Player Number Two Timestamp
Timestamp to Player Number Two
1900 words, NC-17
Jared doesn't always hit the mark with his excitable nature.
Huge thanks to tebtosca for beta <3
At his front door, Jensen drops his keys to the cement floor as he juggles a handful of envelopes and junk mailers. He curses and bends over to pick up the key ring, but he stops midway up when hears a soft ”Oh shoot” from inside his apartment.
His heartbeat speeds up, worrying about what’s going on behind his door - who is inside - and he hurries to push the right key into the lock and turn it. It’s all happening too fast because the next thing he knows, the door’s swinging open and he’s tumbling forward into a wall of plaid. He gets a mouthful of flannel, which keeps him from crying out in shock.
“Hola!” is hollered from above Jensen. Strong, sure, recognizable hands grab him at his sides and right him. “¿Coma estas, Señor Ackles?”
Jensen huffs out a shaky laugh, getting his bearings at the same time he finds Jared’s broad smile, animated eyebrows flipping up and down, and the ridiculous sombrero atop his head. “Thank God it’s you,” Jensen sighs happily, as he moves a few more inches to hug Jared hello.
“Is the señor expecting other amigos?” Jared asks with an over-pronounced accent.
“No, no other amigos,” Jensen replies, as he pulls back. He takes his time to log Jared’s outfit, and, as always, it’s a completely ridiculous sight.
There’s an obnoxiously turquoise oxford shirt, ironed completely flat, so starched that that the creases are nearly white at his collar. The shirt is tucked into dark jeans fastened with what has to be world’s largest belt buckle of the Texas flag. And yeah … the outfit trails down to matching turquoise and brown stitched cowboy boots with shiny, silver rands across the toes.
“You are …” Jensen trails off, once again surprised, mesmerized, and totally amused by Jared’s dedication to themes.
Jared’s grin widens and he shakes his head lightly from side to side, exaggerating the movement of the tassels hanging around the brim of the hat.
Jensen smiles back and tugs the edge of the brim, tossing the tassels again. “Cute hat.”
“It’s a sombrero,” Jared accents strongly.
“Si, señor, it is.”
“Did I ever tell you I was el presidente of mi groupo de Spanish?”
Jensen laughs loudly, unable to hold it in anymore. “Man, I don’t know, but I think this might be a bit much. Even for you?” he says like a question to ease the possibility of hurting Jared’s feelings.
Jared frowns, but it seems embellished, just like his outfit, and he pulls the sombrero off. His fingers coast over the edges as he seems to pet it like it’s a treasured thing, then shrugs and flings it down the hallway. “It’s not like I’m married to it.”
“Well, I hope not,” Jensen chuckles, trying to step around Jared.
Instead, Jared steps with and nudges him into the kitchen off the entryway. “Before we begin the festivities -” Jensen raises and eyebrow and is about to ask, but Jared guides him to the counter with a stern nod. “A drink, first. Consider it cocktail hour.”
Jensen grabs a margarita glass full of icy pink goodness off the counter that he can’t wait to chug down. He’s been covering Katie’s shifts at the diner, working extra hours throughout the week, and facing the tough, business crowds that always need to hurry through lunch. Worse yet was trying to match up schedules with Jared, and that hasn’t been feasible for nearly three weeks.
“Not that I’m not happy to see this - or you - but what’s the occasion?” Jensen asks.
“Well, you sounded stressed last night, and we haven’t seen each other for a little while, so I thought I’d go for something …” Jared makes an odd face, a cross between nervous and bothered, and lifts the second glass up to clink with Jensen’s. “Romantic?”
The quick snort Jensen makes while he drinks forces him to inhale a bit of chipped ice and he coughs through it. “Jared, you know I love you, but this get-up is not what I would call … romantic.”
Jared lifts a sharp eyebrow and cocks his head. “Does the señor not trust el novio?”
“Considering your track record?” Jensen teases.
“Ahh, but I have all the necessities. Do you like chorizo?” Jared asks with a wink.
Jensen chuckles then takes a longer sip of the margarita, suddenly choking on how strong the tequila tastes. “Goddamn, Jared. How much is in here?”
“Enough to loosen us both up,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Speaking of loosening up …” Jensen puts his glass down and quickly unbuckles Jared’s belt, because that thing is so ugly that it has got to go. He yanks it from the belt loops as he tugs the shirt out from the jeans despite Jared’s protests.
“Jensen,” Jared hushes. “Not in front of the -”
“In front of what?”
“The music,” he says pathetically.
That’s when it starts. A robust swell of acoustic guitars from the living room makes Jensen freeze and stare at Jared. “What did you do?”
“I just … it was … it’s your favorite, right?”
A round of voices join the rhythmic guitar picking, grito mexicano boasting words Jensen can’t decipher while they carry through a verse completely in Spanish.
“Jared, what have you done?” Jensen asks frantically.
Jared shrugs awkwardly and Jensen moves into the living room to witness the five-piece mariachi band huddled in the corner of the small space. In front of them is a table set with a red tablecloth, two covered dinner plates, and a candle in the center.
“Surprise,” Jared says from over Jensen’s shoulder.
“Where did this come from?”
“The band or the food?”
“Both?” Jensen asks with an odd look.
“La Salseria. You said it was your favorite,” Jared argues lightly.
“This is kind of offensive,” Jensen mumbles.
“I’d call it cultural … exotic, maybe.”
Jensen sighs then forces himself to laugh. It really is a ridiculous scene in his living room, and Jared always has the best of intentions no matter how off the mark and over the top they are at this moment. He turns to Jared and softly smiles. “Did you already pay for them?”
“Yeah, they wouldn’t come into a stranger’s apartment without some dinero.”
He laughs again and closes his eyes for a moment. “I can’t blame them,” he says when he opens his eyes, trying to make his amusement obvious. “Especially if the stranger looks like you.”
Jared frowns and Jensen moves in to kiss him quickly.
“Kidding. I’m just kidding.”
Jared glances at the mariachi band, still going but changing songs, then turns to Jensen with a disappointed look. “You really don’t like it?”
“You get an A for effort, that’s for sure.”
“But the execution’s a little off?”
Jensen pinches his fingers together in the space between them and scrunches his nose. “Just a little.”
Without another word, Jared interrupts the band, leads them out the door with an extra tip for their troubles, and meets Jensen back in the living room. He’s frowning again when he unbuttons his turquoise shirt and shrugs it off, leaving him in a navy v-neck shirt that interests Jensen more than anything that’s happened since he came home.
“There’s my boyfriend,” Jensen murmurs as he pulls the edge of Jared’s shirt to bring him near.
“I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea.”
Jensen slips his arms around Jared’s waist. “It was a cute idea.”
“It was supposed to be romantic,” Jared mumbles. “You love Mexican.”
“Mexican’s not really romantic.”
“It can be,” he weakly argues.
“I wouldn’t call sombreros and bedazzled suits romantic.”
Jared gives him a long look then smirks. “Now who’s being offensive?”
Jensen snorts and drops his head to Jared’s shoulder as Jared wraps his arms around Jensen to hold him tight. “Can we just drink tequila and make out instead? That sounds like better stress relief.”
“You’re totally ruining the mood, but okay,” he says easily.
“I’m trying to fix the mood,” Jensen insists as he goes back to the kitchen and retrieves their drinks. When he returns, Jared’s already plopped down on the couch with his arms hanging limply at his sides. Jensen stresses a frown, purposely being pathetic in the face of Jared looking so disappointed.
Jared returns the frown, but Jensen can see when he starts to smile. “It’s not my fault you’re so hard to please.”
Jensen drops down next to Jared and hands over a glass. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
Jared quickly says, “I’d rather be hard on you,” with a pout and excessively sad puppy eyes.
“Oh baby,” Jensen coos, tucking a few strands of hair behind Jared’s ear. “You can be hard on me whenever you want.”
Jared gulps down the rest of his margarita, tosses the glass aside with an “Olé!” and tackles Jensen down to the couch.
Jensen laughs with the warmth of Jared all over him, kissing across his throat, and then goes white hot as Jared slides his hips down. He wraps a leg over Jared’s to pull him in tighter, and they quickly start moving together and kissing hard. It feels so good so fast that Jensen only cares a little that his back is now wet and cold from his spilled drink. They’ll clean it up later, along with their clothes, because Jensen’s blood is flowing south and he doesn’t want to stop for anything.
Jared rises to his knees just enough to press his groin into the seam of Jensen’s jeans, rocking fast and a little rough so that his hard-on rubs against Jensen’s ass and up into his straining dick. He could probably fold Jensen in half and rub all over him to get off, and that thought makes Jensen want to come on the spot, but Jared pushes just right so they’re both getting as good as they’re giving.
Losing his wits, Jensen grabs the back of Jared’s jeans, yanking on the waistband to haul Jared in faster, and then Jared’s murmuring against Jensen’s lips until Jensen nudges Jared away and then Jared’s whining.
“What’re you doing?”
“I wanna get your taco,” Jensen jokes.
“You can have the whole enchilada,” Jared says, breathless.
Jensen laughs even as he pulls Jared’s dick out, hot and flushed and so perfect in his hand. Jared does the same, and they jack each other off quickly, both sweating through their shirts and panting into each other’s mouths.
Jared breaks first, grunting and pressing his forehead down to Jensen’s chest, and Jensen soon follows.
Through their fractured breathing, Jared hums then mumbles, “Aye carumba.”
“Oh, Jared,” Jensen softly laughs. He wraps his clean hand around Jared’s neck and pulls him up for a quick kiss. “You are so ridiculous. And incredibly romantic.” He kisses him again. “Thank you for coming over.”
“I missed you. Kind of, a little,” he adds quickly, pinching his fingers together like Jensen had earlier.
Jensen smiles easily. “Well, I kind of missed you a lot.” Suddenly Jensen’s stomach growls and they both look at each other wide eyed. “And I’m kind of hungry.”
“You want some real tacos?”
“Are they edible?”
“As edible as mine,” Jared replies with a wink.
“That’ll be dessert.”
1900 words, NC-17
Jared doesn't always hit the mark with his excitable nature.
Huge thanks to tebtosca for beta <3
At his front door, Jensen drops his keys to the cement floor as he juggles a handful of envelopes and junk mailers. He curses and bends over to pick up the key ring, but he stops midway up when hears a soft ”Oh shoot” from inside his apartment.
His heartbeat speeds up, worrying about what’s going on behind his door - who is inside - and he hurries to push the right key into the lock and turn it. It’s all happening too fast because the next thing he knows, the door’s swinging open and he’s tumbling forward into a wall of plaid. He gets a mouthful of flannel, which keeps him from crying out in shock.
“Hola!” is hollered from above Jensen. Strong, sure, recognizable hands grab him at his sides and right him. “¿Coma estas, Señor Ackles?”
Jensen huffs out a shaky laugh, getting his bearings at the same time he finds Jared’s broad smile, animated eyebrows flipping up and down, and the ridiculous sombrero atop his head. “Thank God it’s you,” Jensen sighs happily, as he moves a few more inches to hug Jared hello.
“Is the señor expecting other amigos?” Jared asks with an over-pronounced accent.
“No, no other amigos,” Jensen replies, as he pulls back. He takes his time to log Jared’s outfit, and, as always, it’s a completely ridiculous sight.
There’s an obnoxiously turquoise oxford shirt, ironed completely flat, so starched that that the creases are nearly white at his collar. The shirt is tucked into dark jeans fastened with what has to be world’s largest belt buckle of the Texas flag. And yeah … the outfit trails down to matching turquoise and brown stitched cowboy boots with shiny, silver rands across the toes.
“You are …” Jensen trails off, once again surprised, mesmerized, and totally amused by Jared’s dedication to themes.
Jared’s grin widens and he shakes his head lightly from side to side, exaggerating the movement of the tassels hanging around the brim of the hat.
Jensen smiles back and tugs the edge of the brim, tossing the tassels again. “Cute hat.”
“It’s a sombrero,” Jared accents strongly.
“Si, señor, it is.”
“Did I ever tell you I was el presidente of mi groupo de Spanish?”
Jensen laughs loudly, unable to hold it in anymore. “Man, I don’t know, but I think this might be a bit much. Even for you?” he says like a question to ease the possibility of hurting Jared’s feelings.
Jared frowns, but it seems embellished, just like his outfit, and he pulls the sombrero off. His fingers coast over the edges as he seems to pet it like it’s a treasured thing, then shrugs and flings it down the hallway. “It’s not like I’m married to it.”
“Well, I hope not,” Jensen chuckles, trying to step around Jared.
Instead, Jared steps with and nudges him into the kitchen off the entryway. “Before we begin the festivities -” Jensen raises and eyebrow and is about to ask, but Jared guides him to the counter with a stern nod. “A drink, first. Consider it cocktail hour.”
Jensen grabs a margarita glass full of icy pink goodness off the counter that he can’t wait to chug down. He’s been covering Katie’s shifts at the diner, working extra hours throughout the week, and facing the tough, business crowds that always need to hurry through lunch. Worse yet was trying to match up schedules with Jared, and that hasn’t been feasible for nearly three weeks.
“Not that I’m not happy to see this - or you - but what’s the occasion?” Jensen asks.
“Well, you sounded stressed last night, and we haven’t seen each other for a little while, so I thought I’d go for something …” Jared makes an odd face, a cross between nervous and bothered, and lifts the second glass up to clink with Jensen’s. “Romantic?”
The quick snort Jensen makes while he drinks forces him to inhale a bit of chipped ice and he coughs through it. “Jared, you know I love you, but this get-up is not what I would call … romantic.”
Jared lifts a sharp eyebrow and cocks his head. “Does the señor not trust el novio?”
“Considering your track record?” Jensen teases.
“Ahh, but I have all the necessities. Do you like chorizo?” Jared asks with a wink.
Jensen chuckles then takes a longer sip of the margarita, suddenly choking on how strong the tequila tastes. “Goddamn, Jared. How much is in here?”
“Enough to loosen us both up,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Speaking of loosening up …” Jensen puts his glass down and quickly unbuckles Jared’s belt, because that thing is so ugly that it has got to go. He yanks it from the belt loops as he tugs the shirt out from the jeans despite Jared’s protests.
“Jensen,” Jared hushes. “Not in front of the -”
“In front of what?”
“The music,” he says pathetically.
That’s when it starts. A robust swell of acoustic guitars from the living room makes Jensen freeze and stare at Jared. “What did you do?”
“I just … it was … it’s your favorite, right?”
A round of voices join the rhythmic guitar picking, grito mexicano boasting words Jensen can’t decipher while they carry through a verse completely in Spanish.
“Jared, what have you done?” Jensen asks frantically.
Jared shrugs awkwardly and Jensen moves into the living room to witness the five-piece mariachi band huddled in the corner of the small space. In front of them is a table set with a red tablecloth, two covered dinner plates, and a candle in the center.
“Surprise,” Jared says from over Jensen’s shoulder.
“Where did this come from?”
“The band or the food?”
“Both?” Jensen asks with an odd look.
“La Salseria. You said it was your favorite,” Jared argues lightly.
“This is kind of offensive,” Jensen mumbles.
“I’d call it cultural … exotic, maybe.”
Jensen sighs then forces himself to laugh. It really is a ridiculous scene in his living room, and Jared always has the best of intentions no matter how off the mark and over the top they are at this moment. He turns to Jared and softly smiles. “Did you already pay for them?”
“Yeah, they wouldn’t come into a stranger’s apartment without some dinero.”
He laughs again and closes his eyes for a moment. “I can’t blame them,” he says when he opens his eyes, trying to make his amusement obvious. “Especially if the stranger looks like you.”
Jared frowns and Jensen moves in to kiss him quickly.
“Kidding. I’m just kidding.”
Jared glances at the mariachi band, still going but changing songs, then turns to Jensen with a disappointed look. “You really don’t like it?”
“You get an A for effort, that’s for sure.”
“But the execution’s a little off?”
Jensen pinches his fingers together in the space between them and scrunches his nose. “Just a little.”
Without another word, Jared interrupts the band, leads them out the door with an extra tip for their troubles, and meets Jensen back in the living room. He’s frowning again when he unbuttons his turquoise shirt and shrugs it off, leaving him in a navy v-neck shirt that interests Jensen more than anything that’s happened since he came home.
“There’s my boyfriend,” Jensen murmurs as he pulls the edge of Jared’s shirt to bring him near.
“I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea.”
Jensen slips his arms around Jared’s waist. “It was a cute idea.”
“It was supposed to be romantic,” Jared mumbles. “You love Mexican.”
“Mexican’s not really romantic.”
“It can be,” he weakly argues.
“I wouldn’t call sombreros and bedazzled suits romantic.”
Jared gives him a long look then smirks. “Now who’s being offensive?”
Jensen snorts and drops his head to Jared’s shoulder as Jared wraps his arms around Jensen to hold him tight. “Can we just drink tequila and make out instead? That sounds like better stress relief.”
“You’re totally ruining the mood, but okay,” he says easily.
“I’m trying to fix the mood,” Jensen insists as he goes back to the kitchen and retrieves their drinks. When he returns, Jared’s already plopped down on the couch with his arms hanging limply at his sides. Jensen stresses a frown, purposely being pathetic in the face of Jared looking so disappointed.
Jared returns the frown, but Jensen can see when he starts to smile. “It’s not my fault you’re so hard to please.”
Jensen drops down next to Jared and hands over a glass. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
Jared quickly says, “I’d rather be hard on you,” with a pout and excessively sad puppy eyes.
“Oh baby,” Jensen coos, tucking a few strands of hair behind Jared’s ear. “You can be hard on me whenever you want.”
Jared gulps down the rest of his margarita, tosses the glass aside with an “Olé!” and tackles Jensen down to the couch.
Jensen laughs with the warmth of Jared all over him, kissing across his throat, and then goes white hot as Jared slides his hips down. He wraps a leg over Jared’s to pull him in tighter, and they quickly start moving together and kissing hard. It feels so good so fast that Jensen only cares a little that his back is now wet and cold from his spilled drink. They’ll clean it up later, along with their clothes, because Jensen’s blood is flowing south and he doesn’t want to stop for anything.
Jared rises to his knees just enough to press his groin into the seam of Jensen’s jeans, rocking fast and a little rough so that his hard-on rubs against Jensen’s ass and up into his straining dick. He could probably fold Jensen in half and rub all over him to get off, and that thought makes Jensen want to come on the spot, but Jared pushes just right so they’re both getting as good as they’re giving.
Losing his wits, Jensen grabs the back of Jared’s jeans, yanking on the waistband to haul Jared in faster, and then Jared’s murmuring against Jensen’s lips until Jensen nudges Jared away and then Jared’s whining.
“What’re you doing?”
“I wanna get your taco,” Jensen jokes.
“You can have the whole enchilada,” Jared says, breathless.
Jensen laughs even as he pulls Jared’s dick out, hot and flushed and so perfect in his hand. Jared does the same, and they jack each other off quickly, both sweating through their shirts and panting into each other’s mouths.
Jared breaks first, grunting and pressing his forehead down to Jensen’s chest, and Jensen soon follows.
Through their fractured breathing, Jared hums then mumbles, “Aye carumba.”
“Oh, Jared,” Jensen softly laughs. He wraps his clean hand around Jared’s neck and pulls him up for a quick kiss. “You are so ridiculous. And incredibly romantic.” He kisses him again. “Thank you for coming over.”
“I missed you. Kind of, a little,” he adds quickly, pinching his fingers together like Jensen had earlier.
Jensen smiles easily. “Well, I kind of missed you a lot.” Suddenly Jensen’s stomach growls and they both look at each other wide eyed. “And I’m kind of hungry.”
“You want some real tacos?”
“Are they edible?”
“As edible as mine,” Jared replies with a wink.
“That’ll be dessert.”