YAY FIC!!
In keeping with my previously long-established tradition of pulling titles out of song lyrics, regardless of whether or not the song in question has anything to do with the fic, I heard this on the radio when my alarm went off this morning, and it stuck in my head.
Close enough for government work, and now I can post.
Title: Brushed My Teeth With A Bottle Of Jack ( 1 / 1 )
Author: Red Firecracker
Pairing(s): Paul / Ian ( implied ); J2 ( implied )
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1110
Summary: In wine, there is truth, even if you’re not looking for it. And even if it’s not wine.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Paul had never really been much of one for parties, but it was pretty much obligatory with the launch of the new show, and he wanted to keep his job, thank you very much.
He posed for a few pictures with the rest of the cast, greeted some of the other actors he’d known from previous shows, eavesdropped on a few executives who were talking about ‘really pushing the envelope’, which was such a ridiculously dated phrase that Paul couldn’t help laughing and giving away his position, which meant he had to move.
“So,” said a voice from behind him, sharp and hard, “Welcome to ‘BroYay Thursdays’,” and a hand came down on his shoulder with enough force to make him stagger forward a step or two.
Paul whipped around, frowning and cursing the liquid in his glass that had sloshed cold and shocking over the back of his hand, but fuck, that was Jensen Ackles, and wow, he was kind of broader than Paul was, and definitely an inch or two taller, and Paul had never really been much of a fighter anyway.
So he pasted a smile on his face and said agreeably, “What’s up, man?”
Jensen scowled into his own glass as if he deeply, deeply resented its very presence in his hand. “You’re better off just fucking him now,” he informed the ice cubes gravely.
Paul could feel the lines deepening across his forehead and between his eyes, the ones that his mother and now his agent always yelled at him about. “Excuse me?” he got out.
Jensen favored Paul with a withering glance. “Start fucking him now,” he warned darkly. “You’ll never get out from under, otherwise, you know? Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Man, what the fuck?” Paul managed.
Jensen draped one arm around Paul’s shoulders and leaned in. “Listen up, kid,” he started, and Paul bristled, because first of all, Ackles was maybe four years older, and second of all, who the fuck did he think he was, fucking De Niro?
But Paul had never been stupid enough to pass up free advice from anyone, no matter how drunk or how annoying, so he swallowed his pride and another sip of his drink and made an effort to keep his face smooth.
“Don’t try to fight it, don’t try to hide it,” Jensen said grimly. “All you’re gonna do is ratchet up the tension between the two of you and the whole internet is going to go batshit insane. It’s gonna bleed into the characters and it’s not bad enough that everybody thinks the brothers Winchester are fucking, you’re gonna add the brothers Salvatore, too? Oh, and wait until you get to the point of conventions. Don’t even get me started on fanfic, now that you mention it.”
“I didn’t mention it,” Paul said, strangled. Nobody had ever told him that Jensen Ackles was bugfuck crazy in addition to being an asshole. He slid out from beneath Jensen’s loose grip and tried to put some distance between them.
The look he got in return was pretty clear and crafty for someone as drunk as Ackles was. “You look at him,” Jensen said softly, leaning close. “I know that look. Seen it in the mirror for two years straight. You watch him. You want him. Maybe you think you don’t know it yet, but you do.”
He paused to rattle melting ice in his glass and muttered something pissy, maybe about needing another drink, before he glared at Paul again and said firmly, “So you do it. Do whatever you have to. Dump your girl-hell, dump his girl for him. Do it before you have to share what you have with the world. Because he watches you too. And this? This between you? It’s private. Not something that belongs to them.”
“Who?” Paul asked, reeling and more than a little confused. There was too much information to parse and he’d always been a linear thinker, never prone to leaps of intuition. Besides, understanding drunken people was tricky business any day of the week.
Jensen waved both arms around, apparently to indicate the rest of the world, which was unfortunate, because he was still standing close enough to Paul to clock him in the face. Paul smothered the yelp of pain and grabbed at Jensen’s shoulder, managing to keep him braced at arm’s length.
“I’m serious,” Jensen insisted, with the perseverance of the truly intoxicated. “For you. For him. Not theirs. Don’t lose it.”
Paul just nodded.
Then he blinked, and there was Jared Padalecki, smiling ruefully and easing his big body between the two of them, and it was true, he was a motherfucking giant.
He slung one long arm around Jensen’s neck and skillfully maneuvered the glass right out of his hand, taking a discreet sniff of the remaining liquid and wrinkling his nose. Jensen looked murderous, right up until Jared plopped his own bottle of beer into Jensen’s hands, and then he just started drinking and wandered out from under Jared’s arm and into the crowd.
Jared followed Jensen’s path with his eyes for a moment before he turned briefly to Paul. “Don’t pay no mind to Jensen,” he said easily, and Paul noted that he was laying on the Texas pretty thick. “He can get kinda mean when he’s been drinkin’ whiskey.”
“Mean,” Paul said flatly. “That what you call it?”
Jared’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to loom for a moment before he studied Paul’s face more closely. Something he saw there must have made him soften, because he put one hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezed in a friendly way. “Sometimes,” Jared said quietly. “He means well. Just don’t always come out that way.”
He watched Paul’s face intently for a few seconds more, and let his hand fall away. “If Jensen had something to say to you, it was worth listening to,” Jared added. He gave a sort of nod and turned to walk away.
“Wait!” Paul called, and Jared stopped, half-turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Did Jensen ever drink whiskey and talk to you?” Paul asked, suddenly curious.
He wasn’t expecting the secretive smile, the softness around Jared’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said simply. “And let’s just say, it should’ve happened sooner.”
Paul was the one who nodded this time. Jared waited, his mouth slowly curling in a grin, and then moved off, into the crowd. Paul glanced across the room, at the bevy of women by the French doors, and zeroed in on the dark male head in the center.
He smiled.
In the morning, he was going to send Jensen Ackles a thank-you gift.
Maybe a bottle of whiskey.
THE END
I can't believe I'm writing RPS slash about the fucking Vampire Diaries, man!!! This is, like, SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO embarrassing.
*facepalms*
I kinda like how the story came out, though. Even though it's not at all the story I meant to write.
Close enough for government work, and now I can post.
Title: Brushed My Teeth With A Bottle Of Jack ( 1 / 1 )
Author: Red Firecracker
Pairing(s): Paul / Ian ( implied ); J2 ( implied )
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1110
Summary: In wine, there is truth, even if you’re not looking for it. And even if it’s not wine.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Paul had never really been much of one for parties, but it was pretty much obligatory with the launch of the new show, and he wanted to keep his job, thank you very much.
He posed for a few pictures with the rest of the cast, greeted some of the other actors he’d known from previous shows, eavesdropped on a few executives who were talking about ‘really pushing the envelope’, which was such a ridiculously dated phrase that Paul couldn’t help laughing and giving away his position, which meant he had to move.
“So,” said a voice from behind him, sharp and hard, “Welcome to ‘BroYay Thursdays’,” and a hand came down on his shoulder with enough force to make him stagger forward a step or two.
Paul whipped around, frowning and cursing the liquid in his glass that had sloshed cold and shocking over the back of his hand, but fuck, that was Jensen Ackles, and wow, he was kind of broader than Paul was, and definitely an inch or two taller, and Paul had never really been much of a fighter anyway.
So he pasted a smile on his face and said agreeably, “What’s up, man?”
Jensen scowled into his own glass as if he deeply, deeply resented its very presence in his hand. “You’re better off just fucking him now,” he informed the ice cubes gravely.
Paul could feel the lines deepening across his forehead and between his eyes, the ones that his mother and now his agent always yelled at him about. “Excuse me?” he got out.
Jensen favored Paul with a withering glance. “Start fucking him now,” he warned darkly. “You’ll never get out from under, otherwise, you know? Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Man, what the fuck?” Paul managed.
Jensen draped one arm around Paul’s shoulders and leaned in. “Listen up, kid,” he started, and Paul bristled, because first of all, Ackles was maybe four years older, and second of all, who the fuck did he think he was, fucking De Niro?
But Paul had never been stupid enough to pass up free advice from anyone, no matter how drunk or how annoying, so he swallowed his pride and another sip of his drink and made an effort to keep his face smooth.
“Don’t try to fight it, don’t try to hide it,” Jensen said grimly. “All you’re gonna do is ratchet up the tension between the two of you and the whole internet is going to go batshit insane. It’s gonna bleed into the characters and it’s not bad enough that everybody thinks the brothers Winchester are fucking, you’re gonna add the brothers Salvatore, too? Oh, and wait until you get to the point of conventions. Don’t even get me started on fanfic, now that you mention it.”
“I didn’t mention it,” Paul said, strangled. Nobody had ever told him that Jensen Ackles was bugfuck crazy in addition to being an asshole. He slid out from beneath Jensen’s loose grip and tried to put some distance between them.
The look he got in return was pretty clear and crafty for someone as drunk as Ackles was. “You look at him,” Jensen said softly, leaning close. “I know that look. Seen it in the mirror for two years straight. You watch him. You want him. Maybe you think you don’t know it yet, but you do.”
He paused to rattle melting ice in his glass and muttered something pissy, maybe about needing another drink, before he glared at Paul again and said firmly, “So you do it. Do whatever you have to. Dump your girl-hell, dump his girl for him. Do it before you have to share what you have with the world. Because he watches you too. And this? This between you? It’s private. Not something that belongs to them.”
“Who?” Paul asked, reeling and more than a little confused. There was too much information to parse and he’d always been a linear thinker, never prone to leaps of intuition. Besides, understanding drunken people was tricky business any day of the week.
Jensen waved both arms around, apparently to indicate the rest of the world, which was unfortunate, because he was still standing close enough to Paul to clock him in the face. Paul smothered the yelp of pain and grabbed at Jensen’s shoulder, managing to keep him braced at arm’s length.
“I’m serious,” Jensen insisted, with the perseverance of the truly intoxicated. “For you. For him. Not theirs. Don’t lose it.”
Paul just nodded.
Then he blinked, and there was Jared Padalecki, smiling ruefully and easing his big body between the two of them, and it was true, he was a motherfucking giant.
He slung one long arm around Jensen’s neck and skillfully maneuvered the glass right out of his hand, taking a discreet sniff of the remaining liquid and wrinkling his nose. Jensen looked murderous, right up until Jared plopped his own bottle of beer into Jensen’s hands, and then he just started drinking and wandered out from under Jared’s arm and into the crowd.
Jared followed Jensen’s path with his eyes for a moment before he turned briefly to Paul. “Don’t pay no mind to Jensen,” he said easily, and Paul noted that he was laying on the Texas pretty thick. “He can get kinda mean when he’s been drinkin’ whiskey.”
“Mean,” Paul said flatly. “That what you call it?”
Jared’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to loom for a moment before he studied Paul’s face more closely. Something he saw there must have made him soften, because he put one hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezed in a friendly way. “Sometimes,” Jared said quietly. “He means well. Just don’t always come out that way.”
He watched Paul’s face intently for a few seconds more, and let his hand fall away. “If Jensen had something to say to you, it was worth listening to,” Jared added. He gave a sort of nod and turned to walk away.
“Wait!” Paul called, and Jared stopped, half-turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Did Jensen ever drink whiskey and talk to you?” Paul asked, suddenly curious.
He wasn’t expecting the secretive smile, the softness around Jared’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said simply. “And let’s just say, it should’ve happened sooner.”
Paul was the one who nodded this time. Jared waited, his mouth slowly curling in a grin, and then moved off, into the crowd. Paul glanced across the room, at the bevy of women by the French doors, and zeroed in on the dark male head in the center.
He smiled.
In the morning, he was going to send Jensen Ackles a thank-you gift.
Maybe a bottle of whiskey.
THE END
I can't believe I'm writing RPS slash about the fucking Vampire Diaries, man!!! This is, like, SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO embarrassing.
*facepalms*
I kinda like how the story came out, though. Even though it's not at all the story I meant to write.