FIC | RPS < J2 < Gimme Danger < 01/05
Title: Gimme Danger
Fandom: RPS - Actors
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
Rating: NC17
Warnings: AU, language, slash, sexual content, bottom!Jared, see note.
Status: Complete
Words: 4,854
Summary: Jared Padalecki -- professional skater: talented, good-looking, insufferably arrogant. Jensen Ackles, writer for Transworld Skateboarding magazine, isn't to happy when he has to interview the one and only Jared, who thinks he's God's gift to the skate world. And leave it to Jensen to be attracted to someone he hates. But will he learn that it's all just a front? What's the reason for Jared's cockiness and can Jensen learn to live with it?
Note: All information at the masterpost.
GIMME DANGER
o n e
"I want you to get in there and try and get an interview with Jared Padalecki."
Jensen glanced up from the clipboard in his lap, his pen ceasing its tapping, and he raised his eyebrows. He could already tell that the conversation with his boss had taken a turn for the worst. Jeffrey Dean Morgan was standing behind his desk, barely looking at him, as he shuffled through copies of different magazines and pamphlets.
"Excuse me?" Jensen asked, blinking a few times.
"Look -- this kid's hot." Jeff tossed a copy of Thrasher at him, and Jensen grimaced at the cover photo. Jared Padalecki, the skate world's newest and currently most popular face, grinned up at him. "We need an interview with him," Jeff said, and he was wearing that expression of his that said he wasn't about to change his mind.
"Uh," Jensen started lamely, "Doesn't the newbie need something to do?"
"You want me to ask the kid who started not two days ago to do such an important article?" Jeff asked dryly, raising his eyebrows.
"Mr. Morgan --"
"Ackles," Jeff interrupted, "This is important for Transworld. If I could do it myself I would, but I have a whole magazine I have to run, boy. You either try and get this interview, or you try and not let the door hit you on your way out."
Taking in a deep breath, Jensen lowered his gaze. He knew Jeff wouldn't just let him go like that, but that didn't give him the right to go against his boss' orders. He nodded very slowly.
"Okay," he said, starting to stand up. "I'll try and contact the kid's publicist. ...Deadline?"
A pause. "I'd like it for next month's issue," Jeff said, though his eyes had softened some.
Jensen turned to the door of Jeff's office so that he could mouth the word, 'fuck,' but when he spoke, he kept his tone smooth. "Okay."
"Ackles?"
Jensen glanced over his shoulder.
"You know you're one of my best writers," Jeff said seriously. "I just don't want to fall behind -- especially since Welling just left."
"I know." Jensen nodded.
He slipped quickly through the doorway and into the main office of the L.A. branch of Transworld Skateboarding magazine. The sounds of computers whirring and people typing took up the room, and as Jensen moved swiftly to his desk, he gave co-writer Sandy a strained smile. He hoped she couldn't see how much of a foul mood he was suddenly in. And all because of that stupid Jared Padalecki.
It wasn't that Jensen had even ever met the pro-skater -- he hadn't. So you're probably wondering why Jensen felt so strongly about him; what's not to like about a good ol' Texan boy with broad shoulders and bright dimples? Well apparently, Jensen was the only one who noticed just how big Jared's head was, how completely arrogant he truly was.
Not to say the guy wasn't talented, of course. History goes, Jared Tristan Padalecki picked up a board for the first time at age fifteen, and proved he had skills to rival any of the big names. Nine years later, he was finally getting the recognition he deserved, because he did deserve it.
If only he knew how to handle the fame. Half the time you couldn't tell if he was being grateful or being a smartass. Jensen couldn't understand why nobody else seemed to notice or care about the condescending attitude.
"Someone just take away your favorite toy?"
Jensen attempted another smile at his closest friend, Chad Lindberg. Chad had the desk across from Jensen, and the two often spent a good amount of their time goofing off, rather than working. They'd been friends for a while, and Chad had even lived with him about a year before when he'd been having some trouble.
"New assignment." Jensen sat down at his computer with a little sigh. "Gotta interview Padalecki."
Chad raised his eyebrows, and Jensen nodded. He knew Transworld Skateboarding had never done too big a feature on Jared Padalecki, and this kind of thing would be really good for them. But that didn't mean Jensen felt any better about it.
"Well...uh." Chad placed a hand on the back of his neck, one of his shoulders shrugging. "That's...cool. He's really --"
"Yeah, I know," Jensen cut him off, "He's all the rage."
"He has the power to be big, man," Chad said. "Bigger than Mullen, Burnquist -- Margera."
"Doubt that last one," Jensen said, smirking.
Chad grinned, rolling his eyes over-dramatically. A little while ago, Jensen had had a few drinks with the one and only Bam Margera, mostly for the magazine of course, discussing his sponsors, his current plans, yada yada yada. But then the two had disappeared to a hotel room for some alone time, much to Jensen's surprise.
Only problem was that his best friend didn't believe him.
"Like I said," Chad replied, "Pictures or it didn't happen."
Mirroring the other man's grin, Jensen started cleaning his desk. He should've been digging through his contacts list, trying to go about the best way in reaching Padalecki's man. Obviously, he didn't feel like it.
"Boss want the interview for next month?" Chad asked, bringing their conversation back around.
"Yeah," Jensen answered. "Even though I was promised an interview with Muska..."
As Jensen trailed off, Chad smirked knowingly. "What?" he asked. "Hoping to nail another pro? Think you're some sort of Dr. Love?"
With a grin, Jensen shrugged his shoulders and said, "Hey, it could happen."
* * *
Jensen put it off for as long as he could.
A week dragged by, and he still hadn't even tried to schedule something with Padalecki. It definitely made him feel a little guilty, and it didn't help that he was attempting to avoid his boss whenever he got a chance. He knew he'd have to stop being immature sooner or later, and he knew it was dumb to wait because of the deadline, but he just couldn't bring himself to even imagine being in the same room as Padalecki.
Shrugging out of his Transworld hoodie, he draped it over the back of his chair and rubbed at his eyes as he sat down. Chad suddenly started to roll his chair around their desks, and Jensen couldn't help but smirk as his friend moved until they were sitting side-by-side at Jensen's desk.
"This isn't an invasion of your personal space, is it?" Chad asked, though he was already reaching forward to grab the mouse of Jensen's computer.
"What if I said it was?" Jensen asked.
"I'd pretend I didn't hear you," Chad answered with a shrug, and Jensen watched as he started opening webpages.
"What are you doing anyway?" Jensen asked.
"Thrasher has a video interview with the kid," Chad answered, "I haven't watched it yet, but he might say something you could ask him about later."
"Ugh," Jensen groaned, "Don't remind me."
Chad gave him a short look, grimacing slightly. "Sorry," he said.
The video clip started off with Padalecki skating in a competition -- it was the Allstar Contest in Los Angeles, and he'd won. Jensen crossed his arms over his chest, watching in boredom as the video showed he and Chad the highlights from the contest. Then it cut to Padalecki standing near the judges' platform, surrounded by photographers, and a blond girl was working her way towards him with a microphone. Alona Tal, for Thrasher magazine, seemed so short compared to him, and Jensen realized how amazing it was that a big Sasquatch like Padalecki was even able to fit on a board.
Alona started asking him generic questions, having to stretch to put the microphone close enough to his mouth. Jensen noticed with distaste that Padalecki didn't even attempt to help her, barely ducking his head forward for her. He was wearing a very smug look, but Alona didn't seem to notice -- or care -- smiling brightly up at him as she spoke.
"Well, you see Alona," he said to whatever she'd asked, his tone just dripping with arrogance, "It's not a matter of how many heelflips you can do, or how long you can draw a grind out to -- it's a matter of how good you look doing it."
"So you're saying it's more of a quality over quantity thing then?" Alona tossed her hair over her shoulder, no doubt excusing his cockiness for his good looks.
"Definitely," Jared answered. "And I'm exactly the guy to bring that kind of quality. There are two kinds of athletes in this world, the real ones and the posers. There's far too many posers out there these days, and I'm gonna change that --"
Shaking his head, Jensen reached over, pushing Chad's hand away from the mouse, and he closed out of the video. He didn't know what annoyed him more, Padalecki's attitude, or his dumb answers.
"Real charming, don't you think?" Jensen asked lightly, glancing at Chad.
"Maybe it's a front," Chad answered. "Maybe he's not really such a jackass."
"How can he be so popular?" Jensen asked. "It's insane."
"Guess people are just sick of seeing the same faces," Chad said. "He's...fresh and all that."
With a sigh, Jensen scratched at the back of his head. "I swear," he said, "If this guy gets as big as Hawk, I'm gonna kill myself."
"Don't say that," Chad said, "Hawk's God."
Jensen grinned, and Chad clapped a hand on his shoulder, before starting to wheel his chair away, pushing lazily with his legs.
"Schedule that interview yet?" Chad asked, still in the process of scooting back to his desk.
"No," Jensen answered. "Haven't been able to get in touch with his publicist." So maybe he hadn't even been trying, but Chad didn't need to know that. "Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll never get a hold of him. Jeff'll realize we don't need it."
Chad laughed, digging through the drawers of his desk. "Keep your fingers crossed, but don't hold your breath," he said.
Jensen groaned. "Can't I just pass it off?" he asked. "Why don't you take it?"
"Sorry man," Chad said. "I've got a date with Mike Vallely. He's next month's Transworld classic. Gotta be there for the photo op too."
"Mike V." Jensen combed his fingers through his hair. "I'd kill for a piece with him. Wanna trade?"
Chad's tone lowered slightly. "You know the boss don't allow that," he said.
Speak of the devil.
"Lindberg. My office."
Both Jensen and Chad glanced towards the doorway of Jeff's office, but he'd already disappeared inside it. Chad passed Jensen a sympathetic little look before standing. With a sigh, Jensen decided it was finally time to make contact.
* * *
"I don't see why I have to do this."
With his arms crossed, Jared glared out the limo window as city scenery passed. His publicist, Eric Kripke, sat across from him, mirroring his dry boredom.
"Jared --"
"I don't see why I have to do interview after interview after interview," Jared said. "Three interviews in one fucking week."
Eric rolled his eyes, used to Jared's stubborn and bratty nature. "The first was for ESPN; that's kind of important. The second was for MTV; good exposure. This is for Transworld Skateboarding; one of the more popular magazines, not to mention easy to find -- it's sold in almost any store you walk into. That's good for you."
Chewing on his bottom lip, Jared turned to stare grumpily out the window again. He could feel Eric's eyes boring into him, but he didn't look at him. He knew he sounded like an ungrateful wretch, but really, the reporters he had to deal with all of the time were always such dumb twits.
"Jared," Eric started slowly, "If you don't want the fame, why did you work so hard to claw your way to the top?"
"It's not the fame I don't want," Jared answered honestly, "It's all the stupid people that come with it. It just irritates me when I get asked all the same damn questions, you know? It's always 'How did you feel when you won the Tampa AM?' or 'What was it like competing against Alva?' Always the same."
Jared supposed that was why he'd started being more of a jerk to the press. He just wished that once someone would ask him something silly and inane -- he wished someone would ask him what his favorite color was or whether he preferred boxers or briefs.
"Those are the kinds of questions they have to ask you," Eric said patiently, "They have to keep the conversation relevant, Jared."
"Says who?" Jared asked moodily. He uncrossed his arms and started messing with the brace on his left arm.
"Says their bosses," Eric answered. "Not everyone can be lucky enough to be a famous athlete -- some people have rules to follow, they have people to answer to if they don't do what they're told." He made a slight face, then waved his arm at Jared slightly. "Don't mess with that," he said, "We need your wrist to get better."
Before Jared could attempt a snappy retort like he would've liked, the limo pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel. He didn't know what to expect from this -- so far, all of his interviews had taken place in studios or at skateparks.
"Okay," Eric said, sitting up some. "The guy you're looking for is named Jensen Ackles. I want you to go straight to the front desk and ask for him. No distractions."
Jared snorted.
"I mean it, Jared. It happens all the time," the other man said. "No distractions. If you see a pretty girl, for once in your life, you ignore her. Don't start flirting and end up missing your interview."
As Jared entered the lobby of the hotel building, he knew he was scowling, but he couldn't help it. Hunching slightly, and not wanting to draw attention to himself, he kept his gaze straight ahead as he made his way towards the front desk. The clerk was an old man who probably didn't even know what skateboarding was. That was kind of cool -- at least he wouldn't be swooning over Jared or something.
"Hello sir, how can I help you today?"
That was cool too -- Jared was never called 'sir.'
"Hi," he said, "I'm trying to find a guy named Jensen Ackles."
A pause, then realization. "Oh yes, I was told he was expecting somebody," the man said. "Let me just give him a call."
Jared nodded as the man turned away to grab the desk phone. Jared turned away as well, throwing a short look around the lobby as he strained to hear the old man's words into the phone. He saw quite a few pretty faces he'd have liked to talk to, but he stayed put.
"Hey -- you're Jared Padalecki!"
He glanced to his side, looking right over the top of the kid's head at first. The boy couldn't have been older than eleven, and he was staring up at Jared in awe. A grin came to Jared's face -- he'd always liked kids, most of them were always just so...pure.
"Hey there," he said, "What's up, little man?"
"Wow," the boy said with as much enthusiasm as a child can muster; there were practically stars in his eyes. "Can I get your autograph?" He was practically bouncing up and down eagerly.
Jared threw a quick look back at the counter. There was a sign-in book, a pen attached to it, and with a glance at the still preoccupied clerk, Jared tore a piece of paper from the back of it.
"What's your name?" he asked, giving the kid another grin.
As the boy told him, Jared quickly started a little note on the blank piece of paper. As he was writing, he could feel the boy's eyes move over his arm brace.
"What happened?" he asked in that perfectly dramatic way that kids are so good at. "Did you do that skating?"
Biting back a grimace, Jared shook his head. "Nah, believe it or not," he admitted. He swallowed, mind working quickly. "I hurt myself when I was working out a few days ago, pulled something in my arm."
"How long till it gets better?"
"Hopefully not too long," Jared answered, matching the kid's zeal.
As if on cue, the boy's mother appeared. She was attractive, but clearly not interested, and as she started to pull her son away, Jared gave him a last grin.
"That was unexpected," said a voice behind him.
He turned, raising his eyebrows in question. A man just a little shorter than he was leaning against the counter casually, watching him. So many pretty faces at this particular hotel, only this one didn't seem interested either. His hands were in the pockets of his worn jeans, and his green eyes were locked steadily -- almost boredly -- with Jared's.
"What?" Jared asked.
"Kind of weird, actually," the man said. "Wouldn't've thought it impossible for a man such as yourself to find it in you to be nice for a change. Or was that just an act for the little boy?"
Jared's interest was definitely piqued, and he couldn't help but smirk. This man obviously knew who he was, yet he wasn't throwing himself at Jared's feet or telling him how awesome he was. Quite the contrary, this man seemed annoyed by him -- who was he?
"Sorry, do I know you?" Jared quirked one of his eyebrows.
"Jensen Ackles," the man said, "For Transworld Skate."
Jared nodded slowly, smirk growing. "Should've guessed," he said, and then for good measure, he added, "Took you long enough."
Dislike filled the other man's eyes, and it only made Jared more interested in him. Jensen sighed, then straightened, and gestured for Jared to follow him.
"Right this way, your Highness," he said sardonically.
"Where are we going?" Jared asked, even though he'd started to follow Jensen.
"My room," Jensen said. "Apparently you've never done an interview like this."
Jared grinned, and as Jensen side-glanced him, he wiggled his eyebrows.
"Nope," he replied, "You could say you're popping my cherry."
The pretty green eyes rolled, but Jensen didn't reply, obviously not amused. Jared almost didn't know how to handle this -- usually everyone laughed hysterically at his jokes, acting as if he were a regular George Carlin.
"Seems less like an interview, and more like a pick-up," Jared attempted again.
"Please," Jensen said coolly, "I have much better taste."
"Like who?" Jared scoffed, "Bam Margera?"
Though he'd been joking, Jensen's ears reddened as they reached the elevator doors, and Jared felt just a touch smug. He really knew how to call 'em apparently.
In the elevator, Jared allowed himself the moment of silence to look over Jensen and take him in. His messy hair was a mix of browns and blonds, and there was a spattering of freckles on the tops of his cheeks, and across the bridge of his angular nose. His plump bottom lip was currently caught between his teeth, and his expression was a thoughtful one.
He was hot. Not like normal sports writers.
"So is this gonna take all day or what?" Jared asked, just wanting to hear the other man's voice again.
"Believe me," Jensen didn't look at him as he spoke, and that was almost a disappointment, "I don't want this to take any longer than it has to."
Jared grinned widely. He liked this Jensen guy, but he couldn't be sure why. He was so not used to people treating him like this, and if he could be honest, it was exciting.
* * *
The sports writer was irritated -- it didn't take a genius to figure that out. They were sitting across from one another at the small table in the hotel room, a tape recorder between them and a legal pad in Jensen's lap. Jared smirked at the other man, raising his eyebrows.
Jensen's jaw set, and he dropped his pen on the table, heaving a sigh. "Okay," he said, clearly fed up. "I can't just act like everyone else and ignore this. What is your problem?"
"What do you mean?" Jared asked innocently, practically batting his eyelashes.
"You're a dick," Jensen said simply. "Why do you always act like such a little bastard to everyone?"
Almost laughing, Jared sat up a little straighter in his chair. No one had ever talked to him like this before. "Look at you," he said, "Getting your panties all in a bunch. You know, you don't give off a very good impression either."
"Oh, excuse me," Jensen said, rolling his pretty eyes. "It's kind of hard to want to be nice to someone who seems very likely to be the king of assholes."
"You're pretty hot when you're pissed," Jared said, and he got the reaction he'd been hoping for.
Color crept up Jensen's neck to his face, and his eyes narrowed as he made a visible face of disgust. Jared really liked this guy, and he wondered if Jensen might have a softer side.
"Fuck you, okay?"
Apparently not. Jared grinned at Jensen's angry retort -- this was just too much fun. "If you keep using all these bad words -- with how sexy the sound leaving you -- I might just have to come across the table at you, Mr. Writer Man."
Jensen's eyes now widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing slowly. He looked as if he wanted to curse Jared out or something, but he seemed unsure of whether or not he could trust him. He looked away quickly, picking up his pen again, and chewing on his bottom lip.
"Let's just get this over with," he said, sounding less icy than before, more embarrassed.
"How old are you?" Jared asked.
"I'm the interviewer," Jensen said shortly, "I ask the questions."
"So ask some good questions," Jared said, folding his arms over his chest.
There was a pause, and Jensen looked down at his notepad, expression thoughtful. Jared sighed, waiting for the trite, boring questions that were sure to come.
"You live here in L.A. don't you?" Jensen asked, and Jared gave a bored nod. "What do you miss most about living in Texas?"
Okay, so Jared might've been a little surprised at that, and he fell silent. No one ever really acknowledged his personal life when they were talking to him -- if it wasn't questions about skateboarding, it was questions about how much money he made. Jensen wasn't looking at him, gazing down at his pad as he waited.
"Uh." Jared wanted to smack himself for sounding like an idiot, but Jensen had really caught him off guard. He blinked a few times, trying to pick his words carefully. "I guess I miss my family the most," he finally answered. "I miss my mom's cooking -- big Sunday breakfasts."
More silence followed, and Jared glanced back at Jensen, who'd raised his gaze slightly and was watching him. Jared realized he'd lost his cool for a moment, and he tried to put his sneer back on his face, looking away. Jensen shifted in his chair, still watching.
"Couldn't you bring your family up to California to live with you?" he asked next.
For once in his life, Jared now found himself wishing he was being asked the same old skating questions. He didn't want to talk about his family.
"I don't think they're really suited for life in Los Angeles," he said with a small sigh. "And my dad's been kind of sick lately."
Jensen studied him again, as if trying to figure him out. As he started to ask more questions, he got off the topic of Jared's family -- thankfully -- and went on with the generic skating questions. Only with each question he asked, Jensen seemed to make it personal for Jared, so that each question seemed ten times more different than anything he was ever asked before.
It was actually hard to keep his guard up, and as he talked with Jensen, Jared found he couldn't keep up with his attitude. Jensen noticed this too, and he seemed to relax a little bit as well. It was surprisingly nice.
Despite the way the clock had changed, when the interview ended, it felt like it was too soon. Jared knew it was because he liked sitting there, listening to Jensen's voice -- sometimes it was rusty, carrying a natural husk, and other times it got real soft and smooth.
"I know you're the interviewer and all," Jared said, immensely glad that his sarcastic tone had returned, "But can I ask you something?"
Jensen made a face at Jared's cool tone, and he stood up. Jared watched as Jensen bent slightly and shoved his note pad into one of his bags -- the look on his face said he'd have rather told Jared to get the heck out, but after a moment or two, he nodded.
"Are you single?"
Jensen froze in what he was doing, his back to Jared, and his shoulders visibly tensing. "That's none of your business." He sounded embarrassed again.
"Touchy," Jared said, a grin coming to his face slowly. He relented. "What I really wanted to ask -- where are you from?" It was a random question out of his own curiosity, and there was a look of surprised confusion on Jensen's face.
"Dallas," Jensen answered, folding his arms over his chest. Muscles in his forearms flexed, and Jared noticed how nicely the Birdhouse tee shirt clung to Jensen's torso -- he was pretty built for a writer, not like the other ones.
"Really?" Jared asked, "Dallas?"
"Why does it matter?" Jensen asked, somewhat self-consciously.
"I'm just curious," Jared said, putting his hands up defensively. "You know about me, I want to know about you."
Jensen lowered his gaze, and Jared raised his eyebrows, watching him intently.
"I have to get back to the office," Jensen said. "I have a deadline."
After a moment, Jared nodded, starting to climb to his feet. Jensen walked to the door, and Jared followed leisurely, letting his gaze rest on certain aspects of Jensen's body. As Jensen was pulling open the door however, Jared reached up and pushed it closed again, holding it shut.
Jensen turned to him slowly, annoyance written very clearly on his face. He arched one of his eyebrows. "What?" he asked.
Jared smiled. "Why are you so tense?" he asked, leaning in closer.
Jensen backed away slightly, though this brought him almost flat against the wall, and he took in a deep angry breath -- he was really good at playing this card. He licked his lips, and Jared followed the motion with his eyes. He chuckled lightly when Jensen didn't answer.
"You don't like me very much do you?" he asked.
"I can't stand you," Jensen said in a low tone. "If I can be so honest."
"Why not?"
"I think we've already discussed this."
Pausing for just a moment to contemplate, Jared started to lean in closer. Jensen turned his head, but Jared reached up and lightly grabbed the other man's chin, holding him in place. He pressed his lips almost hesitantly to Jensen's, giving Jensen ample time to push him away.
Jensen never did.
Unable to stop the wave of smugness that washed over him, Jared deepened the kiss. He slipped his tongue easily between Jensen's lips, his head tilting so that their mouths were slanted against one another's. Jensen's arms stayed at his sides, but his body responded slightly, and he swayed towards Jared, kissing him back.
Suddenly though, Jensen pulled his head back with a snap, and he turned his whole body away from Jared. His cheeks had turned a delicious shade of red, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed quickly.
"Can't stand me?" Jared asked quietly, grinning again. He licked his tingling lips. "I think we can agree to disagree."
Jensen sighed. "You should leave." It was obvious that he'd meant his tone to be hard, but he couldn't disguise the darker hints of huskiness that laced his tone.
"I could stay," Jared all but whispered, his voice dripping with suggestion. "All this hotel room for one measly interview."
Jensen turned his head and met Jared's gaze. When he spoke, all the ice from earlier attitude had returned.
"Go."
Jared could admit, he was disappointed, but he covered it up with a grin. He grabbed the doorknob, and as he turned it, he winked at Jensen.
"Suit yourself," he said, before slipping out of the room.
As he walked towards the elevator, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call Eric to get the limo back around. He was smirking to himself -- he really liked the damn sports writer, even if he was a moody bastard. He definitely wouldn't have objected to a few more interviews for Transworld Skateboarding if it meant he'd get to see Jensen again. He'd have to keep his fingers crossed.
NEXT.
Fandom: RPS - Actors
Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
Rating: NC17
Warnings: AU, language, slash, sexual content, bottom!Jared, see note.
Status: Complete
Words: 4,854
Summary: Jared Padalecki -- professional skater: talented, good-looking, insufferably arrogant. Jensen Ackles, writer for Transworld Skateboarding magazine, isn't to happy when he has to interview the one and only Jared, who thinks he's God's gift to the skate world. And leave it to Jensen to be attracted to someone he hates. But will he learn that it's all just a front? What's the reason for Jared's cockiness and can Jensen learn to live with it?
Note: All information at the masterpost.
GIMME DANGER
o n e
"I want you to get in there and try and get an interview with Jared Padalecki."
Jensen glanced up from the clipboard in his lap, his pen ceasing its tapping, and he raised his eyebrows. He could already tell that the conversation with his boss had taken a turn for the worst. Jeffrey Dean Morgan was standing behind his desk, barely looking at him, as he shuffled through copies of different magazines and pamphlets.
"Excuse me?" Jensen asked, blinking a few times.
"Look -- this kid's hot." Jeff tossed a copy of Thrasher at him, and Jensen grimaced at the cover photo. Jared Padalecki, the skate world's newest and currently most popular face, grinned up at him. "We need an interview with him," Jeff said, and he was wearing that expression of his that said he wasn't about to change his mind.
"Uh," Jensen started lamely, "Doesn't the newbie need something to do?"
"You want me to ask the kid who started not two days ago to do such an important article?" Jeff asked dryly, raising his eyebrows.
"Mr. Morgan --"
"Ackles," Jeff interrupted, "This is important for Transworld. If I could do it myself I would, but I have a whole magazine I have to run, boy. You either try and get this interview, or you try and not let the door hit you on your way out."
Taking in a deep breath, Jensen lowered his gaze. He knew Jeff wouldn't just let him go like that, but that didn't give him the right to go against his boss' orders. He nodded very slowly.
"Okay," he said, starting to stand up. "I'll try and contact the kid's publicist. ...Deadline?"
A pause. "I'd like it for next month's issue," Jeff said, though his eyes had softened some.
Jensen turned to the door of Jeff's office so that he could mouth the word, 'fuck,' but when he spoke, he kept his tone smooth. "Okay."
"Ackles?"
Jensen glanced over his shoulder.
"You know you're one of my best writers," Jeff said seriously. "I just don't want to fall behind -- especially since Welling just left."
"I know." Jensen nodded.
He slipped quickly through the doorway and into the main office of the L.A. branch of Transworld Skateboarding magazine. The sounds of computers whirring and people typing took up the room, and as Jensen moved swiftly to his desk, he gave co-writer Sandy a strained smile. He hoped she couldn't see how much of a foul mood he was suddenly in. And all because of that stupid Jared Padalecki.
It wasn't that Jensen had even ever met the pro-skater -- he hadn't. So you're probably wondering why Jensen felt so strongly about him; what's not to like about a good ol' Texan boy with broad shoulders and bright dimples? Well apparently, Jensen was the only one who noticed just how big Jared's head was, how completely arrogant he truly was.
Not to say the guy wasn't talented, of course. History goes, Jared Tristan Padalecki picked up a board for the first time at age fifteen, and proved he had skills to rival any of the big names. Nine years later, he was finally getting the recognition he deserved, because he did deserve it.
If only he knew how to handle the fame. Half the time you couldn't tell if he was being grateful or being a smartass. Jensen couldn't understand why nobody else seemed to notice or care about the condescending attitude.
"Someone just take away your favorite toy?"
Jensen attempted another smile at his closest friend, Chad Lindberg. Chad had the desk across from Jensen, and the two often spent a good amount of their time goofing off, rather than working. They'd been friends for a while, and Chad had even lived with him about a year before when he'd been having some trouble.
"New assignment." Jensen sat down at his computer with a little sigh. "Gotta interview Padalecki."
Chad raised his eyebrows, and Jensen nodded. He knew Transworld Skateboarding had never done too big a feature on Jared Padalecki, and this kind of thing would be really good for them. But that didn't mean Jensen felt any better about it.
"Well...uh." Chad placed a hand on the back of his neck, one of his shoulders shrugging. "That's...cool. He's really --"
"Yeah, I know," Jensen cut him off, "He's all the rage."
"He has the power to be big, man," Chad said. "Bigger than Mullen, Burnquist -- Margera."
"Doubt that last one," Jensen said, smirking.
Chad grinned, rolling his eyes over-dramatically. A little while ago, Jensen had had a few drinks with the one and only Bam Margera, mostly for the magazine of course, discussing his sponsors, his current plans, yada yada yada. But then the two had disappeared to a hotel room for some alone time, much to Jensen's surprise.
Only problem was that his best friend didn't believe him.
"Like I said," Chad replied, "Pictures or it didn't happen."
Mirroring the other man's grin, Jensen started cleaning his desk. He should've been digging through his contacts list, trying to go about the best way in reaching Padalecki's man. Obviously, he didn't feel like it.
"Boss want the interview for next month?" Chad asked, bringing their conversation back around.
"Yeah," Jensen answered. "Even though I was promised an interview with Muska..."
As Jensen trailed off, Chad smirked knowingly. "What?" he asked. "Hoping to nail another pro? Think you're some sort of Dr. Love?"
With a grin, Jensen shrugged his shoulders and said, "Hey, it could happen."
* * *
Jensen put it off for as long as he could.
A week dragged by, and he still hadn't even tried to schedule something with Padalecki. It definitely made him feel a little guilty, and it didn't help that he was attempting to avoid his boss whenever he got a chance. He knew he'd have to stop being immature sooner or later, and he knew it was dumb to wait because of the deadline, but he just couldn't bring himself to even imagine being in the same room as Padalecki.
Shrugging out of his Transworld hoodie, he draped it over the back of his chair and rubbed at his eyes as he sat down. Chad suddenly started to roll his chair around their desks, and Jensen couldn't help but smirk as his friend moved until they were sitting side-by-side at Jensen's desk.
"This isn't an invasion of your personal space, is it?" Chad asked, though he was already reaching forward to grab the mouse of Jensen's computer.
"What if I said it was?" Jensen asked.
"I'd pretend I didn't hear you," Chad answered with a shrug, and Jensen watched as he started opening webpages.
"What are you doing anyway?" Jensen asked.
"Thrasher has a video interview with the kid," Chad answered, "I haven't watched it yet, but he might say something you could ask him about later."
"Ugh," Jensen groaned, "Don't remind me."
Chad gave him a short look, grimacing slightly. "Sorry," he said.
The video clip started off with Padalecki skating in a competition -- it was the Allstar Contest in Los Angeles, and he'd won. Jensen crossed his arms over his chest, watching in boredom as the video showed he and Chad the highlights from the contest. Then it cut to Padalecki standing near the judges' platform, surrounded by photographers, and a blond girl was working her way towards him with a microphone. Alona Tal, for Thrasher magazine, seemed so short compared to him, and Jensen realized how amazing it was that a big Sasquatch like Padalecki was even able to fit on a board.
Alona started asking him generic questions, having to stretch to put the microphone close enough to his mouth. Jensen noticed with distaste that Padalecki didn't even attempt to help her, barely ducking his head forward for her. He was wearing a very smug look, but Alona didn't seem to notice -- or care -- smiling brightly up at him as she spoke.
"Well, you see Alona," he said to whatever she'd asked, his tone just dripping with arrogance, "It's not a matter of how many heelflips you can do, or how long you can draw a grind out to -- it's a matter of how good you look doing it."
"So you're saying it's more of a quality over quantity thing then?" Alona tossed her hair over her shoulder, no doubt excusing his cockiness for his good looks.
"Definitely," Jared answered. "And I'm exactly the guy to bring that kind of quality. There are two kinds of athletes in this world, the real ones and the posers. There's far too many posers out there these days, and I'm gonna change that --"
Shaking his head, Jensen reached over, pushing Chad's hand away from the mouse, and he closed out of the video. He didn't know what annoyed him more, Padalecki's attitude, or his dumb answers.
"Real charming, don't you think?" Jensen asked lightly, glancing at Chad.
"Maybe it's a front," Chad answered. "Maybe he's not really such a jackass."
"How can he be so popular?" Jensen asked. "It's insane."
"Guess people are just sick of seeing the same faces," Chad said. "He's...fresh and all that."
With a sigh, Jensen scratched at the back of his head. "I swear," he said, "If this guy gets as big as Hawk, I'm gonna kill myself."
"Don't say that," Chad said, "Hawk's God."
Jensen grinned, and Chad clapped a hand on his shoulder, before starting to wheel his chair away, pushing lazily with his legs.
"Schedule that interview yet?" Chad asked, still in the process of scooting back to his desk.
"No," Jensen answered. "Haven't been able to get in touch with his publicist." So maybe he hadn't even been trying, but Chad didn't need to know that. "Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll never get a hold of him. Jeff'll realize we don't need it."
Chad laughed, digging through the drawers of his desk. "Keep your fingers crossed, but don't hold your breath," he said.
Jensen groaned. "Can't I just pass it off?" he asked. "Why don't you take it?"
"Sorry man," Chad said. "I've got a date with Mike Vallely. He's next month's Transworld classic. Gotta be there for the photo op too."
"Mike V." Jensen combed his fingers through his hair. "I'd kill for a piece with him. Wanna trade?"
Chad's tone lowered slightly. "You know the boss don't allow that," he said.
Speak of the devil.
"Lindberg. My office."
Both Jensen and Chad glanced towards the doorway of Jeff's office, but he'd already disappeared inside it. Chad passed Jensen a sympathetic little look before standing. With a sigh, Jensen decided it was finally time to make contact.
* * *
"I don't see why I have to do this."
With his arms crossed, Jared glared out the limo window as city scenery passed. His publicist, Eric Kripke, sat across from him, mirroring his dry boredom.
"Jared --"
"I don't see why I have to do interview after interview after interview," Jared said. "Three interviews in one fucking week."
Eric rolled his eyes, used to Jared's stubborn and bratty nature. "The first was for ESPN; that's kind of important. The second was for MTV; good exposure. This is for Transworld Skateboarding; one of the more popular magazines, not to mention easy to find -- it's sold in almost any store you walk into. That's good for you."
Chewing on his bottom lip, Jared turned to stare grumpily out the window again. He could feel Eric's eyes boring into him, but he didn't look at him. He knew he sounded like an ungrateful wretch, but really, the reporters he had to deal with all of the time were always such dumb twits.
"Jared," Eric started slowly, "If you don't want the fame, why did you work so hard to claw your way to the top?"
"It's not the fame I don't want," Jared answered honestly, "It's all the stupid people that come with it. It just irritates me when I get asked all the same damn questions, you know? It's always 'How did you feel when you won the Tampa AM?' or 'What was it like competing against Alva?' Always the same."
Jared supposed that was why he'd started being more of a jerk to the press. He just wished that once someone would ask him something silly and inane -- he wished someone would ask him what his favorite color was or whether he preferred boxers or briefs.
"Those are the kinds of questions they have to ask you," Eric said patiently, "They have to keep the conversation relevant, Jared."
"Says who?" Jared asked moodily. He uncrossed his arms and started messing with the brace on his left arm.
"Says their bosses," Eric answered. "Not everyone can be lucky enough to be a famous athlete -- some people have rules to follow, they have people to answer to if they don't do what they're told." He made a slight face, then waved his arm at Jared slightly. "Don't mess with that," he said, "We need your wrist to get better."
Before Jared could attempt a snappy retort like he would've liked, the limo pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel. He didn't know what to expect from this -- so far, all of his interviews had taken place in studios or at skateparks.
"Okay," Eric said, sitting up some. "The guy you're looking for is named Jensen Ackles. I want you to go straight to the front desk and ask for him. No distractions."
Jared snorted.
"I mean it, Jared. It happens all the time," the other man said. "No distractions. If you see a pretty girl, for once in your life, you ignore her. Don't start flirting and end up missing your interview."
As Jared entered the lobby of the hotel building, he knew he was scowling, but he couldn't help it. Hunching slightly, and not wanting to draw attention to himself, he kept his gaze straight ahead as he made his way towards the front desk. The clerk was an old man who probably didn't even know what skateboarding was. That was kind of cool -- at least he wouldn't be swooning over Jared or something.
"Hello sir, how can I help you today?"
That was cool too -- Jared was never called 'sir.'
"Hi," he said, "I'm trying to find a guy named Jensen Ackles."
A pause, then realization. "Oh yes, I was told he was expecting somebody," the man said. "Let me just give him a call."
Jared nodded as the man turned away to grab the desk phone. Jared turned away as well, throwing a short look around the lobby as he strained to hear the old man's words into the phone. He saw quite a few pretty faces he'd have liked to talk to, but he stayed put.
"Hey -- you're Jared Padalecki!"
He glanced to his side, looking right over the top of the kid's head at first. The boy couldn't have been older than eleven, and he was staring up at Jared in awe. A grin came to Jared's face -- he'd always liked kids, most of them were always just so...pure.
"Hey there," he said, "What's up, little man?"
"Wow," the boy said with as much enthusiasm as a child can muster; there were practically stars in his eyes. "Can I get your autograph?" He was practically bouncing up and down eagerly.
Jared threw a quick look back at the counter. There was a sign-in book, a pen attached to it, and with a glance at the still preoccupied clerk, Jared tore a piece of paper from the back of it.
"What's your name?" he asked, giving the kid another grin.
As the boy told him, Jared quickly started a little note on the blank piece of paper. As he was writing, he could feel the boy's eyes move over his arm brace.
"What happened?" he asked in that perfectly dramatic way that kids are so good at. "Did you do that skating?"
Biting back a grimace, Jared shook his head. "Nah, believe it or not," he admitted. He swallowed, mind working quickly. "I hurt myself when I was working out a few days ago, pulled something in my arm."
"How long till it gets better?"
"Hopefully not too long," Jared answered, matching the kid's zeal.
As if on cue, the boy's mother appeared. She was attractive, but clearly not interested, and as she started to pull her son away, Jared gave him a last grin.
"That was unexpected," said a voice behind him.
He turned, raising his eyebrows in question. A man just a little shorter than he was leaning against the counter casually, watching him. So many pretty faces at this particular hotel, only this one didn't seem interested either. His hands were in the pockets of his worn jeans, and his green eyes were locked steadily -- almost boredly -- with Jared's.
"What?" Jared asked.
"Kind of weird, actually," the man said. "Wouldn't've thought it impossible for a man such as yourself to find it in you to be nice for a change. Or was that just an act for the little boy?"
Jared's interest was definitely piqued, and he couldn't help but smirk. This man obviously knew who he was, yet he wasn't throwing himself at Jared's feet or telling him how awesome he was. Quite the contrary, this man seemed annoyed by him -- who was he?
"Sorry, do I know you?" Jared quirked one of his eyebrows.
"Jensen Ackles," the man said, "For Transworld Skate."
Jared nodded slowly, smirk growing. "Should've guessed," he said, and then for good measure, he added, "Took you long enough."
Dislike filled the other man's eyes, and it only made Jared more interested in him. Jensen sighed, then straightened, and gestured for Jared to follow him.
"Right this way, your Highness," he said sardonically.
"Where are we going?" Jared asked, even though he'd started to follow Jensen.
"My room," Jensen said. "Apparently you've never done an interview like this."
Jared grinned, and as Jensen side-glanced him, he wiggled his eyebrows.
"Nope," he replied, "You could say you're popping my cherry."
The pretty green eyes rolled, but Jensen didn't reply, obviously not amused. Jared almost didn't know how to handle this -- usually everyone laughed hysterically at his jokes, acting as if he were a regular George Carlin.
"Seems less like an interview, and more like a pick-up," Jared attempted again.
"Please," Jensen said coolly, "I have much better taste."
"Like who?" Jared scoffed, "Bam Margera?"
Though he'd been joking, Jensen's ears reddened as they reached the elevator doors, and Jared felt just a touch smug. He really knew how to call 'em apparently.
In the elevator, Jared allowed himself the moment of silence to look over Jensen and take him in. His messy hair was a mix of browns and blonds, and there was a spattering of freckles on the tops of his cheeks, and across the bridge of his angular nose. His plump bottom lip was currently caught between his teeth, and his expression was a thoughtful one.
He was hot. Not like normal sports writers.
"So is this gonna take all day or what?" Jared asked, just wanting to hear the other man's voice again.
"Believe me," Jensen didn't look at him as he spoke, and that was almost a disappointment, "I don't want this to take any longer than it has to."
Jared grinned widely. He liked this Jensen guy, but he couldn't be sure why. He was so not used to people treating him like this, and if he could be honest, it was exciting.
* * *
The sports writer was irritated -- it didn't take a genius to figure that out. They were sitting across from one another at the small table in the hotel room, a tape recorder between them and a legal pad in Jensen's lap. Jared smirked at the other man, raising his eyebrows.
Jensen's jaw set, and he dropped his pen on the table, heaving a sigh. "Okay," he said, clearly fed up. "I can't just act like everyone else and ignore this. What is your problem?"
"What do you mean?" Jared asked innocently, practically batting his eyelashes.
"You're a dick," Jensen said simply. "Why do you always act like such a little bastard to everyone?"
Almost laughing, Jared sat up a little straighter in his chair. No one had ever talked to him like this before. "Look at you," he said, "Getting your panties all in a bunch. You know, you don't give off a very good impression either."
"Oh, excuse me," Jensen said, rolling his pretty eyes. "It's kind of hard to want to be nice to someone who seems very likely to be the king of assholes."
"You're pretty hot when you're pissed," Jared said, and he got the reaction he'd been hoping for.
Color crept up Jensen's neck to his face, and his eyes narrowed as he made a visible face of disgust. Jared really liked this guy, and he wondered if Jensen might have a softer side.
"Fuck you, okay?"
Apparently not. Jared grinned at Jensen's angry retort -- this was just too much fun. "If you keep using all these bad words -- with how sexy the sound leaving you -- I might just have to come across the table at you, Mr. Writer Man."
Jensen's eyes now widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing slowly. He looked as if he wanted to curse Jared out or something, but he seemed unsure of whether or not he could trust him. He looked away quickly, picking up his pen again, and chewing on his bottom lip.
"Let's just get this over with," he said, sounding less icy than before, more embarrassed.
"How old are you?" Jared asked.
"I'm the interviewer," Jensen said shortly, "I ask the questions."
"So ask some good questions," Jared said, folding his arms over his chest.
There was a pause, and Jensen looked down at his notepad, expression thoughtful. Jared sighed, waiting for the trite, boring questions that were sure to come.
"You live here in L.A. don't you?" Jensen asked, and Jared gave a bored nod. "What do you miss most about living in Texas?"
Okay, so Jared might've been a little surprised at that, and he fell silent. No one ever really acknowledged his personal life when they were talking to him -- if it wasn't questions about skateboarding, it was questions about how much money he made. Jensen wasn't looking at him, gazing down at his pad as he waited.
"Uh." Jared wanted to smack himself for sounding like an idiot, but Jensen had really caught him off guard. He blinked a few times, trying to pick his words carefully. "I guess I miss my family the most," he finally answered. "I miss my mom's cooking -- big Sunday breakfasts."
More silence followed, and Jared glanced back at Jensen, who'd raised his gaze slightly and was watching him. Jared realized he'd lost his cool for a moment, and he tried to put his sneer back on his face, looking away. Jensen shifted in his chair, still watching.
"Couldn't you bring your family up to California to live with you?" he asked next.
For once in his life, Jared now found himself wishing he was being asked the same old skating questions. He didn't want to talk about his family.
"I don't think they're really suited for life in Los Angeles," he said with a small sigh. "And my dad's been kind of sick lately."
Jensen studied him again, as if trying to figure him out. As he started to ask more questions, he got off the topic of Jared's family -- thankfully -- and went on with the generic skating questions. Only with each question he asked, Jensen seemed to make it personal for Jared, so that each question seemed ten times more different than anything he was ever asked before.
It was actually hard to keep his guard up, and as he talked with Jensen, Jared found he couldn't keep up with his attitude. Jensen noticed this too, and he seemed to relax a little bit as well. It was surprisingly nice.
Despite the way the clock had changed, when the interview ended, it felt like it was too soon. Jared knew it was because he liked sitting there, listening to Jensen's voice -- sometimes it was rusty, carrying a natural husk, and other times it got real soft and smooth.
"I know you're the interviewer and all," Jared said, immensely glad that his sarcastic tone had returned, "But can I ask you something?"
Jensen made a face at Jared's cool tone, and he stood up. Jared watched as Jensen bent slightly and shoved his note pad into one of his bags -- the look on his face said he'd have rather told Jared to get the heck out, but after a moment or two, he nodded.
"Are you single?"
Jensen froze in what he was doing, his back to Jared, and his shoulders visibly tensing. "That's none of your business." He sounded embarrassed again.
"Touchy," Jared said, a grin coming to his face slowly. He relented. "What I really wanted to ask -- where are you from?" It was a random question out of his own curiosity, and there was a look of surprised confusion on Jensen's face.
"Dallas," Jensen answered, folding his arms over his chest. Muscles in his forearms flexed, and Jared noticed how nicely the Birdhouse tee shirt clung to Jensen's torso -- he was pretty built for a writer, not like the other ones.
"Really?" Jared asked, "Dallas?"
"Why does it matter?" Jensen asked, somewhat self-consciously.
"I'm just curious," Jared said, putting his hands up defensively. "You know about me, I want to know about you."
Jensen lowered his gaze, and Jared raised his eyebrows, watching him intently.
"I have to get back to the office," Jensen said. "I have a deadline."
After a moment, Jared nodded, starting to climb to his feet. Jensen walked to the door, and Jared followed leisurely, letting his gaze rest on certain aspects of Jensen's body. As Jensen was pulling open the door however, Jared reached up and pushed it closed again, holding it shut.
Jensen turned to him slowly, annoyance written very clearly on his face. He arched one of his eyebrows. "What?" he asked.
Jared smiled. "Why are you so tense?" he asked, leaning in closer.
Jensen backed away slightly, though this brought him almost flat against the wall, and he took in a deep angry breath -- he was really good at playing this card. He licked his lips, and Jared followed the motion with his eyes. He chuckled lightly when Jensen didn't answer.
"You don't like me very much do you?" he asked.
"I can't stand you," Jensen said in a low tone. "If I can be so honest."
"Why not?"
"I think we've already discussed this."
Pausing for just a moment to contemplate, Jared started to lean in closer. Jensen turned his head, but Jared reached up and lightly grabbed the other man's chin, holding him in place. He pressed his lips almost hesitantly to Jensen's, giving Jensen ample time to push him away.
Jensen never did.
Unable to stop the wave of smugness that washed over him, Jared deepened the kiss. He slipped his tongue easily between Jensen's lips, his head tilting so that their mouths were slanted against one another's. Jensen's arms stayed at his sides, but his body responded slightly, and he swayed towards Jared, kissing him back.
Suddenly though, Jensen pulled his head back with a snap, and he turned his whole body away from Jared. His cheeks had turned a delicious shade of red, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed quickly.
"Can't stand me?" Jared asked quietly, grinning again. He licked his tingling lips. "I think we can agree to disagree."
Jensen sighed. "You should leave." It was obvious that he'd meant his tone to be hard, but he couldn't disguise the darker hints of huskiness that laced his tone.
"I could stay," Jared all but whispered, his voice dripping with suggestion. "All this hotel room for one measly interview."
Jensen turned his head and met Jared's gaze. When he spoke, all the ice from earlier attitude had returned.
"Go."
Jared could admit, he was disappointed, but he covered it up with a grin. He grabbed the doorknob, and as he turned it, he winked at Jensen.
"Suit yourself," he said, before slipping out of the room.
As he walked towards the elevator, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call Eric to get the limo back around. He was smirking to himself -- he really liked the damn sports writer, even if he was a moody bastard. He definitely wouldn't have objected to a few more interviews for Transworld Skateboarding if it meant he'd get to see Jensen again. He'd have to keep his fingers crossed.
NEXT.