f o u r :
A repost of some sort.
For woodstarling:
"Hey, douchebag!"
Jensen turns around to find the home team's dog staring at him. Seriously, who's stupid enough to pick a pug as their school's mascot anyway? Pug-guy (at least Jensen hopes it's a dude because a girl's poor enough being chosen as a mascot to have such a...masculine voice) has his hands on his ridiculously - relative to his head, especially - narrow waist. Jensen cocks his head at the guy, waving at the rest of the cheerleading squad so they'll go on without him. When he turns around, the pug is standing right in his space, towering over him. He's especially proud that he doesn't even flinch. "What?" he demands.
The guy's voice is muffled from behind his stupid giant dog-head. "You knocked over my flag."
"Did I?" Jensen hums. "Oh, well." He shrugs and walks away.
Pug-guy yanks him back by the wrist and Jensen can't help but hiss, grabbing the guy's other arm himself. The person underneath the uniform is, Jensen can tell, pretty built. Not that it matters. He's going down. "That's not very nice, pretty boy."
Jensen balks. It's bad enough that he's being called names at his school for being the head cheerleader. He doesn't need some kind of punk from their rival school to give him a nickname too. "Watch it, dogface. Cheerleading means I work out a lot."
The mascot releases Jensen's wrist and looks at him from head to toe, obviously checking him out. "I can tell," he replies, his voice lowered.
Jensen chooses to ignore the thrill that runs up his spine at that tone. "Excuse me while I go celebrate our victory with the rest of my team."
"Not so fast!" Jensen's being yanked again. It's getting pretty annoying. "You have to help me stick my flag back up."
Jensen chokes on his spit. He can't really tell with that dumb dog head on, but he thinks he can hear the grin in the guy's voice. "What?"
"You have to raise my flag."
Jensen glares even though it's totally pointless because it's not like he has actual eye contact. "Is that some kind of a homosexual slur? Because I'm the president of our Gay Straight Alliance and -"
"It's not."
Jensen has to stare. Because Pug-guy just took off the dog head and underneath he's this devastatingly, mouth-wateringly hot boy who looks more like a puppy than a dumb, drooling dog. He shakes his shaggy hair away from his face and watches Jensen with bright hazel eyes.
Jensen realizes he's staring, his face heating up, but he can't really make himself speak. It's ridiculous. "I, uh. What?"
Non-ugly-pug-guy raises an eyebrow at him. "I was watching you," he says, grinning. His dimples are ridiculous. Everything about him is ridiculous. "Out there. Cheerleading."
Jensen finally remembers that they're totally fighting. And they're on opposing teams. It's all very Romeo and Juliet. Fuck. "So?" his snappy tone falls flat.
"You're really...perky."
Jensen doesn't even know how to respond to that.
"I'm Jared," the guy says, holding his hand out. His hand is ridiculously large.
Jensen takes it. His own hand feels so puny in Jared's. And embarrassingly damp. "Ackles," he manages to mumble out.
"Hi, Jensen."
Jensen blinks. "I didn't say that."
"I know," Jared says. Jesus. Does this guy ever stop grinning? "I've heard of you."
Jensen nods, rolling his eyes. "Ah. The loser gay male head cheerleader from Richardson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Really," Jensen says dryly. "Has it been your lifelong dream to meet me ever since you found out I exist?"
"Are you kidding?" Jared laughs. His laugh is a little too warm and adorable for Jensen to hate on. Damn it. "I got so excited when I found out you're a guy."
"Why?" Jensen blurts out, but thinks better of it. "No. Don't answer that."
Jared smiles, wide and open and happy. "I've been dreaming of living a ridiculous rom-com high school cliche since forever. You know, the dorky mascot hooking up with the hot head cheerleader? It's pretty hard to achieve when you're gay. You're like my knight in shining cheerleading uniform."
Jensen's fallen off a high beam while practicing, once. This feels exactly like that. Only he doesn't stop falling.
For enablelove:
Jared's always thought that when he falls in love - like, really falls in love - it'll be magnificent. Jared's going to be awesome and adorable and charming and the guy (previously a hypothetical girl until he was fourteen) would be sweet and smart and funny and beautiful.
His momma warned him that things don't always go the way you hoped it would be.
Because when Jared Padalecki falls in love (right now, at 11:27 a.m. on a Tuesday of June), he's disgusting. He has bedhair and his nose is running and he's pretty sure he stinks. On the upside, the guy is hot and witty and incredible. But he's also standing really close to Jared and Jared has an inkling that his breath smells like a barn. Totally unattractive.
Hot Doctor Guy smiles at Jared. He has eye crinkles. "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Just a small case of flu."
"I know," Jared says, hating how nasal he sounds. "My roommate insisted that I come, though. Said she's not going to let me die before I consult a physician."
Dr. Ackles - as his security pass reads - hums, jotting some stuff down in Jared's file. "She the cute brunette in the waiting room?"
"The tiny one who looks like a distraught mother. Yes," Jared says, nodding. His head starts aching almost immediately.
The doctor sees him wince and reaches out to rub over his shoulder. "You need to take it easy. Get plenty of rest and drink lots of liquid."
"I hate being sick," Jared groans.
Dr. Ackles gives him a placating smile. "Nobody loves it, Mr. Padalecki."
"Call me Jared."
"Great," Dr. Ackles says, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Padalecki is quite a mouthful."
It shouldn't be so sexy but Jared's thinking about it - Dr. Ackles' amazing lips around him, everywhere - anyway. It totally makes him stupid. So Jared blames what he says next on that thought. And also the pounding in his head. "Well. At least my doctor's hot."
Dr. Ackles isn't the least bit fazed. Jared thinks it's because he's awesome and professional. He doesn't even look like he's trying not to laugh. "Thank you," he says earnestly.
Jared can feel his whole face heating up even more and he can see how freaking red he is from the reflection on the mirror next to Dr. Ackles' desk. "I guess I'll go die slowly somewhere else now."
Dr. Ackles tilts his head, his lips curling. "I can't have that," he says, eyeing Jared from beneath his long eyelashes. "Here's your prescription."
Jared takes the slip of paper from the doctor's hand and turns to walk away. When he was younger he wants to fall in love to the background music of angels singing and rose petals as confetti and romantic low lighting as a mood-setter. Right now he has clean clinic smell and the harsh fluorescent light in a doctor's office and a giant poster on lung infection to his left. It's marvelous. "I'll see you around."
Dr. Ackles ducks his head, cheeks tinged pink and stark against the spray of freckles on his face. "Jensen," he says, gnawing at his lower lip.
"See you around, Jensen," Jared says. And because he can be sick and charming at the same time, he winks. Jensen's smile grow wider like he just can't help it. His eyes are greener than the leafy plant in the corner of the room.
Sandy's looking at him funny when he comes out. She probably knows what he's thinking of. It's Sandy. "Did he give you a full physical, Jared?"
Jared ignores her teasing tone for a while to look at the prescription in his hand. On the back of the paper, in tiny, script handwriting, is a line of numbers and call me written beneath it. Jared grins. "Better," he replies.
For hateable:
Jensen's life hasn't been the same ever since he met Padalecki. And even if he's a marine and therefore is well-trained in life-adaptation skills, it's still...hard.
He loves Lt. Fick like a brother, really, but he's getting sick of the guy trying to honest-to-God matchmake him with the kid. Jared's loud and obnoxious and possibly a little insane and Jensen doesn't need that in his life. His life is screwed up enough as it is.
"C'mon, man. You're just being paranoid," Colbert tells him. He might be smiling a little. Jensen can't really tell because he kinda has his head buried in the guts of his humvee. "Like the LT has nothing better to do."
"I'm telling you, Brad," Jensen hisses. "The other night he literally put me in the same bunk as your boy and ordered me to get some rest. Bed's narrow enough for me as it is without cramming a giant next to me. Seriously."
Brad looks up with somber eyes. He gets sensitive whenever Jensen talks about how fucking huge he and his RTO are. "Even if he's doing it on purpose, Jennifer, it's because Nate's not fucking blind."
Jensen's mouth opens and closes like a fish. He can see it reflected off the screen of Colbert's shiny laptop. "We're. I'm. Not."
Colbert rolls his eyes and gets back to whatever it is he's working on just as a hand - a very large one - lands on Jensen's shoulder. It could've been anyone but once it starts trailing down to his chest and stays there like it's the most right thing to do, there's no denying who it is.
"Hey, Jen," Jared talks directly into his ear. Jensen knows he can't really help it, bending close like that. Dude's eleven feet tall. But he's positive he can feel Jared grinning against his furled skin. "You have any more of that espresso I saw you brew this morning?"
Jensen sighs.
"In your underwear?" Jared adds, chuckling lowly. His breath is hot and distracting. "Very nice."
Jensen can't fight the full body shudder because Jared's voice is pitched real low and sexy and he's biting the tip of Jensen's ear.
From across Colbert's humvee, Jensen can see the LT beaming at them.
Motherfucker.
For thirteen:
Jensen hates getting recognized on the street. Especially when he's pretty sure he looks nothing like he does on TV - no perfectly coiffed hair and sprayed-on Californian tan and carefully selected outfits of three-piece suits and polo shirts. He's sleepy and cranky and hungry, his hair is clumping because he was stupid enough not to wash the product off before passing out on his bed last night and he's pretty sure he smells like a brothel. So, really, if anyone recognizes him as the Daytime Emmy winner of three years, it's gotta be some stalker-type freak who actually knows about the moles he has on his ass. Not that he has moles on his ass.
Dude's built like a tree and Jensen gets a cramping ache in his stomach because if he has to bolt, he's not sure he can outrun this bastard.
"You're Jensen Ackles," Creepy Stalker says in absolute awe. Like Jensen's never heard that one before.
Jensen chooses not to talk. It'll just encourage him. So he just nods politely and takes the cup of coffee the barista hands him. He doesn't move fast enough because the guy keeps following him to the exit. He's so fucked.
"I'm your biggest fan," the guy gushes.
Jensen pauses to push the glass door open and runs his gaze deliberately up and down the guy. "I'll say."
Gigantic Fan blushes bright pink. It goes straight down the open collar of his shirt. Jensen can't resist admiring the width of the guy's chest and the breadth of his shoulders. His dick likes it. But his dick probably doesn't even have enough sense to stay away from stalkers. Jensen tells Jensen Junior to shut up. Inwardly.
"I thought you were magnificent in last week's episode. I mean, when you cried? Oh, man. You do angry tears so well!"
Jensen doesn't even know why he's still standing there. It probably has something to do with the dude's gorgeous eyes or his fucking dimples. Dimples shouldn't look adorable on anyone older than six, okay? Clearly the universe hates Jensen. He knows it deep in his guts (and also in his persistent hard-on) that he wants to have sex with this guy but he knows he can't because it's a fan. When he first started acting, he vowed to himself never to get involved with a fan. It's a surefire recipe for disaster. And possibly a couple of felony charges.
"I know it's stupid," Big Fan says, ducking his head shyly. "But could I maybe get your autograph?"
Fuck it. "Sure," Jensen smiles. It looks genuine. Maybe. Jensen's a pretty awesome actor. "You got a pen?"
"Yeah," Big Fan nods eagerly, reaching into the breast pocket of his faded polo while holding a giant cup of coffee in his other hand. The sleeve of his jacket hikes up and Jensen sees the ink on his wrist.
"What's that?"
Big Fan looks even more flustered. "It's, uh. A line from a play."
Jensen tilts his head to get a better view and recognizes it right away. "Oh, wow. It's my favorite line," Jensen says. It hits him then that that's another red flag right there. Stalker Dude probably knows that Jensen loves that phrase and had it tattooed on his fucking wrist because he's crazily obsessed with Jensen. But even he's not that dramatic. It's probably a coincidence.
"I know."
Or maybe not. He should run. Run! His legs are not cooperating. They suck. He needs more caffeine. Drink! His hand isn't working either. Stalker Guy probably knows hoodoo. Jensen's gonna die.
"It's the first play you ever acted in, right?" Hoodoo Stalker says. That freaks Jensen out even more. How does he even - "We went to the same school. I'm Jared."
Turns out his brain isn't a total loser after all. Because even with his caffeine deficiency Jensen can still process the newfound fact. "Wait. Padalecki?" Jensen gasps. "Jeff's kid brother?"
Jared's left dimple digs in. "Not really a kid anymore."
"Fuck," Jensen laughs a little, pushing his aviator glasses up over his head. "What're you doing here?"
"I work here."
"Here at this coffee shop?" Jensen frowns.
"No, no," Jared clears his throat. Jensen wonders if he's embarrassed about what he does for a living. "I run an advertising firm actually."
"Holy shit," Jensen breathes. "Padalecki-McCoy?"
Jared nods, still blushing like crazy. "Yup. That's the one."
"That's, like, the biggest company on this coast," Jensen points out. Very dumbly, if he must admit. Because of course Jared knows how huge and successful his own company is. "Oh, fuck. I thought -"
Jared's face breaks into a knowing grin. Jensen's instantly reminded of the smart ass boy with the tilted smirk and killer dimples from high school. "You thought I was a creepy stalker."
Jensen coughs into his hand lamely. "I'm a paranoid son of a bitch."
Jared laughs. "You're not completely wrong. I've been a huge fan since you first stepped foot on a stage. Jesus. I must've been...ten?"
Jensen remembers. Of course. He also remembers how he wants Jared back then. How he can't think of anything else but wiping the boyish grin off his face by plundering his perfect pink mouth and pressing him down on the floor and rubbing against him until they come all over each other.
"Not a kid anymore."
When Jensen looks at him Jared's eyebrow is cocked and his grin has morphed into a sexy smirk. Sometimes Jensen hates how expressive and awesome his facial muscles are. It's both a blessing and a curse. "Thank fuck for that."
"If you want to get to know this creepy stalker guy, maybe I could take you to dinner?" Jared says, his tone perfectly flirty and hot. "I have a couple more tattoos dedicated to Jensen Ackles on other parts of my body."
Damn it. Jensen hates it when his dick is right.
For woodstarling:
"Hey, douchebag!"
Jensen turns around to find the home team's dog staring at him. Seriously, who's stupid enough to pick a pug as their school's mascot anyway? Pug-guy (at least Jensen hopes it's a dude because a girl's poor enough being chosen as a mascot to have such a...masculine voice) has his hands on his ridiculously - relative to his head, especially - narrow waist. Jensen cocks his head at the guy, waving at the rest of the cheerleading squad so they'll go on without him. When he turns around, the pug is standing right in his space, towering over him. He's especially proud that he doesn't even flinch. "What?" he demands.
The guy's voice is muffled from behind his stupid giant dog-head. "You knocked over my flag."
"Did I?" Jensen hums. "Oh, well." He shrugs and walks away.
Pug-guy yanks him back by the wrist and Jensen can't help but hiss, grabbing the guy's other arm himself. The person underneath the uniform is, Jensen can tell, pretty built. Not that it matters. He's going down. "That's not very nice, pretty boy."
Jensen balks. It's bad enough that he's being called names at his school for being the head cheerleader. He doesn't need some kind of punk from their rival school to give him a nickname too. "Watch it, dogface. Cheerleading means I work out a lot."
The mascot releases Jensen's wrist and looks at him from head to toe, obviously checking him out. "I can tell," he replies, his voice lowered.
Jensen chooses to ignore the thrill that runs up his spine at that tone. "Excuse me while I go celebrate our victory with the rest of my team."
"Not so fast!" Jensen's being yanked again. It's getting pretty annoying. "You have to help me stick my flag back up."
Jensen chokes on his spit. He can't really tell with that dumb dog head on, but he thinks he can hear the grin in the guy's voice. "What?"
"You have to raise my flag."
Jensen glares even though it's totally pointless because it's not like he has actual eye contact. "Is that some kind of a homosexual slur? Because I'm the president of our Gay Straight Alliance and -"
"It's not."
Jensen has to stare. Because Pug-guy just took off the dog head and underneath he's this devastatingly, mouth-wateringly hot boy who looks more like a puppy than a dumb, drooling dog. He shakes his shaggy hair away from his face and watches Jensen with bright hazel eyes.
Jensen realizes he's staring, his face heating up, but he can't really make himself speak. It's ridiculous. "I, uh. What?"
Non-ugly-pug-guy raises an eyebrow at him. "I was watching you," he says, grinning. His dimples are ridiculous. Everything about him is ridiculous. "Out there. Cheerleading."
Jensen finally remembers that they're totally fighting. And they're on opposing teams. It's all very Romeo and Juliet. Fuck. "So?" his snappy tone falls flat.
"You're really...perky."
Jensen doesn't even know how to respond to that.
"I'm Jared," the guy says, holding his hand out. His hand is ridiculously large.
Jensen takes it. His own hand feels so puny in Jared's. And embarrassingly damp. "Ackles," he manages to mumble out.
"Hi, Jensen."
Jensen blinks. "I didn't say that."
"I know," Jared says. Jesus. Does this guy ever stop grinning? "I've heard of you."
Jensen nods, rolling his eyes. "Ah. The loser gay male head cheerleader from Richardson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Really," Jensen says dryly. "Has it been your lifelong dream to meet me ever since you found out I exist?"
"Are you kidding?" Jared laughs. His laugh is a little too warm and adorable for Jensen to hate on. Damn it. "I got so excited when I found out you're a guy."
"Why?" Jensen blurts out, but thinks better of it. "No. Don't answer that."
Jared smiles, wide and open and happy. "I've been dreaming of living a ridiculous rom-com high school cliche since forever. You know, the dorky mascot hooking up with the hot head cheerleader? It's pretty hard to achieve when you're gay. You're like my knight in shining cheerleading uniform."
Jensen's fallen off a high beam while practicing, once. This feels exactly like that. Only he doesn't stop falling.
For enablelove:
Jared's always thought that when he falls in love - like, really falls in love - it'll be magnificent. Jared's going to be awesome and adorable and charming and the guy (previously a hypothetical girl until he was fourteen) would be sweet and smart and funny and beautiful.
His momma warned him that things don't always go the way you hoped it would be.
Because when Jared Padalecki falls in love (right now, at 11:27 a.m. on a Tuesday of June), he's disgusting. He has bedhair and his nose is running and he's pretty sure he stinks. On the upside, the guy is hot and witty and incredible. But he's also standing really close to Jared and Jared has an inkling that his breath smells like a barn. Totally unattractive.
Hot Doctor Guy smiles at Jared. He has eye crinkles. "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Just a small case of flu."
"I know," Jared says, hating how nasal he sounds. "My roommate insisted that I come, though. Said she's not going to let me die before I consult a physician."
Dr. Ackles - as his security pass reads - hums, jotting some stuff down in Jared's file. "She the cute brunette in the waiting room?"
"The tiny one who looks like a distraught mother. Yes," Jared says, nodding. His head starts aching almost immediately.
The doctor sees him wince and reaches out to rub over his shoulder. "You need to take it easy. Get plenty of rest and drink lots of liquid."
"I hate being sick," Jared groans.
Dr. Ackles gives him a placating smile. "Nobody loves it, Mr. Padalecki."
"Call me Jared."
"Great," Dr. Ackles says, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Padalecki is quite a mouthful."
It shouldn't be so sexy but Jared's thinking about it - Dr. Ackles' amazing lips around him, everywhere - anyway. It totally makes him stupid. So Jared blames what he says next on that thought. And also the pounding in his head. "Well. At least my doctor's hot."
Dr. Ackles isn't the least bit fazed. Jared thinks it's because he's awesome and professional. He doesn't even look like he's trying not to laugh. "Thank you," he says earnestly.
Jared can feel his whole face heating up even more and he can see how freaking red he is from the reflection on the mirror next to Dr. Ackles' desk. "I guess I'll go die slowly somewhere else now."
Dr. Ackles tilts his head, his lips curling. "I can't have that," he says, eyeing Jared from beneath his long eyelashes. "Here's your prescription."
Jared takes the slip of paper from the doctor's hand and turns to walk away. When he was younger he wants to fall in love to the background music of angels singing and rose petals as confetti and romantic low lighting as a mood-setter. Right now he has clean clinic smell and the harsh fluorescent light in a doctor's office and a giant poster on lung infection to his left. It's marvelous. "I'll see you around."
Dr. Ackles ducks his head, cheeks tinged pink and stark against the spray of freckles on his face. "Jensen," he says, gnawing at his lower lip.
"See you around, Jensen," Jared says. And because he can be sick and charming at the same time, he winks. Jensen's smile grow wider like he just can't help it. His eyes are greener than the leafy plant in the corner of the room.
Sandy's looking at him funny when he comes out. She probably knows what he's thinking of. It's Sandy. "Did he give you a full physical, Jared?"
Jared ignores her teasing tone for a while to look at the prescription in his hand. On the back of the paper, in tiny, script handwriting, is a line of numbers and call me written beneath it. Jared grins. "Better," he replies.
For hateable:
Jensen's life hasn't been the same ever since he met Padalecki. And even if he's a marine and therefore is well-trained in life-adaptation skills, it's still...hard.
He loves Lt. Fick like a brother, really, but he's getting sick of the guy trying to honest-to-God matchmake him with the kid. Jared's loud and obnoxious and possibly a little insane and Jensen doesn't need that in his life. His life is screwed up enough as it is.
"C'mon, man. You're just being paranoid," Colbert tells him. He might be smiling a little. Jensen can't really tell because he kinda has his head buried in the guts of his humvee. "Like the LT has nothing better to do."
"I'm telling you, Brad," Jensen hisses. "The other night he literally put me in the same bunk as your boy and ordered me to get some rest. Bed's narrow enough for me as it is without cramming a giant next to me. Seriously."
Brad looks up with somber eyes. He gets sensitive whenever Jensen talks about how fucking huge he and his RTO are. "Even if he's doing it on purpose, Jennifer, it's because Nate's not fucking blind."
Jensen's mouth opens and closes like a fish. He can see it reflected off the screen of Colbert's shiny laptop. "We're. I'm. Not."
Colbert rolls his eyes and gets back to whatever it is he's working on just as a hand - a very large one - lands on Jensen's shoulder. It could've been anyone but once it starts trailing down to his chest and stays there like it's the most right thing to do, there's no denying who it is.
"Hey, Jen," Jared talks directly into his ear. Jensen knows he can't really help it, bending close like that. Dude's eleven feet tall. But he's positive he can feel Jared grinning against his furled skin. "You have any more of that espresso I saw you brew this morning?"
Jensen sighs.
"In your underwear?" Jared adds, chuckling lowly. His breath is hot and distracting. "Very nice."
Jensen can't fight the full body shudder because Jared's voice is pitched real low and sexy and he's biting the tip of Jensen's ear.
From across Colbert's humvee, Jensen can see the LT beaming at them.
Motherfucker.
For thirteen:
Jensen hates getting recognized on the street. Especially when he's pretty sure he looks nothing like he does on TV - no perfectly coiffed hair and sprayed-on Californian tan and carefully selected outfits of three-piece suits and polo shirts. He's sleepy and cranky and hungry, his hair is clumping because he was stupid enough not to wash the product off before passing out on his bed last night and he's pretty sure he smells like a brothel. So, really, if anyone recognizes him as the Daytime Emmy winner of three years, it's gotta be some stalker-type freak who actually knows about the moles he has on his ass. Not that he has moles on his ass.
Dude's built like a tree and Jensen gets a cramping ache in his stomach because if he has to bolt, he's not sure he can outrun this bastard.
"You're Jensen Ackles," Creepy Stalker says in absolute awe. Like Jensen's never heard that one before.
Jensen chooses not to talk. It'll just encourage him. So he just nods politely and takes the cup of coffee the barista hands him. He doesn't move fast enough because the guy keeps following him to the exit. He's so fucked.
"I'm your biggest fan," the guy gushes.
Jensen pauses to push the glass door open and runs his gaze deliberately up and down the guy. "I'll say."
Gigantic Fan blushes bright pink. It goes straight down the open collar of his shirt. Jensen can't resist admiring the width of the guy's chest and the breadth of his shoulders. His dick likes it. But his dick probably doesn't even have enough sense to stay away from stalkers. Jensen tells Jensen Junior to shut up. Inwardly.
"I thought you were magnificent in last week's episode. I mean, when you cried? Oh, man. You do angry tears so well!"
Jensen doesn't even know why he's still standing there. It probably has something to do with the dude's gorgeous eyes or his fucking dimples. Dimples shouldn't look adorable on anyone older than six, okay? Clearly the universe hates Jensen. He knows it deep in his guts (and also in his persistent hard-on) that he wants to have sex with this guy but he knows he can't because it's a fan. When he first started acting, he vowed to himself never to get involved with a fan. It's a surefire recipe for disaster. And possibly a couple of felony charges.
"I know it's stupid," Big Fan says, ducking his head shyly. "But could I maybe get your autograph?"
Fuck it. "Sure," Jensen smiles. It looks genuine. Maybe. Jensen's a pretty awesome actor. "You got a pen?"
"Yeah," Big Fan nods eagerly, reaching into the breast pocket of his faded polo while holding a giant cup of coffee in his other hand. The sleeve of his jacket hikes up and Jensen sees the ink on his wrist.
"What's that?"
Big Fan looks even more flustered. "It's, uh. A line from a play."
Jensen tilts his head to get a better view and recognizes it right away. "Oh, wow. It's my favorite line," Jensen says. It hits him then that that's another red flag right there. Stalker Dude probably knows that Jensen loves that phrase and had it tattooed on his fucking wrist because he's crazily obsessed with Jensen. But even he's not that dramatic. It's probably a coincidence.
"I know."
Or maybe not. He should run. Run! His legs are not cooperating. They suck. He needs more caffeine. Drink! His hand isn't working either. Stalker Guy probably knows hoodoo. Jensen's gonna die.
"It's the first play you ever acted in, right?" Hoodoo Stalker says. That freaks Jensen out even more. How does he even - "We went to the same school. I'm Jared."
Turns out his brain isn't a total loser after all. Because even with his caffeine deficiency Jensen can still process the newfound fact. "Wait. Padalecki?" Jensen gasps. "Jeff's kid brother?"
Jared's left dimple digs in. "Not really a kid anymore."
"Fuck," Jensen laughs a little, pushing his aviator glasses up over his head. "What're you doing here?"
"I work here."
"Here at this coffee shop?" Jensen frowns.
"No, no," Jared clears his throat. Jensen wonders if he's embarrassed about what he does for a living. "I run an advertising firm actually."
"Holy shit," Jensen breathes. "Padalecki-McCoy?"
Jared nods, still blushing like crazy. "Yup. That's the one."
"That's, like, the biggest company on this coast," Jensen points out. Very dumbly, if he must admit. Because of course Jared knows how huge and successful his own company is. "Oh, fuck. I thought -"
Jared's face breaks into a knowing grin. Jensen's instantly reminded of the smart ass boy with the tilted smirk and killer dimples from high school. "You thought I was a creepy stalker."
Jensen coughs into his hand lamely. "I'm a paranoid son of a bitch."
Jared laughs. "You're not completely wrong. I've been a huge fan since you first stepped foot on a stage. Jesus. I must've been...ten?"
Jensen remembers. Of course. He also remembers how he wants Jared back then. How he can't think of anything else but wiping the boyish grin off his face by plundering his perfect pink mouth and pressing him down on the floor and rubbing against him until they come all over each other.
"Not a kid anymore."
When Jensen looks at him Jared's eyebrow is cocked and his grin has morphed into a sexy smirk. Sometimes Jensen hates how expressive and awesome his facial muscles are. It's both a blessing and a curse. "Thank fuck for that."
"If you want to get to know this creepy stalker guy, maybe I could take you to dinner?" Jared says, his tone perfectly flirty and hot. "I have a couple more tattoos dedicated to Jensen Ackles on other parts of my body."
Damn it. Jensen hates it when his dick is right.