Fic :: CWRPS :: May December
May December
Fandom: CWRPS
Rating: PG
Pairing: J2
Summary: It's Jensen's birthday.
Posting date: March 2009
*
When Jensen stumbles out of the bathroom, there’s a cake on the table. It’s got what looks like Jason Voorhees wedged on top with a bright pink candle in his hand, up to his ankles in frosting. It wasn’t there five minutes ago. The cake, that is.
Jason wasn’t there five minutes ago, either.
“Uhh,” says Jensen. He wipes his damp hands on his jeans and walks into the edge of the side table. Goddamn motherfuck- ow.
“Sweet moves,” Jared slurs as Jensen hops up and down, clutching his shin. Jared’s head is hanging upsidedown off the edge of the armrest, his eyes wide and bright, hair still curling sweat-damp against his temple from all the exertion of the drunken yoga-off he had with Misha half an hour ago.
Needless to say, Misha won.
“My party,” Jensen mutters, rubs his shin. Gonna bruise. “Can hop if I wanna.”
“Y’look like a flamingo,” Jared says, and then he starts to laugh, thumping the couch cushion because Jared finds the universe extra hilarious after a couple tequila shots. From this angle, Jared’s forehead looks twice as big as normal. Jerk.
“I’m. I’m thirty-one,” says Jensen, and then he forgets what he was going to say next. He limps- yes, he limps, goddammit- over to the couch and sits on Jared’s chest. That shuts him up all right.
For a few minutes, anyway.
“Yeah,” says Jensen, once he’s sat on actual couch cushions and Jared’s done with the clawing and the kicking and the squawking that he needs to breathe. Jared’s thrown his legs over Jensen’s lap, knees bent and inviting, so Jensen drops his chin on to them. It kinda helps a little.
He stares down at Jason. Jason stares back.
“You got me cake,” he says, into Jared’s knees. “You got me Jason cake.”
“Didn’t plan the Jason,” says Jared, knocking his legs sideways against Jensen’s chest. That’s practically asking Jensen to wrap his arms around them, so he does. “He just,” Jared adds, “kinda happened.”
“Do we haveta eat him?”
Jared yawns, throws an arm across his face. “He’s got an axe,” he says, with a mouthful of sleeve.
There is an axe. It’s stuck into the frosting at a jaunty angle. Jensen has to lean forwards to look at it, with Jared’s bonyass kneecap lodged in his throat and the world kinda fuzzy around the edges. That’d be the tequila. And the beer. And the shots in the bar. And the flaming shots in the other bar. And the beer before that. And-
“Hey, don’t fall over. Don’t wanna mess up your pretty face,” Jared says, suddenly, snapping Jensen out of his beer-and-axe reverie. Jared’s actually managed to sit up and he’s pulling Jensen back into the couch before Jensen even realises that, oh yeah, leaning isn’t a good idea right now. Not forwards or sideways or, or backwards or in any direction, really.
“Pretty old face,” Jensen says.
“I didn’t wanna say anything,” Jared sighs, “but you are getting kinda wrinkly.” Jared’s practically sitting in his lap now. It’s okay.
“Sittin’ in my lap,” Jensen says, anyway. “’s okay.”
Jared pats him on the face, slowly and carefully and, yeah, drunkenly. “Should invest in some wrinkle cream, man. It isn’t too late to save the dwindling fragments of your youth.”
“My fragments don’t dwindle.” Jensen doesn’t even know what that means, but Jared’s thumb is practically up his nose and that is kinda distracting.
Jared’s free, non-nostriled hand slides around Jensen’s shoulders, drawing him in for a slightly uncoordinated hug. “You’re all dwindle, all the time. It’s sad to watch.”
“You know what else is sad to watch?” Jensen pauses for dramatic effect. Jared takes it as a cue to stick his nose in Jensen’s ear. “Yoga-offs.”
“I woulda won,” Jared mumbles against Jensen’s jaw, “if Misha weren’t so. So…”
“So good at yoga?”
“Yeah.”
They drift into silence. Jared’s face slides slowly down into Jensen’s neck, his nose dragging against skin in a weirdly intimate fashion and hopefully not a snotty one. Jared’s pretty good with his nasal hygiene, Jensen figures. Keeps his nose very… Very trim. It’s a nice nose.
“Thanks, man,” says Jared, because apparently Jensen’s having trouble keeping his inner monologue inner.
“Cake,” he says, by way of distraction.
“Almost got that vampire dude,” Jared says. “The sparkling one. But then I saw Jason and, you know. Things happened. Spiritually. Emotionally. Sexually. Plus, I figured getting you the pretty, immortal, sparkle boy would just remind you of all your lost youth and shit, and then, I dunno, maybe you’d lock yourself in the bathroom and cry all night.”
“You’re so considerate.”
“Yeah,” Jared agrees. He pulls Jensen in closer and hugs his head. “Now you can look at Jason and think about how awesome my movie franchise is, instead.”
“And so humble.” Jensen’s face is in some uncertain location that might be Jared’s armpit. He inhales deeply and feels so fucking comfortable. “I like that in a guy.”
“I like you,” Jared whispers. His face is pressed so close Jensen feels each word against his scalp. He can feel Jared’s heart beating. “Even if,” Jared adds, “you’re old.”
“Does that make you my toy boy?” Jensen pulls back, until he’s sitting upright and he can actually, fuzzily, see again and Jared’s arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. Jason Voorhees is watching.
“Absolutely, man,” says Jared, with a bright, bright grin. “We are so May December.”
Jensen snorts. “Thanks.”
And then Jared nudges him with his nose, mouth skimming the cut of his cheekbone, and Jensen turns into it automatically. They kiss slow and soft, Jared’s fingers curling under his jaw. The world is fuzzy around the edges, so Jensen closes his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says again, when he pulls back. “For not getting the sparkly vampire.”
And for everything else, he means but doesn’t say.
Jared smiles like he heard it anyway.
*
Fandom: CWRPS
Rating: PG
Pairing: J2
Summary: It's Jensen's birthday.
Posting date: March 2009
*
When Jensen stumbles out of the bathroom, there’s a cake on the table. It’s got what looks like Jason Voorhees wedged on top with a bright pink candle in his hand, up to his ankles in frosting. It wasn’t there five minutes ago. The cake, that is.
Jason wasn’t there five minutes ago, either.
“Uhh,” says Jensen. He wipes his damp hands on his jeans and walks into the edge of the side table. Goddamn motherfuck- ow.
“Sweet moves,” Jared slurs as Jensen hops up and down, clutching his shin. Jared’s head is hanging upsidedown off the edge of the armrest, his eyes wide and bright, hair still curling sweat-damp against his temple from all the exertion of the drunken yoga-off he had with Misha half an hour ago.
Needless to say, Misha won.
“My party,” Jensen mutters, rubs his shin. Gonna bruise. “Can hop if I wanna.”
“Y’look like a flamingo,” Jared says, and then he starts to laugh, thumping the couch cushion because Jared finds the universe extra hilarious after a couple tequila shots. From this angle, Jared’s forehead looks twice as big as normal. Jerk.
“I’m. I’m thirty-one,” says Jensen, and then he forgets what he was going to say next. He limps- yes, he limps, goddammit- over to the couch and sits on Jared’s chest. That shuts him up all right.
For a few minutes, anyway.
“Yeah,” says Jensen, once he’s sat on actual couch cushions and Jared’s done with the clawing and the kicking and the squawking that he needs to breathe. Jared’s thrown his legs over Jensen’s lap, knees bent and inviting, so Jensen drops his chin on to them. It kinda helps a little.
He stares down at Jason. Jason stares back.
“You got me cake,” he says, into Jared’s knees. “You got me Jason cake.”
“Didn’t plan the Jason,” says Jared, knocking his legs sideways against Jensen’s chest. That’s practically asking Jensen to wrap his arms around them, so he does. “He just,” Jared adds, “kinda happened.”
“Do we haveta eat him?”
Jared yawns, throws an arm across his face. “He’s got an axe,” he says, with a mouthful of sleeve.
There is an axe. It’s stuck into the frosting at a jaunty angle. Jensen has to lean forwards to look at it, with Jared’s bonyass kneecap lodged in his throat and the world kinda fuzzy around the edges. That’d be the tequila. And the beer. And the shots in the bar. And the flaming shots in the other bar. And the beer before that. And-
“Hey, don’t fall over. Don’t wanna mess up your pretty face,” Jared says, suddenly, snapping Jensen out of his beer-and-axe reverie. Jared’s actually managed to sit up and he’s pulling Jensen back into the couch before Jensen even realises that, oh yeah, leaning isn’t a good idea right now. Not forwards or sideways or, or backwards or in any direction, really.
“Pretty old face,” Jensen says.
“I didn’t wanna say anything,” Jared sighs, “but you are getting kinda wrinkly.” Jared’s practically sitting in his lap now. It’s okay.
“Sittin’ in my lap,” Jensen says, anyway. “’s okay.”
Jared pats him on the face, slowly and carefully and, yeah, drunkenly. “Should invest in some wrinkle cream, man. It isn’t too late to save the dwindling fragments of your youth.”
“My fragments don’t dwindle.” Jensen doesn’t even know what that means, but Jared’s thumb is practically up his nose and that is kinda distracting.
Jared’s free, non-nostriled hand slides around Jensen’s shoulders, drawing him in for a slightly uncoordinated hug. “You’re all dwindle, all the time. It’s sad to watch.”
“You know what else is sad to watch?” Jensen pauses for dramatic effect. Jared takes it as a cue to stick his nose in Jensen’s ear. “Yoga-offs.”
“I woulda won,” Jared mumbles against Jensen’s jaw, “if Misha weren’t so. So…”
“So good at yoga?”
“Yeah.”
They drift into silence. Jared’s face slides slowly down into Jensen’s neck, his nose dragging against skin in a weirdly intimate fashion and hopefully not a snotty one. Jared’s pretty good with his nasal hygiene, Jensen figures. Keeps his nose very… Very trim. It’s a nice nose.
“Thanks, man,” says Jared, because apparently Jensen’s having trouble keeping his inner monologue inner.
“Cake,” he says, by way of distraction.
“Almost got that vampire dude,” Jared says. “The sparkling one. But then I saw Jason and, you know. Things happened. Spiritually. Emotionally. Sexually. Plus, I figured getting you the pretty, immortal, sparkle boy would just remind you of all your lost youth and shit, and then, I dunno, maybe you’d lock yourself in the bathroom and cry all night.”
“You’re so considerate.”
“Yeah,” Jared agrees. He pulls Jensen in closer and hugs his head. “Now you can look at Jason and think about how awesome my movie franchise is, instead.”
“And so humble.” Jensen’s face is in some uncertain location that might be Jared’s armpit. He inhales deeply and feels so fucking comfortable. “I like that in a guy.”
“I like you,” Jared whispers. His face is pressed so close Jensen feels each word against his scalp. He can feel Jared’s heart beating. “Even if,” Jared adds, “you’re old.”
“Does that make you my toy boy?” Jensen pulls back, until he’s sitting upright and he can actually, fuzzily, see again and Jared’s arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. Jason Voorhees is watching.
“Absolutely, man,” says Jared, with a bright, bright grin. “We are so May December.”
Jensen snorts. “Thanks.”
And then Jared nudges him with his nose, mouth skimming the cut of his cheekbone, and Jensen turns into it automatically. They kiss slow and soft, Jared’s fingers curling under his jaw. The world is fuzzy around the edges, so Jensen closes his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says again, when he pulls back. “For not getting the sparkly vampire.”
And for everything else, he means but doesn’t say.
Jared smiles like he heard it anyway.
*