CRAZY IS AS CRAZY DOES.
Title: Tiny Dancer.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen.
Rating: PG15.
Prompt: from rejeneration, ‘one clean spoon left in the drawer, not in a relationship yet’.
AN: Two busy boys, meeting over ice-cream. If it could get any gayer, let me know.
It’s been a long day. Jensen’s feet hurt. He has a pimple [weirdly resembling Malta] smack between his eyes, where Jeannie attached a plaster so he couldn’t touch it. When he climbs onto the kitchen bench with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby and a spoon, he swears he hears his old, pathetic bones creak.
“I’M GONNA LIVE FOREVER! I’M GONNA LEARN HOW TO FLY!”
Fuck.
“I FEEL IT COMING TOGETHER, PEOPLE WILL SEE ME AND CRY, FAA- HEY!”
Jared has shuffled - the kind of shuffling he watches on YouTube, only less co-ordinated - into the room. He has his shirt off and his hair pulled back and he looks good.
Jensen hates him. “Why are you here?”
“To try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every - ”
“I hate you.”
Jared laughs and jumps up, effortless, sitting next to Jensen. Jensen doesn’t hear anything creak. “Are you ovulating?” Jared asks, taking the tub of ice-cream from Jensen and inspecting the packaging.
“It would explain the volcano sticking out of my forehead.”
Jared looks at the offending blight, as if he’d forgotten. He smiles. “Hey, remember when Harley got his balls chopped off?”
Jensen blinks. “What?”
“He had to wear that big ass collar to stop from biting. You’re like that.”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
Jared throws his legs open and reaches down to open the cutlery draw. When he sits up he lets out a loud, dramatic, rattly gasp, grabbing his heart for effect. “There’s no spoons left!”
“Use a spork.”
“Use a … Jesus, Jensen. Have you no shame?”
“Just give me the ice-cream.”
Jared complies, snorting. “What crawled half way up your arse and quit?”
“It’s been a bad day.”
Jared kicks his heels against the drawers. “Just had a fight with my woman bad or Just had the doctor chop my balls off bad?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jensen hands the tub to Jared, the spoon sticking out from the top.
“You want to play Battleships?” he asks, taking a mouthful, handing it back.
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“Yes,” Jared deadpans. “You want to play Monopoly?”
Jensen lets the spoon hang from his mouth. Ponders. “Will you let me be the top hat?”
“When,” Jared says, “Have I ever,” all slow and deliberate, “Let you be the top hat?”
“Th - ”
“Other than the time you were so sick and pathetic with The Make Out Disease I thought you were going to die.”
“It’s called Mono.”
“Yeah,” Jared says in a scoff, pulling the spoon from Jensen’s mouth. “And you get it when you make out. With strangers.”
Jensen rolled his eyes, passing the Chubby Hubby. “She wasn’t a stranger.”
“What was her name?”
“Nicole.”
Jared makes a noise stuck between a buzzer and a fart. “Wrong. It was Gwen.”
“How do you know what her name was?”
“Dude. She gave you The Make Out Disease. I thought you were going to die.” Apparently, Jared’s in the mood for emphasis. “That’s not a name one easily forgets.”
“Wow,” Jensen blinks. It feels like his eyelids are sticking. “That’s … adorable. Really. If I’d known we were going to get sentimental I would have brought out my scrapbook.”
“The photos of my bare ass are particularly touching.”
“You put them there, and hey!” Jensen snatches back his dessert, tired of watching Jared eat half his weight in sugar. “I thought you were going to avoid eating fat.”
“I can’t promise that, Jensen,” Jared says, suddenly serious. “Then I’d never get to eat yours.”
Pairing: Jared/Jensen.
Rating: PG15.
Prompt: from rejeneration, ‘one clean spoon left in the drawer, not in a relationship yet’.
AN: Two busy boys, meeting over ice-cream. If it could get any gayer, let me know.
It’s been a long day. Jensen’s feet hurt. He has a pimple [weirdly resembling Malta] smack between his eyes, where Jeannie attached a plaster so he couldn’t touch it. When he climbs onto the kitchen bench with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby and a spoon, he swears he hears his old, pathetic bones creak.
“I’M GONNA LIVE FOREVER! I’M GONNA LEARN HOW TO FLY!”
Fuck.
“I FEEL IT COMING TOGETHER, PEOPLE WILL SEE ME AND CRY, FAA- HEY!”
Jared has shuffled - the kind of shuffling he watches on YouTube, only less co-ordinated - into the room. He has his shirt off and his hair pulled back and he looks good.
Jensen hates him. “Why are you here?”
“To try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every - ”
“I hate you.”
Jared laughs and jumps up, effortless, sitting next to Jensen. Jensen doesn’t hear anything creak. “Are you ovulating?” Jared asks, taking the tub of ice-cream from Jensen and inspecting the packaging.
“It would explain the volcano sticking out of my forehead.”
Jared looks at the offending blight, as if he’d forgotten. He smiles. “Hey, remember when Harley got his balls chopped off?”
Jensen blinks. “What?”
“He had to wear that big ass collar to stop from biting. You’re like that.”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
Jared throws his legs open and reaches down to open the cutlery draw. When he sits up he lets out a loud, dramatic, rattly gasp, grabbing his heart for effect. “There’s no spoons left!”
“Use a spork.”
“Use a … Jesus, Jensen. Have you no shame?”
“Just give me the ice-cream.”
Jared complies, snorting. “What crawled half way up your arse and quit?”
“It’s been a bad day.”
Jared kicks his heels against the drawers. “Just had a fight with my woman bad or Just had the doctor chop my balls off bad?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jensen hands the tub to Jared, the spoon sticking out from the top.
“You want to play Battleships?” he asks, taking a mouthful, handing it back.
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“Yes,” Jared deadpans. “You want to play Monopoly?”
Jensen lets the spoon hang from his mouth. Ponders. “Will you let me be the top hat?”
“When,” Jared says, “Have I ever,” all slow and deliberate, “Let you be the top hat?”
“Th - ”
“Other than the time you were so sick and pathetic with The Make Out Disease I thought you were going to die.”
“It’s called Mono.”
“Yeah,” Jared says in a scoff, pulling the spoon from Jensen’s mouth. “And you get it when you make out. With strangers.”
Jensen rolled his eyes, passing the Chubby Hubby. “She wasn’t a stranger.”
“What was her name?”
“Nicole.”
Jared makes a noise stuck between a buzzer and a fart. “Wrong. It was Gwen.”
“How do you know what her name was?”
“Dude. She gave you The Make Out Disease. I thought you were going to die.” Apparently, Jared’s in the mood for emphasis. “That’s not a name one easily forgets.”
“Wow,” Jensen blinks. It feels like his eyelids are sticking. “That’s … adorable. Really. If I’d known we were going to get sentimental I would have brought out my scrapbook.”
“The photos of my bare ass are particularly touching.”
“You put them there, and hey!” Jensen snatches back his dessert, tired of watching Jared eat half his weight in sugar. “I thought you were going to avoid eating fat.”
“I can’t promise that, Jensen,” Jared says, suddenly serious. “Then I’d never get to eat yours.”