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raeschaeTitle: (Every Time I Hear That Song) I Go Back
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: PG
Word Count: +/- 2700
Summary: Jared's always known that Jensen loves music. He's a little bit surprised by the depth of the obsession.
A/N: Forplastacine_star, who wanted fic about the boys trying to merge their music libraries, and little_jenny25, who prompted the opening line, "Come on. Don't be stupid." Even if it's not exactly what y'all were looking for, this is how you inspired my muses. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!
“Come on, man. Don't be stupid.”
Jensen rolls his eyes at the way Jared rests his hands on his hips and tries to stare him down. “How 'bout you don't be a giant girl?”
“I'm a giant girl? Me?” Jared kicks the box at his side, his mouth opening and closing before he just gives up and shakes his head.
“Dude, it's not that bad,” Jensen insists, mirroring Jared's stance with his hands on his hips. “It's just a few boxes.”
Jared can't argue. There are only a few boxes on the floor around their feet. If you consider eleven a few. It's not even the number of boxes that has him all riled up. It's what's inside.
“You don't even use 'em!”
He's not entirely wrong, but that doesn't mean that Jensen doesn't want to keep all eleven. It's a collection twenty years in the making, for fuck's sake! “My whole life is in these boxes, Jared!”
Jared huffs. Jensen is usually the level-headed one. He's the one who has to talk Jared down off a ledge on occasion. But this time, it appears that Jensen is the one who's done fallen right off his rocker.
“They're CDs, Jensen!” Jared hears the tone of his voice climbing, and it's the dumbest fucking thing they could possibly be fighting about, but dammit if Jared can't feel his blood pressure rising.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Every fucking CD I've bought since I was ten! My entire life in music!”
“You have a motherfucking iPod!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Jensen can't help the laugh that follows. They do this all the time, make a huge fucking issue out of the lamest shit. They can't fight about important things – they're always on the same page about those. It's the meaningless bull shit that they yell about. His mom says that's how he can be sure that this thing with Jared is right. He kind of likes that idea.
With a heavy sigh, Jared relaxes his shoulders and takes a second to look at the man amidst the boxes, instead of the boxes themselves. “Alright, fine,” he concedes. “Where are we supposed to put them then?”
The problem isn't that Jensen has eleven boxes of CDs, and five more boxes of cassette tapes in the back of the closet in the guest room. The problem isn't even that Jensen is a total hoarder, even if his sister says that there's an underlying issue in that they should probably address at some point in the future.
The problem is that they bought their first house together in Los Angeles over the summer, when they thought that season five was going to be their last in Canada. They closed the sale on the Vancouver house last Friday, and they thought they were only going to have to rent something for a couple of months. Season six means that they have to live in that smaller house for a year, and there's just not enough room for all of their shit.
Jared's already packed some of his superfluous possessions and moved them down to the LA house for storage. It's not like he needs all seven hundred DVDs in his collection, and when was the last time he busted a tee shirt out of his college basketball collection? He doesn't need it, so he's got no problem letting it go.
“I'll keep 'em in my truck,” Jensen offers.
“You'll keep eleven boxes of CDs in the back of your truck in the dead of Canadian winter?” It's a good thing Jensen's pretty. Sometimes he's just not very smart.
With a shrug, Jensen looks longingly at the boxes. “What if I wanna listen to one of 'em?”
He tries to be understanding. Obviously, these things mean more to Jensen than Jared's Duke NCAA Championship tee shirt from 1992 means to him. “How many of them are loaded on your iPod?”
“Those,” Jensen points over his shoulder to the short stack sitting on the end table.
“That's it?!?” Jensen has owned an iPod for five years now. Jared knows this because he bought it back in '05, a week after they met, when he found out Jensen didn't have one yet. “Jensen,” he sighs and shakes his head sadly.
“What? I like my CDs,” he defends himself weakly.
“Man, you are more in love with technology than anyone I have ever met. You made a fucking 3D movie because of the technology! You own an iPhone, for Christ's sake. You have three Kindles. You nearly peed yourself the day they announced the iPad. How can you have an iPod with,” Jared pauses to count, “eight albums loaded into it?”
“Who has that kind of time, Jared?” Jensen snaps. True, he's probably being a little bit bitchy. But he doesn't get that much time off, and when he does, sleep always seems more important than transferring music. What's the point?
For a long time, they just stand there in the middle of the living room, Jensen staring at the boxes and Jared staring at Jensen. This is so fucking stupid. They could be watching the game, or running lines, or playing with the dogs. They could be doing anything other than having this idiotic argument, the basis of which Jared can't even remember anymore.
“Alright,” he finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. “Here's what we're gonna do: We're gonna go through every one of these boxes, and we're going to figure out which albums you can't live without for the next month. I'll load those while you're shooting your scenes tomorrow. After that, we'll make a pile of the ones that you absolutely never listen to, and we'll box those up to send to the LA house. The rest, we'll work on when we get around to it. Okay?”
Jensen chews on his bottom lip and considers the offer. Jared's probably right. He probably doesn't need all of them. “Alright, fine.”
For the next twenty minutes, Jensen directs each album into a pile, flipping Jared off and shooting him murderous glares when he makes snide remarks about the bad 80's pop.
“Cyndi Lauper, Jensen? Really?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Wham!? Just . . . it's a joke, right?”
“You have fucking New Edition, man!”
They sort through the second and third boxes, and to Jensen's credit, he manages not to punch Jared in the mouth when he guffaws at the Afroman album, the Sugar Ray one, and the 2 Live Crew. He doesn't understand. Some of the albums Jensen owns are the result of more money than sense, and maybe he liked one song and bought the whole album back before downloading was an option, or he joined some music club through the mail and just didn't bother canceling the disc before it was sent his way.
But a lot of them mean something to him because of where he was when he first heard a song, or who he was with when it was played for him. He's not going to start scrap booking or some shit like Mac and his mom do, so he has this. His memories are all tied up here, in these boxes.
“Dude, you're so fucking gay!” Jared laughs, holding up Alanis Morrissette, and then George Michael, and then Madonna to prove his point.
Instead of growling or mouthing off, Jensen leans over and licks a hot stripe from the curve of Jared's shoulder to the back of his ear. “Your ass is lucky I'm so fucking gay,” he breathes hot, hand drifting over his thigh.
Jensen's hand is moving behind them when Jared turns and sloppily fits his mouth over Jensen's. There's no finesse or grace in the way they bite at each others lips and lick into each others mouths. Just rolling tongues and insistent lips, sliding against each other until Jared feels something thud against his chest.
Pulling back just far enough for Jared to see the Hoobestank album against his chest. “'The Reason' is a fuckin' sap-ass song,” Jensen explains. “But it was on my XM when I pulled into the parking lot for our first reading back in '05.”
For the first time, Jared doesn't laugh. It is a fucking sap-ass song. But it feels like it's maybe not as bad right now. “What about when you left?”
Jensen doesn't even hesitate. Just pivots to a box behind him and pulls something out of the top. Gwen Stefani. “'Hollaback Girl,'” he winks.
The laugh that erupts from Jared's throat is almost enough to send them toppling backward, his arm tangled behind Jensen's body as they lean a little further to the right than either was ready for. Jensen fights to right himself, but Jared holds him in place with nothing more than his fingers against Jensen's hip.
“This is really big for you, huh?” Jared asks and feels Jensen nod against his shoulder. “When you lost your virginity?”
Jensen doesn't reach for the album, but he doesn't even have to think about it. “Live's 'Throwing Copper.'”
“The whole thing?” Jared asks incredulously.
“What can I say, man? I got stamina.” Jensen chuckles and then settles further into Jared's side. “Actually, there was more foreplay and prep time back then. . . I came during 'Lightning Crashes,' though. How epic is that?”
Jared huffs a laugh. “That's, like, track four or five, Jensen.”
“I was sixteen!”
“Fair enough.”
Shifting until his head rests in the center of Jared's chest, he taps his hands against his chest. “I remember I was listening to The Wallflowers on the plane from Dallas to LA, and that the cab driver was listening to 'Machinehead' by Bush on the way back to the hotel after my Days audition.” He pauses and then lifts his head a little.
Jared cards his fingers through Jensen's short hair and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. “The day you moved in here, you dragged me down to the Virgin Mega-store,” he recalls. For Jared, it was annoying because he was tired from moving all of Jensen's shit and he just wanted to enjoy their first night of co-habitation without leaving for anything. “What'd you buy?” He's not sure if Jensen even ever told him, and it seems more important now than it ever did before.
“'Viva la Vida,'” Jensen answers, his voice softening on the edges.
“Coldplay? Why?” Jared bought that album when it first came out. He would have gladly loaned it to Jensen to download. Of course, that's kind of not the point, he realizes.
Jensen clears his throat. It's not like Jared doesn't know everything about his music eccentricity now. But this memory is different. “'Lovers in Japan,'” he answers, though it's not much of an answer at all. “I heard it at the bar we went to the night before.”
“We heard a lot of songs that night,” Jared points out. He doesn't remember what all of them were, but he knows they were there for a long time.
Jensen struggles to sit and reaches for one of the boxes. He can practically feel Jared itching to ask how he knows where everything is. He's glad his boyfriend doesn't actually voice the question, though. Jensen doesn't know how he knows. He just does.
Jared rolls to his side and watches as Jensen opens the case and cues up the song. Jensen's tongue is caught between his teeth and he's listening carefully, eyes closed. For a brief minute, Jared can believe that they're back in that bar. He can't see it like he's sure Jensen can, but he can feel it. Or maybe he can just feel Jensen.
“Here. Right here,” Jensen points to the stereo and turns up the volume as the music swells, and the lyrics aren't important because Jensen's air-drumming and nodding his head and it's clear that the words don't matter on this one.
“That's it, huh?” He's not trying to belittle the moment, and he wasn't really expecting anything in particular. He's just never really seen Jensen go to this place before. Obviously, he's into music. Fans know that. Jared has seen him in the backyard with Steve, or Jason, singing songs that nobody will ever hear on a record. But this is different. This is deeper somehow.
Jensen smiles and lowers the volume before turning and shrugging. “I don't know, man. I just know when I heard it that night, it felt like everything clicked for me. I was moving in here, and we were going to make it and nothing could stop us, ya know?” Maybe it's silly. He probably shouldn't have shared his whole freakish music obsession with Jared in the first place.
The way his neck flushes hits Jared square in the gut. “Come here,” he gestures, leaning back against the couch, arms stretched out at either side.
Jensen doesn't tuck himself under Jared's arm, but sits at his feet, legs stretched outside of Jared's longer ones. He grabs one of Jared's ankles on instinct and begins working his thumb over the arch of his foot. “I know it's stupid, Jared. I mean, it's not like I even listen to this shit all that much.”
But Jared just rolls his ankle to draw Jensen's attention back to his face. “Dude, it's not my thing, and I wouldn't be caught dead listening to some of it. But,” he shakes his head and then levels Jensen with one of those wide-eyed, “I get it, ya know? I mean, I don't have a thousand discs and songs and memories to go with them or anything.”
“Do you have any?” Jared looks surprised by the interruption, or maybe by the question, so Jensen clears his throat and clarifies. “Songs that mean something to you? It's okay if you don't.”
Jared's lips quirk and he almost blushes, which maybe shouldn't make Jensen feel better about the mockery earlier, but it does. “A few,” he admits. “'They Bring Me to You' comes to mind.”
“I don't think I know it,” Jensen confesses.
“Joshua Radin.”
“And I'm the gay one?”
Jared just rolls his eyes. “The rest of my life can't compare to this night, and only the heartaches have given me sight. They bring me to you,” Jared quotes. Another clear of his throat and then he lowers his eyes and his arms to his lap. “Always makes me think of you.”
They've been through a lot in the last five years. Break ups and beards and rumors and misconceptions. Little fights about stupid things, and long hours with little personal time to work on their relationship. But somehow, it makes it all that much more beautiful when they do get time together, when they fall into each other and lock the rest of the world outside.
Jensen gets it. Pushing up to his knees, he crawls over Jared's legs and settles himself against his boyfriend's thighs. “Let's finish sorting in the morning.” His fingers tangle into the hair at the base of Jared's neck.
Jared's fingers dig into his hips and he nods his head, eyes focused on Jensen's lips. “You can keep 'em all if you want, Jen.”
“Yeah, but if I keep 'em all in the house, you're gonna wanna know all the stories.” Dipping his head, he presses open lips to Jared's throat. “And there's better ways to spend our time.”
Jared lets his head fall back against the couch and feels the chuckle vibrate against Jensen's mouth. “Whatever you want, Jensen,” he concedes. “Whatever you want.”
Pulling Jared's tee shirt over his head, Jensen's eyes glint wickedly. He stands suddenly, digs through a box and changes out the discs in the stereo. It doesn't really matter which one he picks. He just wants to make sure he remembers this moment forever.
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Author:
raeschaePairing: J2
Rating: PG
Word Count: +/- 2700
Summary: Jared's always known that Jensen loves music. He's a little bit surprised by the depth of the obsession.
A/N: For
plastacine_star, who wanted fic about the boys trying to merge their music libraries, and little_jenny25, who prompted the opening line, "Come on. Don't be stupid." Even if it's not exactly what y'all were looking for, this is how you inspired my muses. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!“Come on, man. Don't be stupid.”
Jensen rolls his eyes at the way Jared rests his hands on his hips and tries to stare him down. “How 'bout you don't be a giant girl?”
“I'm a giant girl? Me?” Jared kicks the box at his side, his mouth opening and closing before he just gives up and shakes his head.
“Dude, it's not that bad,” Jensen insists, mirroring Jared's stance with his hands on his hips. “It's just a few boxes.”
Jared can't argue. There are only a few boxes on the floor around their feet. If you consider eleven a few. It's not even the number of boxes that has him all riled up. It's what's inside.
“You don't even use 'em!”
He's not entirely wrong, but that doesn't mean that Jensen doesn't want to keep all eleven. It's a collection twenty years in the making, for fuck's sake! “My whole life is in these boxes, Jared!”
Jared huffs. Jensen is usually the level-headed one. He's the one who has to talk Jared down off a ledge on occasion. But this time, it appears that Jensen is the one who's done fallen right off his rocker.
“They're CDs, Jensen!” Jared hears the tone of his voice climbing, and it's the dumbest fucking thing they could possibly be fighting about, but dammit if Jared can't feel his blood pressure rising.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Every fucking CD I've bought since I was ten! My entire life in music!”
“You have a motherfucking iPod!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Jensen can't help the laugh that follows. They do this all the time, make a huge fucking issue out of the lamest shit. They can't fight about important things – they're always on the same page about those. It's the meaningless bull shit that they yell about. His mom says that's how he can be sure that this thing with Jared is right. He kind of likes that idea.
With a heavy sigh, Jared relaxes his shoulders and takes a second to look at the man amidst the boxes, instead of the boxes themselves. “Alright, fine,” he concedes. “Where are we supposed to put them then?”
The problem isn't that Jensen has eleven boxes of CDs, and five more boxes of cassette tapes in the back of the closet in the guest room. The problem isn't even that Jensen is a total hoarder, even if his sister says that there's an underlying issue in that they should probably address at some point in the future.
The problem is that they bought their first house together in Los Angeles over the summer, when they thought that season five was going to be their last in Canada. They closed the sale on the Vancouver house last Friday, and they thought they were only going to have to rent something for a couple of months. Season six means that they have to live in that smaller house for a year, and there's just not enough room for all of their shit.
Jared's already packed some of his superfluous possessions and moved them down to the LA house for storage. It's not like he needs all seven hundred DVDs in his collection, and when was the last time he busted a tee shirt out of his college basketball collection? He doesn't need it, so he's got no problem letting it go.
“I'll keep 'em in my truck,” Jensen offers.
“You'll keep eleven boxes of CDs in the back of your truck in the dead of Canadian winter?” It's a good thing Jensen's pretty. Sometimes he's just not very smart.
With a shrug, Jensen looks longingly at the boxes. “What if I wanna listen to one of 'em?”
He tries to be understanding. Obviously, these things mean more to Jensen than Jared's Duke NCAA Championship tee shirt from 1992 means to him. “How many of them are loaded on your iPod?”
“Those,” Jensen points over his shoulder to the short stack sitting on the end table.
“That's it?!?” Jensen has owned an iPod for five years now. Jared knows this because he bought it back in '05, a week after they met, when he found out Jensen didn't have one yet. “Jensen,” he sighs and shakes his head sadly.
“What? I like my CDs,” he defends himself weakly.
“Man, you are more in love with technology than anyone I have ever met. You made a fucking 3D movie because of the technology! You own an iPhone, for Christ's sake. You have three Kindles. You nearly peed yourself the day they announced the iPad. How can you have an iPod with,” Jared pauses to count, “eight albums loaded into it?”
“Who has that kind of time, Jared?” Jensen snaps. True, he's probably being a little bit bitchy. But he doesn't get that much time off, and when he does, sleep always seems more important than transferring music. What's the point?
For a long time, they just stand there in the middle of the living room, Jensen staring at the boxes and Jared staring at Jensen. This is so fucking stupid. They could be watching the game, or running lines, or playing with the dogs. They could be doing anything other than having this idiotic argument, the basis of which Jared can't even remember anymore.
“Alright,” he finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. “Here's what we're gonna do: We're gonna go through every one of these boxes, and we're going to figure out which albums you can't live without for the next month. I'll load those while you're shooting your scenes tomorrow. After that, we'll make a pile of the ones that you absolutely never listen to, and we'll box those up to send to the LA house. The rest, we'll work on when we get around to it. Okay?”
Jensen chews on his bottom lip and considers the offer. Jared's probably right. He probably doesn't need all of them. “Alright, fine.”
For the next twenty minutes, Jensen directs each album into a pile, flipping Jared off and shooting him murderous glares when he makes snide remarks about the bad 80's pop.
“Cyndi Lauper, Jensen? Really?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Wham!? Just . . . it's a joke, right?”
“You have fucking New Edition, man!”
They sort through the second and third boxes, and to Jensen's credit, he manages not to punch Jared in the mouth when he guffaws at the Afroman album, the Sugar Ray one, and the 2 Live Crew. He doesn't understand. Some of the albums Jensen owns are the result of more money than sense, and maybe he liked one song and bought the whole album back before downloading was an option, or he joined some music club through the mail and just didn't bother canceling the disc before it was sent his way.
But a lot of them mean something to him because of where he was when he first heard a song, or who he was with when it was played for him. He's not going to start scrap booking or some shit like Mac and his mom do, so he has this. His memories are all tied up here, in these boxes.
“Dude, you're so fucking gay!” Jared laughs, holding up Alanis Morrissette, and then George Michael, and then Madonna to prove his point.
Instead of growling or mouthing off, Jensen leans over and licks a hot stripe from the curve of Jared's shoulder to the back of his ear. “Your ass is lucky I'm so fucking gay,” he breathes hot, hand drifting over his thigh.
Jensen's hand is moving behind them when Jared turns and sloppily fits his mouth over Jensen's. There's no finesse or grace in the way they bite at each others lips and lick into each others mouths. Just rolling tongues and insistent lips, sliding against each other until Jared feels something thud against his chest.
Pulling back just far enough for Jared to see the Hoobestank album against his chest. “'The Reason' is a fuckin' sap-ass song,” Jensen explains. “But it was on my XM when I pulled into the parking lot for our first reading back in '05.”
For the first time, Jared doesn't laugh. It is a fucking sap-ass song. But it feels like it's maybe not as bad right now. “What about when you left?”
Jensen doesn't even hesitate. Just pivots to a box behind him and pulls something out of the top. Gwen Stefani. “'Hollaback Girl,'” he winks.
The laugh that erupts from Jared's throat is almost enough to send them toppling backward, his arm tangled behind Jensen's body as they lean a little further to the right than either was ready for. Jensen fights to right himself, but Jared holds him in place with nothing more than his fingers against Jensen's hip.
“This is really big for you, huh?” Jared asks and feels Jensen nod against his shoulder. “When you lost your virginity?”
Jensen doesn't reach for the album, but he doesn't even have to think about it. “Live's 'Throwing Copper.'”
“The whole thing?” Jared asks incredulously.
“What can I say, man? I got stamina.” Jensen chuckles and then settles further into Jared's side. “Actually, there was more foreplay and prep time back then. . . I came during 'Lightning Crashes,' though. How epic is that?”
Jared huffs a laugh. “That's, like, track four or five, Jensen.”
“I was sixteen!”
“Fair enough.”
Shifting until his head rests in the center of Jared's chest, he taps his hands against his chest. “I remember I was listening to The Wallflowers on the plane from Dallas to LA, and that the cab driver was listening to 'Machinehead' by Bush on the way back to the hotel after my Days audition.” He pauses and then lifts his head a little.
Jared cards his fingers through Jensen's short hair and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. “The day you moved in here, you dragged me down to the Virgin Mega-store,” he recalls. For Jared, it was annoying because he was tired from moving all of Jensen's shit and he just wanted to enjoy their first night of co-habitation without leaving for anything. “What'd you buy?” He's not sure if Jensen even ever told him, and it seems more important now than it ever did before.
“'Viva la Vida,'” Jensen answers, his voice softening on the edges.
“Coldplay? Why?” Jared bought that album when it first came out. He would have gladly loaned it to Jensen to download. Of course, that's kind of not the point, he realizes.
Jensen clears his throat. It's not like Jared doesn't know everything about his music eccentricity now. But this memory is different. “'Lovers in Japan,'” he answers, though it's not much of an answer at all. “I heard it at the bar we went to the night before.”
“We heard a lot of songs that night,” Jared points out. He doesn't remember what all of them were, but he knows they were there for a long time.
Jensen struggles to sit and reaches for one of the boxes. He can practically feel Jared itching to ask how he knows where everything is. He's glad his boyfriend doesn't actually voice the question, though. Jensen doesn't know how he knows. He just does.
Jared rolls to his side and watches as Jensen opens the case and cues up the song. Jensen's tongue is caught between his teeth and he's listening carefully, eyes closed. For a brief minute, Jared can believe that they're back in that bar. He can't see it like he's sure Jensen can, but he can feel it. Or maybe he can just feel Jensen.
“Here. Right here,” Jensen points to the stereo and turns up the volume as the music swells, and the lyrics aren't important because Jensen's air-drumming and nodding his head and it's clear that the words don't matter on this one.
“That's it, huh?” He's not trying to belittle the moment, and he wasn't really expecting anything in particular. He's just never really seen Jensen go to this place before. Obviously, he's into music. Fans know that. Jared has seen him in the backyard with Steve, or Jason, singing songs that nobody will ever hear on a record. But this is different. This is deeper somehow.
Jensen smiles and lowers the volume before turning and shrugging. “I don't know, man. I just know when I heard it that night, it felt like everything clicked for me. I was moving in here, and we were going to make it and nothing could stop us, ya know?” Maybe it's silly. He probably shouldn't have shared his whole freakish music obsession with Jared in the first place.
The way his neck flushes hits Jared square in the gut. “Come here,” he gestures, leaning back against the couch, arms stretched out at either side.
Jensen doesn't tuck himself under Jared's arm, but sits at his feet, legs stretched outside of Jared's longer ones. He grabs one of Jared's ankles on instinct and begins working his thumb over the arch of his foot. “I know it's stupid, Jared. I mean, it's not like I even listen to this shit all that much.”
But Jared just rolls his ankle to draw Jensen's attention back to his face. “Dude, it's not my thing, and I wouldn't be caught dead listening to some of it. But,” he shakes his head and then levels Jensen with one of those wide-eyed, “I get it, ya know? I mean, I don't have a thousand discs and songs and memories to go with them or anything.”
“Do you have any?” Jared looks surprised by the interruption, or maybe by the question, so Jensen clears his throat and clarifies. “Songs that mean something to you? It's okay if you don't.”
Jared's lips quirk and he almost blushes, which maybe shouldn't make Jensen feel better about the mockery earlier, but it does. “A few,” he admits. “'They Bring Me to You' comes to mind.”
“I don't think I know it,” Jensen confesses.
“Joshua Radin.”
“And I'm the gay one?”
Jared just rolls his eyes. “The rest of my life can't compare to this night, and only the heartaches have given me sight. They bring me to you,” Jared quotes. Another clear of his throat and then he lowers his eyes and his arms to his lap. “Always makes me think of you.”
They've been through a lot in the last five years. Break ups and beards and rumors and misconceptions. Little fights about stupid things, and long hours with little personal time to work on their relationship. But somehow, it makes it all that much more beautiful when they do get time together, when they fall into each other and lock the rest of the world outside.
Jensen gets it. Pushing up to his knees, he crawls over Jared's legs and settles himself against his boyfriend's thighs. “Let's finish sorting in the morning.” His fingers tangle into the hair at the base of Jared's neck.
Jared's fingers dig into his hips and he nods his head, eyes focused on Jensen's lips. “You can keep 'em all if you want, Jen.”
“Yeah, but if I keep 'em all in the house, you're gonna wanna know all the stories.” Dipping his head, he presses open lips to Jared's throat. “And there's better ways to spend our time.”
Jared lets his head fall back against the couch and feels the chuckle vibrate against Jensen's mouth. “Whatever you want, Jensen,” he concedes. “Whatever you want.”
Pulling Jared's tee shirt over his head, Jensen's eyes glint wickedly. He stands suddenly, digs through a box and changes out the discs in the stereo. It doesn't really matter which one he picks. He just wants to make sure he remembers this moment forever.
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Date: 2010-02-17 08:30 pm (UTC)ANYWAY . . . Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like the fic. 'White' is a great song. I'm also a big fan of 'I Alone' - even though it was a single and somewhat overplayed back in the day.
Thanks again - it's awesome to hear that people are relating to Jensen (makes me feel like less of an obsessive freak!)