Fic: Wherein Jared Tells Jensen To Look At Llamas, But He Doesn't (1/2)
Title: Wherein Jared Tells Jensen To Look At Llamas, But He Doesn't. (1/2)
Author: ze_pink_lady
Pairing: Jensen/Jared pre-slash (this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Jensen inadvertently discovers the wonders of RPS...
Disclaimer: If those boys were mine, would I really be sittin' here writing naughty things about them?
Notes/Warnings: Written for estel_willow, from the prompt: Jensen looks through Jared's history and sees that he's been reading RPS, more detailed notes and general faff at the end.
“-Seriously dude, The Llama song- it’s fuckin’ hi-larious!” Jared calls from the bathroom, and Jensen can hear the Grin That Lights Up The Room ™ in his co-star’s voice from where he sits, shaking his head in despairing affection as he turns towards Jared’s laptop.
“Alright, alright, I’m lookin’ - man, if you’re talkin’ to me while you’re on the crapper…” The elder Texan wiggles the mouse until the monitor flicks from black to display Jared’s desktop, adorned unsurprisingly with a snapshot of Sadie and Harley wagging their tails enthusiastically up at the camera.
Jensen’s desktop is of Adriana Lima.
It probably says something profound and philosophical about them; or maybe just highlights the fact that Jensen is a big pervert and Jared is a giant puppy-man, but right now, Jensen’s number one priority is apparently something involving llamas that is purportedly: ‘the funniest fuckin’ thing ever committed to the internet since that video of a dude with a horse’s dick up his ass’, which is… a lofty claim indeed, Jensen supposes. He also suspects that such a claim probably says something profound about Chad Michael Murray, since Jensen has no doubt as to where llama songs and bestiality videos originate from- which is the same place all disease, famine, war and engagements-to-minors-still-in-high-school originate from.
Not that Jensen has anything against ‘The Chad’, of course.
-Like he has nothing against syphilis - unless his dick’s inadvertently placed in close proximity with it.
“You don’t usually have any problem talkin’ to me on the crapper when I phone you from it.” Jared retorts brightly, and Jensen’s hand stutters on the mouse, rubbing his eyes and grimacing at that colourful mental image.
“You know that old saying, ‘ignorance is bliss’?” Jensen responds exasperatedly, but apparently Jared’s ignoring him in favour of turning on the shower to wash away sixteen hours’ worth of make-up and sweat from his body, and the blonde suddenly feels self-consciously stinky, sitting in Jared’s trailer to view crazy-ass internet videos instead of making himself all clean and presentable in his own, even after baby-wiping the layers of powder and fake blood from his face.
He scrolls down his co-star’s list of bookmarks, peering with interest at what Jared finds worthy enough to save for future reference; silly stuff really, more strangeass videos that are no doubt Chad in origin, like Arnie’s Pizza Shop- what the hell? What else? A couple of Sandy’s fan sites- how cute, a few glowing reviews that the show garnered last season, dumbass online games, music sites, and something that catches his eye, intriguingly entitled Jared/Jensen NC-17. Hm. Now what could that mean?
Foregoing the extolled virtues of the Llama Song, and ignoring all those sage lessons his momma always gave him about just what exactly curiosity did to the cat; Jensen shrugs and clicks the link.
Okay, it isn’t some spoof porno with their heads Photoshopped onto some horrendously dissimilar bodies- Mikey has already taken much joy in emailing him that; though Jensen half suspects the elder actor had designed the damn thing himself- it’s just words. Words that start out with:
Jensen was pretty. No, scratch that, Jensen wasn't just pretty, pretty really didn't do him justice-
Jensen glances around furtively, as if some invisible cameras are stuck on the walls, hidden behind the mirrors, judging him as pretty and judging him as fucking nosy to be poking through Jared’s bookmarks like this - even though his co-star has given him permission, it still feels like an invasion of privacy. But fuck it, these words are about him, Jensen is entitled to see them, isn’t he? He scans on, reading a little further down.
So Jared was sitting, being attacked from all sides by brushes and women, thoroughly not paying attention to the way that Jensen's jeans clung to his ass as he bent down to pick up the script that this week's director had put on the floor. He was so not looking at how the elder's shirt shifted and showed a small strip of flesh as he scratched the back of his head - a move that Dean did, and that Alec did, and that Jensen did, and probably all of his other characters too because it was one habit that bled through despite him trying to stop it.
Jensen catches himself with his hand halfway up to his head, glancing at his fingers like they’re foreign objects- he’s never even noticed he does that, but apparently ‘Jared’ has, because apparently, whoever has written this has too.
It’s the part of relative ‘fame’ and exposure that Jensen is least comfortable with; that sort of voyeuristic aspect that makes him loathe reality TV so much; you open yourself up to people, week after week, displaying your habits, your flaws, your quirks and vulnerabilities for anyone to see, if they’re looking hard enough. As ‘pretty’ as Jensen apparently is- and god knows enough people have mocked him for it- he’s never been the kinda outgoing exhibitionist type, confident under scrutiny like Jared and Mikey -and to a cooler extent Chris- are; he doesn’t expect people to be looking at him, even though he’s on TV- it’s not modesty, or humility or some shit, it’s just honest to God bewilderment why anyone would consider him that interesting.
But apparently, someone does. It’s like a trainwreck, Jensen already feels his cheeks heating in embarrassment, but he can’t tear his eyes away, continuing to read with fascination.
And then Jared's mind went to the bad place.
Technically, it wasn't a bad place because it was a very good place, it was a place where Jensen was naked 90% of the time and was drawling in that thick Texan accent that became more pronounced when he was drunk about how much he wanted to fuck Jared into the wall, or into the floor of the trailer, or how much he wanted to be fucked. Jared's pulse raced and he bit down on his lip. It was a bad place now because the next scene they were going to be filming was the one where the skinwalker rips his skin off; and that meant Jensen shirtless.
Jensen. Shirtless.
And suddenly, Jensen, non-shirtless, has gone from zero to hard in 0.2 seconds. Jesus.
He glances back over his shoulder to where steam is curling out from under the shower room door, and Jared is singing loud and slightly off-key to the tune of Please, Mr. Postman, so it isn’t like Jensen is in any danger of being interrupted, but something clandestine about the thought still makes him even harder, and lord, just how fucked up is he?
Then again, Jared has been the one reading this stuff, bookmarking it; no less, so just how fucked up is his co-star? On the other hand, Jared subscribes to the Murray and Rosenbaum school of ‘humor’, so it’s entirely possible that the younger has just saved all this shit to email to him and torment him with at a later date, gleefully pointing out his ‘cocksucking lips’ and ‘hooker eyes’ and Jesus- is this what people think of him?
Jensen swallows, thickly, leaning in a little closer to the screen as if to try and shield it from prying eyes- even if the lot must be practically empty by now, after such a long shooting day, it still feels like someone will sneak in and catch him and sell the story to the Enquirer or something; that reading internet porn about you and your lanky- and admittedly rather attractive- younger co-star getting nasty is an offense punishable by electric chair. Maybe it would be, back home- God bless Canada.
Okay, it gets heavier, now Jensen understands that questionable NC-17 rating, and it’s goddamn surreal, more surreal than even watching yourself on screen, because at least then you have the memories of filming, the long, wet night shoots and the aching muscle cramps- this is reliant entirely on the reader’s imagination, and it’s nice and detailed enough that Jensen’s mind is only too happy to provide the scenery.
Before he even realises he’s doing it, the heel of his palm is digging into his crotch, and his hips are shifting uncomfortably on the seat, erection constrained by denim and Jensen’s own - debatable, right now- sense of decency whilst in his best friend’s trailer. His breathing has quickened, his pulse is all but thundering in his ears, and on the screen, Jared’s hot, straining cock is just about to thrust, slick and aching into his-
“Dude, didya see it?”
Jensen very almost squeals like a little girl, instead just spasming and yelping in pain as he bangs his knee on the corner of Jared’s desk, in his frenzied rush to close the window and attempt to make himself look like he wasn’t five seconds away from getting his dick out and jerking off all over the younger Texan’s laptop. How did he not hear Jared emerge from the shower, was he that engrossed in some goddamn amateur erotica?
He dares to glance hesitantly behind him and, god, big mistake, huge mistake- 6”4 and muscled mistake, because Jared standing there dripping wet, towel slung low about his waist is about the last visual Jensen needs right now if he wants to keep these jeans intact and stain free. He blushes, drops his gaze and yes, damnit, runs a hand back through his hair, scratching awkwardly while trying to come up with a suitable excuse for his freak out at a perfectly innocent seeming question. Oh yeah, Jensen saw it alright.
He glances up from under his lashes to survey the damage, and Jared is watching him carefully, confused and questioning at his flailing, looking so goddamn bemused that Jensen just wants to pat his head and throw a ball for him to fetch- or maybe rip that towel off and-
But no, Jensen’s rules about fucking around with co-stars still apply, and just because Jared was looking at it doesn’t mean he’s interested, and no matter what happened with Mikey that one time he had too much tequila and allowed Allison and Erica to talk them into a game of truth or dare, Jensen totally isn’t even gay. And Jared is with Sandy. And straight. And still staring at him.
Fuck.
Jensen makes a noise that approximates fflenarglumph in an embarrassingly high pitched tone, swallows until he’s certain his vocal chords aren’t about to fuck him over like that again, and nods dumbly, forcing a not-at-all nonchalant grin. “Fuckin’ hilarious man, like you said. I’ll never look at llamas the same way again.”
And fuck the Emmys; snubbing their show again, Jensen deserves some sort of medal for that performance. He shrugs off his jacket and stands stiffly- ha ha-, folding the light leather strategically over his arm and in front of his crotch as he moves away from the computer, shrugging apologetically at Jared’s continuing stare of bewilderment- and who can blame him, since the elder knows he’s acting like he’s been replaced by a pod person during the short time the brunette was in the shower.
“-But I just remembered I gotta go feed Napoleon and Rocky while Mikey’s in Indiana.” The elder offers lamely, certain that Rosenbaum is enough of a loser to take his two fish with him while he’s out of town for a day, but jeez, his dick is about to bust a hole through his pants, he’s allowed the weak excuses right now.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? You did good today Jay, real nice work; I’ll see ya.” He sidles hurriedly past Jared, keeping his eyes averted from that glistening picture of physical perfection until he’s safely got the trailer door between them.
Jensen sighs heavily, glad for the light rain that’s begun to drizzle from the overcast evening sky, feeling it metaphorically sizzle as it hits his burning skin- he’s all tangled up, like he hasn’t been since Tania ended things with him last year for being more concerned with other things- of which she never specified, but the Texan is starting to get some vague idea- than with their relationship.
He doesn’t know what to do, who to talk to about something like this- Mikey would definitely mock him, Tommy would be far too sympathetic but not at all understanding, Chris would just tell him to fuck Jay and get it over with, and- hell, Jensen needs more friends. He’ll have to call Jessica or Allison, chicks are better at this kind of I-want-to-fuck-Jared-Padalecki dilemma, surely? Maybe he needs ice cream; all romantic problems can surely be solved with some Rocky Road and a copy of The Notebook in a chick’s estimation, right?
It’s only by the grace of God and ingrained muscle reflex that Jensen manages to make it back to his car, and then back to his apartment at all, on autopilot all the way as his mind whirrs. No, the solution here is not ice cream or chick flicks, the answer here is quite obvious; tequila shots and a TiVo recording of the latest Mavs basketball game.
Jensen’s starting to wish his curiosity only extended as far as humorous videos of bestiality; then at least he’d only be as fucked in the head as Chad- and Jared still likes Chad.
He is so screwed.
*
A.N: So this fic is for my best girl estel_willow, for just being her generally fabulous self and being foolish enough to give me fic prompts. This is in fact one of them, so I take no credit for the excellent plotbunny. I also do not take credit for the snippets of fic shown herein in italics, they would be the work of estel_willow too, because I'm evil and wanna make her blush *g*. Her original fic can be found here *pimps*. Also, if you haven't ever witnessed the genius of The Llama Song or Arnie’s Pizza Shop, they are just as good as Jared says. Thanks to the shiny moment_of_sen for bribing me into posting by promising to do a doodle for the fic- I will hold you to it, beyotch- and for helping me out with the title. This is a fic in two parts, so the next should (hopefully) be along in the not too distant future, fingers crossed.
Feedback is love.
xXx
Author: ze_pink_lady
Pairing: Jensen/Jared pre-slash (this part)
Rating: R
Summary: Jensen inadvertently discovers the wonders of RPS...
Disclaimer: If those boys were mine, would I really be sittin' here writing naughty things about them?
Notes/Warnings: Written for estel_willow, from the prompt: Jensen looks through Jared's history and sees that he's been reading RPS, more detailed notes and general faff at the end.
“-Seriously dude, The Llama song- it’s fuckin’ hi-larious!” Jared calls from the bathroom, and Jensen can hear the Grin That Lights Up The Room ™ in his co-star’s voice from where he sits, shaking his head in despairing affection as he turns towards Jared’s laptop.
“Alright, alright, I’m lookin’ - man, if you’re talkin’ to me while you’re on the crapper…” The elder Texan wiggles the mouse until the monitor flicks from black to display Jared’s desktop, adorned unsurprisingly with a snapshot of Sadie and Harley wagging their tails enthusiastically up at the camera.
Jensen’s desktop is of Adriana Lima.
It probably says something profound and philosophical about them; or maybe just highlights the fact that Jensen is a big pervert and Jared is a giant puppy-man, but right now, Jensen’s number one priority is apparently something involving llamas that is purportedly: ‘the funniest fuckin’ thing ever committed to the internet since that video of a dude with a horse’s dick up his ass’, which is… a lofty claim indeed, Jensen supposes. He also suspects that such a claim probably says something profound about Chad Michael Murray, since Jensen has no doubt as to where llama songs and bestiality videos originate from- which is the same place all disease, famine, war and engagements-to-minors-still-in-high-school originate from.
Not that Jensen has anything against ‘The Chad’, of course.
-Like he has nothing against syphilis - unless his dick’s inadvertently placed in close proximity with it.
“You don’t usually have any problem talkin’ to me on the crapper when I phone you from it.” Jared retorts brightly, and Jensen’s hand stutters on the mouse, rubbing his eyes and grimacing at that colourful mental image.
“You know that old saying, ‘ignorance is bliss’?” Jensen responds exasperatedly, but apparently Jared’s ignoring him in favour of turning on the shower to wash away sixteen hours’ worth of make-up and sweat from his body, and the blonde suddenly feels self-consciously stinky, sitting in Jared’s trailer to view crazy-ass internet videos instead of making himself all clean and presentable in his own, even after baby-wiping the layers of powder and fake blood from his face.
He scrolls down his co-star’s list of bookmarks, peering with interest at what Jared finds worthy enough to save for future reference; silly stuff really, more strangeass videos that are no doubt Chad in origin, like Arnie’s Pizza Shop- what the hell? What else? A couple of Sandy’s fan sites- how cute, a few glowing reviews that the show garnered last season, dumbass online games, music sites, and something that catches his eye, intriguingly entitled Jared/Jensen NC-17. Hm. Now what could that mean?
Foregoing the extolled virtues of the Llama Song, and ignoring all those sage lessons his momma always gave him about just what exactly curiosity did to the cat; Jensen shrugs and clicks the link.
Okay, it isn’t some spoof porno with their heads Photoshopped onto some horrendously dissimilar bodies- Mikey has already taken much joy in emailing him that; though Jensen half suspects the elder actor had designed the damn thing himself- it’s just words. Words that start out with:
Jensen was pretty. No, scratch that, Jensen wasn't just pretty, pretty really didn't do him justice-
Jensen glances around furtively, as if some invisible cameras are stuck on the walls, hidden behind the mirrors, judging him as pretty and judging him as fucking nosy to be poking through Jared’s bookmarks like this - even though his co-star has given him permission, it still feels like an invasion of privacy. But fuck it, these words are about him, Jensen is entitled to see them, isn’t he? He scans on, reading a little further down.
So Jared was sitting, being attacked from all sides by brushes and women, thoroughly not paying attention to the way that Jensen's jeans clung to his ass as he bent down to pick up the script that this week's director had put on the floor. He was so not looking at how the elder's shirt shifted and showed a small strip of flesh as he scratched the back of his head - a move that Dean did, and that Alec did, and that Jensen did, and probably all of his other characters too because it was one habit that bled through despite him trying to stop it.
Jensen catches himself with his hand halfway up to his head, glancing at his fingers like they’re foreign objects- he’s never even noticed he does that, but apparently ‘Jared’ has, because apparently, whoever has written this has too.
It’s the part of relative ‘fame’ and exposure that Jensen is least comfortable with; that sort of voyeuristic aspect that makes him loathe reality TV so much; you open yourself up to people, week after week, displaying your habits, your flaws, your quirks and vulnerabilities for anyone to see, if they’re looking hard enough. As ‘pretty’ as Jensen apparently is- and god knows enough people have mocked him for it- he’s never been the kinda outgoing exhibitionist type, confident under scrutiny like Jared and Mikey -and to a cooler extent Chris- are; he doesn’t expect people to be looking at him, even though he’s on TV- it’s not modesty, or humility or some shit, it’s just honest to God bewilderment why anyone would consider him that interesting.
But apparently, someone does. It’s like a trainwreck, Jensen already feels his cheeks heating in embarrassment, but he can’t tear his eyes away, continuing to read with fascination.
And then Jared's mind went to the bad place.
Technically, it wasn't a bad place because it was a very good place, it was a place where Jensen was naked 90% of the time and was drawling in that thick Texan accent that became more pronounced when he was drunk about how much he wanted to fuck Jared into the wall, or into the floor of the trailer, or how much he wanted to be fucked. Jared's pulse raced and he bit down on his lip. It was a bad place now because the next scene they were going to be filming was the one where the skinwalker rips his skin off; and that meant Jensen shirtless.
Jensen. Shirtless.
And suddenly, Jensen, non-shirtless, has gone from zero to hard in 0.2 seconds. Jesus.
He glances back over his shoulder to where steam is curling out from under the shower room door, and Jared is singing loud and slightly off-key to the tune of Please, Mr. Postman, so it isn’t like Jensen is in any danger of being interrupted, but something clandestine about the thought still makes him even harder, and lord, just how fucked up is he?
Then again, Jared has been the one reading this stuff, bookmarking it; no less, so just how fucked up is his co-star? On the other hand, Jared subscribes to the Murray and Rosenbaum school of ‘humor’, so it’s entirely possible that the younger has just saved all this shit to email to him and torment him with at a later date, gleefully pointing out his ‘cocksucking lips’ and ‘hooker eyes’ and Jesus- is this what people think of him?
Jensen swallows, thickly, leaning in a little closer to the screen as if to try and shield it from prying eyes- even if the lot must be practically empty by now, after such a long shooting day, it still feels like someone will sneak in and catch him and sell the story to the Enquirer or something; that reading internet porn about you and your lanky- and admittedly rather attractive- younger co-star getting nasty is an offense punishable by electric chair. Maybe it would be, back home- God bless Canada.
Okay, it gets heavier, now Jensen understands that questionable NC-17 rating, and it’s goddamn surreal, more surreal than even watching yourself on screen, because at least then you have the memories of filming, the long, wet night shoots and the aching muscle cramps- this is reliant entirely on the reader’s imagination, and it’s nice and detailed enough that Jensen’s mind is only too happy to provide the scenery.
Before he even realises he’s doing it, the heel of his palm is digging into his crotch, and his hips are shifting uncomfortably on the seat, erection constrained by denim and Jensen’s own - debatable, right now- sense of decency whilst in his best friend’s trailer. His breathing has quickened, his pulse is all but thundering in his ears, and on the screen, Jared’s hot, straining cock is just about to thrust, slick and aching into his-
“Dude, didya see it?”
Jensen very almost squeals like a little girl, instead just spasming and yelping in pain as he bangs his knee on the corner of Jared’s desk, in his frenzied rush to close the window and attempt to make himself look like he wasn’t five seconds away from getting his dick out and jerking off all over the younger Texan’s laptop. How did he not hear Jared emerge from the shower, was he that engrossed in some goddamn amateur erotica?
He dares to glance hesitantly behind him and, god, big mistake, huge mistake- 6”4 and muscled mistake, because Jared standing there dripping wet, towel slung low about his waist is about the last visual Jensen needs right now if he wants to keep these jeans intact and stain free. He blushes, drops his gaze and yes, damnit, runs a hand back through his hair, scratching awkwardly while trying to come up with a suitable excuse for his freak out at a perfectly innocent seeming question. Oh yeah, Jensen saw it alright.
He glances up from under his lashes to survey the damage, and Jared is watching him carefully, confused and questioning at his flailing, looking so goddamn bemused that Jensen just wants to pat his head and throw a ball for him to fetch- or maybe rip that towel off and-
But no, Jensen’s rules about fucking around with co-stars still apply, and just because Jared was looking at it doesn’t mean he’s interested, and no matter what happened with Mikey that one time he had too much tequila and allowed Allison and Erica to talk them into a game of truth or dare, Jensen totally isn’t even gay. And Jared is with Sandy. And straight. And still staring at him.
Fuck.
Jensen makes a noise that approximates fflenarglumph in an embarrassingly high pitched tone, swallows until he’s certain his vocal chords aren’t about to fuck him over like that again, and nods dumbly, forcing a not-at-all nonchalant grin. “Fuckin’ hilarious man, like you said. I’ll never look at llamas the same way again.”
And fuck the Emmys; snubbing their show again, Jensen deserves some sort of medal for that performance. He shrugs off his jacket and stands stiffly- ha ha-, folding the light leather strategically over his arm and in front of his crotch as he moves away from the computer, shrugging apologetically at Jared’s continuing stare of bewilderment- and who can blame him, since the elder knows he’s acting like he’s been replaced by a pod person during the short time the brunette was in the shower.
“-But I just remembered I gotta go feed Napoleon and Rocky while Mikey’s in Indiana.” The elder offers lamely, certain that Rosenbaum is enough of a loser to take his two fish with him while he’s out of town for a day, but jeez, his dick is about to bust a hole through his pants, he’s allowed the weak excuses right now.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? You did good today Jay, real nice work; I’ll see ya.” He sidles hurriedly past Jared, keeping his eyes averted from that glistening picture of physical perfection until he’s safely got the trailer door between them.
Jensen sighs heavily, glad for the light rain that’s begun to drizzle from the overcast evening sky, feeling it metaphorically sizzle as it hits his burning skin- he’s all tangled up, like he hasn’t been since Tania ended things with him last year for being more concerned with other things- of which she never specified, but the Texan is starting to get some vague idea- than with their relationship.
He doesn’t know what to do, who to talk to about something like this- Mikey would definitely mock him, Tommy would be far too sympathetic but not at all understanding, Chris would just tell him to fuck Jay and get it over with, and- hell, Jensen needs more friends. He’ll have to call Jessica or Allison, chicks are better at this kind of I-want-to-fuck-Jared-Padalecki dilemma, surely? Maybe he needs ice cream; all romantic problems can surely be solved with some Rocky Road and a copy of The Notebook in a chick’s estimation, right?
It’s only by the grace of God and ingrained muscle reflex that Jensen manages to make it back to his car, and then back to his apartment at all, on autopilot all the way as his mind whirrs. No, the solution here is not ice cream or chick flicks, the answer here is quite obvious; tequila shots and a TiVo recording of the latest Mavs basketball game.
Jensen’s starting to wish his curiosity only extended as far as humorous videos of bestiality; then at least he’d only be as fucked in the head as Chad- and Jared still likes Chad.
He is so screwed.
*
A.N: So this fic is for my best girl estel_willow, for just being her generally fabulous self and being foolish enough to give me fic prompts. This is in fact one of them, so I take no credit for the excellent plotbunny. I also do not take credit for the snippets of fic shown herein in italics, they would be the work of estel_willow too, because I'm evil and wanna make her blush *g*. Her original fic can be found here *pimps*. Also, if you haven't ever witnessed the genius of The Llama Song or Arnie’s Pizza Shop, they are just as good as Jared says. Thanks to the shiny moment_of_sen for bribing me into posting by promising to do a doodle for the fic- I will hold you to it, beyotch- and for helping me out with the title. This is a fic in two parts, so the next should (hopefully) be along in the not too distant future, fingers crossed.
Feedback is love.
xXx