that's not the issue
OMG BBS, I CANNOT BELIEVE I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL TODAY! SHORTEST SUMMER VACATION EVER. Also, of course, the thunderstorm that is happening now is supposed to continue off and on all day. GOD: DOIN' IT FOR THE LULZ Y/Y???
Okay, anyway, I wrote this story.
Under the bushes, under the stars
or, MORE GARLIC!!!
or, MALAISE PIE!, tm jascott
Jared/Jensen, R-ish
2033 words
DEAR LIVEJOURNAL: THIS IS FICTION.
Mega super ultra ups to jascott, who did not tell me to snap out of it at all the whole time and edited my google doc, and to missdeviant, who assured me that I really did need to introduce their lips to each other.
"I need another beer," Jensen says, somewhere between a moan and a whine.
"You can't have one, you'll choke and die," says Jared. Which is probably true. Jensen's lying flat on his back and he's never been so good at swallowing like that, take that as you will. From here his view is limited: the underside of Jared's kitchen table, the middle section of Jared's jeans, various kitchen accoutrements, dogs. He could probably see Jared's socks if he were willing to tilt his head a little, but he's not. When he wiggles his toes he can see his own socks in his peripheral vision: thick, oatmeal-colored. It's the eighth day in a row they haven't actually seen the sun, and Jensen's tired, and winter in Canada is cold, and dark, and he misses his mom, and his laptop's trackpad has been jumping around and pissing him off, the new Wilco album isn't due out for months, he needs to buy groceries, the dull ache in his left shoulder blade hasn't gone away in a week and a half, he hates everyone.
Jensen rolls his eyes up to watch Jared stir the pasta. "You're doing the shells, right?" he asks.
Jared waves the empty package at him. "Medium shells, whole wheat, been in existence less than 6 hours. I'm on it," he says, going back to the sink. He rinses something out and dries his hands, turning around to lean against the counter and cross his arms. He kicks the flat of Jensen's socked foot with his own.
"What, you go to that hippie place? Hippie grocery store?"
"Jen, that place is for hippies like Whole Foods is for hippies."
Jensen tilts his head so he can almost see Jared's face. Harley steps on his leg, mindless of distractions in his urgent need to investigate Jared's pants. Sadie saunters into Jensen's line of view, carrying something that used to be a stuffed animal. She drops it a little too close to his face for comfort and shifts her attention to Jensen's face.
"Augh," he says through clenched teeth. His eyes are closed but he can still feel her moist breath on his face. "Un-release your hounds," he grits out.
"You're the one lying on the floor," says Jared, and kicks his foot again.
"Man, I checked Pitchfork, and there hasn't been any news about the new Wilco album for months," Jensen says, throwing an arm over his face before Sadie comes back.
"Uh huh."
"And I'm tired."
"Me, too."
"We're stranded in the Great White North."
"Yep."
"Our women are far away!"
"No," Jared says, kicking Jensen's foot once more before coming unfolded and heading back to the stove, "My woman's right here in the kitchen where she belongs."
"Goddammit," says Jensen, as righteous and indignant as it's possible to be under a kitchen table and an arm covered in dog hair.
"I got a mysterious cloak from my dead dad," Jared singsongs, barely diverting Harley from Jensen's face in time by filling up his bowl. "Come eat your dog dinner. Your dinner is nearly ready, too, Jen."
Jensen takes his arm off his face and looks up, backward, upside down at Jared. "I hate everyone," he says.
"I know," says Jared.
"Extra garlic!" Jensen yells.
"I know," says Jared. He holds a hand out to Jensen to pull him up to his feet. Jensen stands, hunching his shoulders and skulking over to the fridge for another beer, walking like George Michael in that one episode of Arrested Development. He and Jared had been near tears on the couch when they watched it, but Jensen's finding it a surprisingly effective method of expression.
"My head hurts," he tells the back of the refrigerator.
"Did you take something?" Jared asks from the stove.
"Dude, you sound like my mom."
"I think there should be some aspirin or something in the bathroom cabinet. Over the sink."
Jensen shows his reflection his bottom teeth, pulling his neck taut so the tendons stand out. He splashes his face with cold water. It doesn't help.
"I have a general malaise," he announces upon his return to the kitchen.
"No shit," says Jared, handing him a giant bowl of pasta. "There's enough garlic in this to peel paint or something, probably. Did you find the aspirin?"
"Yes," Jensen says, sullenly, taking his bowl to the couch. Jared follows, and takes up an entire half-couch cushion by himself. Jensen sets his bowl down on the coffee table and leans back. "It's Saturday night."
"Yeah it is!" Jared sounds a little too excited for the point Jensen's trying to make.
"And we're sitting on your couch eating pasta. We worked all day. And now we're going to sit on your couch, and eat pasta, and watch a movie. Doesn't that depress you?"
"Dude, you've been talking about Bad Boys II all week. Don't you want to watch it?"
"Yeah, I just. I have this malaise."
"Jensen."
"What."
"Shut up."
Jensen shuts up. Will Smith says, "Aw, HELL NAW!" Jensen feels a little better.
Jensen wakes up sideways. He's crumpled into the couch and his neck is stiff. There's water running in the kitchen, Steven Seagal is doing something ill-advised on top of a train on Jared's enormous flatscreen tv, and Harley is staring at him. Jensen blinks in surprise, and Harley presents his chin to be scratched, tail thumping.
"Hi, buddy," says Jensen. He sits up, blinking blearily, and Harley insinuates himself further between Jensen's legs. "Okay," he says. The sound of water stops in the kitchen, the light goes out, and Jared comes into the living room. Harley abandons Jensen to nudge Jared's hand.
"How's your head?" Jared asks.
"Mneh." Jensen shrugs. His Malaise seems to have been joined by a bit of Drunk. An unfortunate mix, really.
"Come on," Jared holds out his hand and drags Jensen up, again. "Use my spare toothbrush and drink some water, you should sleep here. Alright, buddy? Go on, I'll get you some water."
Jensen makes a mental note to make a note in his pda to tease Jared later about being a mother hen. Later, though, when he's not actually, embarrassingly, in need of a mother hen/best friend combo. Sleep. He wants sleep. He smears some toothpaste around in his mouth and drinks the whole glass of cold water Jared hands him. He shows Jared his clean teeth and breathes minty breath at him.
"Thanks, Jared," he says, "Jared" coming out as one muddled syllable.
"No problem, man," says Jared, squeezing his shoulders and walking him down the hall. "You don't have to be nice to me."
"Sometimes you're the only person I want to be nice to," Jensen mutters, feeling wild and free and dark. And, yeah, kinda tippy. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and then opens them and turns back toward the living room. Jared stops him, hands still on his shoulders.
"You always bitch about the couch, Jen," says Jared. "C'mon, just share my bed, alright?"
Jensen considers. The couch does suck. Jared is his best friend. "Alright," he says.
Jared turns on the lamp on his bedside table and hits the overhead on his way out, saying, "I'mna go brush my teeth, alright, go ahead." Jensen has a brief flashback to the Omni Hotel, post-prom, 1996, but dismisses it quickly, along with his socks and jeans. He's 27 now. Whatever. There's another brief moment of weird, awkward terror as he climbs into Jared's bed in his t-shirt and boxer briefs, but he's kind of too tired to care. He's shared beds with dudes before, memorably during the spring cheerleading competition circuit of 1995. This feels different, but Jared's bed is seriously huge, probably a California King, and Jensen just pretends he's Sandy and burrows down under the comforter, curled up on his side with his back to the center of the bed.
He's mostly asleep when he feels the mattress shift under Jared and the light goes out. Too asleep to open his mouth and use actual words, what he says comes out as, "Mnnrrrr."
Jared, with two years of deciphering this code under his belt, just gets under the covers and rolls onto his side, reaching out an arm and putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Hey," he says. "C'mere."
Jensen stares at the dark room for a second and then rolls over.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," says Jared.
"You tryin' to seduce me?" he asks.
"Nah," says Jared. "But I bet I could. You feelin' alright?"
"Yeah," says Jensen. "Just...you know." He makes a face and wiggles a little closer to Jared and his body heat. "My track pad is fucked up."
"It's still under warranty. They'll fix it for free."
"I know." Jensen's eyes drift closed again. "Shit's about to get real," he mumbles.
"Aw, hell naw," Jared says, putting his arm back out and pulling Jensen in to him. Jensen lifts his arm, full of sleep, and drapes it over Jared. He tugs on a piece of hair, and puts his face in Jared's neck. Jared smells like blankets and woods and garlic, faintly. Jensen makes a sound full of consonants and rubs his Dean-stubbled cheek against Jared's neck, then pulls back and rubs his whole face across Jared's jaw, just now getting scratchy out of Sam's smooth shave.
"What are you, a cat?" Jared laughs, his hand coming up to the back of Jensen's head.
"Shut up," Jensen says, suddenly very, very awake. He pulls back and squints at Jared and, whoa, post-prom 1996 all over again, except Jared's looking at him with this sort of half-smirk on his face, looking very very wry. Jensen's kind of offended that Jared would choose this moment, this moment, to look wry, so he leans back in and puts his mouth on Jared's.
The world doesn't stop. Actually, Jensen's world gets much much smaller suddenly; he loses track of everything that's not the feel of the sheets under his right arm, Jared's t-shirt and hair and neck and face under his left hand, the acreage of Jensen's body that Jared covers with one swipe of his giant hand, Jared's mouth, the opposite of wry under Jensen's. Jensen gasps and squirms closer to Jared, using his hold on Jared's neck as leverage. "You were trying to seduce me. Why else would you be so nice to me all night?"
"Jackass," Jared breathes onto Jensen's cheek. "I was being nice to you cause you were having a shitty day. What are you, prom queen?"
Jensen does not fail to notice that Jared's hand has kept moving, and is now somewhat parked on Jensen's hip, thumb moving in very distracting circles over Jensen's protruding pelvic bone. "Can we please not talk about prom anymore," he says, biting Jared's lower lip. This produces a very gratifying sound from Jared, whose arm goes around Jensen and tightens across his back.
"Sure thing, baby," Jared says, and laughs startlingly loud at the face Jensen makes. "But Night of A Thousand Stars 2000 was pretty amazing."
"I can't believe I'm making out with you right now," says Jensen, all evidence to the contrary.
"All evidence to the contrary," says Jared, which Jensen takes as a sign to shut up and commit himself to the task at hand.
So he does. And then he sleeps, for the first time in weeks, in someone else's bed, but it doesn't feel strange at all, it just feels cozy, and when Jensen wakes up in the morning underneath Jared's arm, he blinks muzzily for a few seconds, and then goes right back to sleep.
Okay, anyway, I wrote this story.
Under the bushes, under the stars
or, MORE GARLIC!!!
or, MALAISE PIE!, tm jascott
Jared/Jensen, R-ish
2033 words
DEAR LIVEJOURNAL: THIS IS FICTION.
Mega super ultra ups to jascott, who did not tell me to snap out of it at all the whole time and edited my google doc, and to missdeviant, who assured me that I really did need to introduce their lips to each other.
"I need another beer," Jensen says, somewhere between a moan and a whine.
"You can't have one, you'll choke and die," says Jared. Which is probably true. Jensen's lying flat on his back and he's never been so good at swallowing like that, take that as you will. From here his view is limited: the underside of Jared's kitchen table, the middle section of Jared's jeans, various kitchen accoutrements, dogs. He could probably see Jared's socks if he were willing to tilt his head a little, but he's not. When he wiggles his toes he can see his own socks in his peripheral vision: thick, oatmeal-colored. It's the eighth day in a row they haven't actually seen the sun, and Jensen's tired, and winter in Canada is cold, and dark, and he misses his mom, and his laptop's trackpad has been jumping around and pissing him off, the new Wilco album isn't due out for months, he needs to buy groceries, the dull ache in his left shoulder blade hasn't gone away in a week and a half, he hates everyone.
Jensen rolls his eyes up to watch Jared stir the pasta. "You're doing the shells, right?" he asks.
Jared waves the empty package at him. "Medium shells, whole wheat, been in existence less than 6 hours. I'm on it," he says, going back to the sink. He rinses something out and dries his hands, turning around to lean against the counter and cross his arms. He kicks the flat of Jensen's socked foot with his own.
"What, you go to that hippie place? Hippie grocery store?"
"Jen, that place is for hippies like Whole Foods is for hippies."
Jensen tilts his head so he can almost see Jared's face. Harley steps on his leg, mindless of distractions in his urgent need to investigate Jared's pants. Sadie saunters into Jensen's line of view, carrying something that used to be a stuffed animal. She drops it a little too close to his face for comfort and shifts her attention to Jensen's face.
"Augh," he says through clenched teeth. His eyes are closed but he can still feel her moist breath on his face. "Un-release your hounds," he grits out.
"You're the one lying on the floor," says Jared, and kicks his foot again.
"Man, I checked Pitchfork, and there hasn't been any news about the new Wilco album for months," Jensen says, throwing an arm over his face before Sadie comes back.
"Uh huh."
"And I'm tired."
"Me, too."
"We're stranded in the Great White North."
"Yep."
"Our women are far away!"
"No," Jared says, kicking Jensen's foot once more before coming unfolded and heading back to the stove, "My woman's right here in the kitchen where she belongs."
"Goddammit," says Jensen, as righteous and indignant as it's possible to be under a kitchen table and an arm covered in dog hair.
"I got a mysterious cloak from my dead dad," Jared singsongs, barely diverting Harley from Jensen's face in time by filling up his bowl. "Come eat your dog dinner. Your dinner is nearly ready, too, Jen."
Jensen takes his arm off his face and looks up, backward, upside down at Jared. "I hate everyone," he says.
"I know," says Jared.
"Extra garlic!" Jensen yells.
"I know," says Jared. He holds a hand out to Jensen to pull him up to his feet. Jensen stands, hunching his shoulders and skulking over to the fridge for another beer, walking like George Michael in that one episode of Arrested Development. He and Jared had been near tears on the couch when they watched it, but Jensen's finding it a surprisingly effective method of expression.
"My head hurts," he tells the back of the refrigerator.
"Did you take something?" Jared asks from the stove.
"Dude, you sound like my mom."
"I think there should be some aspirin or something in the bathroom cabinet. Over the sink."
Jensen shows his reflection his bottom teeth, pulling his neck taut so the tendons stand out. He splashes his face with cold water. It doesn't help.
"I have a general malaise," he announces upon his return to the kitchen.
"No shit," says Jared, handing him a giant bowl of pasta. "There's enough garlic in this to peel paint or something, probably. Did you find the aspirin?"
"Yes," Jensen says, sullenly, taking his bowl to the couch. Jared follows, and takes up an entire half-couch cushion by himself. Jensen sets his bowl down on the coffee table and leans back. "It's Saturday night."
"Yeah it is!" Jared sounds a little too excited for the point Jensen's trying to make.
"And we're sitting on your couch eating pasta. We worked all day. And now we're going to sit on your couch, and eat pasta, and watch a movie. Doesn't that depress you?"
"Dude, you've been talking about Bad Boys II all week. Don't you want to watch it?"
"Yeah, I just. I have this malaise."
"Jensen."
"What."
"Shut up."
Jensen shuts up. Will Smith says, "Aw, HELL NAW!" Jensen feels a little better.
Jensen wakes up sideways. He's crumpled into the couch and his neck is stiff. There's water running in the kitchen, Steven Seagal is doing something ill-advised on top of a train on Jared's enormous flatscreen tv, and Harley is staring at him. Jensen blinks in surprise, and Harley presents his chin to be scratched, tail thumping.
"Hi, buddy," says Jensen. He sits up, blinking blearily, and Harley insinuates himself further between Jensen's legs. "Okay," he says. The sound of water stops in the kitchen, the light goes out, and Jared comes into the living room. Harley abandons Jensen to nudge Jared's hand.
"How's your head?" Jared asks.
"Mneh." Jensen shrugs. His Malaise seems to have been joined by a bit of Drunk. An unfortunate mix, really.
"Come on," Jared holds out his hand and drags Jensen up, again. "Use my spare toothbrush and drink some water, you should sleep here. Alright, buddy? Go on, I'll get you some water."
Jensen makes a mental note to make a note in his pda to tease Jared later about being a mother hen. Later, though, when he's not actually, embarrassingly, in need of a mother hen/best friend combo. Sleep. He wants sleep. He smears some toothpaste around in his mouth and drinks the whole glass of cold water Jared hands him. He shows Jared his clean teeth and breathes minty breath at him.
"Thanks, Jared," he says, "Jared" coming out as one muddled syllable.
"No problem, man," says Jared, squeezing his shoulders and walking him down the hall. "You don't have to be nice to me."
"Sometimes you're the only person I want to be nice to," Jensen mutters, feeling wild and free and dark. And, yeah, kinda tippy. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and then opens them and turns back toward the living room. Jared stops him, hands still on his shoulders.
"You always bitch about the couch, Jen," says Jared. "C'mon, just share my bed, alright?"
Jensen considers. The couch does suck. Jared is his best friend. "Alright," he says.
Jared turns on the lamp on his bedside table and hits the overhead on his way out, saying, "I'mna go brush my teeth, alright, go ahead." Jensen has a brief flashback to the Omni Hotel, post-prom, 1996, but dismisses it quickly, along with his socks and jeans. He's 27 now. Whatever. There's another brief moment of weird, awkward terror as he climbs into Jared's bed in his t-shirt and boxer briefs, but he's kind of too tired to care. He's shared beds with dudes before, memorably during the spring cheerleading competition circuit of 1995. This feels different, but Jared's bed is seriously huge, probably a California King, and Jensen just pretends he's Sandy and burrows down under the comforter, curled up on his side with his back to the center of the bed.
He's mostly asleep when he feels the mattress shift under Jared and the light goes out. Too asleep to open his mouth and use actual words, what he says comes out as, "Mnnrrrr."
Jared, with two years of deciphering this code under his belt, just gets under the covers and rolls onto his side, reaching out an arm and putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Hey," he says. "C'mere."
Jensen stares at the dark room for a second and then rolls over.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," says Jared.
"You tryin' to seduce me?" he asks.
"Nah," says Jared. "But I bet I could. You feelin' alright?"
"Yeah," says Jensen. "Just...you know." He makes a face and wiggles a little closer to Jared and his body heat. "My track pad is fucked up."
"It's still under warranty. They'll fix it for free."
"I know." Jensen's eyes drift closed again. "Shit's about to get real," he mumbles.
"Aw, hell naw," Jared says, putting his arm back out and pulling Jensen in to him. Jensen lifts his arm, full of sleep, and drapes it over Jared. He tugs on a piece of hair, and puts his face in Jared's neck. Jared smells like blankets and woods and garlic, faintly. Jensen makes a sound full of consonants and rubs his Dean-stubbled cheek against Jared's neck, then pulls back and rubs his whole face across Jared's jaw, just now getting scratchy out of Sam's smooth shave.
"What are you, a cat?" Jared laughs, his hand coming up to the back of Jensen's head.
"Shut up," Jensen says, suddenly very, very awake. He pulls back and squints at Jared and, whoa, post-prom 1996 all over again, except Jared's looking at him with this sort of half-smirk on his face, looking very very wry. Jensen's kind of offended that Jared would choose this moment, this moment, to look wry, so he leans back in and puts his mouth on Jared's.
The world doesn't stop. Actually, Jensen's world gets much much smaller suddenly; he loses track of everything that's not the feel of the sheets under his right arm, Jared's t-shirt and hair and neck and face under his left hand, the acreage of Jensen's body that Jared covers with one swipe of his giant hand, Jared's mouth, the opposite of wry under Jensen's. Jensen gasps and squirms closer to Jared, using his hold on Jared's neck as leverage. "You were trying to seduce me. Why else would you be so nice to me all night?"
"Jackass," Jared breathes onto Jensen's cheek. "I was being nice to you cause you were having a shitty day. What are you, prom queen?"
Jensen does not fail to notice that Jared's hand has kept moving, and is now somewhat parked on Jensen's hip, thumb moving in very distracting circles over Jensen's protruding pelvic bone. "Can we please not talk about prom anymore," he says, biting Jared's lower lip. This produces a very gratifying sound from Jared, whose arm goes around Jensen and tightens across his back.
"Sure thing, baby," Jared says, and laughs startlingly loud at the face Jensen makes. "But Night of A Thousand Stars 2000 was pretty amazing."
"I can't believe I'm making out with you right now," says Jensen, all evidence to the contrary.
"All evidence to the contrary," says Jared, which Jensen takes as a sign to shut up and commit himself to the task at hand.
So he does. And then he sleeps, for the first time in weeks, in someone else's bed, but it doesn't feel strange at all, it just feels cozy, and when Jensen wakes up in the morning underneath Jared's arm, he blinks muzzily for a few seconds, and then goes right back to sleep.