Lesson One

Jeff/Jared. PG. ~300 words.
“So,” Jeff said, folding his arms on the door. “I hear you’re driving.”

Jared yanked the driver’s door open and dropped into the seat. He’d been waiting to see what the guys had done to the car ever since he’d laid eyes on the script. The first long-shot of the season, and he got to be the one driving. Sometimes, he really loved his job.

Inside smelled like new leather. He wasn’t a classic car buff or anything, but the Chevies they had on set were pretty sweet to his eye. Hard not to appreciate all that gleaming metal, even if it didn’t roar as loud as the sound guys faked for the show.

“So,” Jeff said, folding his arms on the door. “I hear you’re driving.”

“Sure as hell am.” Jared let his hand slide down to the gearshift, thumb tracing the heavy leather stitching. “Don’t hate me ’cause I’m a lucky shit.”

Jeff grinned, big and bright. “I was just wondering if you can handle a stick or if somebody should give you lessons before you blow the studio’s budget on transmissions.”

Jared looked up, took in Jeff’s easy stance, the light in his eyes. “What, y’all are gonna show me how?”

“You just say the word, boy,” Jeff said in a voice more like John Winchester than himself. He reached in, clapped Jared solidly on the shoulder. Let it linger, strong, thick fingers curled near the hair at Jared’s nape. “I’d be more than happy to show you what I know.”


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