sixthiterationlogs | let's go back in time

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let's go back in time - ota

WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Outside the bungalow
WHEN: October 18th, PM
OPEN TO: Jake | OTA
WARNINGS: Amnesia
STATUS: Closed

He dreams of his mother's voice. It's an old dream that's haunted him ever since the day a year ago that Carlos Alvarez had been kicked out of the house. Still, he wakes up yearning for the warmth of his blankets and his mother's voice summoning him to breakfast. Burrowing his face into the warmth beneath him, he sleepily tries to push himself into some more sleep. He may only be nineteen, but he's still riding that need for sleep right out of his teenage years.

It's that sleepiness that muddles his thoughts, which means it takes him a second to realize that he's not clasping a pillow beneath him, but someone's very broad shoulders. Blearily, Carlos opens his eyes and stares right up at a bearded man that he doesn't remember going home with.

He wouldn't. Well, maybe he would. After all, he's only been taking these risks for a little while, but he wouldn't drink so much that he'd forget. Glancing down, he finds himself in nothing but a pair of boxers and he frantically leaps back from the bed, tripping on the corner and stumbling to his feet as he stares down at the man with widened eyes.

"Who are you? Where am I? Did we go home last night?" he demands in Spanish, a rapid rattle of words as panic starts to set in.

He's quick to hurry out of that bedroom, but when he tries for escape, his foot comes across a box on the porch. Cautiously, Carlos looks down at it and when he sees his name on the cardboard, he opens it to find jeans, a light pink long sleeve shirt, and a tarp hat, weathered with many logos. He yanks it into his hands and changes in the kitchen swiftly, his stomach growling. He still needs to get out of here, away from the strange man in the bedroom upstairs before someone figures out what he's done.

If this gets back to his parents, then any chance of reconciliation is gone. Hurrying outside, Carlos shoves the hat onto his frizzing, short curls and starts to walk with his head resolutely on the ground, every step a stubborn one.

It's why he doesn't realize for a whole minute that he's not in California, that this isn't home.

The weather is brisk, sending a chill down his spine, and nothing around him makes sense. Suddenly, waking up in bed with a stranger that he can't remember isn't the only one of his worries and he's convinced that he's been kidnapped. He spins to debate going back and getting answers from the gringo, but he's not sure what to think about that man and the situation, so instead, he turns back to study the foreign ground in front of him.

Carlos is lost, without a school to turn to, without an army base to hide behind, and without any friends or family (though they abandoned him long before this). Feeling sick to his stomach, he feels his knees going a little weak as he struggles to find someplace to sit. In the end, he ends up on the very porch of the house he'd been trying to escape from, taking his hat off his head to wring it between his hands, the worry showing all over his face.

If only he could go home, but Mexico is even further than California and home doesn't want him back.

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Carlos' eyes widen at the command, which is the only part he understands other than 'speak Spanish' and 'sleep' in both languages. He leans forward and pokes at the man in the shoulder, just to verify that he's real and not some ridiculous wet dream come to life that Carlos has somehow managed to will into being just by having too many fantasies he's jerked off to in the middle of the night.

He points at him, then towards himself. "Where did I find you?" he asks, his English extremely halting and heavily accented. "Bar? Did one of my friends send you to me? Did someone pay for you? Are you a hooker?"

Jake whines when Cougar jabs him, starting to feel very put-out by this performance. "Ow!" Rolling on his back, he struggles to sit up, propping himself up on one arm and rubbing his shoulder with the opposite hand as he squints at the blur that is Cougar on the other side of the bed. "Cougs, seriously, what the fuck."

Clearly, this is a conversation he needs to see for, so, heaving a sigh, he twists and fumbles around the bedside table until he can find his glasses and shove them on his face.

There. Now he can see. Now he can see Cougar's oddly frightened expression, and the scowl that had been brewing on Jake's face melts away automatically. "Hey, dude. It's okay." What is going on here? "It was just a dream, okay? You're fine. I'm fine. We're both fine. Veronica is fine. Stop making that face, man, you're freaking me out."

Carlos narrows his eyes and wonders what a 'Cougs' is, because that doesn't even sound like the English that he understands. Nothing about this makes sense and his lack of dress makes him wary, because he doesn't see the clothes he'd been wearing the night before anywhere near here. He'd paid a lot for those jeans, so he's going to be very put out if they're gone. "I don't speak much English," he says cautiously, an apology before the halting mishaps. "Who are you? Did we...sex?"

"You are not paid?" he struggles to find the words to ask.

"I know how much English you speak," Jake replies, feeling very, very confused. Is Cougar in some kind of sleep-walking state? This has to be him dreaming. Now that he has his glasses on, he can see every expression flit across Cougar's face, and while he likes to think he's able to read Cougar pretty well, all things considered, this is bad. Like, 'even Clay could tell what he's thinking' levels of bad. Cougar is practically an open book, and it's only the fear and confusion he sees in his team mate's (boyfriend's?) face that keeps him from snapping at him for indulging in this stupid fucking joke.

"Cougs—Carlos," he corrects himself, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching out towards him again, trying to keep his posture non-threatening. He huffs a small laugh through his nose. "I know I'm still figuring this shit out, but I didn't think I was that forgettable," he tries to joke, but the frown between his eyebrows probably belies that effort. "I mean, you pay me in breakfast..."

Edited 2016-10-20 01:34 (UTC)

Apparently, Carlos has trusted the handsome hooker (if he is one) enough to give him his name instead of a fake, which is something. He's being reached for, now, and while Carlos is still frowning (pouting is what his younger sisters would call it), he allows himself to be tugged back in, his brow furrowed as he settles into a sit, one leg wrapped around the man's waist.

"I don't know your name," he says. "Who are you?"

At least Cougar comes back to bed, even if it is incredibly reluctantly. Frantically, Jake tries to remember if he's hit his head recently; he doesn't think so, but Cougar wanders off on his own all the time, and is it possible this is just some kind of delayed brain trauma? He wishes he has his computers here so he could google this shit, although he knows from past experience that WebMD is more trouble than it's worth.

He settles his hands on Cougar's hips, resisting the urge to pull him too close. Something tells him it won't be welcome right now.

"It's me, Cougs," he whispers, shot through the heart at the honest confusion on Cougar's face when he asks his name. It probably shows clearly on his face, but he's too busy trying not to freak out right now to worry about what expression he's wearing. "Jake. Your Jake."

He's still frowning, but there's something like stubbornness in the glint of his eyes, seeing as now he knows this cannot be the case. "No," he says, laughing awkwardly, trying to laugh this right off. "No. If I have a boyfriend, then my family will not take me. I can still go back to them, maybe, they might still take me back if they think that I have repented," he rambles, mostly for his own sake as he stares at the man in front of him.

"I'm Carlos Alvarez," he introduces himself. "Hello, Jake."

If Cougar pretending not to know his name hurt, being told they definitely aren't boyfriends hurts more. It's something Jake has been trying to figure out how to bring up; sure, it seems like something of a moot point here, but labels are important, especially to a kid like Jake who's been kicked from house to house his whole life, never belonging anywhere, never belonging to anyone.

Not wanting to have this fight right now, he instead turns to his Army training and shuts that part of himself down, cramming it back into the crevice in the back of his mind where all his hurts and insecurities go. Think about it later, Jensen. Focus on the problem at hand first. Hurt feelings can wait.

"I know who you are, Carlos," he mutters, not doing all that well on locking down his emotions after all.

Luckily, Baby takes that moment to realize the humans are awake and decides to jump up on the bed, scrambling a little to keep from sliding off with the blankets before wriggling up to try and get in on the cuddle pile. "Baby, no!" Jake whines, but the dog knows he's hardly an authority here and promptly ignores him.

Edited 2016-10-20 02:41 (UTC)

Carlos laughs with delight when the dog launches itself onto the bed and insists on burrowing his way in. He's always loved the animals and he misses the family dog with the ache that comes of being pushed out and being away from him for a year. Ruffling his fingers into the dog's scruff, he hauls him against his chest to cuddle him in, grinning at the stranger over the top. "You have a dog? I love them, I haven't seen one since ..." Since home, since being kicked out.

"Baby?" he echoes, and kisses the dog on the head with a loud smacking noise. "It's a very good name for the dog, but I think maybe also a good name for you."

Baby all but goes into a paroxysm of ecstasy when Cougar cuddles him close and kisses his head, overjoyed that his stricter papi is indulging in behavior he knows he shouldn't be displaying.

"You're fucking up his training," Jake whines half-heartedly, having been scolded by Cougar for this exact behavior enough times to know that it shouldn't be done. Even if he does indulge more than he admits, because his dog is fucking adorable, okay, and sometimes Jake needs to hug something soft and warm that loves him unconditionally.

The other soft and warm thing in his lap apparently doesn't, and in an effort to avoid dealing with the tangled mess of emotions welling up beneath his sternum, Jake lets himself fall back onto the mattress and stare up at the ceiling as Cougar and Baby get their cuddle on.

Carlos finishes with the dog, not letting him go very far at all as he digs in his thumb to the fur behind his ear, staring down at the man below him, a worried look on his face. He might not know who it is, or where he is, but he's handsome, seems to want Carlos, and looks very upset. He sets aside the dog and tries to pull a thread of memories out of his mind.

When none come, he decides that he should at least try and make Jake not look like this. Pushing down, the look on his face is tender and open, sliding a palm up Jake's chest as he straddles him. "Why don't I remember you?" he asks quietly, hating that his blackout night is making a gap. "How did I end up with such an older man? Someone so handsome? Strong?" he marvels, hands spanning the breadth of his chest.

Cougar has a weird, subtle sense of humor. Jake has known him long enough to be able to tell when he's being a dickhead prankster, though, and now that he's more or less totally awake, he's starting to get even more worried. Cougar might pretend not to know him as a joke, but he wouldn't keep it going for this long, not when it bothers Jake the way it does.

They've only got each other in this place, and they've got to stick together.

"Maybe you hit your head?" he offers, lifting his hand to cover Cougar's as he rubs it up his chest. "We've been together...a while." Maybe telling him they've known each other for nearly ten years isn't the smartest move.

"Not just one night?" Each word is a plodding heavy thing, like he needs to be careful and really assess whether he's understanding it right. His eyes glaze over slightly as he sinks in the straddle, his shoulders rounding in a defeated manner. "But I only came out a year ago, I only told them about that a year ago, and I moved only three months ago. Last night, I was single," he says, his voice starting to rise in panic and terror.

What's happened to him?

"Search me," he coaxes, bowing his head forward insistently, pointing to it. "Is bump?"

Mutely, Jake shakes his head. His suspicion that admitting they've been together for far longer than one night would upset Cougar is proving true, but he can't lie to him to make him feel better. He's never been able to lie to Cougar.

"I'm sorry, Carlos," he whispers, near-silently, not knowing what else to do.

Hopefully, this is all a bad dream. Most of Jake's dreams are nightmares, full of fire and blood and a hail of bullets, but this definitely qualifies as a nightmare too, and he's desperately hoping he'll wake up soon.

He obediently sifts his fingers through Cougar's hair, although he already knows he's not going to find anything there. That would be too easy. "No bump," he confirms, frowning.

Even though he doesn't now this man, something in him twinges to see him look so upset. There's some part of his head that wants nothing more than to make the handsome man in front of him happy. He's still half in his lap and he doesn't move, instead wrapping an arm absently around his neck, like he's childishly challenging his boundaries, seeing how far he can go before he's pushed off.

Besides that, the shiver from the touch to his hair is undeniable and he cants his head into the touch, mouth open. "I should be home. California. School," he says, even if he's barely staying in school and is just about to drop out to join the army.

"How old are you?" he asks finally, realizing that not only does Cougar not seem to know who he is, he doesn't seem to realize how old he is. Cougar never finished school, he dropped out and took up with Uncle Sam, which is obviously where the two of them met.

Having half-sat up to feel Cougar's scalp, Jake doesn't resist when Cougar's arms slide around his shoulders, his own hands sliding up to rest comfortably on Cougar's back like this is a motion he's well-used to doing.

"Nineteen," he replies, with a look on his face that says that this man is somewhat stupid for asking him. Can't he see that? "I left home when they kicked me out, I'm going to school, but I don't think I'm going to stay very long." He searches the man's face. "Going to leave," he says, miming holding a gun. "Army."

He swallows back the worried lump in his throat, trying to lean in a little. "Are you really my boyfriend?" he asks, heart leaping in his throat and making his pulse thump visibly.

He's lost fifteen years.

All he can do is nod slightly, trying not to think too much about how this has come to pass. He wants to obsess about it, to figure out what's going on, but he can't do that with Cougar currently freaking out in his lap.

"Yeah, Army," he agrees absently. "That's where...that's..." where we met. "I'm in the Army."

Slowly, he rubs his hand up and down Cougar's spine. "Si. I am...su novio."

There's something like a little, thrilled smile on his face as he thinks about finding a life in the Army that works so well that this man below him, his boyfriend, is something he's earned. Still, it's a bit suspicious and Carlos throws him a dubious look. "DADT?" he echoes. It's been one thing to grapple with -- how he had come out, only to be disowned, and then choose to go to something that would push him right back into a closet.

The touch to his back is too good to ignore, though, and he gives a purring sound, half like a cat. "Don't be triste," he pleads. "Because me?"

"Our-my unit doesn't care," he replies, because he's pretty sure that Pooch would love them regardless of who they hooked up with, Roque honestly wouldn't give a shit, and as long as they were able to work together as a team, Clay would protect them no matter the cost.

The little purr Cougar lets out is so familiar to him, he almost has a moment of overwhelming relief before it melts away. "I'm not sad," he protests, although he knows it has to sound weak.

Carlos doesn't think that he believes that, exactly. He frowns and gives him a Look. "Sad," he accuses, and slides down a little more to tighten the straddle of his knees around his waist. "If you, and I..." he says, gesturing to himself. "Then let me help."

With that, he bows his head down to start aggressively (and without much skill) attacking Jake's neck with messy kisses, scratching hard at his back.

Jake has been in love with Cougar for so long that his body reacts instinctively to having him in his lap, leaning in for a kiss. His hands slide further up his back to cup the wings of his shoulder blades, a sigh slipping from his lips, even though it still feels all wrong.

"Hey, hey," he protests after a minute, pulling back slightly but only so that he can cup Cougar's face in his hands and hold him still for a much gentler, more skillful kiss.

Carlos gives him a sharp, worried look when he pulls away, wondering what he's doing wrong. The man he had been with the most (not his boyfriend, though he thinks maybe they could get there) always liked it like this. "No?" he echoes. "Jésus always likes." So it can't be him, can it? Maybe he's just not trying hard enough.

But then when he gets held in place for something slower, gentler, Carlos feels himself melting forward, his fingers sliding up Jake's chest and contracting, squeezing, as if he can hold onto him more, letting out a needy high-pitched sound. "You're so good at this, how did you get so good?"

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let's go back in time - ota

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