you're not sleeping anymore, you're just tryin' to (pg-13, jared padalecki/kristen bell)
title: you're not sleeping anymore, you're just tryin' to
pairing: jared padalecki/kristen bell (past jensen ackles/kristen bell and some enrico colantoni thrown in for fun)
rating: pg-13
notes: not surprisingly part of the pantheon (timeline wise takes place during the filming of the VM movie and title stolen from "hey, love" by jason mraz)
So, she could kind of love him. Maybe.
He ends up spending more time at her apartment than his.
Of course, she’s been inside Jared’s apartment and between the sophomoric pyramid of beer cans piled so high it’d make a frat-boy envious (a smiling explanation of only, “Enrico can really pound them back, huh?”) and the mountain of dirty laundry (“I ran out of quarters?”), Kristen can categorically say that she prefers her place, too.
Besides drinking all of her orange juice (and apple, too) and dog-earring her copy of Big Sur, Jared likes to nap in her bed. He takes up the whole damn thing, long arms and longer legs that hang off of the mattress and almost touch the floor. And Jared’s not a quiet sleeper. He grunts and groans and then sluggishly turns and twists himself around every few minutes.
“You’re like Sasquatch,” she tells him.
Jared throws a heavy arm on top of her and mumbles against her neck, “What’s your comparison? You sleep with a lot of urban legends? Does Nessie like to cuddle?”
“No,” she says. “I sleep alone.”
It turns out that Jared isn’t too good with picking up on subtlety, because the next time they both have a free moment, she finds him half-sprawled out on her sofa; he’s snoring, one knee bent beneath the cushions and his other foot planted on the floor and an open book sitting on his chest.
When she asks him why he’s always here and not there, he gives a boyish smile and maybe even blushes a little and says, “Here has you.”
“You must really want to get laid.” (A statement that probably would have been more convincing had they not just fucked on the floor.)
He shrugs.
She was up at 3:00 am, in makeup by 3:30 am, and on set by 4:45 am.
At 7:20 pm, they wrap for the day. Jared, miraculously, had the whole day off.
She skipped dinner and she has at least two blisters on the bottom of her left foot (and another on her right), because in movies, FBI agents do their best crime solving in four inch heels. So in short, she’s cranky and just wants to get in a good few hours of sleep before she has to do it all over again tomorrow.
Except that when walks into her bedroom, there he is. All tangled up in her sheets, his mouth hanging open and one hand flung precariously on the nightstand next to a very breakable lamp. She sits down beside him (and almost on top of him) and pokes at his shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine.”
She’s almost surprised to find herself smiling when he sits up with a wide and lethargic yawn. He moves the back of his hand over his eyes, then wiggles his fingers in a wave and slumps back against the headboard with a loud ‘thump’.
“Hi, honey,” he half-drawls, southern charm coming out of his mouth all sarcastic. “How was your day?”
And if she wasn’t so tired (and not a foot and a half shorter, either), Kristen really thinks that she could kill him with her bare hands. But because she feels like she could give Mr. Van Winkle a run for his money right now (and Jared does look sort of adorable with his hair all mussed up like that), she just pulls off her clothes and climbs underneath the blankets and curls herself around him.
“You better not be here in the morning,” she says. And it comes out all muffled and slurred, because her mouth is pressed against his stomach and she’s well on her way to already being asleep.
He laughs and rubs his thumb over the top her ear and says, “Yeah, whatever you say darlin’.”
She really thinks that sex, drunken or otherwise (and they’ve had both and she prefers the otherwise most times), should be a prelude to the two of them having sleepovers like this. Because Jared is Jensen’s ex-housemate and still-current best friend and who knows what her and Jensen are anymore. And waking up next to the ex-housemate and still-current best friend of her ex-whatever without the sex to justify it all? Well, that makes her feel a little more guilty for kicking him out of her bed.
“I warned you,” she says.
He lifts an eyebrow and gathers the sheet up to his hips. “I thought you were kidding.”
“Jared,” she says, sighing and shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Go back to your own place.”
He kisses her in front of the cameras (he’s Michael and she’s Veronica) and when his lips press to the spot on her neck, just above her collarbone, she lets out a little gasp. He smiles wickedly and she knows that was payback for this morning.
She smiles back. She’ll get him later.
He holds one hand on the curve of her hip and dips his mouth down to meet hers in a kiss that turns a little too messy and a little too hungry, all a little too fast.
“Hey.” She takes a step back, but keeps two fingers curled around his belt, and playfully narrows her eyes at him. “Some of us actually have to know this scene for tomorrow. Not all of us are here because we won a contest for being pretty.”
“Yeah, like fifteen years ago.”
“Wow,” she says. She tips her chin up, stands on tiptoes, and makes like she’s analyzing him carefully. “You really haven’t aged that well.”
He swats her on the ass before he lifts her up and swings her around. And she’s probably a little too old to squeal and squeak in protest, but she does anyway.
Enrico is actually the one who says something.
He pushes his sunglasses down his nose and grins at her over a sandwich from craft services. She’s only half paying attention to their conversation, trying to keep up while she finishes off the grapes on her plate and trying to ignore the dirty text messages that Jared is sending her from his trailer.
Enrico snaps his fingers in front of her face and she’s so startled, she drops her last grape.
“What?” she asks.
“You like him, kid?”
Kristen tucks her Blackberry into the pocket of her housecoat and then primly rests folded hands on her lap. And he’s played her loving television (and now movie) father long enough to know when she’s playing up the avoidance thing.
“This Padalecki guy, you like him?” he pushes.
“He’s always at my apartment,” she says, shifting a bit, crossing one leg over the other. “He sleeps in my bed and I don’t have any books left on my shelf.”
Enrico nods. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He just hands her half of his sandwich and leans over to ruffle her hair.
The next time Kristen finds Jared asleep in her bed, she makes a point of waking him up and kissing the start of his chin and roughly sliding a hand down the front of his pants. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it right.
He doesn’t complain.
And when they fall asleep, her cheek wetly pressed against his chest, hair all sweat-tangled and both of them all loose limbed and sticky and fucked right the hell out, it kind of feels right.
She asks him if he’d mind if she calls him after they’re done filming next week.
pairing: jared padalecki/kristen bell (past jensen ackles/kristen bell and some enrico colantoni thrown in for fun)
rating: pg-13
notes: not surprisingly part of the pantheon (timeline wise takes place during the filming of the VM movie and title stolen from "hey, love" by jason mraz)
So, she could kind of love him. Maybe.
He ends up spending more time at her apartment than his.
Of course, she’s been inside Jared’s apartment and between the sophomoric pyramid of beer cans piled so high it’d make a frat-boy envious (a smiling explanation of only, “Enrico can really pound them back, huh?”) and the mountain of dirty laundry (“I ran out of quarters?”), Kristen can categorically say that she prefers her place, too.
Besides drinking all of her orange juice (and apple, too) and dog-earring her copy of Big Sur, Jared likes to nap in her bed. He takes up the whole damn thing, long arms and longer legs that hang off of the mattress and almost touch the floor. And Jared’s not a quiet sleeper. He grunts and groans and then sluggishly turns and twists himself around every few minutes.
“You’re like Sasquatch,” she tells him.
Jared throws a heavy arm on top of her and mumbles against her neck, “What’s your comparison? You sleep with a lot of urban legends? Does Nessie like to cuddle?”
“No,” she says. “I sleep alone.”
It turns out that Jared isn’t too good with picking up on subtlety, because the next time they both have a free moment, she finds him half-sprawled out on her sofa; he’s snoring, one knee bent beneath the cushions and his other foot planted on the floor and an open book sitting on his chest.
When she asks him why he’s always here and not there, he gives a boyish smile and maybe even blushes a little and says, “Here has you.”
“You must really want to get laid.” (A statement that probably would have been more convincing had they not just fucked on the floor.)
He shrugs.
She was up at 3:00 am, in makeup by 3:30 am, and on set by 4:45 am.
At 7:20 pm, they wrap for the day. Jared, miraculously, had the whole day off.
She skipped dinner and she has at least two blisters on the bottom of her left foot (and another on her right), because in movies, FBI agents do their best crime solving in four inch heels. So in short, she’s cranky and just wants to get in a good few hours of sleep before she has to do it all over again tomorrow.
Except that when walks into her bedroom, there he is. All tangled up in her sheets, his mouth hanging open and one hand flung precariously on the nightstand next to a very breakable lamp. She sits down beside him (and almost on top of him) and pokes at his shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine.”
She’s almost surprised to find herself smiling when he sits up with a wide and lethargic yawn. He moves the back of his hand over his eyes, then wiggles his fingers in a wave and slumps back against the headboard with a loud ‘thump’.
“Hi, honey,” he half-drawls, southern charm coming out of his mouth all sarcastic. “How was your day?”
And if she wasn’t so tired (and not a foot and a half shorter, either), Kristen really thinks that she could kill him with her bare hands. But because she feels like she could give Mr. Van Winkle a run for his money right now (and Jared does look sort of adorable with his hair all mussed up like that), she just pulls off her clothes and climbs underneath the blankets and curls herself around him.
“You better not be here in the morning,” she says. And it comes out all muffled and slurred, because her mouth is pressed against his stomach and she’s well on her way to already being asleep.
He laughs and rubs his thumb over the top her ear and says, “Yeah, whatever you say darlin’.”
She really thinks that sex, drunken or otherwise (and they’ve had both and she prefers the otherwise most times), should be a prelude to the two of them having sleepovers like this. Because Jared is Jensen’s ex-housemate and still-current best friend and who knows what her and Jensen are anymore. And waking up next to the ex-housemate and still-current best friend of her ex-whatever without the sex to justify it all? Well, that makes her feel a little more guilty for kicking him out of her bed.
“I warned you,” she says.
He lifts an eyebrow and gathers the sheet up to his hips. “I thought you were kidding.”
“Jared,” she says, sighing and shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Go back to your own place.”
He kisses her in front of the cameras (he’s Michael and she’s Veronica) and when his lips press to the spot on her neck, just above her collarbone, she lets out a little gasp. He smiles wickedly and she knows that was payback for this morning.
She smiles back. She’ll get him later.
He holds one hand on the curve of her hip and dips his mouth down to meet hers in a kiss that turns a little too messy and a little too hungry, all a little too fast.
“Hey.” She takes a step back, but keeps two fingers curled around his belt, and playfully narrows her eyes at him. “Some of us actually have to know this scene for tomorrow. Not all of us are here because we won a contest for being pretty.”
“Yeah, like fifteen years ago.”
“Wow,” she says. She tips her chin up, stands on tiptoes, and makes like she’s analyzing him carefully. “You really haven’t aged that well.”
He swats her on the ass before he lifts her up and swings her around. And she’s probably a little too old to squeal and squeak in protest, but she does anyway.
Enrico is actually the one who says something.
He pushes his sunglasses down his nose and grins at her over a sandwich from craft services. She’s only half paying attention to their conversation, trying to keep up while she finishes off the grapes on her plate and trying to ignore the dirty text messages that Jared is sending her from his trailer.
Enrico snaps his fingers in front of her face and she’s so startled, she drops her last grape.
“What?” she asks.
“You like him, kid?”
Kristen tucks her Blackberry into the pocket of her housecoat and then primly rests folded hands on her lap. And he’s played her loving television (and now movie) father long enough to know when she’s playing up the avoidance thing.
“This Padalecki guy, you like him?” he pushes.
“He’s always at my apartment,” she says, shifting a bit, crossing one leg over the other. “He sleeps in my bed and I don’t have any books left on my shelf.”
Enrico nods. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He just hands her half of his sandwich and leans over to ruffle her hair.
The next time Kristen finds Jared asleep in her bed, she makes a point of waking him up and kissing the start of his chin and roughly sliding a hand down the front of his pants. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it right.
He doesn’t complain.
And when they fall asleep, her cheek wetly pressed against his chest, hair all sweat-tangled and both of them all loose limbed and sticky and fucked right the hell out, it kind of feels right.
She asks him if he’d mind if she calls him after they’re done filming next week.