(no subject)
I wrote this for lapifors last night because she's a demanding hobag and she asked me nicely.
(And today I edited it a little bit because the original past tense was CONFUSING ME.)
*
Jared was lying on the sofa.
What Jensen really means by that is 75% of Jared was lying on the sofa. The important parts, like his face and his torso and one of his feet, those parts had all lucked into the sofa option. The rest of him was sprawled on the back of the sofa, the armrests, the floor, and Sadie's head.
"Jared," Jensen says. "Get off the sofa."
Jared says, "Mgrrlf," in reply.
Jensen takes a couple of steps closer and, with all the sympathetic dignity he can muster, pokes Jared with a stick. It’s one of Harley's, so it is chewed and slightly soggy, but it has a decent, not-too-sharp point to it and that’s good enough.
"Jared," Jensen says again, and then he pokes again.
Jared's left foot twitches.
Jensen sighs and drops the stick, which is almost immediately snatched back up by Harley. Dog has skills. Dumber than a bag of rocks, but nevertheless, skills.
"You're too tall," Jensen tries, pitching his voice as soft and soothing and persuasively reasonable as possible. "If you stay like that you'll get bitching cramp and you'll wake up in the morning feeling even worse."
"Fhhmmk," Jared says.
It’s hard to argue with.
Jensen perches on the part of the armrest that Jared's elbows aren't occupying and pats Jared on the head. Jared's hair is damp with fever-sweat. He’s shivering, just a little.
"We need to get you a bigger sofa," Jensen murmurs.
Jared twitches again, peels his hand away from where it rests on Sadie's forgiving head. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually he fumbles his grip around Jensen's wrist and tugs. Jensen follows the pressure, allowing his hand to be dragged down to Jared's too-hot face.
"Stay," Jared mumbles, shoving Jensen's hand down the front of his sticky t-shirt with a proprietary sniff.
It wouldn't be hard to escape.
Jensen stays, anyway.
(And today I edited it a little bit because the original past tense was CONFUSING ME.)
*
Jared was lying on the sofa.
What Jensen really means by that is 75% of Jared was lying on the sofa. The important parts, like his face and his torso and one of his feet, those parts had all lucked into the sofa option. The rest of him was sprawled on the back of the sofa, the armrests, the floor, and Sadie's head.
"Jared," Jensen says. "Get off the sofa."
Jared says, "Mgrrlf," in reply.
Jensen takes a couple of steps closer and, with all the sympathetic dignity he can muster, pokes Jared with a stick. It’s one of Harley's, so it is chewed and slightly soggy, but it has a decent, not-too-sharp point to it and that’s good enough.
"Jared," Jensen says again, and then he pokes again.
Jared's left foot twitches.
Jensen sighs and drops the stick, which is almost immediately snatched back up by Harley. Dog has skills. Dumber than a bag of rocks, but nevertheless, skills.
"You're too tall," Jensen tries, pitching his voice as soft and soothing and persuasively reasonable as possible. "If you stay like that you'll get bitching cramp and you'll wake up in the morning feeling even worse."
"Fhhmmk," Jared says.
It’s hard to argue with.
Jensen perches on the part of the armrest that Jared's elbows aren't occupying and pats Jared on the head. Jared's hair is damp with fever-sweat. He’s shivering, just a little.
"We need to get you a bigger sofa," Jensen murmurs.
Jared twitches again, peels his hand away from where it rests on Sadie's forgiving head. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually he fumbles his grip around Jensen's wrist and tugs. Jensen follows the pressure, allowing his hand to be dragged down to Jared's too-hot face.
"Stay," Jared mumbles, shoving Jensen's hand down the front of his sticky t-shirt with a proprietary sniff.
It wouldn't be hard to escape.
Jensen stays, anyway.