dugindeep | J2 | And They Call It Puppy Love (2/2)

Part Three

Sadly, Jensen is informed that it’s more about letters and numbers than black and white keys. He also finds out that he’s not well-adept to retail, customer service, or executive assistance. The local high school is less picky in his abilities to clean, but Jensen’s not ready to hang it all up for a mop and pail.

Over the next few months, he spends his days walking their twenty dogs in shifts. Not only because managing twenty different leashes requires patience Jensen doesn’t have much of lately, but because Anastasia doesn’t care much for Harry and Tom’s excitable natures. Learning the hard way, Jensen had spent weeks fussing down Sixth Street as the high-maintenance girl barked and growled her displeasure.

Jensen likes to blame her attitude on Jared giving her such an ostentatious name. Jared then blames Jensen for dumbing down half the litter with more generic names like Steve, Eddie, Otis, and Lazy Eight (who Jensen thinks Jared secretly adores most).

(As Jensen remembers the day the puppies were born, Jared had tossed out a half dozen names and after that, they both ran out of steam and just went with the next list that ran from Jensen’s mouth.)

Either way, the real issue at play these days is Jensen’s inability to bring home a paycheck and Jared’s new schedule to overwork himself to the point of absence and exhaustion by putting in far too many hours at the bakery. Jared’s gone before dawn and home long after dusk, leaving Jensen to feel like an abandoned house wife.

One Thursday afternoon, Jensen comes back from walk number two to find Jared face down on their bed, snores echoing in the tiny space.

A quick thrill runs through Jensen’s system at seeing Jared in the daytime; he’s not sure when last it happened, to be honest. Once Jensen detangles the leashes of Anastasia, Cinnamon, Cocoa, Ginger, and Ted, he joins Jared on the bed and immediately kisses up Jared’s neck.

Jared groggily shifts to his side and barely blinks awake, but Jensen doesn’t care; he straddles Jared’s lap and lavishes his face in kisses once more, mumbling miss you and so happy you’re home among other random declarations. Jared seems disoriented when his hands come up to Jensen’s shoulders and he tries to reply, but Jensen’s tongue is down his throat, so it’s a bit difficult, one could imagine.

Just as Jensen rocks his hips against Jared’s, there’s a tiny groan, and Jensen smiles as he does it again. Except now the response is a yip and a groan followed by a growl, and moments later, the bed is full of twenty puppies who, based on their loud chatter and excessive jumping around, don’t seem to appreciate what Jensen is doing to Jared.

“Why are they so angry?” Jensen asks as he quickly sits up.

Jared sits up as well and they keep their arms wrapped around one another as if they need to save themselves from their pups. “I don’t know, man, but they’re angry about something.”

The pups join in the center of the mattress where Jensen and Jared had been. “Angry about us or the bed?”

Jared shrugs as he looks at Jensen. “I don’t know, but that’s freaking weird.”

Seconds later, Sasha and Max jump onto the bed and curl themselves around the huddle of their children. Jensen and Jared each make a soft noise of recognition, and Jensen has to admit it’s admirable to watch. “I think we just lost our bed.”

“We lost it a long time ago,” Jared replies with a soft laugh.

Jensen lightly shakes Jared’s shoulders and grins at him. “So what are you doing here anyway?”

Returning the grin, Jared lightly jostles Jensen right back. “I live here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I almost did. I’d forgotten what you looked like when you’re awake,” he points out in a leading tone, gently pulling at the skin around Jared’s eyes. Then he tugs at Jared’s lower lip before shaping it back into a wide-open smile. “Or when you’re capable of speech or even smiling.”

“I know, I know,” Jared replies softly, still smiling, though sadly now. “I’ve missed you and all these crazy guys, too.”

“Okay, no more guilt trips,” Jensen says firmly. “You are home, and we’re going to do normal things together. Like walk the dogs and eat dinner at the same table and have sex. Lots of that last one.”

Jared chuckles and squeezes Jensen’s ass. “I would really love all of those things, but I was just napping before I have to work.”

Jensen’s face promptly drops. “You’re going back to work?”

“No, and that’s the good news! Remember Mrs. Anderson who sends all her bridge club ladies to the bakery? She has those Doberman pinchers?”

Jensen scowls. “You mean the retched woman down on Eighth Street who cackles as her monsters taunt our babies.”

Jared makes a face. “Well, no, I mean, I guess. I don’t know that she does that … but anyway!” he says abruptly, voice going bright. Mrs. Anderson hired me to cater her ladies’ bridge tournament tomorrow morning. So I’m baking here.”

In a flash, Jensen’s stomach growls at the thought of the luscious smells that will soon be filling their tiny apartment. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s responsible for nearly half my regular business after sending all her friends to the shop. I figure I can at least repay her with a few hundred cupcakes.”

“How big is this bridge club?” Jensen asks warily, because now he’s concerned about how Jared will actually get this done.

“Big enough that we’ll finally catch up on a few bills,” Jared replies, a tiny bit of hope to soften Jensen’s skepticism.

He didn’t need the hope, because Jensen is immediately excited to receive a few less red-stamped letters. “Do you need an assistant?”

That is how Jensen and Jared end up in a kitchen with every surface taken by flour, cream, sugar, and all the other fixings that Jensen doesn’t know well, but mixes as Jared instructs. It’s a simple task to man the Kitchen Aid mixer and keep the batter going; Jensen had once thought the machine was far too big a splurge, but he’s appreciating it now. Jared’s role, however, is more of artiste as he perfectly swirls colored frosting over the tops of each cupcake and cuts out hundreds of fondant shapes – cherries for the Mon Cherie Cordial, stars for the Lemon Burst, and hearts for the Double Chocolate Sweetheart.

Jensen thinks back on the day Jared had tested out the double chocolate treat, and how Jensen’s mind had floated off to heavenly places as the white chocolate frosting melted on his tongue just moments before the moist milk chocolate cake and filling came through.

As Jared mixes up another batch of the white chocolate frosting, Jensen leans against his back and kisses his shoulder. “I ever tell you that one’s my favorite.”

Jared smiles from over his shoulder, dips a finger into the frosting, and brings it up for Jensen to lick off. Which Jensen does with great style, tongue sweeping over Jared’s finger, curling around the knuckles, and slipping off with a tiny pop. It’s better this time, richer and smoother, and then there’s a salty note of Jared’s own skin.

Jensen hums in satisfaction then lets out a quite undignified squawk when Jared spins, grabs him by the back of his thighs, and lifts and carries Jensen to the counter. Bowls and cupcake pans rattle around, but Jensen feels only slightly bad because he has Jared’s hands up the back of his shirt and most of Jared’s body pressed up against his.

It’s been a while. An incredibly long while. And not even just because they’re men who are incredible in tune with one another and used to have an exceptionally healthy sex life that meant they were constantly late to, like, everything. It’s just been a really long fucking time for any couple, and Jensen isn’t about to waste it.

They scrabble to get even closer at this angle, with all the kitchen supplies in their way. They moan when it works and whine when it doesn’t. Jared finally gets Jensen’s jeans open and a hand on his dick, and Jensen groans and fusses around on the counter for stability as his ass is hanging off the edge just so Jared can line their dicks up together and stroke with his giant hand.

At the front of his mind is the touch of Jared’s callouses, now slick with cream and frosting on them. He’s also too aware of the hot breaths Jared is panting against his mouth as they are both too consumed by heat and want to kiss properly. He knows that after all this time apart, it won’t take long for either of them, and neither seem interested in slowing down to do this proper. There’s something delightfully crazy about fucking Jared’s hand in the kitchen, right in the middle of their shared baking.

And yet, Jensen is distantly conscious of his hands running along the cupboards to his left. In an attempt to hold on for dear life, just as his orgasm is about to hit him, he knows that he knocks over a canister of the puppy treats Jared had concocted a few weeks ago. With a quick glance to the side, Jensen sees that chunks of peanut butter bones fall into the mixer, a batch of crumbles dusting the top, and Jensen tells himself to toss that batch out once they’re done.

Instead of filing that thought away in the long-term memory bank, Jensen feels his skin tighten up all over and Jared’s hand jerks faster as his pants come out sharper. Jensen wraps his hand around Jared’s and they fuck together, pressing their lips and tongues together, sharing the same hot air. Moments later, Jared breaks, shooting over Jensen’s hand and pressing his forehead to Jensen’s.

Jared’s hand goes slack but Jensen keeps moving it with his own, loving the feel of Jared’s long hand on him. That thought alone is enough to tip him over, and he orgasms with a shocked shout.

“Well now,” Jared mumbles a few minutes later, “That was—”

“Surprising,” Jensen finishes.

“I was going to say good.”

Jensen smiles. “Yes, yours was better.”

Jared drops a wet kiss to Jensen’s cheek then stretches with a satisfied sigh. Jensen does as well, but they both pout when they realize the mess they’ve made of one another and the kitchen counters.

Unhappy and now boneless, they get to cleaning up before going back to work.

Jensen wakes to a shout. Not his own, which feels more surprising than actually being woken up from a heavenly dream that included chocolate fountains and cherries raining from the sky.

He’s reminded of the late hours he and Jared spent finishing up the 500 cupcakes, all perfectly dressed in playful colors and fondant toppers. It’s now eight in the morning and the sun is blaring through the window, but Jensen is prepared to go right back to sleep when there is another shout.

The sleepy fog melts away and Jensen now recognizes Jared’s bellowing from the kitchen. Jensen stumbles out of bed, tripping over blankets then narrowly missing Cinnamon and Brownie huddled together near the doorway.

When he makes it to the kitchen, he doesn’t have to ask what the matter is or what he can do to fix it. He knows the first answer, but the second is absolutely out of his hands because he can clearly see that the kitchen has been obliterated to a hazard of cupcake crumbles and a smattering of frosted paw prints, yet has no clue how he and Jared could replace more than half of the cupcakes in the two hours before Jared must make the delivery.

“I can’t – they done – the cakes – what – how?” Jared stutters out, and Jensen’s brain is working about as well right now.

Along with any smart thought, Jensen’s stomach has dropped down into his toes. He is certain he is about as wrecked as Jared is at this moment, and not just for sympathy, or because Jensen contributed to the hard work as well. But because this is just one more setback to their livelihood, another reason their litter of twenty has become a greater burden than either of them had ever imagined.

There’s a soft whimper behind them and Jensen turns to see Sasha nudging Eddie front and center, like he’s on trial. Eddie cowers to the ground and just barely makes eye contact before flattening himself to the carpet and covering his face with one polka-dotted paw.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jensen finds Jared appearing absolutely broken, so he sweeps Eddie up and heads back to the bedroom, patting Sasha’s side to follow. He sits in the middle of the bed, inspects Eddie’s cherry-frosted paws, then lightly swats the dog’s nose.

“Bad pup,” he tries to discipline, but he can’t even be that harsh on him. It was the humans who were stupid enough to imagine they could leave dozens upon dozens of baked goods in the kitchen, unwatched for hours, and expect them to all be as they were.

Seconds later, there’s another whimper and groan and Max is walking out of the closet with Anastasia hanging from his jowls.

Jensen gasps, seeing Jared’s favorite little girl covered in lemon cream. “Oh, Ana, he’s gonna kill you.”

When he hears Jared’s footsteps nearing the bedroom, Jensen jumps ups to shoo Max and Anastasia back into the closet. He slams the door shut just before Jared’s sad eyes meet his.

“I think I can salvage about two hundred,” Jared says with a pathetic flap of his arms.

“That’s good!” Jensen says energetically.

“It’s not even half.”

Jensen pouts along with Jared then scowls at Ginger, mouth riddled with chocolate cake crumbles, trying to curl around Jared’s ankle. He quickly scoops her up, wipes her mouth, and tucks her into the crook of his arm to keep Jared from spying any other food on her. She’s Jared’s second favorite, and for all that Jensen side-eyes the precocious girl, he’s not about to let Jared see evidence of the whole debacle.

“You go salvage as many little cakes as you can,” Jensen insists, squeezing Jared’s shoulder. “And I’ll round up all the dogs in the bedroom to keep them out of your hair.”

Jared mumbles okay and slowly heads back to the kitchen to save whatever is possible.

Jensen sighs as he looks down at Ginger, who paws at his chin then licks his nose. “You’re not helping,” he insists, but she doesn’t seem to care, licking at his jaw and neck.

Following an evening walk with the few pups who seemed clean of any bakery disasters, Jensen returns home to even worse shouting than he had woken to that morning.

“And not only did you not provide the agreed-upon amount of cupcakes!” Some woman with a giant greying bouffant in a milky white fur coat and extravagant pearls is yelling at Jared, and Jared seems to be trying to get a word in, but she’s not letting him. “But you sent over an alarming amount that were riddled with disgusting little nuggets!”

“I am really sorry, Mrs. Ander-”

“Can you imagine the horror?!” she wails. “Having Priscilla Prince and Samantha Slade and Bethany Booth there to see that I can’t properly host a simple bridge tournament! Everyone around town will now be talking about how awful Agatha Anderson’s parties are, and how she goes to people who serve dog food. I never!.”

Jensen watches from the front door as Jared tries to respectfully argue, “It wasn’t dog food, Mrs. Anderson, it was-”

“It was dog food, you idiot!” she shouts, furry strands at the cuffs of her coat flittering about. “My dogs ate them all right off the tables! It’s like there was a blinking sign proclaiming – dog food, right here.”

Just then, Jensen has a vision. It includes he and Jared in a very compromising position last night, but that’s not the important part. No, not at all. The important part is when Jensen had reached for the cupboards to hold on for dear life and he remembered knocking dog treats right into a few bowls of batter. Sadly, he also remembers briefly telling himself to clean out the batter – or dump the entire batch – and yet he had not done either of those things.

“Mrs. Anderson,” Jensen says then clears his throat when she grants him a nasty glare. “If you don’t mind …”

Ice blue eyes bore into Jensen’s soul, he thinks. That or he’s feeling a mad case of indigestion for other reasons. “I do so mind. Now my reputation is tarnished and no one will want to attend any more of my parties. No one will come by for a casual tea! Who are you, anyway?”

“This is my partner, Jensen,” Jared replies, standing tall with more strength in his voice than Jensen has heard since the night before. “And you will not speak to him the same as you speak to me.”

Jensen is certain he can stand up for himself, but he’s touched all the same that Jared is attempting to honor him. “You shouldn’t speak to any of us like anything,” Jensen insists to scary woman, who he is now most certain has enjoyed months of her Doberman pinchers terrorizing their pups. “And it isn’t Jared’s fault.”

“No, Jensen, it is,” Jared insists.

“No, Jared, it’s mine,” Jensen admits with a sad look to Jared. “I knocked over the peanut butter truffle bones into the mix and forgot to make sure we cleaned them out. Of course the puppies got into them overnight and Mrs. Anderson’s dogs gobbled them up today. It’s all my fault.” Jensen turns to Mrs. Anderson and somehow she seems less menacing than before, yet just as judgmental. “So, please, don’t blame Jared. Blame me. I did it.”

There is complete silence and Jensen is completely unnerved by it. He’s unsure if it’s better than the shouting he’d walked into.

Jared is still staring at him, though Jensen cannot return his gaze. Jensen’s eyes flit around the room and only barely meet Jared’s. He cannot bear to consider what has really happened here. He’s ruined Jared’s reputation, his customer relationships, and the bakery with one stupid forgotten moment.

Mrs. Anderson clears her throat and flaps the sides of her coat closed. “Well. You are quite admirable, yet also very stupid to have done such a thing.” She rolls her eyes from Jensen to Jared and clears her throat again. “I am so sorry for you to have been ruined like this. You were quite the baker, Mr. Jared.”

With that, she sweeps out of the room and likely forever from their lives.

Jensen releases a long breath and dares to finally look Jared square in the eye.

“Jensen,” he whispers.

Jensen frowns, casting his eyes away from Jared’s sad face. “I know, Jared. I know.”

“How could you do that?” Jared asks, coming closer.

“It’s just that … we were in the middle of the thing and I hit the stuff and then you know what … I’d forgotten all about them.”

“No, how could you tell her you did it? Jensen, this is my bakery. You can’t take that kind of heat for me. Let me fail on my own.”

Jensen meets Jared’s gaze with a mutual dose of miserableness. “I can’t let you fail on your own when it was my fault.”

“This is all very pathetic,” Jared says with a light laugh. “We’re arguing over whose fault it isn’t. Normally it’s the other way around.”

Jensen does not laugh. He holds onto Jared’s hands and squeezes with all the power he has. “I am so very, very, very, very sorry.”

“That’s a lot of sorry.” Jared leans forward and softly kisses Jensen, then bops their noses together. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not good, but it is what it is. We’ll just figure out a way out of this mess.”

Just then, there’s a tiny squeak, and they both look to Anastasia, Eddie, and Ginger at threshold to the kitchen. The three pups are huddled together with guilty, drooped eyes. Anastasia steps forward and nudges a treat with her nose then nods at them. Jensen recognizes the corner of a peanut butter truffle dog bone and acknowledges her apology in the gesture.

He also sees a bit of light shining upon them all and he smiles at Jared with warmth. “I think we’ll be okay. So long as we stick together.”

Epilogue

“One dozen Lemon Burst Bones, a dozen Cinnamon Scooby Snacks, and two dozen Otis Oatmeal Crackers!” Jared calls out with a grin.

The man on the other side of the counter, Henry Hoffman, tips his pageboy cap and returns Jared’s eager smile. “Do you have any Peanut Butter Truffles left?”

“Just a dozen,” Jared replies with a quick look in the glass case. A few in the crowd groan, and he feels sorry for only half a second, because the bakery is packed to the walls and that means good business. And that’s after removing all the seating areas.

Mr. Hoffman’s smile twists into something more nervous. “Only a dozen?”

“I’ve got some in the oven, but it’ll be a bit of a spell ‘til they’re good to go.”

Other customers grumble their complaints and Jared feels the bright ding of an idea gleam. “To the few of you who came across town just for the PB Truffles, if you can hold out ‘til the batch is ready, I’ll get you one half-hour dog walk for free.”

Happy noises fill the area and Jared gladly nods to Mr. Hoffman as he hands over the entire order. “That’ll be seventy-six, seventy-two,” Jared says.

Mr. Hoffman doesn’t even flinch to pay so much for doggy treats; the stuffed cash register tells him that no one else really has either.

Jared realized months ago that pet owners will do most anything to spoil their family. Heck, he and Jensen do it on a regular basis now that the bakery is chugging along like a well-oiled machine, even if it’s just Jared and his assistant Sandy cooking up all the recipes with the pups serving as taste testers.

The Doggone Good Bakery had been Jensen’s idea once they realized their own puppies couldn’t deny the great flavors of Jared’s concoctions. Doggone Walking had been Jared’s. They both work and just barely share the same space … Dog owners come to the bakery for treats and stay to sign up for Jensen’s services, or pick up their dogs from walks and stay for the goods. Either way, Jared and Jensen are happily rolling in enough dough – both literal and monetary – to have moved from their tiny one-bedroom, 600-square-foot apartment into the sprawling loft above the bakery.

Jared’s distracted from filling another order for Lemon Burst Bones and a few Bacon Barks by the bell dinging above the entryway. Jensen bustles in with a dozen leashes with yapping dogs at the ends of them, and customers turn around to aww and coo at them all.

Jensen meets Jared’s eyes across the way and he’s beaming, utterly shining with happiness echoing off of him in waves.

“The man of the hour,” Jared exclaims. “Everyone’s favorite Doggone Walker!”

“Stop, Jared,” Jensen insists with a blush, working his way through the crowd to reach the doggy pens in the far corner.

“He’s so doggone good, you know!”

“You really are,” a woman says and Jensen reels around to face Mrs. Anderson. She’s far from what they witnessed in their apartment, now wearing softer colors, fabrics, and makeup, with her hair pulled into a soft bun rather than the rigid, tight ponytail of back when. “Fluffy, here, has never behaved so well. Not until you got your hands on her leash.”

Jensen sees one of Mrs. Anderson’s Dobermans sitting perfect and polite at her side, and smiles. “Fluffy’s become such a fine lady. We should all be proud.”

She pats Jensen’s cheek and calls over her shoulder, “Mr. Jared! Two dozen Peach Supreme Pupcakes and six dozen Caramel Crunchers!”

“Coming right up!” Jared calls back, smiling at anyone he lays eyes on.

Mrs. Anderson gestures to her other Doberman, sprawled on the floor behind her feet. “Sprinkles does so love her Crunchers.”

“They’re Crunch-tastic,” Jensen repeats from Jared’s fliers.

The day carries on in the same kind of joyful melee – customers rushing in and out to excitably order dozens upon dozens of doggy treats, some pass their dogs off to Jensen for scheduled walks, others come in just to check out the city’s doggone best walker for themselves. Just like so many of their early days together, Jared ends his day breathless with nagging fatigue in his bones and Jensen is left with hours full of dogs it seems he cannot handle, thought he deftly does.

After they lock the front door, clean off the counters, and clear out the glass case to store the excess treats for another day with their pups, Jared and Jensen head upstairs to their loft.

Half walls separate the space in two; one area is clean and decorated precisely as Jared and Jensen had always dreamt with a sprawling entertainment center and an even more decadent sectional couch to watch any of their thousand cable channels. The other side is clearly made for all twenty-two dogs as it’s completely littered with toys, half-eaten treats, and a dozen doggie beds.

In the corner of the dog’s space rests a larger bed that’s more humane than a simple swatch of padded cloth. Perched within the billowy mattress is Max curled around his lovely Sasha, whose belly is swollen and hard.

Again.

Jensen squats down and rubs her cheek, her ears, then over her side as Jared joins him to lavish their two big pups with attention.

“Dr. Palicki stopped in this morning,” Jared says, eyes still on Max and where he’s scrubbing under the boy’s jaw.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Jared shrugs. “Because you had a full schedule. And I kinda wanted to tell you on our own.”

Jensen shifts towards Jared. “Tell me what?”

“She says Sasha’s last ultrasound shows at least fourteen.”

Swaying for a second, Jensen closes his eyes. Jared reaches out to hold him steady with a grip around both of Jensen’s biceps. “Wha – why – why didn’t she tell us when we were there?”

Jared smirks. “Because she was afraid you’d pass out again.”

“I’m not gonna …” Then Jensen loses strength in his legs and full plops down to sit on the hardwood floor. “Another fourteen?”

With a nod, Jared adds, “At a minimum.”

Jensen blows out a breath and bites his lower lip. “What will we do?”

Jared shrugs again, but he’s feeling a bit hopeful when he suggests, “Expand the bakery?”

Looking around, Jensen makes a noise. “And our home.”

“Can’t be too big of a deal,” Jared jokes. They’ll need the room and business is doing nothing but growing for them.

“We’ve been through worse.”

Jared brushes his fingers over Jensen’s hair. “Someone once told me we’ll be okay if we stick together.”

Jensen leans into it and softly smiles. “Sounds like someone smart.”

“He’s real doggone smart.”

Laughing, Jensen tackles Jared to the floor, covering his mouth in eager kisses while the pups – now nearly one year old – prance around them and gleefully bark.

And as Jared and Jensen playfully wrestle and kiss with contentment of finally making their lives their own, Sasha tips her head into Max’s head, and Max nuzzles her jaw with a smile. They couldn’t be prouder of their two boys.

The End