Some Totally Random Comment Fic
Mar. 10th, 2010 08:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raeschaeTitle: No titles this time - just some random comment fic
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: They range from PG to R
Word Count: About 9000 all together (Less than 1000 each)
Summary: The other day, I asked my flist to send me one-word prompts. I, in turn, gave them less than a thousand words of (occasionally semi-porny) schmoop. They're mostly non-AU, but I did sneak one Disclaimer fic in there. Hope that's okay!
Sun
Tomorrow
Thunder
Waiting
Puppy (A Disclaimer Shorty)
Heat
Scratch
Drips
Domination
Sun
Fortaintedlove
If pressed to admit a less-than-masculine trait, Jensen's first response would not be the kiwi-strawberry moisturizer in his bathroom cabinet or the forty-eight pairs of shoes in his closet at home right now. What? Like he's going to admit to those out loud?
No, if he had to, Jensen would say that the girliest thing about him is his fair skin. He would be wrong, of course. A lot of guys have fair skin. (A lot more than the ones who care about the new Gucci line, at least.) But those guys aren't on television, so they don't have to appear in scenes with Jared 'I can get a tan from the light in the refrigerator' Padalecki.
Jensen's pretty sure that God hates him. There's really no other explanation for the way his life has fallen together. Not only was he given milky white skin and red-tinted hair, but he was then bitten by the illusive “acting bug,” which forced him to move to California, the sunniest place on Earth.
It's virtually impossible for him to spend more than twenty minutes in the sun without either turning pink, or finding sixteen new freckles on his face when he gets back inside. And freckles? Adorable when you're a seven-year-old girl with braided pigtails and two missing front teeth. But as a thirty-two-year-old man who's supposed to convince people he can kick ass and kill the Devil? Not as cute, no matter what his fans might try to tell you.
Shannon used to make him spend a couple of afternoons a week in the tanning bed, just a few minutes at a time, and he still burnt up. Worse than that, he gave her more of those damn freckles to cover up. Eventually, she stopped hounding him about it and accepted the fact that he was just not going to be the golden Adonis that Jared is.
And that's the most infuriating thing of all. Because Jared doesn't even have to think about burning. He steps outside to play with the dogs and comes back a deeper shade of brown than he was when he walked outside. And then he strips his shirt off and walks around the house all bronzed and beautiful and freckle-less, and it's all Jensen can do not to hate him for it.
“Ya know what I love about your face,” Jared muses one afternoon while they're laying on the couch, lazily enjoying a rare afternoon off.
Jensen's not big on the cuddling, but having Jared's legs tangled with his while they sit on opposite ends of the couch and stare blankly at the movie on the television is pretty nice. “My face?” he quirks an eyebrow and turns his head to see Jared staring at him with a look that says he has no intention of returning his attention to the movie any time soon.
He nods and narrows his eyes a little before smiling even wider than he was a second ago. “It's perfect.”
“Thank you,” Jensen rolls his eyes and looks back to the television. “That's very . . . something . . . of you.”
“Nah, man, c'mon. I mean it,” Jared nudges Jensen's thigh with his toe. “There are a lotta good lookin' guys in the world, but there's not many perfect ones.” He sits up a little straighter and leans forward, as if trying to get a closer look. “Strong jaw, good nose, eyes that are both symmetrical and a great color. Your mouth,” he shakes his head and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, “Well, I don't have to tell you how perfect your mouth is.”
Jensen can feel the blush in his cheeks, which is awesome because another perk of being fair-skinned and virtually allergic to the sun is that he looks like a giant tomato when he's embarrassed. “Whatever, man,” he tries to shrug it off.
But it's hard to shrug someone off when they're roughly the size of a mountain. Jared's fingers walk up Jensen's shin and rest on his knee. “The best part, though? Is when you've been out in the sun. Because then you look all flushed, and your freckles stand out more.”
“Man, fuck you.” There's no bite to the words, but there's no real 'lightness' in his tone, either.
Then Jared's hand on his knee tightens, and when Jensen looks back at him, there's genuine warmth, and love, staring back at him. “I don't know anybody who makes freckles look as sexy as you do, Jensen. Sometimes, when the sun's really bright, I think about locking you out of the house for an hour, just to see more of 'em.”
And when he puts it like that, Jensen thinks maybe it's not so bad to be fair-skinned and freckle-faced. Of course, he also realizes that Jared's mind is kind of a scary place. “You're so fuckin' weird sometimes,” he shakes his head and laughs a little, but he runs his foot down the inside of Jared's thigh and presses a little further back into the couch cushions.
“Yeah,” Jared agrees and relaxes into his original spot, legs tightening around Jensen's just a little. “Love you, too, man.”
Alright, so maybe there are worse things in the world than being sensitive to the sun.
Tomorrow
Fornickgregfan
It probably shouldn't be a big deal. It's not like everybody doesn't already know. There's no reason for Jared to be nervous.
So he doesn't really know why there's a ball of nervous energy sitting low in his gut, twisting and turning and making it's present a little more undeniable with every passing tick of the clock.
It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.
“Ya know, if it's freaking you out this much, we don't have to do it.”
He turns to find Jensen leaning in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other, beer bottle dangling between his fingers. Dressed only in a pair of jeans, he's totally at ease. Like tomorrow's not even happening.
“I'm sure your mother would just love that,” Jared shoots back, and even he can admit that it sounds a lot more snide than it's supposed to. It's not Jensen's fault that he's freaking out for no reason. “I'm fine. Just,” he shakes his head and goes back to the book that he's been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes, “Don't worry about it.”
Sarcastically, a small chuckle works it way out of Jensen's throat and he makes his way across the room to stand beside the bed. He sets his bottle on the nightstand and then flops down at Jared's side and steals his book away. Without further explanation, he rests a hand on Jared's thigh and begins working his lips and teeth against his neck.
He's good, Jensen is. Because Jared's brain stops worrying and basically melts inside his skull. “Wh-what're . . . Should . . . Jensen.” The name is growled, and Jared stops wanting to be left alone to his brooding, and starts hoping that Jensen never, ever stops sucking right there.
“My parents already love you,” Jensen whispers before biting down on the lobe of Jared's ear. “My sister adores you. My brother thinks your cool.” He nips at the line of his jaw. “My nephews think you're awesome, man.”
Jared turns his face to capture Jensen's lips in his own, and he forces himself not to consider the fact that, tomorrow, he's not hanging out at Jensen's parents' house as his co-star or his friend. For the first time, they're going to see him as something other than Jensen's “roommate.” And, sure, he's been around them a few times in the last couple of years, and they've always been cool. But he wasn't fucking their son/brother/uncle/grandson back then. Or, if he was, they didn't know it.
This could end very, very badly.
“Hey,” Jensen's voice is rough as gravel and smooth as whiskey against his ear. “Look at me.”
Jared does and when he turns his head, he's kind of blown away. It's weird, the way Jensen can still catch him off-guard with just his presence. It doesn't happen all the time, he's kind of gotten used to the guy he sees more than his own reflection in the mirror some days. But occasionally, he'll turn around and Jensen's just there. And something in his chest just sticks.
“You're gonna be fine. We're gonna be fine.”
There's so much sincerity in his eyes, so much conviction, that Jared can't help believing him. Jensen loves his family, and his family fucking adores him. They're going to love the person that Jensen loves. It's rational and logical and Jared has to choose to believe it or he's going to go out of his fucking mind.
He knows that he's too lost in his own head, in his own swirling thoughts, when Jensen straddles his lap and buries his fingers in his hair, and Jared didn't even notice him moving. He sure as hell notices when he grinds down against Jared, though, and nearly blinds him with that thousand-watt smile.
“How 'bout you stop thinkin' about my mom for a second,” he rolls his hips, hot and hard through his jeans, “And start thinkin' bout what I'm gonna do to you.”
Jared just nods, hands grasping Jensen's ass and forcing him closer.
Fuck tomorrow. This moment, right now, deserves his full and undivided attention.
Thunder
Forgwaeren
Jensen's been with guys before, some of them extraordinarily kinky, but never anyone who loves this as much as Jared does.
He's not sure how many times it happened before he clued in to just what was going on, but now that Jensen knows, he's never been happier to live in Vancouver for nine months out of the year. With the exception of a few dry, summer months, it rains like crazy here. And rain, in Jensen's opinion, is about the best form of precipitation there is.
It's early afternoon, the muted gray light outside seeping in under the heavy shades on the bedroom window. Night shoots are the standard, and falling into each other, exhausted, around noon isn't uncommon. They should both be sound asleep, but the dogs have been whining around the halls since they got home. Like they know what's coming, and they know to stay away.
It starts with the light patter of drops against the window pane and Jensen smiles when he feels Jared's fingers crawling over his hip. His thumb circles lightly over the skin there, and he breathes a contended sigh into the base of Jensen's neck. He's not asleep, Jensen knows, but he's close. Another five minutes, and he would have missed this all together.
The rain picks up speed, beating out an angry rhythm and Jared's hand drifts below the waistband of the shorts Jensen is wearing, palming lazily over his cock while his lips and tongue paint abstract designs around the top of his spine. It's dizzying, and Jensen covers Jared's hand with his own just to feel grounded somehow.
Sometimes the thunder comes first, but it's better when it rumbles in the distance, under the steady symphony of rain. That's when Jared pulls Jensen's shorts down and aligns their hips, his cock hard and heavy against Jensen's ass.
Jensen's never asked the origins of this particular habit, and Jared's never offered the information up. The truth is, he doesn't care where it comes from, as long as it never stops.
It's pouring now, and Jensen's pretty sure that Jared sleeps with lube under his pillow, because it's somehow always there in a snap if he needs it. As the first traces of lightning tear through the sky, Jensen's too distracted by the burst of white stars behind his eyelids at the simultaneous sensation of Jared's slick fingers slipping into him and his huge hand squeezing and pumping Jensen's cock.
Jared's growl against the back of his neck echo's the thunder rolling in, closer and closer as Jared adds another finger, and then another, stretching Jensen and nearly sending him over the edge.
“Don't you come yet,” he whispers gruffly against Jensen's jaw when he pulls his fingers away.
He really wants to tell Jared to stop waiting and do something about it. Wants to tell him that this whole 'choreographed with the rain' thing is ridiculous. He would, if he could catch his breath, and if the thunder didn't crack so hard outside the window that the glass rattles. Instead, Jensen yelps in a fashion far less-manly than he wants to admit, and pushes back onto Jared's cock.
This particular storm is louder than the last few they've experienced, and Jensen thinks he might limp tomorrow from the power of the thrusts that Jared matches to the intensity of the weather. Not that he's complaining. Kink or not, he's not objecting to being fucked hard on occasion. As many occasions as Jared would like.
The sound begins to recede, rolling back to wherever it came from, and Jared flexes his fingers and angles his hips perfectly, sending Jensen over the ledge he's been so precariously perched on until now.
By the time Jared follows him, and their breathing returns to normal, the tapping of the drops against the window are fading into stillness. He smiles as Jared's fingers creep lazily back up his stomach and his hand rests on Jensen's hip. With Jared's soft snore at his neck, Jensen casts one last look at the window to see yellow rays streaking the gray light as it fights its way into their room, and then lets his eyes drift closed.
The weather report calls for scattered thunderstorms throughout the day and into the night. He's going to need his rest.
Waiting
Fornightporters
”I'm gonna write a book, and title it 'Waiting on Jared.'” - Jensen Ackles
The first time he said it, Jensen was kidding. It's true that Jared takes an inordinate amount of time to get his shit together and get out the door in the morning, but it's not really that annoying. And it's also true that he always ends up in the car about fifteen minutes before Jared does, but at least it gives him enough time to fall back asleep against the window before they roll out of the driveway.
The thing is, he's patient. Always has been. His father taught him, when he was pretty young, that you don't always get immediate rewards for your actions. All you can do, Son, is work hard, give it your best, and wait to see what happens next.
His grandmother used to call it 'planting seeds.' You plant a seed, Jensen, give it plenty of sunshine and water, but it doesn't become a flower over night. You have to be patient and, in the end, it will be worth it. I promise. She hasn't been wrong yet.
He was acting in Hollywood for nearly ten years before Supernatural came along. Working hard . . . planting seeds . . . whatever. What he's found is that the best things come when you're ready for them, even if it's not when you think you are. He wasn't ready for the level of success that he's achieved when he first got to Hollywood.
Instead of looking at the setbacks, the rejections, as roadblocks on the path to his goals, he tries to remember that they're just detours. And sometimes, when you follow the detours, it takes a little longer, but he knows now that he'll reach the destination eventually, and maybe see something he wasn't expecting along the way.
He certainly wasn't expecting to do another genre show, not after he'd already tucked two of them under his belt in near-rapid succession. And he wasn't expecting to find the best friend he's ever had, and a chemistry that is palpable, en route to his dream of starring in his own project. Least of all, he was absolutely not expecting to fall in love with Jared.
It didn't strike out of nowhere, and it wasn't immediate. But over time, cultivating this relationship with his co-star, he can't deny that it's happened. Sometimes he thinks he should say something about, tell Jared how he feels, plant a seed. But he figured it out on his own, and something keeps telling him that Jared will, too. When he's ready. When they're both ready for it, he's confident that it will happen.
“Sorry, man,” Jared apologizes all hurried under his breath as he fumbles into the SUV with all the grace of a drunken elephant. “Okay, I'm good,” he announces when he's situated enough to pull the door closed. “Sorry.”
Same thing, every day. He's twenty minutes late, and apologizing all over the place like he doesn't know where the time went.
Jensen just grunts and attempts to burrow further into the cool glass of the window. Jared doesn't need to know that Jensen doesn't mind waiting in the morning, after all.
“Hey,” Jared's voice isn't particularly soft or quiet, so Jensen turns and gives him a grouchy look. Until he raises a travel mug into Jensen's eye line and smiles sheepishly. “Brought you coffee.”
Jensen sits up a little straighter and takes the mug, eyebrow quirking when Jared's fingers brush against his blatantly against the side of the cup. Jared's staring back at him, and it's not exactly like every other time they've shared a look on the way to work before. “Thanks,” he smiles a little, takes a long drink, and then lowers the cup to his leg. “You wanna run lines or somethin'?”
They did it last night, but he knows that Jared sometimes gets nervous about his comedic timing, so he doesn't mind running over it again.
But Jared just shakes his head and nods back toward the window. “Go on back to sleep, man. I got it.” His hand brushes against Jensen's on the seat between them, and the contact shocks Jensen into looking back at Jared's face without really thinking about it. “Sorry I was so late,” he apologizes again, but the way he threads their fingers together tells Jensen that he's not referring to this morning. Or any other morning, for that matter.
“'It's cool,” Jensen smiles, and rests against the window once again. “Some things are worth the wait.”
Puppy (A Disclaimer Short)
Fornoxelemantist
“The fuck is that?”
Jared looks up at Jensen with a start, like he didn't hear him walk into the room. “What?”
Nodding to Jared's side at the bed, he gestured wildly with one hand and says, “That.”
Jared's hand moves lightly over the little white ball of fur curled against his thigh, a stark contradiction to the bleeding skull tattooed on the arm he has looped protectively around it. “Oh,” he nods, eyes drifting down to see what Jensen is seeing. “It's a puppy.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jensen fires back. “What's it doing in our bed?”
Jared doesn't bother moving the magazine from his leg, but he does meet Jensen's eye with an oblivious look. “I'm dog-sitting.”
Jensen loves Jared – fucking loves him – but there are times when he wonders just what the fuck goes on in that sexy head of his. “For who?”
Sophia and Chad have a Golden Retriever, and Genevieve has two Pit Bulls. As far as Jensen knows, none of Jared's friends own a ball of white fur that barley looks like more than a breathing stuffed animal.
“Bray,” Jared answers and then rolls his eyes when Jensen opens his mouth to yell. “Oh, calm down. It's not his,” he dismisses. Finally putting the magazine aside, Jared lifts the little thing from the mattress, and it's almost funny how it nearly disappears between his gigantic hands.
Sinking to his own side of the bed, Jensen runs a hand over his blue hair and shakes his head. “Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with a girl?”
“Because everything he does has something to do with a girl?” Jared shakes his head and smiles as the puppy licks a happy stripe against his cheek. “At least this one comes with cute accessories.”
“Cute?” It's not weird enough that Jensen came home from work to find Jared cuddling up with a froofy puppy. But now he's calling it cute? It's fucking Bizzar-o World and Jensen wants out. As soon as possible, preferably.
“What? She's cute,” is Jared's only defense as he turns the thing around to tilt its head in wonder at Jensen. “Come on. You know you wanna give her a kiss.”
Jensen pulls a face and shakes his head. “No thanks,” he declines the offer. “The only bitch I kiss is you.”
“Funny,” Jared intones and returns his attention to the squirming lump in his hands.
“So, what? This girl's so amazing that he's willing to dog-sit just to get in her pants?” Brayden's taken some drastic measures to get laid before but, in Jensen's opinion, this one takes the cake.
Jared rolls his eyes. “Like you have room to talk.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Dude, you got a tattoo you didn't even want just to get in my pants,” Jared points out.
He's not entirely wrong. But Jensen doesn't hate the Texas tattoo Jared etched on his forearm during their first meeting. And it worked, so who the hell is he to complain?
With a sigh, he watches Jared set the puppy back on the bed and runs his hand over the top of her soft fur when she climbs into his lap. Alright, so she's kind of cute, but at least he's man enough not to say it out loud. “Where the hell is Bray, anyway?”
Jared shakes his head and pets the dog once before letting his hand fall to Jensen's thigh. “Jordan's,” he names Brayden's best friend. “Said they were workin' on some project.”
“So, we're the ones doing all the work, and he's the one reaping the benefit?” If that doesn't just sum up parenting, Jensen doesn't know what does. Jared shrugs, and Jensen asks, “This thing have a name?” Jared nods. “You gonna tell me what it is?”
“According to Bray, her full name is Sugar Puff Princess, but she responds to just 'Sugar.'”
“You're kidding me.”
“The fuck would I make that shit up?”
“Can we ground him for even trying to get with the girl who picked that name?”
Jared's tone is non-committal when he says, “You can try.”
Sugar ambles further up Jensen's legs and rests her front paws against his chest, tongue lapping at nothing. “Sorry, chick. I don't kiss girls.” But he grabs her with both hands around her middle anyway and lifts her into the air. Truth be told, she's not the ugliest dog he's ever seen. And by that, he means she's pretty fuckin' adorable. “And I'm sorry your name is Sugar Puff Princess. Nobody deserves that.”
Jared rolls off the bed and stretches his arms above his head, tattoos at his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tank top. Jensen really wants to roll after him and sink his teeth into that ink, but Sugar is wiggling against his chest and he's pretty sure that he's just been cock-blocked by a white poof of fur.
“I gotta get back to the shop. Her food and water are by the island, and you'll probably wanna let her out to pee soon.”
“Wait a second,” Jensen exclaims, placing Sugar on the bed and standing to catch Jared's wrist as he walks by. “I didn't agree to this shit. You're not leaving her here with me!”
“What am I supposed to do, Jen? Take her the shop with me?” He casts a disapproving look at the dog and then back at his boyfriend. “Even I'm not that gay, man.”
After a quick kiss, he winks, and all Jensen can say is, “I fuckin' hate you.”
Heat
Forkissesxobecki
“Why are they doing this again?”
Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one food to the other as he considers the spectacle before him. “Because their relationship is completely fucking twisted,” is his explanation.
With a roll of her eyes, Danneel sighs and leans her hip against the kitchen counter and taps her acrylic nails against the granite top. “Why are we here for this again?”
“Because they're actors,” Steve intones. “Validation doesn't count if it's not completely external.”
Chris stands at the corner of the kitchen table, Jensen and Jared seated on either side of him. Each of them have a glass of milk and an empty shot glass. Chris twists the lid on the small bottle in his hand and empties half of it into Jared's glass, and the other into Jensen's.
“Don't worry there, Jay-man. I got the chocolate one for ya,” Chris winks as the pair before him stare hesitantly at the dark liquid in their glasses. “Alright, boys, here's the rules. That's one ounce'a CaJohn's infamous Black Mamba Hot Sauce. I had to sign a liability waiver when I bought it, so this here's the dumbest fuckin' thing either one of y'all have ever attempted. There's a good possibility it'll burn yer taste buds right off. Last chance to bow the fuck out.”
Jared raises an eyebrow in Jensen's direction and wonders just how the hell they got here. The betting, the challenges, started small enough. Now they're about to do a shot whose label guarantees the most heat available in a bottle. Chris is right, it's the dumbest fuckin' thing they've attempted.
With a shrug, Jensen reaches for his glass and Jared knows he can't back down. They've been sleeping together for more than a year, but anybody who thinks they're not still uber-competitive, pain-in-the-ass best friends clearly doesn't know them very well.
“Is this one of those guy things that I'll never understand?” Danneel asks from somewhere behind him and Jared's lip just quirks into a half-grin.
Jensen nods and runs his tongue over his bottom lip like he's playing some kind of mind game. Like Jared doesn't know how to block that out by now. “Ready?” he asks, voice Dean-low and graveled.
Finally, Jared wraps his hand around his own glass and nods his head. No time like the present. This can't actually kill them, can it?
“Bottoms up, boys,” Chris waves his arm like he's waving a flag and Jensen tips his glass like it's nothing.
Down the hatch, Jared thinks, tipping his head back and pouring the entire contents of his glass down his throat.
Whatever warning they gave this shit is not strong enough. His entire head could very well burst into flames at any minute. Jensen's face is as red as Jared has ever seen it, and he's sure his own is much the same. What the fuck were they thinking? This is, bar none, the worst idea on the planet.
His vision begins to swim, and he can hear Danneel asking if they're okay, if they need anything, but tears are flowing down his cheeks and he can feel his nose running while his throat squeezes shut. He's pretty sure he'll never be able to speak again, and won't that just be a kick in the ass? Sorry, fans of SPN, but your show's been cancelled due to the fact that your lead actors are idiotic frat boys who don't know when to say when, and have now burnt holes in their esophagus.
The worst part? It's Jensen's birthday. They were supposed to go to dinner tonight, and then Jared was going to bring him home, lay him out, and drive him out of his mind. He's pretty sure neither of them are going to be up for that now. It's quite possible, they'll never be up for it again.
While he can't really see Jensen through the tears in his eyes and the ache in his face, Jared feels him brush by on his way to the bathroom. Or, rather, the kitchen sink. Danneel growls out an, “Oh, gross,” and that's the last thing Jared hears before he's rushing in the same direction. No way is he going to make it to the bathroom.
The room reeks and it's nearly a half an hour later when both of them can focus on their friends again, eyes puffy and faces still crimson-tinted.
“Dude,” Chris steps out from between Steve and Danneel and wraps an arm around Jensen's shoulder. “That was fucking awesome.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and Jared would punch his arm on principle alone if it weren't for the fact that his fingers are still tingling and he's not entirely convinced that he should stop leaning all of his weight against the sink.
It's not until their friends are gone that Jensen looks Jared in the eye for the first time since slamming his shot. “You know I totally won that shit, right?”
With his eyes still burning, Jared rolls them. “Dude, whatever. You totally puked yours up first.”
“But I slammed it back first, too!” Jensen argues, hand clutching tightly to his tee shirt at his stomach. “And it's my birthday.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
His stomach roils and Jensen shakes his head. “Sorry, man. Not tonight.”
Scratch
Forimaginethehappy
When Jared bought the pool table for the basement game room, Jensen didn't really see the point. Outside of playing on set on occasion, they're not really big on the game at all. Turns out, it's not the worst thing Jared's ever purchased.
They play by only one rule: Anything goes.
Jared's distraction techniques are about as subtle as a stampeding elephant. He starts the game by standing astride his stick, hands stroking it in what can only be described as an 'obscene gesture.' That's only after he strips his tee shirt and throws it at Jensen, smiling like a giant kid when it lands on Jensen's head.
But Jensen's no chump, and they've been doing this long enough for him to develop his own technique, circling the table and brushing against Jared's back when he lines up a shot, managing to avoid getting knocked with Jared's stick in the process. If he grunts a little suggestively at the contact, he's certainly not admitting it.
Where Jensen is echoes of contact, Jared is obvious groping. Jensen is about to sink the seven ball in the corner pocket when he feels one massive hand on his hip, fingers sliding up under his tee shirt while his other hand palms his ass and Jared moans like a fucking porn star.
For Jared's next shot, Jensen circles the table and stops directly behind the pocket. When he bends to line up, Jensen rolls his hips and though Jared doesn't look up, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and arches an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna stand that close?” Jared asks, looking up from under his brow to smirk with a small tilt of his head.
Jensen just stares back and shrugs. “You hit me with the ball and you don't get laid again, like, ever. My suggestion? Don't miss.”
Jared sinks the ball and then pumps his fist in victory, causing Jensen to roll his eyes. Two more, and Jensen's starting to feel the pressure. They're not playing for anything. Not really. But bragging rights are kind of a big deal in this house, and he doesn't want to see Jared win now any more than he does when there's an actual prize on the line.
Subtly, he moves around the room, watching as Jared narrows his eyes and focuses on the ball he's looking to sink next. When he draws back to take the shot, Jensen's there, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Wanna fuck you on this table.” And when the shot misses by a mile, Jensen's there with a shit-eating grin to meet Jared's pout. “That, my friend, is a scratch.”
He sinks three in a row while Jared leans against a stool behind him and says nothing. It's a ploy, and Jensen's not stupid enough to believe that he's done being a distraction. That's not the way they play.
So it shouldn't be a surprise, once the only thing left on the table is the 8-ball, that Jared sidles up behind Jensen, legs spread and hips aligned. Shouldn't be, but it is. Enough of a surprise that Jensen takes a deep breath and considers whether or not he can line this shot up without bending over. He's guessing Jared's not accidentally standing there with his dick just waiting to ride the crack of his ass.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word is gritted through clenched teeth, and with his eyes closed, Jensen does the one thing he knows he's going to regret. He dips low, ass grinding against Jared's groin, and swallows heavy. If he manages to jab Jared with the end of his stick, he figures it's not his fault.
He pulls his arm back to take the shot and Jared thrusts forward. Hard. In more ways than one. He wishes he could say that the cue strikes the 8-ball and sends it easily into the side pocket. But it doesn't. The cue actually jumps over the 8, bounces off the side of the table, and lands on the hardwood floor with a thud.
Jared leans down to cover Jensen's body with his own and tugs at his left ear with his teeth. “That's a scratch,” he whispers, all dirty sex as he moves his hips again.
Standing indignantly, Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and turns, eyebrow raised in a challenge. It would probably look a little more threatening if he wasn't blushing and fighting to catch his breath, but it's not like Jared doesn't know he turns Jensen on or anything.
“Well, come on,” Jensen prods, side-stepping before Jared can lean forward and trap him against the side of the table. “Let's see you sink it, hustler.”
Jared tightens his grip on his stick, gives it a pump, and then winks. Fuckin' winks. “I'm goin' corner,” he nods toward the far corner pocket and moves as far away from Jensen as he can.
Racking his brain for the most effective form of distraction, Jensen stays where he is, barely in Jared's periphery, and waits for Jared to pull the stick back. Aiming for simplicity, he merely lets his hands drop to his waist, pops the button on his jeans, and then lifts his shirt to scratch at his stomach.
The cue brushes the left side of the ball and sends it rolling. It teeters on the edge of the hole before dropping into the pocket.
And before Jensen can even hang his head in defeat, Jared hoists himself onto the table and crawls forward on his hands and knees, far more graceful than anyone his size has a right to be. When Jensen meets his eye, he grins and says, “I win.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jensen drops pushes his jeans over his hips and shakes his head. “Oh, just shut up and get naked.”
Drips
Forpassing_through
Jensen is thirty-two years old, and understands with complete clarity that it is not particularly strange to get water in his face while standing in the shower. While standing outside of the shower, though? That's a little weird.
The first drip lands on the side of his nose while he's willing his eyes to open at about four thirty in the morning. Give him an entire season of night shoots, and he's happy. Morning are not his friend, no matter how many times his mother tells him that the early bird catches the worm. He's not a bird. He doesn't eat worms. His mother can fuck off.
He thinks maybe it's karma that brings the next drip, smacking his ear while he's thinking evil thoughts about his mother's sage advice, so he wipes it away, says a quick apology to the sky and whomever may be listening there, and then turns to start the shower. As he does, two more droplets fall against his bare shoulder.
“JARED!” he calls, and fuck all if it doesn't tear his throat up. Which only serves to piss him off further.
He hears the heavy footsteps before Jared appears in the doorway. “You bellowed?”
The amused smile on his boyfriend's face only pisses Jensen off more. “It's raining,” he scowls.
“Yeah. Started about twenty minutes ago.”
“No,” Jensen looks up and takes another drop right to the eye. Swatting at his face, he adds, “Inside. It's raining inside.”
Jared holds his hand out and then draws back when the water smacks his palm. “Huh. Must be a leak in the roof.”
“Ya think?”
With a roll of his eyes, he pats Jensen's ass and nods toward the shower. “You might as well go ahead and get ready. I can't call anyone until a little later.”
Jensen stumbles into the shower, grumbles under the stream of steaming water, and tries to convince himself that there will not be a gaping hole in the ceiling when he steps out. He's not going to get just as soaked out there as he is in the shower.
Jared is jumping off of the bathroom counter when Jensen throws the glass door open. “No worries,” he shrugs easily, grabbing a roll of duct tape and twirling it on his finger. “Come on. You're gonna be late.”
Maybe it's the early hour, or just the overwhelming surreality of the morning in general, but Jensen just watches Jared breeze out of the room and then tilts his head to look at the place the water was coming from a few minutes ago. There, over the leaking panel, Jared has taped a long bath towel. It's ridiculous, but effective, and even though Jensen can see the water darkening the terrycloth, it's not falling on his head anymore.
He's not exactly quick-witted first thing in the morning, so it takes Jensen a little while to process everything. When he does, he kind of feels equal parts guilty and stupid for throwing a tantrum and blowing things out of proportion.
Mostly, though, he feels pretty good knowing he has a boyfriend who is willing to take his idiosyncrasies and his random immaturity in stride. Life gets busy, and sometimes it's easy to let the minutia of every day take priority over that.
But then he does something as ridiculous as duct taping a towel to the ceiling so Jensen doesn't get a few sprinkling droplets of water on his head from the leaking roof, and he remembers all over again just way he fell for Jared in the first place.
Even with the debacle in the bathroom, Jensen's still ready and waiting by the front door with the dogs when Jared comes racing down the stairs at five fourteen. His hair is wet and hanging in his eyes, but Jeannie will take care of that when they get to set. Shannon will take care of the puffy eyes and red nose from being caught in the cold morning rain.
But nobody can cover the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that splits his face when Jensen offers him thermos, filled to the brim with the protein shake he made because he knew Jared wouldn't have time.
“Thanks, man,” he nods, and Jensen can tell that he's surprised.
Because he's the kind of guy who doesn't even realize just how awesome he is.
Domination
Forkiwiana
This whole thing started innocently enough. Jared swears that it did.
Of course, with Jensen straddling his hips, holding his arms above his head, and grinding down on him like he is, it's kind of hard to remember how it started at all. Pun intended.
He remembers being psyched to get the new Guitar Hero for his PS3. And he remembers tearing the box open and sticking it in the console. He thinks he might even remember telling Jensen that he was about to witness domination the likes of which he's never seen before. Oh, yeah, because then he remembers thinking that was the exact wrong thing to say before the sentence was completely out of his mouth.
Jensen's not a big gamer. He'll play, when he doesn't have anything better to do, or when Jared hounds him about it until he's tired of resisting. But it's not his thing. Which means that trash talk doesn't so much work, either, because he just doesn't care enough to be bothered by whatever smack is pouring from Jared's lips.
His standing rule is that he'll play until he's bored, or thinks of some other, more interesting, way to spend his time.
Apparently, tonight his time would be better served showing Jared his own interpretation of domination. Which, Jared has to admit, is kind of better than six hours in front of the television, following floating music notes with a little, plastic guitar.
“You were saying something about domination,” Jensen smiles all knowing and smug. And then his eyes darken and it's all Jared can do not to whimper like a puppy whining for a treat. “This what you had in mind?”
He won't say it, and the truth is that Jensen doesn't really expect him to. He likes it better when Jared is quiet. Well, quiet save for the grunting and groaning. He's usually the vocal one. Here, he can just throw his head back and feel.
“That's right,” Jensen's voice is a dirty hum against his neck. “So fuckin' hot,” he adds, teeth scraping and tongue immediately soothing the burn.
He's still holding Jared's hands flat against the carpet, and he's purposely arching his back to avoid contact. Jensen might think it's hot, but Jared finds it fucking frustrating. “Please,” he whispers, and the voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Most people say he's loud, and they're not wrong. Boisterous, usually. But Jensen can steal his words like nobody else, and Jared's happy to let him do it.
With a smirk, Jensen grinds down again, denim on denim as the friction sends a electrical fire up Jared's spine. “You wanna play games, Jared?” Jared's breath rushes out quickly. “Yeah, well I want you to play, too. Want you to pick a song, and I want you to play it. And if you can make it through the whole thing, all the way to the end? I'll let you come tonight.”
Now, what kind of bull shit challenge is that? Jared is hard as a rock, losing circulation in his hands from Jensen's grip, and he's pretty sure he's going to be completely unable to hold himself upright at the moment. How in the hell he's supposed to play a game is beyond him. “And if I don't,” he manages to ask, though it's tight and hard to understand beneath his ragged breathing.
“If you don't,” Jensen climbs off of Jared's legs and stands, offering him a hand, “I fuck you, hard and fast like you love it. I come, and you go to sleep hard and unsatisfied.”
It's cold. Sadistic, even. But Jared knows that Jensen will do it. And for some reason, even though their relationship's not really like that, Jared will obey. Maybe because it's not normally like that, because Jensen's not normally the more aggressive between them. Maybe just because he knows Jensen only does this when he really fucking wants it, and he kind of loves giving Jensen exactly what he wants.
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he selects a song. Jensen won't go easy on him, and there's a good chance that Jared will fuck this up and be stuck trying to fall asleep blindingly hard tonight. Of course, Jensen will give in about an hour after he fucks Jared, let him come anyway, but still. There's a principle involved here.
He does his best to relax his stance and study the television, despite Jensen's best efforts to distract him. On his knees, fingers kneading at his ass while he working his mouth up and down Jared's cock, he moans and whispers dirty things that Jared cannot let himself listen to if he stands half a chance of getting through this.
It's a shaky rendition of Welcome to the Jungle, at best. Jared definitely doesn't beat any high scores. But when he finishes the song and Jensen looks up at him through those inhumanly-long lashes, impressed? He raises his hands above his head and pumps his fist in victory anyway.
“Who,” he asks pointedly, “is the motherfuckin' master now?”
Jensen stands, lips swollen and red, and grins. “Why don't you get your ass upstairs and find out?”
Author:
raeschaePairing: J2
Rating: They range from PG to R
Word Count: About 9000 all together (Less than 1000 each)
Summary: The other day, I asked my flist to send me one-word prompts. I, in turn, gave them less than a thousand words of (occasionally semi-porny) schmoop. They're mostly non-AU, but I did sneak one Disclaimer fic in there. Hope that's okay!
Sun
Tomorrow
Thunder
Waiting
Puppy (A Disclaimer Shorty)
Heat
Scratch
Drips
Domination
Sun
For
taintedloveIf pressed to admit a less-than-masculine trait, Jensen's first response would not be the kiwi-strawberry moisturizer in his bathroom cabinet or the forty-eight pairs of shoes in his closet at home right now. What? Like he's going to admit to those out loud?
No, if he had to, Jensen would say that the girliest thing about him is his fair skin. He would be wrong, of course. A lot of guys have fair skin. (A lot more than the ones who care about the new Gucci line, at least.) But those guys aren't on television, so they don't have to appear in scenes with Jared 'I can get a tan from the light in the refrigerator' Padalecki.
Jensen's pretty sure that God hates him. There's really no other explanation for the way his life has fallen together. Not only was he given milky white skin and red-tinted hair, but he was then bitten by the illusive “acting bug,” which forced him to move to California, the sunniest place on Earth.
It's virtually impossible for him to spend more than twenty minutes in the sun without either turning pink, or finding sixteen new freckles on his face when he gets back inside. And freckles? Adorable when you're a seven-year-old girl with braided pigtails and two missing front teeth. But as a thirty-two-year-old man who's supposed to convince people he can kick ass and kill the Devil? Not as cute, no matter what his fans might try to tell you.
Shannon used to make him spend a couple of afternoons a week in the tanning bed, just a few minutes at a time, and he still burnt up. Worse than that, he gave her more of those damn freckles to cover up. Eventually, she stopped hounding him about it and accepted the fact that he was just not going to be the golden Adonis that Jared is.
And that's the most infuriating thing of all. Because Jared doesn't even have to think about burning. He steps outside to play with the dogs and comes back a deeper shade of brown than he was when he walked outside. And then he strips his shirt off and walks around the house all bronzed and beautiful and freckle-less, and it's all Jensen can do not to hate him for it.
“Ya know what I love about your face,” Jared muses one afternoon while they're laying on the couch, lazily enjoying a rare afternoon off.
Jensen's not big on the cuddling, but having Jared's legs tangled with his while they sit on opposite ends of the couch and stare blankly at the movie on the television is pretty nice. “My face?” he quirks an eyebrow and turns his head to see Jared staring at him with a look that says he has no intention of returning his attention to the movie any time soon.
He nods and narrows his eyes a little before smiling even wider than he was a second ago. “It's perfect.”
“Thank you,” Jensen rolls his eyes and looks back to the television. “That's very . . . something . . . of you.”
“Nah, man, c'mon. I mean it,” Jared nudges Jensen's thigh with his toe. “There are a lotta good lookin' guys in the world, but there's not many perfect ones.” He sits up a little straighter and leans forward, as if trying to get a closer look. “Strong jaw, good nose, eyes that are both symmetrical and a great color. Your mouth,” he shakes his head and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, “Well, I don't have to tell you how perfect your mouth is.”
Jensen can feel the blush in his cheeks, which is awesome because another perk of being fair-skinned and virtually allergic to the sun is that he looks like a giant tomato when he's embarrassed. “Whatever, man,” he tries to shrug it off.
But it's hard to shrug someone off when they're roughly the size of a mountain. Jared's fingers walk up Jensen's shin and rest on his knee. “The best part, though? Is when you've been out in the sun. Because then you look all flushed, and your freckles stand out more.”
“Man, fuck you.” There's no bite to the words, but there's no real 'lightness' in his tone, either.
Then Jared's hand on his knee tightens, and when Jensen looks back at him, there's genuine warmth, and love, staring back at him. “I don't know anybody who makes freckles look as sexy as you do, Jensen. Sometimes, when the sun's really bright, I think about locking you out of the house for an hour, just to see more of 'em.”
And when he puts it like that, Jensen thinks maybe it's not so bad to be fair-skinned and freckle-faced. Of course, he also realizes that Jared's mind is kind of a scary place. “You're so fuckin' weird sometimes,” he shakes his head and laughs a little, but he runs his foot down the inside of Jared's thigh and presses a little further back into the couch cushions.
“Yeah,” Jared agrees and relaxes into his original spot, legs tightening around Jensen's just a little. “Love you, too, man.”
Alright, so maybe there are worse things in the world than being sensitive to the sun.
Tomorrow
For
nickgregfanIt probably shouldn't be a big deal. It's not like everybody doesn't already know. There's no reason for Jared to be nervous.
So he doesn't really know why there's a ball of nervous energy sitting low in his gut, twisting and turning and making it's present a little more undeniable with every passing tick of the clock.
It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.
“Ya know, if it's freaking you out this much, we don't have to do it.”
He turns to find Jensen leaning in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other, beer bottle dangling between his fingers. Dressed only in a pair of jeans, he's totally at ease. Like tomorrow's not even happening.
“I'm sure your mother would just love that,” Jared shoots back, and even he can admit that it sounds a lot more snide than it's supposed to. It's not Jensen's fault that he's freaking out for no reason. “I'm fine. Just,” he shakes his head and goes back to the book that he's been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes, “Don't worry about it.”
Sarcastically, a small chuckle works it way out of Jensen's throat and he makes his way across the room to stand beside the bed. He sets his bottle on the nightstand and then flops down at Jared's side and steals his book away. Without further explanation, he rests a hand on Jared's thigh and begins working his lips and teeth against his neck.
He's good, Jensen is. Because Jared's brain stops worrying and basically melts inside his skull. “Wh-what're . . . Should . . . Jensen.” The name is growled, and Jared stops wanting to be left alone to his brooding, and starts hoping that Jensen never, ever stops sucking right there.
“My parents already love you,” Jensen whispers before biting down on the lobe of Jared's ear. “My sister adores you. My brother thinks your cool.” He nips at the line of his jaw. “My nephews think you're awesome, man.”
Jared turns his face to capture Jensen's lips in his own, and he forces himself not to consider the fact that, tomorrow, he's not hanging out at Jensen's parents' house as his co-star or his friend. For the first time, they're going to see him as something other than Jensen's “roommate.” And, sure, he's been around them a few times in the last couple of years, and they've always been cool. But he wasn't fucking their son/brother/uncle/grandson back then. Or, if he was, they didn't know it.
This could end very, very badly.
“Hey,” Jensen's voice is rough as gravel and smooth as whiskey against his ear. “Look at me.”
Jared does and when he turns his head, he's kind of blown away. It's weird, the way Jensen can still catch him off-guard with just his presence. It doesn't happen all the time, he's kind of gotten used to the guy he sees more than his own reflection in the mirror some days. But occasionally, he'll turn around and Jensen's just there. And something in his chest just sticks.
“You're gonna be fine. We're gonna be fine.”
There's so much sincerity in his eyes, so much conviction, that Jared can't help believing him. Jensen loves his family, and his family fucking adores him. They're going to love the person that Jensen loves. It's rational and logical and Jared has to choose to believe it or he's going to go out of his fucking mind.
He knows that he's too lost in his own head, in his own swirling thoughts, when Jensen straddles his lap and buries his fingers in his hair, and Jared didn't even notice him moving. He sure as hell notices when he grinds down against Jared, though, and nearly blinds him with that thousand-watt smile.
“How 'bout you stop thinkin' about my mom for a second,” he rolls his hips, hot and hard through his jeans, “And start thinkin' bout what I'm gonna do to you.”
Jared just nods, hands grasping Jensen's ass and forcing him closer.
Fuck tomorrow. This moment, right now, deserves his full and undivided attention.
Thunder
For
gwaerenJensen's been with guys before, some of them extraordinarily kinky, but never anyone who loves this as much as Jared does.
He's not sure how many times it happened before he clued in to just what was going on, but now that Jensen knows, he's never been happier to live in Vancouver for nine months out of the year. With the exception of a few dry, summer months, it rains like crazy here. And rain, in Jensen's opinion, is about the best form of precipitation there is.
It's early afternoon, the muted gray light outside seeping in under the heavy shades on the bedroom window. Night shoots are the standard, and falling into each other, exhausted, around noon isn't uncommon. They should both be sound asleep, but the dogs have been whining around the halls since they got home. Like they know what's coming, and they know to stay away.
It starts with the light patter of drops against the window pane and Jensen smiles when he feels Jared's fingers crawling over his hip. His thumb circles lightly over the skin there, and he breathes a contended sigh into the base of Jensen's neck. He's not asleep, Jensen knows, but he's close. Another five minutes, and he would have missed this all together.
The rain picks up speed, beating out an angry rhythm and Jared's hand drifts below the waistband of the shorts Jensen is wearing, palming lazily over his cock while his lips and tongue paint abstract designs around the top of his spine. It's dizzying, and Jensen covers Jared's hand with his own just to feel grounded somehow.
Sometimes the thunder comes first, but it's better when it rumbles in the distance, under the steady symphony of rain. That's when Jared pulls Jensen's shorts down and aligns their hips, his cock hard and heavy against Jensen's ass.
Jensen's never asked the origins of this particular habit, and Jared's never offered the information up. The truth is, he doesn't care where it comes from, as long as it never stops.
It's pouring now, and Jensen's pretty sure that Jared sleeps with lube under his pillow, because it's somehow always there in a snap if he needs it. As the first traces of lightning tear through the sky, Jensen's too distracted by the burst of white stars behind his eyelids at the simultaneous sensation of Jared's slick fingers slipping into him and his huge hand squeezing and pumping Jensen's cock.
Jared's growl against the back of his neck echo's the thunder rolling in, closer and closer as Jared adds another finger, and then another, stretching Jensen and nearly sending him over the edge.
“Don't you come yet,” he whispers gruffly against Jensen's jaw when he pulls his fingers away.
He really wants to tell Jared to stop waiting and do something about it. Wants to tell him that this whole 'choreographed with the rain' thing is ridiculous. He would, if he could catch his breath, and if the thunder didn't crack so hard outside the window that the glass rattles. Instead, Jensen yelps in a fashion far less-manly than he wants to admit, and pushes back onto Jared's cock.
This particular storm is louder than the last few they've experienced, and Jensen thinks he might limp tomorrow from the power of the thrusts that Jared matches to the intensity of the weather. Not that he's complaining. Kink or not, he's not objecting to being fucked hard on occasion. As many occasions as Jared would like.
The sound begins to recede, rolling back to wherever it came from, and Jared flexes his fingers and angles his hips perfectly, sending Jensen over the ledge he's been so precariously perched on until now.
By the time Jared follows him, and their breathing returns to normal, the tapping of the drops against the window are fading into stillness. He smiles as Jared's fingers creep lazily back up his stomach and his hand rests on Jensen's hip. With Jared's soft snore at his neck, Jensen casts one last look at the window to see yellow rays streaking the gray light as it fights its way into their room, and then lets his eyes drift closed.
The weather report calls for scattered thunderstorms throughout the day and into the night. He's going to need his rest.
Waiting
For
nightporters”I'm gonna write a book, and title it 'Waiting on Jared.'” - Jensen Ackles
The first time he said it, Jensen was kidding. It's true that Jared takes an inordinate amount of time to get his shit together and get out the door in the morning, but it's not really that annoying. And it's also true that he always ends up in the car about fifteen minutes before Jared does, but at least it gives him enough time to fall back asleep against the window before they roll out of the driveway.
The thing is, he's patient. Always has been. His father taught him, when he was pretty young, that you don't always get immediate rewards for your actions. All you can do, Son, is work hard, give it your best, and wait to see what happens next.
His grandmother used to call it 'planting seeds.' You plant a seed, Jensen, give it plenty of sunshine and water, but it doesn't become a flower over night. You have to be patient and, in the end, it will be worth it. I promise. She hasn't been wrong yet.
He was acting in Hollywood for nearly ten years before Supernatural came along. Working hard . . . planting seeds . . . whatever. What he's found is that the best things come when you're ready for them, even if it's not when you think you are. He wasn't ready for the level of success that he's achieved when he first got to Hollywood.
Instead of looking at the setbacks, the rejections, as roadblocks on the path to his goals, he tries to remember that they're just detours. And sometimes, when you follow the detours, it takes a little longer, but he knows now that he'll reach the destination eventually, and maybe see something he wasn't expecting along the way.
He certainly wasn't expecting to do another genre show, not after he'd already tucked two of them under his belt in near-rapid succession. And he wasn't expecting to find the best friend he's ever had, and a chemistry that is palpable, en route to his dream of starring in his own project. Least of all, he was absolutely not expecting to fall in love with Jared.
It didn't strike out of nowhere, and it wasn't immediate. But over time, cultivating this relationship with his co-star, he can't deny that it's happened. Sometimes he thinks he should say something about, tell Jared how he feels, plant a seed. But he figured it out on his own, and something keeps telling him that Jared will, too. When he's ready. When they're both ready for it, he's confident that it will happen.
“Sorry, man,” Jared apologizes all hurried under his breath as he fumbles into the SUV with all the grace of a drunken elephant. “Okay, I'm good,” he announces when he's situated enough to pull the door closed. “Sorry.”
Same thing, every day. He's twenty minutes late, and apologizing all over the place like he doesn't know where the time went.
Jensen just grunts and attempts to burrow further into the cool glass of the window. Jared doesn't need to know that Jensen doesn't mind waiting in the morning, after all.
“Hey,” Jared's voice isn't particularly soft or quiet, so Jensen turns and gives him a grouchy look. Until he raises a travel mug into Jensen's eye line and smiles sheepishly. “Brought you coffee.”
Jensen sits up a little straighter and takes the mug, eyebrow quirking when Jared's fingers brush against his blatantly against the side of the cup. Jared's staring back at him, and it's not exactly like every other time they've shared a look on the way to work before. “Thanks,” he smiles a little, takes a long drink, and then lowers the cup to his leg. “You wanna run lines or somethin'?”
They did it last night, but he knows that Jared sometimes gets nervous about his comedic timing, so he doesn't mind running over it again.
But Jared just shakes his head and nods back toward the window. “Go on back to sleep, man. I got it.” His hand brushes against Jensen's on the seat between them, and the contact shocks Jensen into looking back at Jared's face without really thinking about it. “Sorry I was so late,” he apologizes again, but the way he threads their fingers together tells Jensen that he's not referring to this morning. Or any other morning, for that matter.
“'It's cool,” Jensen smiles, and rests against the window once again. “Some things are worth the wait.”
Puppy (A Disclaimer Short)
For
noxelemantist“The fuck is that?”
Jared looks up at Jensen with a start, like he didn't hear him walk into the room. “What?”
Nodding to Jared's side at the bed, he gestured wildly with one hand and says, “That.”
Jared's hand moves lightly over the little white ball of fur curled against his thigh, a stark contradiction to the bleeding skull tattooed on the arm he has looped protectively around it. “Oh,” he nods, eyes drifting down to see what Jensen is seeing. “It's a puppy.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jensen fires back. “What's it doing in our bed?”
Jared doesn't bother moving the magazine from his leg, but he does meet Jensen's eye with an oblivious look. “I'm dog-sitting.”
Jensen loves Jared – fucking loves him – but there are times when he wonders just what the fuck goes on in that sexy head of his. “For who?”
Sophia and Chad have a Golden Retriever, and Genevieve has two Pit Bulls. As far as Jensen knows, none of Jared's friends own a ball of white fur that barley looks like more than a breathing stuffed animal.
“Bray,” Jared answers and then rolls his eyes when Jensen opens his mouth to yell. “Oh, calm down. It's not his,” he dismisses. Finally putting the magazine aside, Jared lifts the little thing from the mattress, and it's almost funny how it nearly disappears between his gigantic hands.
Sinking to his own side of the bed, Jensen runs a hand over his blue hair and shakes his head. “Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with a girl?”
“Because everything he does has something to do with a girl?” Jared shakes his head and smiles as the puppy licks a happy stripe against his cheek. “At least this one comes with cute accessories.”
“Cute?” It's not weird enough that Jensen came home from work to find Jared cuddling up with a froofy puppy. But now he's calling it cute? It's fucking Bizzar-o World and Jensen wants out. As soon as possible, preferably.
“What? She's cute,” is Jared's only defense as he turns the thing around to tilt its head in wonder at Jensen. “Come on. You know you wanna give her a kiss.”
Jensen pulls a face and shakes his head. “No thanks,” he declines the offer. “The only bitch I kiss is you.”
“Funny,” Jared intones and returns his attention to the squirming lump in his hands.
“So, what? This girl's so amazing that he's willing to dog-sit just to get in her pants?” Brayden's taken some drastic measures to get laid before but, in Jensen's opinion, this one takes the cake.
Jared rolls his eyes. “Like you have room to talk.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Dude, you got a tattoo you didn't even want just to get in my pants,” Jared points out.
He's not entirely wrong. But Jensen doesn't hate the Texas tattoo Jared etched on his forearm during their first meeting. And it worked, so who the hell is he to complain?
With a sigh, he watches Jared set the puppy back on the bed and runs his hand over the top of her soft fur when she climbs into his lap. Alright, so she's kind of cute, but at least he's man enough not to say it out loud. “Where the hell is Bray, anyway?”
Jared shakes his head and pets the dog once before letting his hand fall to Jensen's thigh. “Jordan's,” he names Brayden's best friend. “Said they were workin' on some project.”
“So, we're the ones doing all the work, and he's the one reaping the benefit?” If that doesn't just sum up parenting, Jensen doesn't know what does. Jared shrugs, and Jensen asks, “This thing have a name?” Jared nods. “You gonna tell me what it is?”
“According to Bray, her full name is Sugar Puff Princess, but she responds to just 'Sugar.'”
“You're kidding me.”
“The fuck would I make that shit up?”
“Can we ground him for even trying to get with the girl who picked that name?”
Jared's tone is non-committal when he says, “You can try.”
Sugar ambles further up Jensen's legs and rests her front paws against his chest, tongue lapping at nothing. “Sorry, chick. I don't kiss girls.” But he grabs her with both hands around her middle anyway and lifts her into the air. Truth be told, she's not the ugliest dog he's ever seen. And by that, he means she's pretty fuckin' adorable. “And I'm sorry your name is Sugar Puff Princess. Nobody deserves that.”
Jared rolls off the bed and stretches his arms above his head, tattoos at his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tank top. Jensen really wants to roll after him and sink his teeth into that ink, but Sugar is wiggling against his chest and he's pretty sure that he's just been cock-blocked by a white poof of fur.
“I gotta get back to the shop. Her food and water are by the island, and you'll probably wanna let her out to pee soon.”
“Wait a second,” Jensen exclaims, placing Sugar on the bed and standing to catch Jared's wrist as he walks by. “I didn't agree to this shit. You're not leaving her here with me!”
“What am I supposed to do, Jen? Take her the shop with me?” He casts a disapproving look at the dog and then back at his boyfriend. “Even I'm not that gay, man.”
After a quick kiss, he winks, and all Jensen can say is, “I fuckin' hate you.”
Heat
For
kissesxobecki“Why are they doing this again?”
Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one food to the other as he considers the spectacle before him. “Because their relationship is completely fucking twisted,” is his explanation.
With a roll of her eyes, Danneel sighs and leans her hip against the kitchen counter and taps her acrylic nails against the granite top. “Why are we here for this again?”
“Because they're actors,” Steve intones. “Validation doesn't count if it's not completely external.”
Chris stands at the corner of the kitchen table, Jensen and Jared seated on either side of him. Each of them have a glass of milk and an empty shot glass. Chris twists the lid on the small bottle in his hand and empties half of it into Jared's glass, and the other into Jensen's.
“Don't worry there, Jay-man. I got the chocolate one for ya,” Chris winks as the pair before him stare hesitantly at the dark liquid in their glasses. “Alright, boys, here's the rules. That's one ounce'a CaJohn's infamous Black Mamba Hot Sauce. I had to sign a liability waiver when I bought it, so this here's the dumbest fuckin' thing either one of y'all have ever attempted. There's a good possibility it'll burn yer taste buds right off. Last chance to bow the fuck out.”
Jared raises an eyebrow in Jensen's direction and wonders just how the hell they got here. The betting, the challenges, started small enough. Now they're about to do a shot whose label guarantees the most heat available in a bottle. Chris is right, it's the dumbest fuckin' thing they've attempted.
With a shrug, Jensen reaches for his glass and Jared knows he can't back down. They've been sleeping together for more than a year, but anybody who thinks they're not still uber-competitive, pain-in-the-ass best friends clearly doesn't know them very well.
“Is this one of those guy things that I'll never understand?” Danneel asks from somewhere behind him and Jared's lip just quirks into a half-grin.
Jensen nods and runs his tongue over his bottom lip like he's playing some kind of mind game. Like Jared doesn't know how to block that out by now. “Ready?” he asks, voice Dean-low and graveled.
Finally, Jared wraps his hand around his own glass and nods his head. No time like the present. This can't actually kill them, can it?
“Bottoms up, boys,” Chris waves his arm like he's waving a flag and Jensen tips his glass like it's nothing.
Down the hatch, Jared thinks, tipping his head back and pouring the entire contents of his glass down his throat.
Whatever warning they gave this shit is not strong enough. His entire head could very well burst into flames at any minute. Jensen's face is as red as Jared has ever seen it, and he's sure his own is much the same. What the fuck were they thinking? This is, bar none, the worst idea on the planet.
His vision begins to swim, and he can hear Danneel asking if they're okay, if they need anything, but tears are flowing down his cheeks and he can feel his nose running while his throat squeezes shut. He's pretty sure he'll never be able to speak again, and won't that just be a kick in the ass? Sorry, fans of SPN, but your show's been cancelled due to the fact that your lead actors are idiotic frat boys who don't know when to say when, and have now burnt holes in their esophagus.
The worst part? It's Jensen's birthday. They were supposed to go to dinner tonight, and then Jared was going to bring him home, lay him out, and drive him out of his mind. He's pretty sure neither of them are going to be up for that now. It's quite possible, they'll never be up for it again.
While he can't really see Jensen through the tears in his eyes and the ache in his face, Jared feels him brush by on his way to the bathroom. Or, rather, the kitchen sink. Danneel growls out an, “Oh, gross,” and that's the last thing Jared hears before he's rushing in the same direction. No way is he going to make it to the bathroom.
The room reeks and it's nearly a half an hour later when both of them can focus on their friends again, eyes puffy and faces still crimson-tinted.
“Dude,” Chris steps out from between Steve and Danneel and wraps an arm around Jensen's shoulder. “That was fucking awesome.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and Jared would punch his arm on principle alone if it weren't for the fact that his fingers are still tingling and he's not entirely convinced that he should stop leaning all of his weight against the sink.
It's not until their friends are gone that Jensen looks Jared in the eye for the first time since slamming his shot. “You know I totally won that shit, right?”
With his eyes still burning, Jared rolls them. “Dude, whatever. You totally puked yours up first.”
“But I slammed it back first, too!” Jensen argues, hand clutching tightly to his tee shirt at his stomach. “And it's my birthday.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
His stomach roils and Jensen shakes his head. “Sorry, man. Not tonight.”
Scratch
For
imaginethehappyWhen Jared bought the pool table for the basement game room, Jensen didn't really see the point. Outside of playing on set on occasion, they're not really big on the game at all. Turns out, it's not the worst thing Jared's ever purchased.
They play by only one rule: Anything goes.
Jared's distraction techniques are about as subtle as a stampeding elephant. He starts the game by standing astride his stick, hands stroking it in what can only be described as an 'obscene gesture.' That's only after he strips his tee shirt and throws it at Jensen, smiling like a giant kid when it lands on Jensen's head.
But Jensen's no chump, and they've been doing this long enough for him to develop his own technique, circling the table and brushing against Jared's back when he lines up a shot, managing to avoid getting knocked with Jared's stick in the process. If he grunts a little suggestively at the contact, he's certainly not admitting it.
Where Jensen is echoes of contact, Jared is obvious groping. Jensen is about to sink the seven ball in the corner pocket when he feels one massive hand on his hip, fingers sliding up under his tee shirt while his other hand palms his ass and Jared moans like a fucking porn star.
For Jared's next shot, Jensen circles the table and stops directly behind the pocket. When he bends to line up, Jensen rolls his hips and though Jared doesn't look up, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and arches an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna stand that close?” Jared asks, looking up from under his brow to smirk with a small tilt of his head.
Jensen just stares back and shrugs. “You hit me with the ball and you don't get laid again, like, ever. My suggestion? Don't miss.”
Jared sinks the ball and then pumps his fist in victory, causing Jensen to roll his eyes. Two more, and Jensen's starting to feel the pressure. They're not playing for anything. Not really. But bragging rights are kind of a big deal in this house, and he doesn't want to see Jared win now any more than he does when there's an actual prize on the line.
Subtly, he moves around the room, watching as Jared narrows his eyes and focuses on the ball he's looking to sink next. When he draws back to take the shot, Jensen's there, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Wanna fuck you on this table.” And when the shot misses by a mile, Jensen's there with a shit-eating grin to meet Jared's pout. “That, my friend, is a scratch.”
He sinks three in a row while Jared leans against a stool behind him and says nothing. It's a ploy, and Jensen's not stupid enough to believe that he's done being a distraction. That's not the way they play.
So it shouldn't be a surprise, once the only thing left on the table is the 8-ball, that Jared sidles up behind Jensen, legs spread and hips aligned. Shouldn't be, but it is. Enough of a surprise that Jensen takes a deep breath and considers whether or not he can line this shot up without bending over. He's guessing Jared's not accidentally standing there with his dick just waiting to ride the crack of his ass.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word is gritted through clenched teeth, and with his eyes closed, Jensen does the one thing he knows he's going to regret. He dips low, ass grinding against Jared's groin, and swallows heavy. If he manages to jab Jared with the end of his stick, he figures it's not his fault.
He pulls his arm back to take the shot and Jared thrusts forward. Hard. In more ways than one. He wishes he could say that the cue strikes the 8-ball and sends it easily into the side pocket. But it doesn't. The cue actually jumps over the 8, bounces off the side of the table, and lands on the hardwood floor with a thud.
Jared leans down to cover Jensen's body with his own and tugs at his left ear with his teeth. “That's a scratch,” he whispers, all dirty sex as he moves his hips again.
Standing indignantly, Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and turns, eyebrow raised in a challenge. It would probably look a little more threatening if he wasn't blushing and fighting to catch his breath, but it's not like Jared doesn't know he turns Jensen on or anything.
“Well, come on,” Jensen prods, side-stepping before Jared can lean forward and trap him against the side of the table. “Let's see you sink it, hustler.”
Jared tightens his grip on his stick, gives it a pump, and then winks. Fuckin' winks. “I'm goin' corner,” he nods toward the far corner pocket and moves as far away from Jensen as he can.
Racking his brain for the most effective form of distraction, Jensen stays where he is, barely in Jared's periphery, and waits for Jared to pull the stick back. Aiming for simplicity, he merely lets his hands drop to his waist, pops the button on his jeans, and then lifts his shirt to scratch at his stomach.
The cue brushes the left side of the ball and sends it rolling. It teeters on the edge of the hole before dropping into the pocket.
And before Jensen can even hang his head in defeat, Jared hoists himself onto the table and crawls forward on his hands and knees, far more graceful than anyone his size has a right to be. When Jensen meets his eye, he grins and says, “I win.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jensen drops pushes his jeans over his hips and shakes his head. “Oh, just shut up and get naked.”
Drips
For
passing_throughJensen is thirty-two years old, and understands with complete clarity that it is not particularly strange to get water in his face while standing in the shower. While standing outside of the shower, though? That's a little weird.
The first drip lands on the side of his nose while he's willing his eyes to open at about four thirty in the morning. Give him an entire season of night shoots, and he's happy. Morning are not his friend, no matter how many times his mother tells him that the early bird catches the worm. He's not a bird. He doesn't eat worms. His mother can fuck off.
He thinks maybe it's karma that brings the next drip, smacking his ear while he's thinking evil thoughts about his mother's sage advice, so he wipes it away, says a quick apology to the sky and whomever may be listening there, and then turns to start the shower. As he does, two more droplets fall against his bare shoulder.
“JARED!” he calls, and fuck all if it doesn't tear his throat up. Which only serves to piss him off further.
He hears the heavy footsteps before Jared appears in the doorway. “You bellowed?”
The amused smile on his boyfriend's face only pisses Jensen off more. “It's raining,” he scowls.
“Yeah. Started about twenty minutes ago.”
“No,” Jensen looks up and takes another drop right to the eye. Swatting at his face, he adds, “Inside. It's raining inside.”
Jared holds his hand out and then draws back when the water smacks his palm. “Huh. Must be a leak in the roof.”
“Ya think?”
With a roll of his eyes, he pats Jensen's ass and nods toward the shower. “You might as well go ahead and get ready. I can't call anyone until a little later.”
Jensen stumbles into the shower, grumbles under the stream of steaming water, and tries to convince himself that there will not be a gaping hole in the ceiling when he steps out. He's not going to get just as soaked out there as he is in the shower.
Jared is jumping off of the bathroom counter when Jensen throws the glass door open. “No worries,” he shrugs easily, grabbing a roll of duct tape and twirling it on his finger. “Come on. You're gonna be late.”
Maybe it's the early hour, or just the overwhelming surreality of the morning in general, but Jensen just watches Jared breeze out of the room and then tilts his head to look at the place the water was coming from a few minutes ago. There, over the leaking panel, Jared has taped a long bath towel. It's ridiculous, but effective, and even though Jensen can see the water darkening the terrycloth, it's not falling on his head anymore.
He's not exactly quick-witted first thing in the morning, so it takes Jensen a little while to process everything. When he does, he kind of feels equal parts guilty and stupid for throwing a tantrum and blowing things out of proportion.
Mostly, though, he feels pretty good knowing he has a boyfriend who is willing to take his idiosyncrasies and his random immaturity in stride. Life gets busy, and sometimes it's easy to let the minutia of every day take priority over that.
But then he does something as ridiculous as duct taping a towel to the ceiling so Jensen doesn't get a few sprinkling droplets of water on his head from the leaking roof, and he remembers all over again just way he fell for Jared in the first place.
Even with the debacle in the bathroom, Jensen's still ready and waiting by the front door with the dogs when Jared comes racing down the stairs at five fourteen. His hair is wet and hanging in his eyes, but Jeannie will take care of that when they get to set. Shannon will take care of the puffy eyes and red nose from being caught in the cold morning rain.
But nobody can cover the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that splits his face when Jensen offers him thermos, filled to the brim with the protein shake he made because he knew Jared wouldn't have time.
“Thanks, man,” he nods, and Jensen can tell that he's surprised.
Because he's the kind of guy who doesn't even realize just how awesome he is.
Domination
For
kiwianaThis whole thing started innocently enough. Jared swears that it did.
Of course, with Jensen straddling his hips, holding his arms above his head, and grinding down on him like he is, it's kind of hard to remember how it started at all. Pun intended.
He remembers being psyched to get the new Guitar Hero for his PS3. And he remembers tearing the box open and sticking it in the console. He thinks he might even remember telling Jensen that he was about to witness domination the likes of which he's never seen before. Oh, yeah, because then he remembers thinking that was the exact wrong thing to say before the sentence was completely out of his mouth.
Jensen's not a big gamer. He'll play, when he doesn't have anything better to do, or when Jared hounds him about it until he's tired of resisting. But it's not his thing. Which means that trash talk doesn't so much work, either, because he just doesn't care enough to be bothered by whatever smack is pouring from Jared's lips.
His standing rule is that he'll play until he's bored, or thinks of some other, more interesting, way to spend his time.
Apparently, tonight his time would be better served showing Jared his own interpretation of domination. Which, Jared has to admit, is kind of better than six hours in front of the television, following floating music notes with a little, plastic guitar.
“You were saying something about domination,” Jensen smiles all knowing and smug. And then his eyes darken and it's all Jared can do not to whimper like a puppy whining for a treat. “This what you had in mind?”
He won't say it, and the truth is that Jensen doesn't really expect him to. He likes it better when Jared is quiet. Well, quiet save for the grunting and groaning. He's usually the vocal one. Here, he can just throw his head back and feel.
“That's right,” Jensen's voice is a dirty hum against his neck. “So fuckin' hot,” he adds, teeth scraping and tongue immediately soothing the burn.
He's still holding Jared's hands flat against the carpet, and he's purposely arching his back to avoid contact. Jensen might think it's hot, but Jared finds it fucking frustrating. “Please,” he whispers, and the voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Most people say he's loud, and they're not wrong. Boisterous, usually. But Jensen can steal his words like nobody else, and Jared's happy to let him do it.
With a smirk, Jensen grinds down again, denim on denim as the friction sends a electrical fire up Jared's spine. “You wanna play games, Jared?” Jared's breath rushes out quickly. “Yeah, well I want you to play, too. Want you to pick a song, and I want you to play it. And if you can make it through the whole thing, all the way to the end? I'll let you come tonight.”
Now, what kind of bull shit challenge is that? Jared is hard as a rock, losing circulation in his hands from Jensen's grip, and he's pretty sure he's going to be completely unable to hold himself upright at the moment. How in the hell he's supposed to play a game is beyond him. “And if I don't,” he manages to ask, though it's tight and hard to understand beneath his ragged breathing.
“If you don't,” Jensen climbs off of Jared's legs and stands, offering him a hand, “I fuck you, hard and fast like you love it. I come, and you go to sleep hard and unsatisfied.”
It's cold. Sadistic, even. But Jared knows that Jensen will do it. And for some reason, even though their relationship's not really like that, Jared will obey. Maybe because it's not normally like that, because Jensen's not normally the more aggressive between them. Maybe just because he knows Jensen only does this when he really fucking wants it, and he kind of loves giving Jensen exactly what he wants.
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he selects a song. Jensen won't go easy on him, and there's a good chance that Jared will fuck this up and be stuck trying to fall asleep blindingly hard tonight. Of course, Jensen will give in about an hour after he fucks Jared, let him come anyway, but still. There's a principle involved here.
He does his best to relax his stance and study the television, despite Jensen's best efforts to distract him. On his knees, fingers kneading at his ass while he working his mouth up and down Jared's cock, he moans and whispers dirty things that Jared cannot let himself listen to if he stands half a chance of getting through this.
It's a shaky rendition of Welcome to the Jungle, at best. Jared definitely doesn't beat any high scores. But when he finishes the song and Jensen looks up at him through those inhumanly-long lashes, impressed? He raises his hands above his head and pumps his fist in victory anyway.
“Who,” he asks pointedly, “is the motherfuckin' master now?”
Jensen stands, lips swollen and red, and grins. “Why don't you get your ass upstairs and find out?”
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Date: 2010-03-10 07:26 pm (UTC)Mind if I friend you?
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Date: 2010-03-10 07:58 pm (UTC)