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raeschaeTitle: Snow Men (a Disclaimer OneShot)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1800
Summary: The Disclaimer crew’s take on Olympic snowboarding. (Wherein Jared is a tattoo god, Jensen is a boarder for life, and Brayden is a total fanboy.) This one’s kinda schmoopy, y’all. At least, for this ‘verse, it is.
AN: I swear, this weekend I am going to try to get to the sex! I owekiwiana, nightporters, yasmine32068, and ldyghstwhisprer some PWP (or as close to it as I ever get), and I haven’t forgotten any of you. My muses aren’t dead, or even uninspired (three fics in one week? Seriously? What’s up with that?), but they obviously aren’t feeling very sexy. Rec me some hot OneShots in your comments, and maybe the mood will strike me!
Anyway, last night, while totally overdosing on two days of Olympic half pipe, I said tovamphile, "Please tell me that it’s a bad idea to write the Disclaimer boys watching the winter Olympics. My muse is screaming, but it could be dorky, and they wouldn’t do it, right?" She, in turn, said "You should totally write that!" I mentioned it later to imaginethehappy, and she said, "That's a great idea!" *headdesk* So, I woke up at 5:00 this morning, and this is what shook out of my brain. Hope you like it!
“Did you see that? Did you fucking see that shit?!”
“Everybody saw it, you fuckin' moron. Sit your ass down!”
Jared chuckles and tips a bottle to his lips, shoulder brushing Jensen's as they both watch Brayden freak out in the middle of the Slinging Ink floor while Mike throws peanuts at his head.
The gang's all here, gathered around the flat screen to watch the Men's Half Pipe Snowboarding Finals. They're not particularly patriotic most times – there's no American flag hanging outside the shop or anything – but come on, man. It's the fucking Olympics.
“Dude's a motherfuckin' god, man. You know it's true,” Brayden insists, fists clutching his blond hair at the skull. He lowers himself into the chair beside Danneel and fist-bumps with Chris, though Chris is pretty much the last one in the room to give a flying fuck about snowboarding at all.
Jensen's not sure he ever remembers this group watching something in such rapt silence. It is impressive, no doubt, but there's no way all of them can truly appreciate it. “Hey, Mikey,” he calls out, and Mike just responds with a distracted hm over his shoulder. “You see how little air he had goin' into that thing?”
“Right? Shoulda been impossible, dude,” Mike agrees, eyes glued to the screen. “Guy is a motherfuckin' god, man. Nobody like him, that's for damn sure.”
Standing, Jensen rolls his neck. “I'm gettin' pizza rolls. You want anything?”
Jared shakes his head and leans back to rest against the wall. He hasn't said much tonight, but Jensen can tell that he's cool to just sit back and host his friends and family, to watch them having a good time together. This is the kind of thing Jared doesn't admit to loving, but that he would do every day if he could.
For Jensen, it's all kind of bittersweet. He loves hanging out with his friends here, and he loves the life that he's created in Santa Monica, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. But on nights like this, watching the atmosphere at the top of that pipe, he misses that life. He never tried to go pro, but it's not even about that. It's about the culture, the camaraderie. It's about the life. About being twenty-three and unstoppable, surrounded by friends who think they're invincible, too. It's careless freedom, and the reckless abandon that naturally fades with time.
“Think we could hit Big Bear this weekend? Maybe take Mikey? I wanna see if I can pull at least a 540 off that mountain we found last year.”
Turning his head, Jensen watches Brayden move through the break room and pull a soda from the refrigerator. His eyes are fucking dancing from the excitement of watching a sport that he loves, and considering the possibilities for himself. A couple of years ago, the guys took him to Lake Tahoe for a week over Christmas break, and Brayden took to the snow as easily as he took to the pavement when he was twelve. Sometimes Jensen wonders if the kid wasn't born with a board under his feet.
With a shrug, Jensen pops a plate of pizza rolls into the microwave and then leans against the counter. “Sounds like a plan to me, man. Go ask Mikey if he's up for it,” he nods toward the door and Brayden disappears again, voice carrying as he does just as he's told.
All things considered, maybe he's not so far removed from that twenty-three-year-old kid he used to be after all.
Jared's phone rings against his hip as the three of them are piling into the house later that night. It's almost eleven, Brayden is trying to hide a yawn, and Jensen is forming a mental list of all the things he needs to get done in the next couple of days if he's going to be ready to leave for Big Bear when Brayden gets out of school on Friday afternoon.
“Jared,” he answers, smacking Jensen's ass and then smiling wickedly as his boyfriend steps over the threshold into the kitchen. “Dude, how's it goin'?” He smiles and leans his hips against the counter, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yeah, we were all watchin'. It was insane. Even inspired Bray to hit the slopes this weekend.” Rolling his eyes, he nods and then smiles at the kid who perks up at the sound of his own name. “Are you fucking kidding? I'd be honored. . . yeah, no. Tomorrow's fine. I can make that happen. . . Yeah, for sure. . . Okay, yeah. I'll give you a call when I land. . . No, go celebrate. I'll see ya tomorrow.”
Jensen's eyebrow is practically in his hair line and Brayden looks like he's about to fall over when Jared shakes his head and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “So, that was two-time Olympic gold medalist Shaun White,” he teases and Brayden yelps. Fucking yelps. “Ya know how they were sayin' that Shaun and his coach agreed to get matching tats if he scored another gold?”
“You're fucking kidding me!” Jensen laughs and shakes his head. “How do you fucking do that, man? It hasn't even been three hours and you're already getting summonsed by a motherfucking Olympic champion?”
“What can I say?” Jared shrugs nonchalantly, though even he has to admit that it's pretty fucking cool. He's used to getting midnight calls from drunken rock stars, but how often does he get invited to tat an Olympian right after the biggest gold of his career? “I got mad skills, yo.”
“First, never say that again,” Brayden interjects, and Jared flips him off. “Second, you have to take me with you, Jay. I swear to fucking whoever the hell you want me to swear to, I will never, ever ask for anything ever again. Please, please, please take me to Vancouver with you.”
A month ago, Jensen took Brayden to the Winter X Games. The kid met all of these guys there, the ones that he'll see in Vancouver if Jared lets him go. And he acted like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, clamming up and blushing and randomly stuttering nonsensical words when he could actually get his vocal chords to function. All in all, it was pretty fucking hilarious.
“Why? So you can drool all over his shoes again?”
Brayden flips him off as Jensen laughs and shakes his head. “Dude, you can't cut out of school to run off to Canada,” he informs his son.
“Oh, come on! Man, you have to let me do this! Think about the experience. It's once in a lifetime, guys. You fucking know it! Please!”
He doesn't beg often, and Jared's tempted to keep holding out just to hear some more of it. Instead, he rolls his shoulders and cuts a look at Jensen before asking, “Alright, fine. On one condition.”
“Anything you want, Jay. Name it.”
“When she shoots you down, you leave her the fuck alone.”
Brayden doesn't even bother pretending to blush. It's not like they haven't been riding him about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition beside his bed for a week now. Grinning, all arrogance and ease, he rests his hands on his hips and shakes his shoulder-length hair. “Come on. You really think she's gonna shoot me down?”
“Dude, the day you nail Hannah Teter is the day I shave my fuckin' head and wear fuckin' plaid. Ain't never gonna happen.” He can't deny that Brayden's got game, but there's no way in hell it works on a girl as awesome as his current obsession. He may think he's smooth with women, but he's still a seventeen-year-old bumbling dork of a fanboy around pro boarders.
With a shake of his head, Jared pushes off the counter and heads out of the kitchen while Jensen and Brayden continue to bicker. “Hey, Bray!” he calls out from the doorway of Jensen's office. “You don't shut the fuck up, you're ridin' coach to Vancouver! I ain't fuckin' listenin' to details all the way to Canada.”
The response is a hurried, “Shutting the fuck up!” from Brayden just before the heavy stomp of footsteps goes thundering up the stairs.
Jensen appears in the doorway as Jared begins looking for the earliest flight out tomorrow morning. “You comin' with?” Jared asks without looking up.
“Nah, man. Gotta get shit done if I'm gonna take him up North this weekend.”
“You sure?” Jared looks up, hesitation evident in Jensen's eyes. “It's the fuckin' Olympics, Jen.” He's wavering, Jared can tell. And if he's honest, there's nothing he wants more than to share this experience, this once in a lifetime moment, with the guy he pretty much wants to share every moment with ever. “I can get three tickets.”
“It is pretty fuckin' cool,” Jensen nods, hand carding through his aqua-dyed hair.
“C'mon,” Jared smiles, entering '3' on the screen before Jensen says anything, “You'll beat yourself up for it forever if you don't,” he adds. If he knows anyone in the world, he knows Jensen. He might not act like he's dying to go, but that doesn't mean he's not dying to go. “We'll make it an overnight. Be back in time for y'all to head up to Big Bear on Friday.”
When he looks up, Jensen's jade eyes are fixed on him as he crosses the room. Jared pushes away from the desk and spreads his knees, letting Jensen step into his personal space. “Dude, he coulda called anybody,” Jensen breathes as he braces his hands on the arms of the leather chair and bends low to drop a kiss on Jared's shoulder. “And he fuckin' called you.” One hand drops to Jared's thigh and his head falls back automatically. “Cause you're the best there fuckin' is.”
“Yeah?” Jared's confident in his works, knows he's one of the best at what he does. But hearing Jensen say it? Means more than any spur-of-the-moment call from any gold medalist, or Grammy winner, or fucking Hollywood A-lister, ever could.
Dropping to his knees, Jensen pushes Jared's legs further apart and deftly unbuttons his jeans. He doesn't confirm his statement, but he doesn't have to. They've been together long enough now that their eyes say everything for them.
We're pretty fuckin' lucky.
Our lives are pretty fuckin' great.
I wouldn't wanna do this without you.
I'm proud of you.
Fuck the Olympics, man. This right here, you are my once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Free Counters
Author:
raeschaePairing: J2
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1800
Summary: The Disclaimer crew’s take on Olympic snowboarding. (Wherein Jared is a tattoo god, Jensen is a boarder for life, and Brayden is a total fanboy.) This one’s kinda schmoopy, y’all. At least, for this ‘verse, it is.
AN: I swear, this weekend I am going to try to get to the sex! I owe
kiwiana, nightporters, yasmine32068, and ldyghstwhisprer some PWP (or as close to it as I ever get), and I haven’t forgotten any of you. My muses aren’t dead, or even uninspired (three fics in one week? Seriously? What’s up with that?), but they obviously aren’t feeling very sexy. Rec me some hot OneShots in your comments, and maybe the mood will strike me!Anyway, last night, while totally overdosing on two days of Olympic half pipe, I said to
vamphile, "Please tell me that it’s a bad idea to write the Disclaimer boys watching the winter Olympics. My muse is screaming, but it could be dorky, and they wouldn’t do it, right?" She, in turn, said "You should totally write that!" I mentioned it later to imaginethehappy, and she said, "That's a great idea!" *headdesk* So, I woke up at 5:00 this morning, and this is what shook out of my brain. Hope you like it!“Did you see that? Did you fucking see that shit?!”
“Everybody saw it, you fuckin' moron. Sit your ass down!”
Jared chuckles and tips a bottle to his lips, shoulder brushing Jensen's as they both watch Brayden freak out in the middle of the Slinging Ink floor while Mike throws peanuts at his head.
The gang's all here, gathered around the flat screen to watch the Men's Half Pipe Snowboarding Finals. They're not particularly patriotic most times – there's no American flag hanging outside the shop or anything – but come on, man. It's the fucking Olympics.
“Dude's a motherfuckin' god, man. You know it's true,” Brayden insists, fists clutching his blond hair at the skull. He lowers himself into the chair beside Danneel and fist-bumps with Chris, though Chris is pretty much the last one in the room to give a flying fuck about snowboarding at all.
Jensen's not sure he ever remembers this group watching something in such rapt silence. It is impressive, no doubt, but there's no way all of them can truly appreciate it. “Hey, Mikey,” he calls out, and Mike just responds with a distracted hm over his shoulder. “You see how little air he had goin' into that thing?”
“Right? Shoulda been impossible, dude,” Mike agrees, eyes glued to the screen. “Guy is a motherfuckin' god, man. Nobody like him, that's for damn sure.”
Standing, Jensen rolls his neck. “I'm gettin' pizza rolls. You want anything?”
Jared shakes his head and leans back to rest against the wall. He hasn't said much tonight, but Jensen can tell that he's cool to just sit back and host his friends and family, to watch them having a good time together. This is the kind of thing Jared doesn't admit to loving, but that he would do every day if he could.
For Jensen, it's all kind of bittersweet. He loves hanging out with his friends here, and he loves the life that he's created in Santa Monica, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. But on nights like this, watching the atmosphere at the top of that pipe, he misses that life. He never tried to go pro, but it's not even about that. It's about the culture, the camaraderie. It's about the life. About being twenty-three and unstoppable, surrounded by friends who think they're invincible, too. It's careless freedom, and the reckless abandon that naturally fades with time.
“Think we could hit Big Bear this weekend? Maybe take Mikey? I wanna see if I can pull at least a 540 off that mountain we found last year.”
Turning his head, Jensen watches Brayden move through the break room and pull a soda from the refrigerator. His eyes are fucking dancing from the excitement of watching a sport that he loves, and considering the possibilities for himself. A couple of years ago, the guys took him to Lake Tahoe for a week over Christmas break, and Brayden took to the snow as easily as he took to the pavement when he was twelve. Sometimes Jensen wonders if the kid wasn't born with a board under his feet.
With a shrug, Jensen pops a plate of pizza rolls into the microwave and then leans against the counter. “Sounds like a plan to me, man. Go ask Mikey if he's up for it,” he nods toward the door and Brayden disappears again, voice carrying as he does just as he's told.
All things considered, maybe he's not so far removed from that twenty-three-year-old kid he used to be after all.
Jared's phone rings against his hip as the three of them are piling into the house later that night. It's almost eleven, Brayden is trying to hide a yawn, and Jensen is forming a mental list of all the things he needs to get done in the next couple of days if he's going to be ready to leave for Big Bear when Brayden gets out of school on Friday afternoon.
“Jared,” he answers, smacking Jensen's ass and then smiling wickedly as his boyfriend steps over the threshold into the kitchen. “Dude, how's it goin'?” He smiles and leans his hips against the counter, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yeah, we were all watchin'. It was insane. Even inspired Bray to hit the slopes this weekend.” Rolling his eyes, he nods and then smiles at the kid who perks up at the sound of his own name. “Are you fucking kidding? I'd be honored. . . yeah, no. Tomorrow's fine. I can make that happen. . . Yeah, for sure. . . Okay, yeah. I'll give you a call when I land. . . No, go celebrate. I'll see ya tomorrow.”
Jensen's eyebrow is practically in his hair line and Brayden looks like he's about to fall over when Jared shakes his head and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “So, that was two-time Olympic gold medalist Shaun White,” he teases and Brayden yelps. Fucking yelps. “Ya know how they were sayin' that Shaun and his coach agreed to get matching tats if he scored another gold?”
“You're fucking kidding me!” Jensen laughs and shakes his head. “How do you fucking do that, man? It hasn't even been three hours and you're already getting summonsed by a motherfucking Olympic champion?”
“What can I say?” Jared shrugs nonchalantly, though even he has to admit that it's pretty fucking cool. He's used to getting midnight calls from drunken rock stars, but how often does he get invited to tat an Olympian right after the biggest gold of his career? “I got mad skills, yo.”
“First, never say that again,” Brayden interjects, and Jared flips him off. “Second, you have to take me with you, Jay. I swear to fucking whoever the hell you want me to swear to, I will never, ever ask for anything ever again. Please, please, please take me to Vancouver with you.”
A month ago, Jensen took Brayden to the Winter X Games. The kid met all of these guys there, the ones that he'll see in Vancouver if Jared lets him go. And he acted like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, clamming up and blushing and randomly stuttering nonsensical words when he could actually get his vocal chords to function. All in all, it was pretty fucking hilarious.
“Why? So you can drool all over his shoes again?”
Brayden flips him off as Jensen laughs and shakes his head. “Dude, you can't cut out of school to run off to Canada,” he informs his son.
“Oh, come on! Man, you have to let me do this! Think about the experience. It's once in a lifetime, guys. You fucking know it! Please!”
He doesn't beg often, and Jared's tempted to keep holding out just to hear some more of it. Instead, he rolls his shoulders and cuts a look at Jensen before asking, “Alright, fine. On one condition.”
“Anything you want, Jay. Name it.”
“When she shoots you down, you leave her the fuck alone.”
Brayden doesn't even bother pretending to blush. It's not like they haven't been riding him about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition beside his bed for a week now. Grinning, all arrogance and ease, he rests his hands on his hips and shakes his shoulder-length hair. “Come on. You really think she's gonna shoot me down?”
“Dude, the day you nail Hannah Teter is the day I shave my fuckin' head and wear fuckin' plaid. Ain't never gonna happen.” He can't deny that Brayden's got game, but there's no way in hell it works on a girl as awesome as his current obsession. He may think he's smooth with women, but he's still a seventeen-year-old bumbling dork of a fanboy around pro boarders.
With a shake of his head, Jared pushes off the counter and heads out of the kitchen while Jensen and Brayden continue to bicker. “Hey, Bray!” he calls out from the doorway of Jensen's office. “You don't shut the fuck up, you're ridin' coach to Vancouver! I ain't fuckin' listenin' to details all the way to Canada.”
The response is a hurried, “Shutting the fuck up!” from Brayden just before the heavy stomp of footsteps goes thundering up the stairs.
Jensen appears in the doorway as Jared begins looking for the earliest flight out tomorrow morning. “You comin' with?” Jared asks without looking up.
“Nah, man. Gotta get shit done if I'm gonna take him up North this weekend.”
“You sure?” Jared looks up, hesitation evident in Jensen's eyes. “It's the fuckin' Olympics, Jen.” He's wavering, Jared can tell. And if he's honest, there's nothing he wants more than to share this experience, this once in a lifetime moment, with the guy he pretty much wants to share every moment with ever. “I can get three tickets.”
“It is pretty fuckin' cool,” Jensen nods, hand carding through his aqua-dyed hair.
“C'mon,” Jared smiles, entering '3' on the screen before Jensen says anything, “You'll beat yourself up for it forever if you don't,” he adds. If he knows anyone in the world, he knows Jensen. He might not act like he's dying to go, but that doesn't mean he's not dying to go. “We'll make it an overnight. Be back in time for y'all to head up to Big Bear on Friday.”
When he looks up, Jensen's jade eyes are fixed on him as he crosses the room. Jared pushes away from the desk and spreads his knees, letting Jensen step into his personal space. “Dude, he coulda called anybody,” Jensen breathes as he braces his hands on the arms of the leather chair and bends low to drop a kiss on Jared's shoulder. “And he fuckin' called you.” One hand drops to Jared's thigh and his head falls back automatically. “Cause you're the best there fuckin' is.”
“Yeah?” Jared's confident in his works, knows he's one of the best at what he does. But hearing Jensen say it? Means more than any spur-of-the-moment call from any gold medalist, or Grammy winner, or fucking Hollywood A-lister, ever could.
Dropping to his knees, Jensen pushes Jared's legs further apart and deftly unbuttons his jeans. He doesn't confirm his statement, but he doesn't have to. They've been together long enough now that their eyes say everything for them.
We're pretty fuckin' lucky.
Our lives are pretty fuckin' great.
I wouldn't wanna do this without you.
I'm proud of you.
Fuck the Olympics, man. This right here, you are my once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Free Counters
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:27 pm (UTC)Uh . . . this metaphor might be at the end of it's effectiveness. I'm just sayin'. I've exhausted the length and depth of my homebuilder's knowledge.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:29 pm (UTC)the Borouk fic
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:35 pm (UTC)And not in a positive, life-affirming way.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:46 pm (UTC)I'm making my own head hurt.