lounge around the place in just his fun socks and his bathrobe. When he was alone, Jared could be who he was, not what people wanted from him. A pile of desires in the shape of an oddly-shaped man.

Of course, Jared knew, it hadn’t quite turned out the way he hoped it would. There’d been the squatter, those cold nights spent in the garage, and heaven knew what happened to his sister’s ashes. But there’d been luck, too, and kindness, and dear, generous Richard offering a place on his bedroom floor, like a knight leading Jared to the palace.

How delighted he’d been to repay the favor! 

That was all over now, though. Now his condo felt too quiet. Jared wondered if it was possible that there could be extra empty space here now, space there never was before, in the spots where Richard and his things had been. His telescope, his cheap shampoo, his sweaters and his sweatshirts, replaced by a dark, hungry void.

It wouldn’t hurt to just - one phone call - just to check in, to make sure Richard wasn’t spending another night locked in a Starbucks bathroom. He told himself it was what any decent COO would do. 

Jared reached for his phone. He was just about to dial when -

“Richard?” Jared picked up, his brow furrowed with concern, already calculating and accounting for disaster. Loss moved at the speed of light. “Is everything - ”

“Yeah, yeah. This is dumb but NOVA’s on and I was thinking about how we - wondering if you were - are you, uh - heh. I was kinda just calling to say hi.”

“Well, hi!” Jared waved, stupidly.

This day is just honestly life gooooals, amirite?***“Shh, shhhhh.” Jared soothes against the nape of Richard’s neck.

#32, in a way I can’t return

This is also sort of for @itsevidentvery who requested “on a post-it note.”

–

Richard isnʼt sure what Jared means when Jared says, “I love you.” He throws those words around - slapdash, haphazard - like they mean almost nothing at all.

Today Richard finds them scribbled on a post-it, tucked into his carefully-packed lunch bag. And again, this evening, printed neatly in the corner of his whiteboard. Jared’s handwriting, of course. Who else’s?

“Good work today, Richard,” Jared says, lingering too long - the way he always does - in his office doorway. “You’re really getting the hang of motivating this new team of yours. I love you.”

Richard canʼt say “I love you” back. Not all casual like that. Not the way Jared blurts it out, like itʼs any other polite pleasantry. Jared loves him the way his mother loves him, maybe: despite everything. But the way Richard loves Jared - if that’s what this is - is too big for that. The way Richard loves Jared comes with a need to possess.

Jaredʼs love, Richard thinks, is like a spotlight. He can - and does - swivel it in any direction, and whoever heʼs currently pointing it at is illuminated by the light of, like, a thousand fiery suns. Jared is careless with his light sometimes. Heʼll shine it on anyone. (Even you, a disbelieving voice in Richardʼs head says.) I mean. Right? Itʼs like. Jared fucks a different girl every night. 

Richard wants to say “I love you” back, but the way he means it is so much bigger, so much scarier, than the way that Jared does. 

Ugh this isn’t very good so I apologise. I stewed for daystrying to come up with something half-decent or original, but…

Am I interested?! Heck yeah I’m interested. I hope this is alright and that you were okay with it being rather explicit because this is?

–

“Let me,” says Jared. “Sweetheart, let me,” as he rolls Richard onto his stomach, and Richard folds his arms up, and tucks his hot, blushing face between them. 

Oh boy, a challenge!!! Thank you. I sort of struggled with this one but I hope that it’s alright.

–

It was supposed to be a good thing, that Jared express his anger. He was supposed to be learning to “tolerate difficult emotions with support.” But if it was such a good thing, Jared wondered, why did it make him feel so miserable?

He’d sequestered himself to the bedroom, alone, away from Richard, where he felt that he belonged. And oh, the terrible shame he felt at having raised his voice to his beloved! Sure that now Richard would leave him, that his anger rendered him unpartnerable. So much worse than whatever it was heʼd been angry about.

Jared wanted to cry. He often did, after high-octane emotional moments, as if holding his feelings was simply impossible; somehow they had to leak out. He turned his Crying Playlist up so that Richard wouldn’t hear him, perched on the edge of the bed, held his face in his hands, and wept. 

Silent all these years, sang Tori Amos.

When Jared had cried himself dry, when Jared had cried himself hoarse, when Jared had cried himself weak and limp and wrung-out as a ragdoll, he ventured a peek out the bedroom door—just to check, he thought—not because he would be so presumptuous as to expect he’d still find Richard in the living room. Not because he thought that he deserved that.

To Jaredʼs surprise, Richard was waiting right outside the bedroom.

“Oh! Richard! Apologies. Did I hit you with the door? Oh goodness. I thought surely you would’ve gone by now.”

Richard eyed him strangely, thoughtfully. “Gone? Where?”

“You know.” Jared felt almost ashamed to say it. His voice was small, ragged from crying. “Left me.”

“You - wait, listen, can I come in?”

They sat down on the bed together. Richard put his hand on Jared’s hand.

I wish I had a river I could skate away on, sang Joni Mitchell.

“I hate that you think I’m going to stop loving you,” Richard said. He pouted a little, wounded, and it hurt Jaredʼs heart. “Iʼm not.”

Jared nodded. He didn’t want to doubt or insult Richard, but it was still just so hard to believe.

“Itʼs okay to get mad at me sometimes. I mean, itʼd actually be weirder if you didnʼt.”

And Jared almost laughed. And Richard asked if he could kiss him.

And the songbirds keep singing, Christine McVie sang.

Richardʼs hand on his hand. Richard’s mouth on his mouth, in sloppy, snotty, searching, open-mouthed kisses. Their clothes melted away and Jared felt like he was melting, too, as he sank down into the mattress.

He thought he didn’t have a tear left to cry but suddenly, somehow, Jared was crying. Thick, heavy sobs into his sweet-smelling pillowcases as Richard kissed a path down his spine to his tailbone, like each one of his vertebrae was something Richard treasured.

“Are you - ? Should I stop?”

No, Jared cried, and he begged to be touched, begged to be kissed, begged to be held, begged to be tied up and kept and eaten and opened. He begged to be chastened, forgiven, to be told he was loved, and he begged to be marked, for Richardʼs sharp teeth and stinging palm on him.

Just let me try and I will be good to you, Sarah McLachlan sang.

I do know who, and I loved this prompt so so much. I’m so sorry this…isn’t very much of anything. What it is, is Feelings Vomit With A Soupcon of Fingering.

‘I missed you’. All right, nonnie, you know what? You maynot have wanted overlong schmoop, butthat is what is coming down the pike atcha. I am sorry. Though also not.

[Jared Dunn]

So the nested dependencies turned out to be a non-issue?

[Richard Hendricks]

Yeah fine now

[Jared Dunn]

That’s wonderful. So I can mark this deliverable ascomplete?

[Richard Hendricks]

When you come back

[Richard Hendricks]

When are you back

[Jared Dunn]

In four days. I’ll come straight in to work from theairport.

[Richard Hendricks]

OK

[Richard Hendricks]

How are you

Jared considers the message. It’s possible that Richard’sjust asking to be polite, that he knows that it is expected of people in asexual relationship (and Jared still glows at that thought) to be interested inthe other’s day. But also, Jared knows how the vagaries of polite intercourse(in the social sense – their sexual relationship is quite frequently satisfyingly impolite) can tax his Captain. And itis terribly important that Richard not be taxed right now. The platform is atan incredibly delicate juncture. Richard’s beautiful mind is scanning billionsof permutations and combinations for possible errors, cracks, fissures in thesystem.

Not to mention the fact that Jared is currently away at aconference, which means that Richard needs to keep an eye on Dinesh andGilfoyle and at least an occasional thought to the incidental fires(metaphorical and literal) that it is Jared’s privilege to fight for him.

No, better not. He’s just about to type ‘Fine. I’ll let yougo.’ when he sees another message.

[Richard Hendricks]

Jared?

Jared looks at the message and swallows. He doesn’t like toask – to presume. But perhaps, he thinks, he is allowed simply to say.

[Jared Dunn]

I miss you.

[Richard Hendricks]

…

Jared stares at his screen, at the ellipsis that stubbornlyrefuses to resolve itself into words – any words – for the next hour, twohours, three, after which Jared puts his phone away because he has to be on tomorrow. For Pied Piper.

He even manages to sleep. He wills himself to ignore hisphone. He’s another Jared – a Jared who never sought to explain himself, thedeclarative that is as good as a demand – a Jared who never kissed Richard, neverknew the feeling of his skin under his palms, the sweet imploring noises hemakes, how beautifully wrecked he is when he comes. If that’s what it takes.

It works. He’s very good at retracing pathways, it’s what hedoes, pressing together the breadcrumbs of all his past selves and fashioninghimself into the most recent version that was of use.

So when there’s a knock at his hotel room door, and Richard’sstanding outside, he is not altogether prepared.

He is not altogether prepared for Richard’s huge, wide eyes,staring at him like a starving man being shown a feast.

He is not altogether prepared for the way his own body takesover, holding out his arms, or for the strangled sound Richard makes as theycome together.

He is not altogether prepared – having done so well toforget – for the brush of Richard’s curls against him, for the sweetness ofthat thin, constantly-bitten lower lip, for Richard’s trembling hands on hisface, for his wondering, pleading ‘Jared’.He is not altogether prepared – but isaltogether unsurprised – for how importunate his Captain is, clawing at hisass, chasing his cock, fucking himself up and down so feverishly that Jaredfears he’ll hurt himself.

He is not altogether prepared for the prayerful ‘Jared’ withwhich Richard comes.