Chapter Text
Jared has a gigantic arrangement of cards laid out on Richard’s bedroom floor (“Richard, do you mind if I use your room for my Jeopardy preparation?” “No, yeah, I mean- heh, yeah! Sure. You can use my room.”), his eyes tired and sunken. He’s been looking at random facts for like ten hours now and it’s kind of driving him insane.
This is a lot -- all of it. Going to Culver City whilst TechCrunch is going on. Finally getting through Richard Hendrick’s thick barrier of needless self-protection and his off-standish nature. Not being able to keep this momentum. Feeling like he’s going to collapse from forgetting to eat breakfast and lunch. Jesus, it’s all just a lot. He wants to lay down.
He’s exhausted from learning about Grover Cleveland and British Royalty -- and he’s completely certain he knows more about useless shit than anybody else in the world. Turning the final index card over, he feels a sense of useless victory when he gets the answer correct (The card in question? On Feb. 28, 1983 nearly 106 million people watched a war end with the last original episode of this CBS show The answer in question? What is M*A*S*H*?). With his stomach moaning at him and his head pounding from side to side, he gets up from his little spot in the corner and opens the door.
He stumbles into the kitchen to microwave one of his ready made meals (this one being half a block of tofu, some broccoli florets, and a side of black beans), blasting it in the microwave for a total of 45 seconds. He stares longingly at the microwave plate turning, the seconds seeming to take longer and longer.
“Hey Jared,” Dinesh chimes about half-way through the waiting experience. Jared waves back with a smile on his face, because he cannot possibly be anything other than enthusiastic. But then Gilfoyle walks in, too. And then Erlich walks in. And then he just wants some peace and quiet.
The microwave beeps and he sighs in relief, getting ready to go back to Richard’s room when he gets stopped by Richard himself, staring down at the ground with his lip in between his teeth. “Hey,” he mutters, waving his hand spastically and looking at it as if he’d just made a horrible mistake.
“Hey,” Jared smiles, and he really wants it to be genuine but he’s afraid it really, kinda isn’t. “I was gonna go back to… to your room. To just eat and finish up a bit.”
Richard pulls a face (the scrunchy one, y’know), and shakes his head. “Could I… I don’t know. Could I maybe have like… some time alone in there? Sorry. It’s just- heh… we’re together a lot. So I just want… just a little bit of time. In private,” Richard mumbles, eyes closing and opening periodically. Jared barely catches it, but the message is loud and clear.
Jared has become overbearing again.
“Yeah. Yes, absolutely. I will… eat in my room.” Jared smiles and turns away, expression immediately falling as his back faces Richard. He really does not want to cry. It would be stupid to. It would be so, so pathetic. He does not want to be pathetic.
But he can’t help it. God, he somehow manages to get into the door of the garage and he sits down on his cot with tears in his eyes. It feels deafening. Everything feels like the end of the world and nothing feels like anything and he’s wondering what he’s ever done to just become like this.
A person who pushes people away. Magnetically or something. Just something in his stupid brain that opposes people so much. Something on his body that repulses others. That makes them aware of his imperfections in record time. God, this is torturous. There isn’t even enough air left in the room for him to breathe in.
Jared clutches his chest and counts backwards from eighty-four. When he was sixteen, he lived in yet another abusive foster home. But most of the anger was directed towards his mother. By his father. Or random men. When Jared’s panic attacks got way too intense, way too frequent, to deal with, he counted to the number eighty-four (08/04 was the date that day, and his brain somehow decided that that would be the eternal number. But counting up became much too easy, not enough for his terrified brain to hold onto, so he started counting backwards. It took so much more time. So much more focus on anything that isn't his scary, accelerated breathing.).
By the end of the count, he’s just left with a few tears prickling in his eyes and a heavy beating in his chest. His body is clutched around one of his pillows on the cot, which he grabbed somewhere in the middle of it all. He assumes that this is what it feels like to die. And right as he starts to gain some sense of composure, Richard storms into the door.
He inhales sharply, tears dropping from his eyes even before Richard has said anything, “Hey, man, uh-- I realized that what I said just now was like… I don’t know. It came off--” Richard finally takes his eyes off of his shoes, “Holy… Oh, shit. Jared, are you crying?” he questions, looking genuinely terrified. He closes the door quickly.
“No! No, don’t be silly. I’m good. I am not crying,” Jared says, trying somehow to convince himself and Richard at the same time. Neither really seemed too convinced. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh… okay. Well, I-- I’m sorry for what I said. Just now. I just mean that I… God, this is embarrassing. Uh… are you okay to hear something embarrassing? Heh.” Richard is turning red, getting closer to Jared and getting ready to sit next to him.
“Yeah, sure, Richard,” Jared smiles, wiping his eyes and trying incredibly hard to even out his breathing.
Richard pulls out his phone, pulling up a picture of some girl. “So. Heh. This girl… Tiffany, I think? She just like. She said that she liked tech guys and I was like… heh… I’m one of those. And then I just like,” he mimics typing a text message, “texted her and asked her if she was real as a joke, y’know,” Jared nods (he does not know), “And she like, sent me some pictures of her… boobs. And I… Kinda wanted to, like, look at them. Alone. Heh. God, that’s-- So gross. Why’d I say that?”
Jared chuckles and feels his stomach sting. “It’s not gross. Everybody needs to masturbate. I was actually going to do so myself after my meal. My aunt Ruth always said that maturbation is a window to self-care that many people don’t even attempt to open due to social biases.” Jared reaches over to his food and takes a big hunk of tofu, smiling at Richard.
He feels a bit better.
“Really?” Richard asks, eyebrow cocked. Jared nods. “Wow. That’s like… that’s cool. I like- I was always in a pretty conservative area? So, like, talking about personal stuff was kind of the worst thing you could do. My mom thought I hadn’t masturbated yet when I was seventeen and was like… infuriated when she found a spot of… the stuff… cum- whatever-- like on the sheets. Heh.”
There’s a little bit of relief in Richard’s pose as he settles into his spot next to Jared. “I have always been taught that sexuality is open. Really broad and unexpected. I’d never kiss and tell, but masturbation is more than that to me.” Jared feels weird about how comfortable he is right now, eating mouthfuls of tofu and brocolli while talking about touching his dick sitting next to the guy he got a boner from just some days ago. But he’s not lying. Masturbation is an incredible coping mechanism, if not abused. It always has been (well… almost always) for him.
“So… have you like-- I don’t know. Like you said that. Heh. That sexuality is open,” Richard starts, playing with the strings on his hoodie, Jared looks at him and tingles, “Have you ever had sex with. With a guy… before? Or. Heh. You don’t have to… to say anything. Really.” Jared can tell this was a hard one to ask. Jared knows that nothing is going to come of this. Really, he does. That’s why he’s responding so quickly. And that’s why thinking about Richard masturbating is making him hard.
“Yeah. Well, mostly. I’ve done everything except anally penetrate someone. But that’s all.” He takes a bite of broccoli, acting like the statement was as casual as naming the color of the walls.
“Wow. Really? I mean. I believe you. But like. Wow. Cool.” Richard turns bright red, crossing his legs.
“Richard?” Jared asks, putting his plate aside and wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Mhm?” Richard responds carefully.
“Do you maybe want me to… touch you? While you look at Tiffany’s breasts?”
Richard melts. Or freezes. Or does both in an eternal cycle. But it’s so fucking unexpected. They always tiptoe around it. Always. Never a forward move from either of them. This feels so official.
But it wouldn’t like… mean anything. He’d be getting off to Tiffany’s tits. Guys don’t really turn him on.
He coughs, looking around the server room. “Uhm. I-- I don’t know. Yeah. Yes. I think so. I… If you wouldn’t like… feel weird about it?” His eyes are anywhere but where Jared is and Jared feels like he’s going to explode from Richard’s lovely little movements. God, life is fucking weird.
“I wouldn’t. We both wanted to masturbate anyway,” Jared shrugs, small smile lingering on his face. Richard finally makes eye contact with him and immediately breaks it, looking down at his crotch.
“Yeah. Heh. Bros helping bros, right?” Richard chuckles, and Jared nods in agreement. “I’ll just… sit, like, where?” Richard asks, suddenly acutely aware of his inability to correctly take up space.
“Sit in front of me, right here,” Jared suggests, now bold and confident, patting down on the space he makes in between his thighs.
Richard nods, hyper aware of the situation at hand, and he shifts to sit in between Jared’s legs, his back facing Jared’s chest. “This? Like this?” Richard asks soft and hesitant, voice shaky.
“Yes. This is perfect. Just. Try to relax, okay? Tell me if you want me to stop at any point.” Richard squeezes his eyes shut and nods, grabbing his phone and pulling up Tiffany’s images.
Jared sneaks his arm around Richard’s waist, circling it so that his hand is resting right on top of Richard’s clothed boner. Richard whimpers, shifting his hips up as Jared pulls him back. Richard unbuttons his khakis and slides them down to below his ass with one hand, the other still holding his phone.
He can so clearly see the bulge in Richard’s underwear, smiling. You’re doing good Donald. Maybe you won’t have to quit the company after all. “Is this--”
“Oh my God, shut up, Jared! Ah-- Just. Just like… touch my cock, fuck,” Richard moans out, dropping his phone and pressing one hand firmly against Jared’s hand, leading him to under Richard’s boxers. Jared thumbs his tip. He’s already wet.
Richard moans high pitched and pretty in response to Jared pulling his dick and balls out of his stupid restricting boxers. “Yeah, yeah,” Richard whimpers, hips thrusting up to make any kind of friction hit his erection.
Jared puts one hand up Richard’s shirt, thumbing at his left nipple. Richard moans, loud and surprised, his eyes widened in shock. Jesus Christ. He shoots a hand to his mouth, embarrassed immediately. Jared takes it as a hint that Richard likes having his nipples played with. Maybe he didn’t even know.
He wraps his hand around Richard’s length, decent-sized and a bit girthier than average, but a pretty standard sized cock, and Richard has to physically lift himself off of the bed. Jared guesses nobody’s touched him like this for a while. Maybe not ever. Not like this.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, ah, God. That’s good,” Richard moans out, fucking himself into Jared’s hand desperately. Jared’s staring in awe. Looking down at the sight in awe, his chin right next to Richard’s head. He watches as the angry purplish skin on Richard’s cock disappears and reappears in his closed fist, smiling. “Yeah. Heh. Yeah. C’mon.” Jared guesses he’s getting close.
His guess could not have been more correct, Richard spilling cum all over Jared’s fist. All over the underside of his boxers and a little drippage onto Jared’s sheets. The little whimpers coming from Richard’s mouth feel too good to be true. He breathes against Richard’s neck happily, nose pressing against his jaw as he comes.
Immediately, Jared feels a wet spot form inside of his pants. Fuck. Humiliating.
Richard stares in front of him in shock, blissful shock, as he feels Jared shift behind him to wipe his hand on the sheets. Richard leans against Jared’s chest, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s fucking nice,” Richard mumbles.
He tries really hard to pretend not to see that Richard’s phone had fallen face down on the floor before Jared even started touching him. He tries really hard to pretend like his lips didn’t brush Richard’s neck for a second. “Can I… talk?” Jared asks softly. and Richard nods, waving his hand. “I’m going to go to the bathroom to finish up, if that’s alright?”
“Wait,” Richard says soft and hesitant, sitting up slightly, “Can I… Could I maybe help? Give you… a hand?”
“That’s really kind, Richard,” Jared smiles, “But… I won’t be very long at all. It’d be lackluster.”
“Oh,” Richard chuckles, nodding as he pulls his boxers back up, “right, yeah. I understand. I will… Uh… talk to you later, man. Thanks for the... “ he makes the universal handjob signal with his fist and immediately cringes, “God. Sorry… Uh- anyway. Thanks. I will… Yeah. Later.”
And somehow Richard goes from dick out on his bed to clothed out of his door. Jared doesn't even bother getting up for another five minutes. Just to relish the feelings and the smells and the sounds.
---
Jared doesn't sleep in Richard’s room that night.
He's too terrified. Fuck. And he suggested it. He said he wouldn't be weird.
But it feels impossible to be so close to Richard now. Feels impossible to hold him against his chest after knowing what he sounds like when he orgasms. After knowing how fast he breathes when he’s getting jerked off. After hearing him praise Jared’s hand like it was a fucking piece of art.
He gets a text from Richard around midnight asking him if he's coming. Jared ignores his text and falls asleep on his cot, anxiety growing in his stomach.
---
He leaves in the morning.
Richard is up early at five in the morning, and he's made Jared breakfast (gluten free pancakes from a nice little box mix). Jared feels a pang of happiness in his chest, smiling when Richard sits down with him to enjoy breakfast.
“Vegan… blueberry pancakes. No gluten. Ha. I hope it tastes okay--” Richard takes a bite and flinches, a sour taste hitting his tongue.
Jared takes a bite and feels the same way, but doesn't, not even for a second, show it. “Tastes good,” Jared smiles, pouring some more sugar-free syrup on them. “Thank you for making these. You really didn't have to.”
Richard shrugs, taking another bite (a little bit dreadfully). “It's not a big deal,” Richard says soft and tired, “I… Good luck. Y’know? On Jeopardy?”
There's an unacknowledged thickness in the air between them. But Jared nods anyway, a little smile playing on his lips. They have a secret. A dirty little secret.
It feels impossible to address. Jared does it anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he looks down at his plate, and Richard does the same, afraid of accidental eye contact, “I-- I don't want to make it appear as if I… as if it was a mistake. I don't think it was.”
Richard nods, no words coming out of his mouth.
“I really didn't think anything of it. And I know I might've made you feel weird by not sleeping up in your bed last night. I’m sorry.”
Richard squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “No, I-- it's okay. You aren't like… obligated. Like obligated to sleep in my bed? That's like. That’s stupid. I mean. It's my bed. Heh. Not yours! So. So, you don't have to be there every night. Of course not.”
“I understand,” Jared nods, taking another bite.
“Thanks. Thank you. I’m… Do you want to maybe… Call each other later? You can tell me about how… Adorable Alex Trebek is in real life. Heh.” Richard jokes, remembering the night that he spent drunk on the couch watching Jeopardy! months ago when Jared had walked in and Richard had, apparently, he doesn’t remember, insisted that Alex Trebek was the cutest old man ever to exist.
It makes Jared smile. “Yes. I would love to have a phone call later tonight. Thank you for asking.” The effort finally seems two-sided. It makes Jared want to sway from side to side, forever stuck in a trance of romance and affliction.
“Yeah. Of course,” Richard offers, taking one last bite of his half-eaten plate of pancakes. “Let me drive you to the airport.” His tone phrases it like a question but it’s definitely a statement. Jared almost doesn’t tell him that he already has a taxi booked.
“I’ve got a car on the way, Richard, I’m sorry.”
Richard blinks, nodding. He understands. He totally understands. But he’s still sad about it.
“Right! Well… Get your bag, buddy!” Richard laughs, eyes wide and uncomfortable. Jared chuckles in response (and it’s almost entirely based on how incredibly endearing it is to watch Richard find out how to feel things), putting his empty plate in the dishwasher.
Richard watches Jared’s Uber pull into the driveway as quickly as he spins back out. His somber slouch is telling. He’s gonna fucking miss Jared.