J2 RPS, It's Nice To Be Nice, NC17.
Title: It’s Nice To Be Nice [To The Nice].
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC17.
WC: ~2,000
Warning: CRACKY. This is not the deep thinky, well written, believable fic you’re looking for. Spoilers for Devour. Ha!
Summary: Jensen’s A Douchebag And Treats Jared Like One: A Love Story. This is for sunnny who has waited too long.
Half an hour later, Jensen’s still laughing.
“I’m into salads, now,” he teases, choking on the hilarity. He sounds like he’s dying. “I can’t believe you thought I’d buy that. ‘I’m into salads.’”
“You called me Bruce Banner!”
“You’d rather The Hulk? Kinky.”
Jared crosses his arms, backing himself into the furthest corner of the kitchen. He’s not green, but he’s pissed. “I hate you.”
“Why are you trying to lose weight for me then?”
“I’m not try - ” Jared’s voice breaks, indignant, so he coughs and rights himself. He stands taller. “I’m not thirteen, asshole. I’m just. Toning down.”
“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?”
“You said I’m the submarine to your periscope,” Jared reminds him, and the fact that Jensen had said it with his head in Jared’s lap did not make it romantic, no matter what Jensen claims. “You said, and I quote, I’m afraid you’re gonna pick me up and use me as a toothpick.”
“I hurt your feelings.” It’s not a question. Jensen’s sauntering - literally; it’s as if Dean has stepped in, pulled up his shoulders and squared his arms - he’s sauntering over with his head ducked and his lip quirked and those eyes. Those goddamn eyes are saying, so I’ve got you where I want you.
“Yes!”
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, pressed right in and talking to the V of Jared’s collar. “What I meant to say was I’m afraid you’re gonna roll over one night and kill me.”
“Fuck you.” Jared’s fighting a grin, grappling with Jensen’s t-shirt; grabbing two handfuls and shoving him in the direction of the bedroom. “I’m gonna roll you over.”
“You beast,” Jensen splutters, half tripping over his feet and half trusting that, despite it all, Jared won’t let him fall over. “Oh sorry, did I hurt your feelings?”
A week later, there’s a new shirt ‘unofficially’ included in Sam’s wardrobe. One of those Make-Your-Own tee’s that looks more like something Jim would wear to a convention. It’s white on black and simply says: I’m into salads.
*
Jensen finds Jared in the nursery, the baby cradled in one arm. He’s shuffling them both around the cot, humming a lullaby softly.
“You start singing, I’m gonna call your brother,” he whispers, his hands dug into the pocket of his jeans. When Jared turns around he’s just smiling.
“Shut your face.”
“I’m serious. Isn’t there a clause somewhere in your babysitting contract? You may not, under any circumstances, sing to our helpless little son.”
“Well, you refused to do it …” Jared walks around to where Jensen’s stopped, moves right in so that he can prop the baby between them. The baby just stares at them, his hands curled at his chin. He doesn’t move.
“Yeah, ‘cause I know you’re gonna tape me and put me on YouTube,” Jensen says, distractedly, a hand up to support the baby’s feet.
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d sell it to someone and they’d put it on YouTube.”
“You nearly done here?”
“I have to get through my rendition of Stay Awake.” Jared’s head falls softly against Jensen’s, and he yawns.
“You’re too nice to play Mary Poppins.”
“The fact that I have a dick, though, that would be okay?”
Jensen moves as if he’s been burnt, staring at Jared blankly. “You just said dick,” he rebukes, and he’s stern. He sounds like his father. “In front of the baby.”
Jared’s just rolling his eyes, moving back to start shuffling around the room again. The baby squirms, and starts to gurgle, twisting his head as if he already misses the sight of Jensen. Jared pretends not to notice, and shoos Jensen with a tilt of his head. “Would you go and finish dinner, already?”
“Yeah, see, about that.” Jensen claps his hands together. “Your oven - your brother’s oven - it’s making this sound.”
“What kind of sound?”
“A … bad sound? Kind of like you when you’re singing?”
“Fu - ”
“Jared, the baby.”
In a huff, Jared carefully passes his nephew to Jensen, “Here,” and ignores the definite sound of a victorious snicker.
A moment later, Jared’s voice is flittering through the baby monitor, almost indistinct. “Tall, beefy, can’t sing for shit,” he’s saying to himself, obviously annoyed. “I still manage to be the wife.”
*
“That’s it! It’s time to get the ruler out!”
Jensen shakes his head, as if his ears are clogged with water. “Whoah. Déjà vu.”
“We’re stopping this shit,” Jared’s saying, all gruff and muffled voice, tripping over his own feet in his haste. “Once and for all.”
When he gets back to the sofa Jensen’s grinning like he doesn’t mean it [doesn’t care] and when all this is done, he’s getting punched in the face. “I don’t understand why you’re upset about this.” Punched hard.
“Oh, well, I don’t understand why you don’t like being called Two-Chin Charlie,” Jared snaps, and the look on Jensen’s face douses any guilt Jared may have had about that low blow. Oh yeah, feels good. Jensen shifts and lifts his head a little and coughs.
“Sometimes, in a young man’s life, he’s going to have to accept that his body goes through some changes.”
“My forehead didn’t change!”
“Your forehead bred. With your forehead. And it made more forehead.”
Jared smacks the ruler against his face so that it squashes his nose and eyebrow down. “Look! See for yourself!”
Jensen sighs and rolls his eyes and is so above this but gets up anyway. He comes close enough that he could measure Jared’s nose hair, appraising, nodding seriously. “Just as I suspected. If we draw up a billboard, for Supernatural, we could stick it to your face.”
Jared throws the ruler down because there’s no use, because despite it all he’s not a masochist. With a grumble of defeat he forces Jensen backward to the couch, both of them buckling at the knees, and falling down. Jensen’s pushed over and Jared’s a push over.
“I like it,” Jensen tells Jared’s temple, all quiet and nice.
“You do not.”
“You’re right. I love it.” Jensen’s hot breath and provocation; running his fingers through Jared’s hair the way he likes it, shifting up and around in all the right places. “I wanna run my mouth along the receding hairline.”
“Fuck you,” Jared promises, his eyes closed and purring.
“I wanna lick my way along the worry lines, ‘til you relax. Feel you come apart beneath my hands - every single inch of you - from your deformed toes to the top of your enormous face.”
“Dirty talk’s supposed to be encouraging. I’m not feeling encouraged here.”
Jensen finds the ruler and shoves it down the front of Jared’s pants. “Liar.”
*
Once, twice and three times, Jared’s bare back hits a door frame. Thump, thump, th - “Fuck, Jensen, pick a room,” he hisses and Jensen, with his face buried in Jared’s chest, says something that sounds like, “Ice-Cream Truck.”
Jensen pushes them both into the guest room, pushes Jared - succeeds only because Jared’s willing - onto the bed and smirks. The eyebrow up, the lip tugged, a nod of his head and fuck. Jared falls back, groans, bucks up and waits.
He doesn’t wait long. He’s naked in point-fuck-all of a second, his knees at his ears and two quick, wet fingers frantic inside of him. “Jesus Christ,” he yells, tensing around Jensen. “A little warning.”
“Your plane was late,” Jensen says, on the edge of a breath. He hovers above Jared, just watches him break, little by little, watches as Jared watches back.
“S-so?”
“I’m - fucking - horny,” he professes, voice shaking around a grunt and a laugh.
Jared says nothing, it’s all he’s been reduced to; sticks to loud, throat scratching cries when Jensen pushes inside of him. This is it, this is sex, two people who know every inch of the canvas, and just where to work, just where to hit. Jared claws at Jensen’s back and takes it all.
He likes it.
The next morning - early, even by their standards - Jared wakes up alone. His mouth is sour, his ass hurts and his skin is dry and sticky. Jensen’s left a trail of his own mess through the house; Jared can presume that he got clean, got fed and got out.
After he’s eaten Jared showers, as hot as he can stand it. He wraps a towel around his waist and checks himself on the scale and then seeks out a clean outfit.
When he opens the top drawer, something’s off. He doesn’t recognise … well, anything. The second drawer is the same. He works through all of his clothes until he realises what’s going on. A tornado has passed through, resembling an arsehole.
Everything’s two sizes too small.
*
Jared’s out running for the better part of two hours; the dogs trailing slowly in as he walks through the front door. Jensen’s lounging on the couch with a bag of chips on his belly, bringing a finger up to his lips, Shut Up.
The phone is talking. Jensen has someone on speaker.
“Also, I don’t think it’s right that you moved in there,” it says, as Jared tiptoes over, kicking his trainers off as he goes. “I mean, don’t even try to tell me that he’s not paying for most of the expenses.”
“Well …” Jensen doesn’t try. Jared throws him a confused look, mouths, what the fuck? before lowering himself down onto the couch. Wet with sweat, soaked more to the point, and he smothers Jensen, squishing the chips between them.
“I knew it! I mean, you think we’re silly, don’t you? You think we don’t hear about the things you say to him. He’s a big boy, Jensen, but he’s not unfeeling.”
Jared’s wiping his sweaty forehead across Jensen’s pissed off face when he stops. Realises. “Mom?”
“Jared?”
Jared leaps up off Jensen in one quick, humiliated movement. He feels naked. “Mom, what the hell?”
“I … I was just … I heard some things, Jared, and I wasn’t very happy about it.”
“Oh my God, oh my-” he turns sharply on Jensen, clenching a fist. “My Mom is calling you, protecting my sanctity and you’re sitting there eating chips?”
Jensen looks up with big eyes, an innocent shrug of his shoulders. “I was entertained?”
“What have you said to her?”
“He hasn’t said anything, actually,” Jared’s Mom interrupts, and despite the distance she still does a great job of sounding angry.
“Yeah, so she called me a coward.”
“Jesus, I - look, Mom. It’s not what you think. Jensen’s just. He just thinks he’s funny that’s all. We both think we’re funny. You should hear the things I say to him. Really.”
“What do you mean? What things?”
“There’s plenty of things. Trust me. I mean,” Jared starts counting them off on his fingers. “He was a cheerleader, once. Did you know that?”
Jensen sighs and sits up, running a hand through his hair. “It’s true, Sh - Mrs. Padalecki,” he says in a pained voice.
“Up until Supernatural, his career was sucky. He played a dude who slept with his mom who turned out to be Satan.”
“Oh, dear.”
“He has one and a half chins, he has bowlegs, he sleeps with playboy bunnies who get a kick out of telling the media how good he is in bed.” Jared takes a big, gasping breath. “He was taken down by a school girl once, he rides horses with no shirt on, he sues people for self expression!”
“Okay, Jay, I think the lady has heard enough.”
“Trust me, Mom. It’s a give and take relationship. I’m not defenceless.” There’s silence on the other end of the phone. They can’t even hear her breathing. With caution, Jared says, “Mom?” in a small, embarrassed voice.
“Well.” She lets out a breath. “Thank God you found each other, is all I can say. Thank God.”
-end-
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC17.
WC: ~2,000
Warning: CRACKY. This is not the deep thinky, well written, believable fic you’re looking for. Spoilers for Devour. Ha!
Summary: Jensen’s A Douchebag And Treats Jared Like One: A Love Story. This is for sunnny who has waited too long.
Half an hour later, Jensen’s still laughing.
“I’m into salads, now,” he teases, choking on the hilarity. He sounds like he’s dying. “I can’t believe you thought I’d buy that. ‘I’m into salads.’”
“You called me Bruce Banner!”
“You’d rather The Hulk? Kinky.”
Jared crosses his arms, backing himself into the furthest corner of the kitchen. He’s not green, but he’s pissed. “I hate you.”
“Why are you trying to lose weight for me then?”
“I’m not try - ” Jared’s voice breaks, indignant, so he coughs and rights himself. He stands taller. “I’m not thirteen, asshole. I’m just. Toning down.”
“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?”
“You said I’m the submarine to your periscope,” Jared reminds him, and the fact that Jensen had said it with his head in Jared’s lap did not make it romantic, no matter what Jensen claims. “You said, and I quote, I’m afraid you’re gonna pick me up and use me as a toothpick.”
“I hurt your feelings.” It’s not a question. Jensen’s sauntering - literally; it’s as if Dean has stepped in, pulled up his shoulders and squared his arms - he’s sauntering over with his head ducked and his lip quirked and those eyes. Those goddamn eyes are saying, so I’ve got you where I want you.
“Yes!”
“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, pressed right in and talking to the V of Jared’s collar. “What I meant to say was I’m afraid you’re gonna roll over one night and kill me.”
“Fuck you.” Jared’s fighting a grin, grappling with Jensen’s t-shirt; grabbing two handfuls and shoving him in the direction of the bedroom. “I’m gonna roll you over.”
“You beast,” Jensen splutters, half tripping over his feet and half trusting that, despite it all, Jared won’t let him fall over. “Oh sorry, did I hurt your feelings?”
A week later, there’s a new shirt ‘unofficially’ included in Sam’s wardrobe. One of those Make-Your-Own tee’s that looks more like something Jim would wear to a convention. It’s white on black and simply says: I’m into salads.
*
Jensen finds Jared in the nursery, the baby cradled in one arm. He’s shuffling them both around the cot, humming a lullaby softly.
“You start singing, I’m gonna call your brother,” he whispers, his hands dug into the pocket of his jeans. When Jared turns around he’s just smiling.
“Shut your face.”
“I’m serious. Isn’t there a clause somewhere in your babysitting contract? You may not, under any circumstances, sing to our helpless little son.”
“Well, you refused to do it …” Jared walks around to where Jensen’s stopped, moves right in so that he can prop the baby between them. The baby just stares at them, his hands curled at his chin. He doesn’t move.
“Yeah, ‘cause I know you’re gonna tape me and put me on YouTube,” Jensen says, distractedly, a hand up to support the baby’s feet.
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d sell it to someone and they’d put it on YouTube.”
“You nearly done here?”
“I have to get through my rendition of Stay Awake.” Jared’s head falls softly against Jensen’s, and he yawns.
“You’re too nice to play Mary Poppins.”
“The fact that I have a dick, though, that would be okay?”
Jensen moves as if he’s been burnt, staring at Jared blankly. “You just said dick,” he rebukes, and he’s stern. He sounds like his father. “In front of the baby.”
Jared’s just rolling his eyes, moving back to start shuffling around the room again. The baby squirms, and starts to gurgle, twisting his head as if he already misses the sight of Jensen. Jared pretends not to notice, and shoos Jensen with a tilt of his head. “Would you go and finish dinner, already?”
“Yeah, see, about that.” Jensen claps his hands together. “Your oven - your brother’s oven - it’s making this sound.”
“What kind of sound?”
“A … bad sound? Kind of like you when you’re singing?”
“Fu - ”
“Jared, the baby.”
In a huff, Jared carefully passes his nephew to Jensen, “Here,” and ignores the definite sound of a victorious snicker.
A moment later, Jared’s voice is flittering through the baby monitor, almost indistinct. “Tall, beefy, can’t sing for shit,” he’s saying to himself, obviously annoyed. “I still manage to be the wife.”
*
“That’s it! It’s time to get the ruler out!”
Jensen shakes his head, as if his ears are clogged with water. “Whoah. Déjà vu.”
“We’re stopping this shit,” Jared’s saying, all gruff and muffled voice, tripping over his own feet in his haste. “Once and for all.”
When he gets back to the sofa Jensen’s grinning like he doesn’t mean it [doesn’t care] and when all this is done, he’s getting punched in the face. “I don’t understand why you’re upset about this.” Punched hard.
“Oh, well, I don’t understand why you don’t like being called Two-Chin Charlie,” Jared snaps, and the look on Jensen’s face douses any guilt Jared may have had about that low blow. Oh yeah, feels good. Jensen shifts and lifts his head a little and coughs.
“Sometimes, in a young man’s life, he’s going to have to accept that his body goes through some changes.”
“My forehead didn’t change!”
“Your forehead bred. With your forehead. And it made more forehead.”
Jared smacks the ruler against his face so that it squashes his nose and eyebrow down. “Look! See for yourself!”
Jensen sighs and rolls his eyes and is so above this but gets up anyway. He comes close enough that he could measure Jared’s nose hair, appraising, nodding seriously. “Just as I suspected. If we draw up a billboard, for Supernatural, we could stick it to your face.”
Jared throws the ruler down because there’s no use, because despite it all he’s not a masochist. With a grumble of defeat he forces Jensen backward to the couch, both of them buckling at the knees, and falling down. Jensen’s pushed over and Jared’s a push over.
“I like it,” Jensen tells Jared’s temple, all quiet and nice.
“You do not.”
“You’re right. I love it.” Jensen’s hot breath and provocation; running his fingers through Jared’s hair the way he likes it, shifting up and around in all the right places. “I wanna run my mouth along the receding hairline.”
“Fuck you,” Jared promises, his eyes closed and purring.
“I wanna lick my way along the worry lines, ‘til you relax. Feel you come apart beneath my hands - every single inch of you - from your deformed toes to the top of your enormous face.”
“Dirty talk’s supposed to be encouraging. I’m not feeling encouraged here.”
Jensen finds the ruler and shoves it down the front of Jared’s pants. “Liar.”
*
Once, twice and three times, Jared’s bare back hits a door frame. Thump, thump, th - “Fuck, Jensen, pick a room,” he hisses and Jensen, with his face buried in Jared’s chest, says something that sounds like, “Ice-Cream Truck.”
Jensen pushes them both into the guest room, pushes Jared - succeeds only because Jared’s willing - onto the bed and smirks. The eyebrow up, the lip tugged, a nod of his head and fuck. Jared falls back, groans, bucks up and waits.
He doesn’t wait long. He’s naked in point-fuck-all of a second, his knees at his ears and two quick, wet fingers frantic inside of him. “Jesus Christ,” he yells, tensing around Jensen. “A little warning.”
“Your plane was late,” Jensen says, on the edge of a breath. He hovers above Jared, just watches him break, little by little, watches as Jared watches back.
“S-so?”
“I’m - fucking - horny,” he professes, voice shaking around a grunt and a laugh.
Jared says nothing, it’s all he’s been reduced to; sticks to loud, throat scratching cries when Jensen pushes inside of him. This is it, this is sex, two people who know every inch of the canvas, and just where to work, just where to hit. Jared claws at Jensen’s back and takes it all.
He likes it.
The next morning - early, even by their standards - Jared wakes up alone. His mouth is sour, his ass hurts and his skin is dry and sticky. Jensen’s left a trail of his own mess through the house; Jared can presume that he got clean, got fed and got out.
After he’s eaten Jared showers, as hot as he can stand it. He wraps a towel around his waist and checks himself on the scale and then seeks out a clean outfit.
When he opens the top drawer, something’s off. He doesn’t recognise … well, anything. The second drawer is the same. He works through all of his clothes until he realises what’s going on. A tornado has passed through, resembling an arsehole.
Everything’s two sizes too small.
*
Jared’s out running for the better part of two hours; the dogs trailing slowly in as he walks through the front door. Jensen’s lounging on the couch with a bag of chips on his belly, bringing a finger up to his lips, Shut Up.
The phone is talking. Jensen has someone on speaker.
“Also, I don’t think it’s right that you moved in there,” it says, as Jared tiptoes over, kicking his trainers off as he goes. “I mean, don’t even try to tell me that he’s not paying for most of the expenses.”
“Well …” Jensen doesn’t try. Jared throws him a confused look, mouths, what the fuck? before lowering himself down onto the couch. Wet with sweat, soaked more to the point, and he smothers Jensen, squishing the chips between them.
“I knew it! I mean, you think we’re silly, don’t you? You think we don’t hear about the things you say to him. He’s a big boy, Jensen, but he’s not unfeeling.”
Jared’s wiping his sweaty forehead across Jensen’s pissed off face when he stops. Realises. “Mom?”
“Jared?”
Jared leaps up off Jensen in one quick, humiliated movement. He feels naked. “Mom, what the hell?”
“I … I was just … I heard some things, Jared, and I wasn’t very happy about it.”
“Oh my God, oh my-” he turns sharply on Jensen, clenching a fist. “My Mom is calling you, protecting my sanctity and you’re sitting there eating chips?”
Jensen looks up with big eyes, an innocent shrug of his shoulders. “I was entertained?”
“What have you said to her?”
“He hasn’t said anything, actually,” Jared’s Mom interrupts, and despite the distance she still does a great job of sounding angry.
“Yeah, so she called me a coward.”
“Jesus, I - look, Mom. It’s not what you think. Jensen’s just. He just thinks he’s funny that’s all. We both think we’re funny. You should hear the things I say to him. Really.”
“What do you mean? What things?”
“There’s plenty of things. Trust me. I mean,” Jared starts counting them off on his fingers. “He was a cheerleader, once. Did you know that?”
Jensen sighs and sits up, running a hand through his hair. “It’s true, Sh - Mrs. Padalecki,” he says in a pained voice.
“Up until Supernatural, his career was sucky. He played a dude who slept with his mom who turned out to be Satan.”
“Oh, dear.”
“He has one and a half chins, he has bowlegs, he sleeps with playboy bunnies who get a kick out of telling the media how good he is in bed.” Jared takes a big, gasping breath. “He was taken down by a school girl once, he rides horses with no shirt on, he sues people for self expression!”
“Okay, Jay, I think the lady has heard enough.”
“Trust me, Mom. It’s a give and take relationship. I’m not defenceless.” There’s silence on the other end of the phone. They can’t even hear her breathing. With caution, Jared says, “Mom?” in a small, embarrassed voice.
“Well.” She lets out a breath. “Thank God you found each other, is all I can say. Thank God.”
-end-