j2 rps fic: Four Times
whoa, wait, what? J-Squared? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE.
Title: Four Times Jared Fucked Up Jensen's Delicate Constitution Life With Food
Rating: PG-13 (language only)
Gen/Slash: Gen
Disclaimer: No, really. Who the fuck are these guys, again?
Summary: Jared Padalecki should not be allowed to eat in public. It's just wrong.
Notes: Sorry, my mind's on a constant cycle of "WTF" right now, because I haven't written in forever. Also, my first "x-number Times" style-fic.
“That is disgusting.”
A piece of roast beef falls on the table and flops around for a few moments before being scooped up. “Is this too much for your delicate constitution?”
“Oh, no, please. Don’t stop on my account,” Jensen holds up his hands and shakes his head.
Jared grins, dimples digging deep into his cheeks, and gleefully murmurs “Get into mah belleh!” before dropping the bit of deli meat into his mouth. Of course he chews with his mouth wide open, Jensen thinks. Of course.
He tries to just deal with it, but Jesus Christ, it’s fucking rolling and half-masticated and-
“Dude.”
Jared looks up from his cheddar-roast beef-and-ketchup sandwich. He microwaved it, and as a result there is melted cheese all over his fingers. He raises his eyebrows. “What? My sandwich is gonna get cold if you keep bothering me.”
“It’s just- That is seriously wrong,” Jensen wrinkles his nose and turns to wash his plate in the sink.
“You have got to-” Jared pauses to suck cheese out from under his fingernails. Jensen tries not to make vomiting noises into the sink. “-gotta calm down about other people’s eating habits.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I have some dignity,” Jensen retorts while he reaches to put the plate away. His gray t-shirt hikes up a little bit and Jared gives himself a moment to appreciate this before replying.
“I do too have some dignity, sir.”
Jensen snorts. “Tell that to Google Images and the keywords ‘Jared,’ ‘Padalecki,’ ‘kissing,’ and ‘cock’.”
Jared flips him off with a cheesy finger. “Did you see that chicken? It was adorable. The only reason you didn’t kiss it is because you are heartless, squeamish, and probably didn’t cry when we watched UP!.”
- - - -
The next morning, it’s waffles.
“You made us waffles?” Jensen’s voice does not adequately express his confusion through a yawn.
Jared wrinkles his nose. “Fuck no. I stole your Eggo’s. Your toaster burnt ‘em, by the way.” He waves a waffle in Jensen’s face, missing his glasses by a few inches. “Burnt to a crisp.”
Jensen bats Jared’s hand away and the waffle goes skittering across the countertop, leaving black bits in its wake. Jared looks on, horrified.
“What is your major malfunction?” His mouth hangs open and he clutches the blackened waffle to his chest. “Have you no respect for the dead?!”
“Don’t freak, princess. I’ll make you another one,” Jensen rubs his eyes behind his glasses with one hand and drops a couple frozen waffle into the toaster with the other. Jared grins.
- - - -
Jensen isn’t really sure if this counts, but the time he saw Jared bite a huge chunk out of Harley’s Beggin’ Strip, pull it out of his mouth, and then feed it to the dog? That shit was revolting.
- - - -
And then there’s the Twizzler.
Fine, Jensen may have started it, but “Don’t twizzle me!”? No no no. Jared was just supposed to splutter and maybe do a little muppet-flail. That’s all.
Instead he says “Don’t twizzle me.”
Fantastic. Now they have a tagline for their epic man-love, complete with delicious phallic imagery.
Which is pretty much what Misha tells him in his first email:
Hello Jensen.
My name is Misha Collins. I would be stealing the “hot” portion of your fangirls, but it seems you are having magical ass-babies with Jared. Or just brilliant anatomically-improbable gay sex. Either way, it’s like fangirl lifeblood. You’re probably aware of the effects, but if you want to learn more, here are some links:
Jensen hits the reply button, types out a quick “Hey man, it’ll be nice working with you!” and deletes Misha’s email as quick as possible.
Fucking Jared.
END
Title: Four Times Jared Fucked Up Jensen's Delicate Constitution Life With Food
Rating: PG-13 (language only)
Gen/Slash: Gen
Disclaimer: No, really. Who the fuck are these guys, again?
Summary: Jared Padalecki should not be allowed to eat in public. It's just wrong.
Notes: Sorry, my mind's on a constant cycle of "WTF" right now, because I haven't written in forever. Also, my first "x-number Times" style-fic.
“That is disgusting.”
A piece of roast beef falls on the table and flops around for a few moments before being scooped up. “Is this too much for your delicate constitution?”
“Oh, no, please. Don’t stop on my account,” Jensen holds up his hands and shakes his head.
Jared grins, dimples digging deep into his cheeks, and gleefully murmurs “Get into mah belleh!” before dropping the bit of deli meat into his mouth. Of course he chews with his mouth wide open, Jensen thinks. Of course.
He tries to just deal with it, but Jesus Christ, it’s fucking rolling and half-masticated and-
“Dude.”
Jared looks up from his cheddar-roast beef-and-ketchup sandwich. He microwaved it, and as a result there is melted cheese all over his fingers. He raises his eyebrows. “What? My sandwich is gonna get cold if you keep bothering me.”
“It’s just- That is seriously wrong,” Jensen wrinkles his nose and turns to wash his plate in the sink.
“You have got to-” Jared pauses to suck cheese out from under his fingernails. Jensen tries not to make vomiting noises into the sink. “-gotta calm down about other people’s eating habits.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I have some dignity,” Jensen retorts while he reaches to put the plate away. His gray t-shirt hikes up a little bit and Jared gives himself a moment to appreciate this before replying.
“I do too have some dignity, sir.”
Jensen snorts. “Tell that to Google Images and the keywords ‘Jared,’ ‘Padalecki,’ ‘kissing,’ and ‘cock’.”
Jared flips him off with a cheesy finger. “Did you see that chicken? It was adorable. The only reason you didn’t kiss it is because you are heartless, squeamish, and probably didn’t cry when we watched UP!.”
- - - -
The next morning, it’s waffles.
“You made us waffles?” Jensen’s voice does not adequately express his confusion through a yawn.
Jared wrinkles his nose. “Fuck no. I stole your Eggo’s. Your toaster burnt ‘em, by the way.” He waves a waffle in Jensen’s face, missing his glasses by a few inches. “Burnt to a crisp.”
Jensen bats Jared’s hand away and the waffle goes skittering across the countertop, leaving black bits in its wake. Jared looks on, horrified.
“What is your major malfunction?” His mouth hangs open and he clutches the blackened waffle to his chest. “Have you no respect for the dead?!”
“Don’t freak, princess. I’ll make you another one,” Jensen rubs his eyes behind his glasses with one hand and drops a couple frozen waffle into the toaster with the other. Jared grins.
- - - -
Jensen isn’t really sure if this counts, but the time he saw Jared bite a huge chunk out of Harley’s Beggin’ Strip, pull it out of his mouth, and then feed it to the dog? That shit was revolting.
- - - -
And then there’s the Twizzler.
Fine, Jensen may have started it, but “Don’t twizzle me!”? No no no. Jared was just supposed to splutter and maybe do a little muppet-flail. That’s all.
Instead he says “Don’t twizzle me.”
Fantastic. Now they have a tagline for their epic man-love, complete with delicious phallic imagery.
Which is pretty much what Misha tells him in his first email:
Hello Jensen.
My name is Misha Collins. I would be stealing the “hot” portion of your fangirls, but it seems you are having magical ass-babies with Jared. Or just brilliant anatomically-improbable gay sex. Either way, it’s like fangirl lifeblood. You’re probably aware of the effects, but if you want to learn more, here are some links:
Jensen hits the reply button, types out a quick “Hey man, it’ll be nice working with you!” and deletes Misha’s email as quick as possible.
Fucking Jared.
END