raeschae

Title: Hey Man, Nice Shot (a disclaimer!verse supplemental OneShot)
Author:

raeschae
Rating: PG-13 (maybe a soft R for language)
Pairings:Jared/Jensen . . . mention of Chad
Warnings: Some schmoop
Word Count: 3000 (give or take)
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they would be inked and together.

Summary: Jared can admit that he and Jensen need a distraction. But this isn't exactly what he had in mind. Supplemental OneShot in the disclaimer!verse.

A/N: So, the other day I get this message from tiramisujoy with links to these smoldering pictures of Carey Hart and (my not-so-secret lust crush) Pink, along with the words: Just imagine your J2 in similar pics … guh … it would be just TOO HOT. Being as I can't make a manip that would actually put the boys into pics like this, I went with what I do know.

And thanks, as always, goes to my magically delicious beta, neutraldeviance, for assuring me that the boys do not, in fact, sound like fluffy, schmoopy girls in this particular offering.

*10/20/09 - graphic added to the end of this post.

“So, Tom had this idea,” Jensen starts, eyes fixed on Jared as they stand on opposite sides of the kitchen island. It's four in the morning and they just got home from a party that one of Jared's clients was throwing down in Studio City. It was cramped, sweaty, and cheap. It was exactly what they needed to get back on the horse after . . . that day they don't really talk about.

Between them, a plastic carton containing their leftovers from last night's trip to The Cheesecake Factory lays open and they've been taking sporadic bites while talking about pretty much nothing.

“Does it involve twinky boys in metallic gold hot pants?” Jared asks, shudder running down his spine from Tom's last idea. When Jensen smiles and shakes his head, Jared quirks an eyebrow. “Does it involve one of us in metallic gold hot pants?”

This time, he's afraid Jensen might choke on a chocolate chunk. “Much as I would fucking rock the hell outta those shorts, no,” he assures his boyfriend when he recovers. Because, honestly? His ass is pretty spectacular, but there is no need to accentuate it with shiny butt-huggers. Ever. “It's advertising for the Macy's line,” he says. “Thinks it would be hot if we modeled it. For, like, the print campaign.”

“We as in 'you and Danneel and Mike'? Or we as in 'you and some random model'?” He's not asking out of jealousy or anything. More like professional curiosity.

Jensen lifts his fork to his mouth, licks the cheesecake from the prongs and then says, “We as in 'you and me.'”

To his credit, Jared doesn't laugh right away. “I look like Heidi Klum to you?” he asks instead.

The first response that pops into Jensen head is, Please. Baby, you look so much better than Heidi Klum to me. But he doesn't want to get punched, so he settles for rolling his eyes. “Told him you wouldn't be up for it,” he says. Nevermind that he thinks it would be hot to see Jared draped in Ollie gear, and then draped all over Jensen. Or that he thinks they could both probably use the distraction. Jared doesn't want to do it, they won't.

If there's one thing that Jared hates to be, though, it's predictable. “Didn't say I wasn't up for it. Just asked if I look like a smokin' hot German supermodel to you.” Jensen's eyes roll again and Jared's tempted to warn him that his face might freeze like that if he does it much more. “This your way of trying to make me forget about,” he trails off because saying it right now just hurts too much.

They weren't even supposed to be capable of keeping a kid alive for two months, let alone get attached to him like some puppy they rescued from the shelter. But Brayden's been gone for a week, and it's weird without him. They're not moping around and crying on each other's shoulder at night or anything, but there's a definite funk settling over the house. Even worse than that time they forgot to take the trash out before they left for two weeks in Maui.

“'Cause, I gotta tell ya, man,” Jared sighs as he rolls his hip off the island and heads over to drop his fork into the sink. “Far as distractions go, this one kinda blows.”

“Not a distraction,” Jensen insists over the last bite of the cheesecake. Off of Jared's look, he sighs. “Man, we gotta do something.”

They both know it's for the best. Brayden belongs with his dad, now that Rick is out of rehab and, according to Chris, doing pretty well. He was never meant to stay with them forever, and neither Jensen nor Jared really wanted him to. They were never his parents, didn't even act like it while he was with them, and they've never wanted to be. Still, it feels like they're having an impossible time figuring out how to get back to the way they were before all the drama started now that it's over.

“Skydiving. Paint ball. Weekend in Vegas. There are a million things we can do that don't involve me makin' an idiot out of myself for the entire world to see.” Jared's self-esteem is just fine, thank you very much, but he's not an actor or a model or a rock star. He didn't even like posing for the staff shot that Sandy insisted they needed for their website last summer. There's really not much Jared can think of at the moment that he would like less than being a part of Jensen's ad campaign.

He can feel his lip twitching into a grin, but Jensen doesn't really try to stop it. Just steps around the island and into Jared's personal space, hand resting on his boyfriend's chest. “Dude, stop,” he instructs, fingers kneading slowly at the hard flesh beneath his palm. “We don't have to do it. It was just a stupid Tom idea. Not like Macy's was ever gonna approve pictures of me and my giant gay lover as part of a nationwide ad campaign anyway, right? What would the CW set think?”

If Jensen's goal is to get Jared's dander up, he's not pushing the right buttons. Jared doesn't really fucking care what the CW set thinks. What anybody thinks, actually. Certainly not enough to fight for his right to be in some stupid photo shoot with his boyfriend. “Let's do it,” he says, tipping his head back to allow Jensen better access to his throat. And when did the kid start licking him, anyway?

Jensen just mumbles something against Jared's skin. The younger man is so fucking easy sometimes, he's kind of embarrassed for him. Few kisses and a jab about not being acceptable, and Jared's putty in his hands. Because, you see, Jared doesn't so much care if people don't agree with his “lifestyle,” but Jared loves to piss people off. Gets off on watching closed-minded idiots look at him disapprovingly. Can't really resist an opportunity to look them in the eye and fucking dare them to say something about his choices.

Admittedly, throwing the idea on Tom's shoulders was kind of a shitty thing to do, but it's believable. And Jensen's not about to confess that the idea was really his, after Danneel found the ads for Carey Hart's new line on some website. She couldn't stop talking about wanting to fuck Pink six ways to Sunday, but Jensen could only imagine how much hotter he and Jared would look in Ollie gear than the couple she was fawning over.

Mike and Tom both thought it was hilarious, the idea of Jared ever agreeing to a photo shoot, with or without Jensen. Danneel predicted that the taller man would cave if Jensen was sure to point out how much it would help him out. But Jensen knew, even when he brought the idea up two days ago, that it wasn't going to be begging and pleading that pushed Jared into agreement. Finesse and knowledge that only Jensen has about his boyfriend were the only options.

And here Jared is, on his knees in the kitchen, one hand on Jensen's hip and the other working at his ass, mouth vacuum-sealed over Jensen's dick, moaning and humming like a cheap whore. He's so fucking easy, Jared is. And he's all Jensen's. He thinks it's about time the world saw that for itself.

That Jared is Jensen's, not that he's easy. As much as Jensen loves to show his boyfriend off at parties and everything? He's pretty sure the world doesn't need to see his lips wrapped around Jensen's cock, and three of his crazy-long fingers stuffed inside Jensen's ass.

“Dude, seriously?” Chad whines from his place in the corner of the studio. “Could you to be any more gay?” The way Jensen is seated on top of Jared, Ollie hat cocked low over his left eye, pinning Jared's gorilla arms over his head is, quite frankly, ridiculous. And the way the pair of them keep forgetting that there are fourteen other people in the room is kind of making Chad uncomfortable. There's sex, and there's PDA, and then there's intimacy that should only be reserved for the bedroom. The kind that makes everyone else feel strangely uncomfortable, like they're all watching eye-fuck porn or something.

“You wanna find out?” Jared asks, eyes never leaving Jensen's as the pair shifts around on the photographer's orders.

Jumping up from the couch he's been sitting on so long it feels like it must be a part of his ass now, Chad huffs. “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he shakes his head. Jesus Christ, one time. You fuck around with a guy one time . . . “I'm gettin' coffee,” he announces to no one in particular before stumbling out of the room.

The photographer is snapping pictures, but Jensen can't stop himself from laughing. The second the door slams behind Chad, he breaks eye contact with Jared and hangs his head low between his shoulders, hat slipping forward just a little bit. “Dude, why the fuck did you invite him along anyway?”

Jared catches his bottom lip between his teeth and then lets out the laugh building in his own chest. “Kept talkin' shit 'bout America's Next Top Model,” is his only answer.

“Alright, guys,” the photographer announces, standing from her crouched position near the floor. She shakes her legs a few times and then stretches her back. “Wardrobe change, and then we'll do the bike and car shots,” she nods to the place where Jared's vehicles wait, buffed and shined, for their close up.

Jensen stands and offers Jared a hand, both stuffing their hands deep into their pockets as they make their way toward the wardrobe racks. It's not much of a change. Jensen's changing his shirt and donning a few wrist bands. Jared's got a tank from the line inspired by his bulging shoulders and defined abs, and the leather jacket that Jensen commissioned for him last Christmas. It's not part of the line – one-of-a-kind for his man, not available to the public – but the way it stretches across his shoulders and falls at his trim waist just begs to be shown off.

They're back on the set in about four minutes. The hair and make up girls scurry over for touch ups, but Jared shies away from them. “Face already feels like it weighs a ton,” he complains and Jensen just rolls his eyes. “Ain't all of us into the guyliner, asshole,” he shoots.

Jensen just leans over Jared's chair to press a kiss to his boyfriend's lips before snapping his wristbands into place. “You love my guyliner,” he accuses.

He could deny it, but Jared's pretty sure Jensen knows just how accurate that assessment really is. He's never really been one for feminine little twinks. But with his broad shoulders and his day-old stubble, Jensen's anything but twinky. And the liner around his eyes, along with the polish on his nails, has always just been another part of him. It's never looked out-of-place or strange to Jared.

Well, there was that one time where Jensen was sick as a dog and made Jared go to the drug store to get him some medicine, along with another Cover Girl liquid liner. That was a little strange. Moreso because his boyfriend wears Cover Girl, but whatever. It's Jensen.

By the time Chad returns, from the vending machine in Outer Mongolia apparently, the guys are almost finished for the day. Jensen's posed for a shitload of solo shots, and Jared even plunked his ass down on a stool and let the photographer do some throw-away shots of his ink for her portfolio. There's only a few frames left in the last set up.

Unfortunately, for Chad at least, this one has Jensen jumping onto Jared's back, and Jared laughing so hard, it looks like his face hurts. They tumble to the floor in a graceless, painful-looking heap, Jensen trapped between the floor and Jared's enormous chest. When the older man says, 'Is that a fuckin' wardrobe rack in your pocket, or you just happy to see me, Padalecki?' Chad groans and flops onto the couch with a pout.

“Wardrobe rack?” he snorts, sipping from his can of soda. “Bein' generous, don'tcha think?”

Jared shoots him a weird look, but Jensen doesn't think much about it. He's too busy trying to shift his enormous lump of a boyfriend off of his legs. “Fuckin' breakin' my leg here, dammit,” he grits through clenched teeth.

Without so much as an apology, Jared rolls his eyes and stands, helping Jensen up as he does. You okay to walk, Jennifer, or are your fragile limbs too stressed to make it across the room?”

“Not my fuckin' fault your lard ass weighs four cubic tons,” Jensen fires back.

It's not until he's back in his street clothes, car keys in hand as he waits for Jensen to wrap up with the art director, that Jared realizes his boyfriend might be smarter than he's ever given him credit for. Sure, he'd rather pull his own teeth with pliers than ever spend another five hours in a photo studio, with or without Jensen, but he had a really fucking good time today. Teasing Chad and razzing Jensen, mostly. The photographer didn't want them to do any cheesy portrait-style shots, so he mostly just hung out with his boyfriend and let the petite woman circle them repeatedly and snap more candid shots. It wasn't nearly as awkward or uncomfortable as he thought it was going to be.

It's not until he's speeding down the 405 on his way home, Jensen trailing on the bike, that Jared realizes he didn't think about Brayden today. A part of him feels guilty for that, but another part is really fucking grateful that he has a boyfriend who knows what he needs and gives it to him without making a big deal out of it or anything.

By the time he eases the car into the garage, he's thought of a thousand different ways to thank Jensen for today. Most of them are just variations on stripping Jensen as soon as they're in the front door, sucking his brain out through his dick, and then hiding away in the bedroom until neither of them can walk straight. There's one idea involving a mop, a hairbrush, and a cock ring, but maybe he'll just save that for another night.

When Jensen steps into the kitchen, he's met with six and a half feet of Padalecki-muscle pressing him into the door and sucking a demanding rightthefucknow bruise into his throat. “Ngggh,” he growls and clutches at Jared's shoulders. It's not the first time Jared's welcomed him home in this fashion, but he could have sworn his boyfriend muttered something about being too tired to breathe before they left the studio. Certainly does not feel tired right now.

It's more than an hour later when they actually make it up the stairs and into the bedroom, Jared breathing hard and Jensen clutching at any piece of bare skin he can dig his fingers into. There was something he was thinking about on the way home, but Jensen will be damned if he can remember what it is at the moment.

In fact, the clock beside the bed reads 3:46 when Jensen actually recalls the question. Jared's practically passed out on his side of the bed, and Jensen's convinced his legs will never work again. “Hey, Jay,” he speaks, his voice lazy and slow in the silence.

“Hm?” Jared asks, sounding all-but-asleep.

“You and Chad ever fuck?” Jared's hmph is the only response Jensen gets as the younger man rolls onto his side, the tiger on his back staring menacingly back at Jensen, as though it's offended by the question. But then Jared mumbles something that laser-focuses Jensen's attention back on the man, not the body. “What was that?”

“Said it was a long time ago,” Jared manages a little more clearly, his face pressed against the pillow.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, brain numb at the new information. “S'what I thought you said.” And then the meaning of Jared's words sinks in and he can't stop, “The fuck for?” from blurting out. Jared had to be drunk. It's the only explanation, right? “I mean,” he continues his thoughts aloud, “It's Chad. Like Chad Chad. Straight Chad, right?” Jensen prides himself on having a pretty damn accurate gaydar. He would know if Chad were anything but one hundred percent hetero, he's sure.

Jared's answer is a loud snore from somewhere deep in his chest, and Jensen just rolls his eyes and orders his brain to stop even attempting to conjure the image of Chad wrapped around his boyfriend. Or the other way around. It's late, and he's clearly not going to get an answer tonight.

But someday, Jensen will get the story. His boyfriend's easy, after all.

There are some possible manips in the works for outtakes from this shoot, but this is the ad I imagine Macy's is probably a little more comfortable running - one that doesn't involve Jensen hanging all over his giant, gay lover. :)