How the Writers’ Strike Stole Christmas... [Jensen/Jared, R]
And I'm starting the year with RPS again. This is my spn_j2_xmas story for toxica939. I'm really, really not the person you want writing your porn, but I tried my best to get the rest of your likes (and none of your dislikes) in there!
How the Writers’ Strike Stole Christmas (and Jared Gave It Back)
The story of how it came to pass that Jensen used to live with Mike but now lives with Jared,
in which Jensen would like it noted that he clearly does not have furniture issues.
[Jensen/Jared, R, 6,270 words]
Huge thanks go to vindictive87 for making the time to beta on really short notice and to smilla02 who never fails to be just about the awesomest person ever. I made all of it up, including my completely plausible theory that Jensen used to live with Mike. (Mike, who conveniently failed to renew his contract with Smallville and repatriated himself right around the same time Jensen's former roommate moved. *g*)
How the Writers’ Strike Stole Christmas (and Jared Gave It Back)
The story of how it came to pass that Jensen used to live with Mike but now lives with Jared,
in which Jensen would like it noted that he clearly does not have furniture issues.
Mike is an idiot.
Jensen knows this with certainty, has for a long time.
Which doesn’t mean he’s stupid or anything. Actually, he’s almost as freakishly smart as Jared-only without the unabashed enthusiasm for everything from peanut butter to the okapi’s ability to lick its own ears that kind of defines Jared’s entire existence.
Which is unfortunate for Mike, actually, because Mike’s defining characteristic is a finely tuned don’t ask, don’t tell policy accompanied by a slightly contradictory habit of knowing peoples’ secrets.
It’s both less charming and more disturbing than Jared’s particular affectation.
Which, as Jared would point out, bears no causal relationship to his idiocy, but Jensen likes the word therefore, so therefore, Mike is an idiot.
As evidenced by the fact that he is, without a doubt, completely, one hundred percent dead wrong.
Because clearly, Jensen does not have furniture issues. He just has high standards. It’s not the same thing at all.
Mike’s bare scalp blinks reflected reds and greens, and he snorts out, “Sure you don’t, Goldilocks,” as he loads his arms up with empties and heads for the kitchen.
Predictably, Jared crows out a disproportionately large laugh, and he half topples over on his dog bed.
His dog bed, yes, his very own personal dog bed, and no, it’s not a floor pillow, because it came from the L.L. Bean catalog and it’s got Jared’s name embroidered in fancy letters just like Harley’s and Sadie’s, and Jensen should know, he bought all three of them himself.
From the pet section of the catalog.
As a joke.
Only Jared immediately declared it the best present ever, threw it down right in front of the couch, and got on.
So if anyone’s got furniture issues, it’s Jared. Jared, with his stupid dog bed and his stupid blinking Christmas lights and his stupid gigantic laugh that takes up all the air in the room and most of the air in Jensen’s lungs, too, so he can’t even say anything to defend himself against Mike’s vicious and unprovoked attack on his perfectly reasonable furniture shopping habits.
Instead, he’s torn between kicking in the general direction of Jared’s head and flipping Mike off (because seriously, Goldilocks?) but both of those things would require him to move, and now that he’s horizontal on Jared’s couch, he’s never moving again, ever. Instead, he settles for watching the Christmas lights throw little bursts of color onto the ceiling and doing nothing at all. It leaves him vaguely dissatisfied, and yet extremely comfortable.
Jared’s lone Christmas CD-Christmas with the Chipmunks, of course-embarks on its millionth rotation, and Jared starts humming along halfway through “Jingle Bells”. By the end of it, he’s making disparaging and disturbingly off-key remarks about Batman’s hygiene, and Jensen’s seriously reconsidering his decision to put comfort ahead of the increasingly compelling necessity of smacking Jared upside the head.
Not moving wins out again, though, with surprisingly little deliberation. For times like this-times when he comes to the sudden and unpleasant realization that he’s stuck with a best friend who is quite possibly the only person in the entire universe who didn’t get sick of that stupid Batman parody as a little kid-it’s a good thing he’s got a backup plan.
“I knew you were gonna do that,” he says, just to piss Jared off.
Hey, he never said it was a really good backup plan.
Jared raises a one-fingered salute and sings louder, and Jensen says, “Saw it coming from a mile away.” He doesn’t even try to keep the smile off his face or the smugness out of his voice, and he’s maybe a tiny bit concerned that it somehow makes him a bad person, but mostly, he’s just enjoying his supremacy.
Which he’s allowed to do now that he’s got it in writing.
Stupidest bet Jared ever made, without a doubt, because if there’s one thing in this world that Jensen knows and can predict without fail, it’s Jared Tristan Padalecki. Yes, middle name and all. Which is how Jensen came to be the proud owner of a very special little green piece of paper that has Jensen Ackles knows me better than I will ever know myself because he is vastly and indisputably superior to me in all ways scrawled across Lincoln’s scowl in Jared’s loopy handwriting, signed and notarized. (Which Jared still insists is PA abuse, but he’s wrong because a) she volunteered, and b) if running around after Harley and Sadie for half the day doesn’t violate Jared’s personal code of PA ethics, then validating a signature shouldn’t either. Plus, Jensen totally gave them all matching One hell of a PA t-shirts at the wrap party last year, so his conscience is clear.)
It’s absolutely, without a doubt, the best five dollars Jensen ever won, and someday, when he gets sick of carrying it around in his wallet, he’s going to have it framed.
Seriously.
Fifty years from now, he’s going mat it and frame it and make Jared sign a certificate of authenticity, and then he’s going to bequeath it to his children and his children’s children, and so on.
No one ever believes him, but he’s totally serious.
In the meantime-since the strike ended and they’ve been back in Vancouver-Jared’s been trying to outsmart him by asking to borrow five bucks for one thing or another, a latte, a cappuccino, a macchiato.
The guy’s got a thing for coffee beverages lately.
Luckily, Jensen’s not stupid enough to just hand over his most prized possession to Jared-Jared, who should know better than to think Jensen’s going to give him American cash in Canada. Jared, who puts everything from cars to coffee on his credit cards (and Jensen would really love to have a talk with him about interest rates and the merits of avoiding foreign transaction fees) and can’t possibly think his sudden demands for cash are in any way subtle.
Somehow, though, they always end up the same way, Jensen refusing to surrender the money, Jared putting his coffee and Jensen’s on his card, Jensen calculating three percent of the transaction in his head and trying to convert the result from Canadian currency to American.
Then there’s the ninety degree lid debate (and one of these days, Jared will end up with a shirt full of coffee, and Jensen will laugh) and the way Jared tips his head all the way back when he drinks, and Jensen’s most prized possession always stays tucked safely inside his wallet, snug against his hip where it belongs.
Jensen’s pretty sure that someday, Jared will realize that there’s no way in Hell he’s ever going to get Jensen to give it up.
For now, though, “Jingle Bells” fades into the hopefully incorruptible “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” and Jared abandons his singing in favor of tossing red and green M&Ms into his mouth one at a time. He purposely overshoots about half of them forcefully in Jensen’s direction, but all in all, Jensen figures the convenient snack delivery outweighs the occasional chocolate missile that smacks him in the eye, so he doesn’t complain.
The humming starts up again eventually, because Jared just can’t seem to resist oversized rodents in tunics, and Jensen’s about to point out that really, it’s beginning to look a lot more like Jared walked off with the whole Christmas motel room set than Christmas itself, but an M&M lands in his open mouth, and he decides to spend the next few seconds trying not to choke to death instead.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t get a tree,” Jared says between M&Ms, and he really does sound disappointed. “But Howie looks good, right?”
Howie the houseplant, he means. Howie the houseplant, who was relocated from the set when Jared moved in (because, according to Jared, “It’s a house, Jen.”) and is currently sporting at least three separate strings of blinking Christmas lights, as well as assorted decorations.
When he’s relatively sure that death by M&M is no longer imminent, Jensen says, “A Christmas tree?”
“I know you like ’em and all,” Jared says. “Found a bunch of places for next year, but seriously, a thousand bucks will not buy you a Christmas tree right now. It’s like, impossible to get a place to cut one down in March.”
“I can imagine,” Jensen says. What he can’t imagine, not really, is why Jared would seriously go to all the trouble of trying to find someone to sell him a real live Christmas tree for ten times what it’s worth three months past Christmas, just because he might have mentioned once, a long time ago, while drunk, if he’s remembering this right, that he likes the smell of a fresh-cut pine at the holidays.
Also, this may or may not explain why that box of pine tree air fresheners (many of which are currently hanging from Howie’s glossy, plastic leaves) followed Jared home from the set along with the lights.
Jared starts tossing candy again, because it’s “Christmas” and according to Jared, Christmas candy doesn’t count, but really, even though he’ll deny it tonight, he’s going to get up an hour early tomorrow for an extra long workout just-
“What?” says Jared, interrupting Jensen’s thoughts and also taking the opportunity to be efficient by forming words and crunching festive candy shells at the same time.
“Nothing,” Jensen says, “I just…”
The truth is, all declarations of supremacy aside, and whether or not he knows Jared like the back of his hand (which, yes, he really, really does), Jared actually kind of surprises him, all the time. With random things like houseplants and Christmas trees, things that he would never in a million years have expected but are somehow just exactly the kind of things he knows Jared would do.
Jared, who’s on the floor, on his dog bed, wearing a ridiculous red sweater with a band of snowflakes knitted across his chest, and Jensen says, “I mean, yeah, Howie looks… uh. Like a freakishly festive fire hazard, actually,” he finishes with a half chuckle, and Jared grins and pelts a green M&M at his forehead.
From the kitchen, Mike yells, “Padalecki! Why do you buy this shit?”
“You knew that was coming,” Jensen says, rattling his M&M around against his teeth and tracking the changing folds in Jared’s sweater as he moves. He wants to ask if it came from the set of that ridiculous Christmas movie, wants to see how the knitted snowflakes feel under his fingers, wants to know how Jared manages to make it look cozy instead of dumb-though not necessarily in that particular order.
He really wants to add an I told you so because he told Jared not to buy that beer with Mike coming over, but he’s not entirely convinced that’s what would come out of his mouth if he opened it right now, so he leaves it alone.
“The better to seduce you with,” Jared calls back to the kitchen. “Is it working?”
There’s clinking and rustling and more clinking from the kitchen, and Mike shouts, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your fuckin’ mind!”
“Only if you promise to swallow, Bitch!” Jared yells, laughing, and Jensen rolls his eyes and tries to remember if there was a time in his life when no one joked about sucking anyone else’s cock, and no fairy tales were corrupted in the process. If there was, he’s pretty sure it was pre-Jared-Jared, who shouts, “Seriously, what’ve you got against cinnamon and nutmeg?” in the direction of the kitchen.
Jensen says, “They offend him on a fundamental level.”
“They offend me on a fundamental level,” Mike says when he emerges from the hallway a second later with his arms loaded, and he drops an inappropriately spiced beer in Jensen’s hand before reclaiming his chair and dumping assorted bowls of what Jensen can only assume are a second round of festive snacks on the coffee table.
“See?” Jensen says.
“See what, Goldilocks?” Mike asks.
Jensen glares as threateningly as he can from the comfort of the couch. Mike really ought to remember that Jensen is bigger than him. Especially when he’s standing up. Which, granted, is not something he plans on doing for a very long time (if ever), but still. Mike should really try to keep in mind that when he’s standing up, Jensen is not only bigger, but he also lives in Mike’s house, and Jared can attest to the fact that Jensen is not above fighting dirty and fighting late. Four a.m. and Jensen are old pals, and the things they get up to together are both varied and unpleasant. Mike’s a Goldilocks or two away from learning that firsthand.
“Keep it up…” Jensen mutters.
Jared laughs, because clearly, he’s forgotten he’s supposed to be on Jensen’s side, not-definitely not throwing his head back and making it really hard for Jensen to concentrate on the very important point he needs to make, here, which is-
“Goldilocks,” Jared giggles.
Exactly. And if anyone has furniture issues, seriously, it’s the guy on the dog bed.
“Dude, if anyone has furniture issues,” Jensen says. He’s going for pointedly, but anything in the general vicinity will do. “Jared, you’re sitting on a dog bed.”
Jared’s smile is fucking huge, so big Jensen doesn’t even have to look because he can hear it when Jared says, “Santa Claus loves me.” He leans back against the couch, tips his head back until his hair brushes against Jensen’s knee. “Don’t you, Santa?”
The angle’s weird, but Jensen can see the way Jared’s neck curves against the cushion, imagines he can feel Jared’s hair where it’s grazing his jeans.
“You guys know it’s March, right?” Mike says through the tail end of a cinnamon and nutmeg-laced grimace. “And that you’re not some kind of creepy, overgrown elves?”
Jared says, “Thanks for the update, Mr. Grinch,” and then adds, “Dude, where’s your Christmas spirit?”
Mike makes a big show of patting his pockets and then deadpans, “Damn, where’d I leave that? Oh, yeah. December.” Jared reaches out to kick him, but his legs don’t quite reach, and he doesn’t seem to be willing to make any effort that involves moving larger portions of his body.
Jensen sympathizes.
He also sympathizes with Mike a little, too, so he nudges Jared’s head with his knee and says, “Just give him the good stuff.” He twirls Dean’s ring around the tip of his index finger while Jared gives Mike directions to a specific corner of the garage and necessary tips on dog redirection and relocation.
When Jared snorts, Jensen looks up just in time to see Mike headed out toward the garage with a full canine escort. “Good luck,” he says, probably too softly for Mike to hear, but Jared turns to look at him. Jensen can only see part of his face from this angle, but he doesn’t move because he already knows the rest of it by heart (dimpled and slanted and unique in ways that always seem to get airbrushed away) and he kind of feels like he wants to memorize Jared’s face this way, too, parts of pieces that make up the whole.
Plus, there’s the part where he’s never moving again, ever.
The seconds stretch out, and he imagines he can hear things in the silence they’d be sharing if not for the Chipmunks, things like the electric hum of the Christmas lights and Jared’s breathing. He wonders how long he’d have to stare to pick out the tiny shifts the air creates as it enters and exits Jared’s body, but then Jared breaks the eye contact they’re almost but not quite having and looks down at his dog bed. He pushes the hair back out of his eyes, sighs a little and settles back in against the couch.
“What?” Jensen says.
“Klepto,” Jared answers softly, and when he leans his head back again, Jensen can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For a minute, he watches the light filter through the fraction of an inch between his knee and Jared’s hair, and then he closes the gap and says, “Look who’s talking.”
Unlike some people-people who may or may not be wearing one of Sam Winchester’s shirts under their sweaters, people whose adopted houseplants may or may not be wearing Christmas decorations that were last seen on prime time TV-it’s been ages since he accidentally brought something home from the set.
Somehow, though, there’s a difference between Jared stealing things on purpose and keeping them and Jensen stealing things accidentally and losing them, and for whatever reason, only the former is acceptable. This is why he’s decided that it’s probably a good idea to keep it on. It’s much less likely to turn up missing if it’s on his finger.
“You’re gonna lose it again,” Jared says. “And I’m not gonna find it for you this time. And if Harley eats it, I’m sending you the vet bill.”
Jensen twirls it a couple more times and decides he’s cool with that arrangement. Besides, Jared only found it earlier because it was in Harley’s mouth, and Jared apparently has less of a problem than Jensen with sticking his hand into a gaping cesspool of warm dog drool.
Not that Jensen doesn’t love Harley, but his mouth is really kind of toxic at the best of times.
He tips the ring from one index finger to the other and back. It doesn’t fit as well as he remembers, and it’s tight as he slides it back and forth over his knuckle.
“Hey Jensen?”
“Yeah?” Jensen says, twisting at the ring when it gets stuck on the wrong hand. He has to yank it harder than he really wants to before it comes loose, which hurts, and also isn’t fair because he shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of bodily injury just because he accidentally came home wearing part of his wardrobe like it’s his first fucking week on the job. Which, incidentally, is not his fault. In fact, he blames Jared, Christmas, and the writers’ strike, in no particular order. It actually works out really well, because as long as he doesn’t plan on disclosing his assessment of blame to anyone-and he doesn’t-it needs no justification.
Though, a) Jared did rush him off the set for b) “Christmas” and c) well-that was a hell of a long vacation, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think he deserves a day or two to re-adjust.
“Jensen.”
“What?”
“Can you stop?” Jared turns, puts one elbow up on the couch so those ridiculous snowflakes are just barely visible above the cushion, and he leans in and puts his hand over Jensen’s. “Just stop, okay?” he says, and when he pulls his hand away, Dean’s ring is gone, too.
“Dude,” Jensen says, but the word gets half caught in his throat, and when Jared cuts him off, it’s just as well because his attention is mostly focused on the way Jared’s fingers maybe lingered a little bit on his palm and he’s not really sure what the rest of his sentence was going to be.
“Number one,” Jared says, “you’re gonna take your finger off with that thing, and then you’re gonna get gangrene or some shit, and I am not taking anyone to the hospital tonight, and two-dude, you gotta chill. No one expected everything to be perfect the first day back and as far’s I can tell, you’re the only one who didn’t enjoy the fuck outta today.”
“I enjoyed it,” Jensen says, on principle, mostly.
“Uh-huh. When? When you ditched lunch to run lines? When you bailed on hockey to talk to Phil about working with the handycams? Or was it when you were so busy stressing about how everything wasn’t God damn perfect that you forgot to take the ring off?”
Jared’s not yelling, he’s not even really mad as far as Jensen can tell, this is just his own strange, special way of letting Jensen know that he noticed, that he cares, that he’s gonna kick Jensen’s ass (metaphorically, because Jensen can totally hold his own) if it becomes a regular thing.
Jensen’s honestly not sure when he figured out that it’s better to listen to what Jared means than what he says, but he counts it among the most useful discoveries he’s ever made. And he knows (because he knows Jared like the back of his hand) that Jared hears the gratitude, the thanks, you big. fucking. girl. when he cocks his head as best he can while still remaining horizontal on the couch and says, “You’re just pissed I have a better work ethic than you.”
Jared rolls his eyes and fights back a grin, works Dean’s ring up and down his pinkie, and Jensen’s kind of mesmerized by the slow movement, the way it synchronizes with the music, lines up and then falls out of time again.
“I knew you were gonna do that,” Jared says softly, like he’s telling a secret, like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I knew you were gonna come in today and stress out.” He looks down at the ring as it slides over his knuckle, and when he looks up again, his smile is mischievous. “Made twenty bucks offa Phil, just for being awesome and predicting what a lame dumbass you are.”
“Glad to be of service,” Jensen says, and he doesn’t argue because he approves of taking Phil’s money, and also, he figures maybe part of knowing Jared so well is that Jared kind of knows him, too.
Though, for the record, he’s not lame, he’s not a dumbass, and he’s very unpredictable.
And he really does have an awesome work ethic, which is why he sometimes gets a little caught up in wanting to make sure everything is perfect. That’s kind of the beauty of having Jared around, though-Jared, who tries to buy a Christmas tree and ends up with a decorated freak show of a plastic houseplant and somehow manages to make it work anyway, because he always says the best things happen when nothing goes according to plan.
Secretly, Jensen thinks he might be right about that, if only because it’s March, the Chipmunks are on endless repeat, and both Jared and his house look and sound ridiculous, and this is still maybe the best Christmas Jensen’s ever had.
“Hey,” he says. “Thanks.”
Jared rests his arm on the couch and his chin on his arm and says, “For what?”
There’s a foot between them, give or take, even less when Jensen shifts onto his side and cradles his head on his arm, and he thinks maybe the right thing to do is just lay it all out in some sloppy, imperfect way, tell Jared that he doesn’t want to touch Mike’s ugly-ass sweater or memorize Tommy’s face from a new angle and let Jared find some kind of perfection in that, let him make some kind of sense out of whatever it means and turn it into something good.
Before he can get it out, though, before he can do anything more than take in the way Jared’s head is tilted just enough so that his hair falls over his forehead but not into his eyes, the scratch of claws on hardwood echoes in from the hallway, and Harley bursts into the living room.
Jared looks like he might say something for a minute, but Harley nudges at his side and Jared takes a second to pet him.
“You’re just pissed that I have a better workout ethic than you,” he says, after a second. He’s grinning, and he pushes Harley’s head away and holds Dean’s ring out to Jensen.
“Hey, awesome,” Mike says, walking Sadie, himself, and his impeccable timing into the room, “you’re finally gonna make an honest woman outta Jen.”
Jensen takes the ring from Jared, divides his efforts between not brushing Jared’s fingertips with his own and trying very carefully not to encourage Mike.
Jared flashes a huge grin in Mike’s direction and says, “You know it,” and Jensen rolls onto his back and tries to figure out whether it’s God or just the universe in general that hates him.
At least this is a conversation he knows how to have, though, so he says, “Just so you know, I expect to be supported in the matter to which I’ve become accustomed,” and tries to pretend that he wasn’t just thinking about someone in a way that he’s not willing to name because he’s only ninety-nine percent sure that Mike can’t read minds, and it’s really not worth taking the chance right now.
Jared throws his head back and laughs, and then he flops back on his dog bed and says, “You keep buying me presents like this, and I promise, I will shave my head and play an evil mastermind on TV and do all those other little things Mike does to keep you satisfied.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Mike says, and it’s clear to Jensen now that Jared and Mike should never be allowed in the same room. He rubs his palms over his eyes for a minute while he decides on the best course of action.
In the end, the bottom line is that there’s still one crucial part of this equation that Jared’s not getting, so Jensen says, for the millionth time, “Dude, they’re matching dog beds, it was supposed to be funny.”
Jared says, “There’s nothing funny about the way my ass feels right now.”
“Can we not talk about your ass?” Jensen asks.
“I have an awesome ass and you love it,” Jared says. “Besides, you got this so I’d have a comfy place to play with the dogs instead of rolling around on the floor. That means you love me.”
Jensen says, “No, that means I love them, and they love you. See the difference?”
Mike laughs and says, “Well, I hate all of you, and I gotta be on set in four hours and this beer sucks.”
“Cheers,” Jensen says, holding up his bottle, and then, “Wait, what about the-”
“Oh, this?” Mike asks, holding up what looks like a very nice bottle of something Jensen can’t quite make out that was definitely not in the same corner of the garage as the stacked up cases of Lone Star he went out there to find. “This is your gift to me,” he says, smiling in Jared’s direction. “Merry Christmas, and to all a good night.”
Jensen yawns and says, “I’d come, only I’m never moving again.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, “that’s totally why,” and when Jensen pretends not to hear the implication in favor of kicking his boots off, Mike turns to Jared. “This works out great, actually-you can take him off my hands, and I don’t have to worry about him selling himself on the streets.”
“I can’t believe you’re really doing it,” Jared says.
“Believe it,” Mike says. “May first, he’s up for grabs and I am a free man.”
“That’s awesome, man,” Jared says, and he takes Mike’s hand and lets Mike pull him up into half a hug. “Lemme get the dogs so you can get out easy.”
“You really staying?” Mike asks while Jared gets Sadie lying on her bed and grabs Harley’s collar.
“It’s custom made,” Jensen answers, shifting and settling a little deeper into the cushions of Jared’s couch.
Mike laughs and says, “See? Furniture issues,” then he points and stares threateningly in Jensen’s direction. “No means no, Jen.”
“Fuck you, it’s more comfortable than my bed,” Jensen says, and that’s not even close to a lie. Jared’s couch is quite possibly the best piece of furniture ever made.
“Uh-huh,” Mike says. “Hey, remind me never to go furniture shopping with you again, okay Goldilocks?”
“No problem, right after I remind you not to move back to L.A. and kick my ass out on the streets so I have to go buy my own furniture.”
“Touché,” Mike says, holding up both hands in mock surrender and grinning, and then he turns to Jared. “You should’ve seen him. No, that one’s too hard! No that one’s too soft! The one at Jared’s house is juuuust right,” he says. “Swear to God, I thought five separate salespeople were gonna murder him.”
“Keep it up, man,” Jensen says, “I swear,” but he’s tired and comfortable enough that he’s cool with vowing revenge now and executing later.
He does manage to muster up enough energy to throw a pillow when Mike gets to the hallway and tells Jared, “You know, he is the one who bought you the dog bed,” but he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to see if he hit his target, and he can’t make out their conversation as they move toward the front door.
He’s not surprised when he feels the couch dip under his knees a few minutes later. It’s big enough for him and Jared both (which is yet another part of its appeal) but when he starts drawing his knees up to give Jared room, Jared stops him.
“You need anything?” Jared says, when he opens his eyes.
Jared’s got Howie blinking behind him and both dogs at his feet, and Jensen shakes his head. He watches Jared until he can’t keep his eyelids from closing, though, and he feels Jared’s hand on his knee for a little longer before he falls asleep.
In the morning, the weight on his legs is one Harley Padalecki, he knows that for a fact, without a doubt, before he’s even had a chance to blink. There’s supposed to be a rule, and the rule is supposed to say that Harley is not allowed to be on Jensen while he’s sleeping, but somehow, it’s just never been communicated properly, and pretty much every morning on Jared’s couch begins the same way.
“Harley, I swear to God,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t get to finish because something squeaks from the other room, and Harley’s gone before Jensen can explain the finer points of crime and punishment.
Then there’s the sound of the gate going up, and Jared says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jensen says, and he’s a little bit afraid to open his eyes, but he’s an adult, so he does.
Jared’s not wearing the ridiculous red sweater or his pajamas or his boxer briefs and Jensen’s maybe a tiny bit more disappointed than he is relieved. He takes in a Spurs hoodie and jeans and Jared’s ugly-ass old basketball sneakers before he stops to consider that Jared’s sitting on the couch across the room.
The couch across the room that wasn’t there when he went to sleep last night.
“Hey,” Jared says again. “Merry Christmas.”
Jensen sits up on the couch and blinks. Then he rubs a hand over his eyes and blinks again, and even after all that, the best he can come up with is, “Huh?”
Jared chuckles a little. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“Give a guy a chance to wake up,” Jensen says.
Jared says, “Okay,” and Jensen stands and stretches, cracks his back and then nods.
“Merry Christmas,” Jared says again. He shrugs and says, “It was waiting at your place, but you wouldn’t go home.”
“You didn’t exactly kick me out,” Jensen says. Clearly, without thinking first. Whoever decided that there would be a new couch and a whole bunch of talking before coffee should be reprimanded.
Jared says, “When have I ever kicked you out?” and Jensen gets caught up trying to answer the question and doesn’t even notice that Jared’s moved until there’s only a few feet of space between them. “It’s just like mine,” he says, looking down and then pushing the hair out of his face. “What do you think?”
“It’s awesome,” Jensen answers, though he knows there are better words out there, and he really wishes he could think of some right now. He figures that sitting on the couch might help (at the very least it can’t hurt) but it doesn’t really go as planned because he trips over what he’s pretty sure is an empty bottle of spiced beer on his way over, and he ends up sprawled out on one of the dog beds.
He checks the embroidery-Jared’s dog bed.
Jared, who is currently laughing his ass off at Jensen’s misfortune, and Jensen feels no guilt whatsoever when he hooks a leg around Jared’s ankle and pulls him off his feet.
The lapful of Jared that he ends up with wasn’t necessarily part of the plan, though Jared is still laughing, and he doesn’t protest when Jensen shoves until they’re sufficiently separated. Which, when it comes to Jared, means that only some-rather than all- of Jared is on top of him.
“Having fun?” Jensen says, when Jared finally stops laughing.
“Yes,” Jared says, and then he runs a hand through his hair like he does when he’s nervous. Jensen takes a minute to consider telling him that his hair’s going to fall out if he keeps doing that so much, but then Jared says, “Okay, here’s the thing,” and then he does it again before he continues. “See, I could tell you all about how I asked Mike to figure out what kind of couch you’d want for when he goes back to L.A. and how he said you wanted one like mine, and how it’s exactly the same and I rush ordered it so it’d get here on time, but the bottom line is, the colors match and it goes with the room and I think it looks better here anyway.”
Jensen waits a second to make sure Jared’s done, and another to let it all sink in, and then he asks, “Better than where?”
“Better than anywhere,” Jared says. “I kinda think it should live here.”
“The couch,” Jensen says.
“And its owner,” Jared answers.
“So you’re saying-”
“Yeah,” Jared says, and he turns over onto his stomach and looks at Jensen, and the thing is, Jensen knows Jared, but watching him on a dog bed on the living room floor, in a secret, tucked-away spot between a brand new couch and a Christmas houseplant, he feels like he doesn’t know Jared at all because he doesn’t know what it would feel like to lean six inches to the left and press their lips together.
And he doesn’t think he can live with that.
It’s quick, the way he does it. Soft and good and he pulls away wanting more.
Which is why it’s fortunate that Jared only lets their lips part for a second, chases Jensen’s mouth with his own and groans when he latches onto Jensen’s lower lip.
When he pulls away, he’s straddling Jensen on the dog bed, one huge hand covering Jensen’s jaw and neck, and Jensen breathes for a second, then says, “So, uh. This thing is actually pretty comfy. I think I could get used to this.”
Jared laughs, just like Jensen knew he would, but then he says, “Good, ’cause I ordered you one this morning. Rush delivery.”
“Yeah?”
“Can’t have you being the only member of the family without one,” Jared says.
“No,” Jensen says, “can’t have that.”
He tugs on Jared’s sweatshirt until Jared leans in for another kiss, then tugs on a belt loop until he can feel Jared against him, hard and wanting. He opens up, lets Jared fuck into his mouth while he grinds his hips up against Jared’s, and he learns the feel of Jared’s tongue against his teeth, the way his breath hitches when their cocks drag together beneath layers of denim, the way he groans when Jensen’s hand slides inside his boxer briefs, over his ass.
“I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out,” Jared says between kisses.
“Yeah?” Jensen asks. “How long?”
Jared pulls back a little, grins and says, “A while. Maybe a little longer.”
“Huh,” Jensen says, and Jared settles in beside him.
“Huh what?”
“I didn’t know,” Jensen says.
Jared turns Jensen’s face until their lips meet, and he says, “No shit, Sherlock,” and then kisses Jensen again.
His hand traces a line down to Jensen’s hip, and he says, “I’ll tell you something else you didn’t know.”
“What’s that?”
“The couch,” Jared says. “It’s not exactly the same as mine.”
“No?” Jensen asks.
“Nope,” Jared says, and he smiles wide. “Three inches shorter. To accommodate your inferior stature.”
“Hey, not my fault you’re an oversized freak of nature,” Jensen says, and he turns on his side to look at Jared. “I can’t believe you bought me a couch,” he says.
“Knew you needed it.”
“And a Christmas tree.”
Jared shakes his head. “No Christmas tree,” he says.
“And a dog bed,” Jensen says.
“You started it,” Jared answers, tracing designs over Jensen’s shoulder. “Because you love me.”
“It was a joke,” Jensen says.
Jared nods and says, “Yeah. Also, you totally love me,” and Jensen doesn’t feel the need to justify his decision to forego arguing a moot point in favor of more kissing.
###
How the Writers’ Strike Stole Christmas (and Jared Gave It Back)
The story of how it came to pass that Jensen used to live with Mike but now lives with Jared,
in which Jensen would like it noted that he clearly does not have furniture issues.
[Jensen/Jared, R, 6,270 words]
Huge thanks go to vindictive87 for making the time to beta on really short notice and to smilla02 who never fails to be just about the awesomest person ever. I made all of it up, including my completely plausible theory that Jensen used to live with Mike. (Mike, who conveniently failed to renew his contract with Smallville and repatriated himself right around the same time Jensen's former roommate moved. *g*)
How the Writers’ Strike Stole Christmas (and Jared Gave It Back)
The story of how it came to pass that Jensen used to live with Mike but now lives with Jared,
in which Jensen would like it noted that he clearly does not have furniture issues.
Mike is an idiot.
Jensen knows this with certainty, has for a long time.
Which doesn’t mean he’s stupid or anything. Actually, he’s almost as freakishly smart as Jared-only without the unabashed enthusiasm for everything from peanut butter to the okapi’s ability to lick its own ears that kind of defines Jared’s entire existence.
Which is unfortunate for Mike, actually, because Mike’s defining characteristic is a finely tuned don’t ask, don’t tell policy accompanied by a slightly contradictory habit of knowing peoples’ secrets.
It’s both less charming and more disturbing than Jared’s particular affectation.
Which, as Jared would point out, bears no causal relationship to his idiocy, but Jensen likes the word therefore, so therefore, Mike is an idiot.
As evidenced by the fact that he is, without a doubt, completely, one hundred percent dead wrong.
Because clearly, Jensen does not have furniture issues. He just has high standards. It’s not the same thing at all.
Mike’s bare scalp blinks reflected reds and greens, and he snorts out, “Sure you don’t, Goldilocks,” as he loads his arms up with empties and heads for the kitchen.
Predictably, Jared crows out a disproportionately large laugh, and he half topples over on his dog bed.
His dog bed, yes, his very own personal dog bed, and no, it’s not a floor pillow, because it came from the L.L. Bean catalog and it’s got Jared’s name embroidered in fancy letters just like Harley’s and Sadie’s, and Jensen should know, he bought all three of them himself.
From the pet section of the catalog.
As a joke.
Only Jared immediately declared it the best present ever, threw it down right in front of the couch, and got on.
So if anyone’s got furniture issues, it’s Jared. Jared, with his stupid dog bed and his stupid blinking Christmas lights and his stupid gigantic laugh that takes up all the air in the room and most of the air in Jensen’s lungs, too, so he can’t even say anything to defend himself against Mike’s vicious and unprovoked attack on his perfectly reasonable furniture shopping habits.
Instead, he’s torn between kicking in the general direction of Jared’s head and flipping Mike off (because seriously, Goldilocks?) but both of those things would require him to move, and now that he’s horizontal on Jared’s couch, he’s never moving again, ever. Instead, he settles for watching the Christmas lights throw little bursts of color onto the ceiling and doing nothing at all. It leaves him vaguely dissatisfied, and yet extremely comfortable.
Jared’s lone Christmas CD-Christmas with the Chipmunks, of course-embarks on its millionth rotation, and Jared starts humming along halfway through “Jingle Bells”. By the end of it, he’s making disparaging and disturbingly off-key remarks about Batman’s hygiene, and Jensen’s seriously reconsidering his decision to put comfort ahead of the increasingly compelling necessity of smacking Jared upside the head.
Not moving wins out again, though, with surprisingly little deliberation. For times like this-times when he comes to the sudden and unpleasant realization that he’s stuck with a best friend who is quite possibly the only person in the entire universe who didn’t get sick of that stupid Batman parody as a little kid-it’s a good thing he’s got a backup plan.
“I knew you were gonna do that,” he says, just to piss Jared off.
Hey, he never said it was a really good backup plan.
Jared raises a one-fingered salute and sings louder, and Jensen says, “Saw it coming from a mile away.” He doesn’t even try to keep the smile off his face or the smugness out of his voice, and he’s maybe a tiny bit concerned that it somehow makes him a bad person, but mostly, he’s just enjoying his supremacy.
Which he’s allowed to do now that he’s got it in writing.
Stupidest bet Jared ever made, without a doubt, because if there’s one thing in this world that Jensen knows and can predict without fail, it’s Jared Tristan Padalecki. Yes, middle name and all. Which is how Jensen came to be the proud owner of a very special little green piece of paper that has Jensen Ackles knows me better than I will ever know myself because he is vastly and indisputably superior to me in all ways scrawled across Lincoln’s scowl in Jared’s loopy handwriting, signed and notarized. (Which Jared still insists is PA abuse, but he’s wrong because a) she volunteered, and b) if running around after Harley and Sadie for half the day doesn’t violate Jared’s personal code of PA ethics, then validating a signature shouldn’t either. Plus, Jensen totally gave them all matching One hell of a PA t-shirts at the wrap party last year, so his conscience is clear.)
It’s absolutely, without a doubt, the best five dollars Jensen ever won, and someday, when he gets sick of carrying it around in his wallet, he’s going to have it framed.
Seriously.
Fifty years from now, he’s going mat it and frame it and make Jared sign a certificate of authenticity, and then he’s going to bequeath it to his children and his children’s children, and so on.
No one ever believes him, but he’s totally serious.
In the meantime-since the strike ended and they’ve been back in Vancouver-Jared’s been trying to outsmart him by asking to borrow five bucks for one thing or another, a latte, a cappuccino, a macchiato.
The guy’s got a thing for coffee beverages lately.
Luckily, Jensen’s not stupid enough to just hand over his most prized possession to Jared-Jared, who should know better than to think Jensen’s going to give him American cash in Canada. Jared, who puts everything from cars to coffee on his credit cards (and Jensen would really love to have a talk with him about interest rates and the merits of avoiding foreign transaction fees) and can’t possibly think his sudden demands for cash are in any way subtle.
Somehow, though, they always end up the same way, Jensen refusing to surrender the money, Jared putting his coffee and Jensen’s on his card, Jensen calculating three percent of the transaction in his head and trying to convert the result from Canadian currency to American.
Then there’s the ninety degree lid debate (and one of these days, Jared will end up with a shirt full of coffee, and Jensen will laugh) and the way Jared tips his head all the way back when he drinks, and Jensen’s most prized possession always stays tucked safely inside his wallet, snug against his hip where it belongs.
Jensen’s pretty sure that someday, Jared will realize that there’s no way in Hell he’s ever going to get Jensen to give it up.
For now, though, “Jingle Bells” fades into the hopefully incorruptible “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” and Jared abandons his singing in favor of tossing red and green M&Ms into his mouth one at a time. He purposely overshoots about half of them forcefully in Jensen’s direction, but all in all, Jensen figures the convenient snack delivery outweighs the occasional chocolate missile that smacks him in the eye, so he doesn’t complain.
The humming starts up again eventually, because Jared just can’t seem to resist oversized rodents in tunics, and Jensen’s about to point out that really, it’s beginning to look a lot more like Jared walked off with the whole Christmas motel room set than Christmas itself, but an M&M lands in his open mouth, and he decides to spend the next few seconds trying not to choke to death instead.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t get a tree,” Jared says between M&Ms, and he really does sound disappointed. “But Howie looks good, right?”
Howie the houseplant, he means. Howie the houseplant, who was relocated from the set when Jared moved in (because, according to Jared, “It’s a house, Jen.”) and is currently sporting at least three separate strings of blinking Christmas lights, as well as assorted decorations.
When he’s relatively sure that death by M&M is no longer imminent, Jensen says, “A Christmas tree?”
“I know you like ’em and all,” Jared says. “Found a bunch of places for next year, but seriously, a thousand bucks will not buy you a Christmas tree right now. It’s like, impossible to get a place to cut one down in March.”
“I can imagine,” Jensen says. What he can’t imagine, not really, is why Jared would seriously go to all the trouble of trying to find someone to sell him a real live Christmas tree for ten times what it’s worth three months past Christmas, just because he might have mentioned once, a long time ago, while drunk, if he’s remembering this right, that he likes the smell of a fresh-cut pine at the holidays.
Also, this may or may not explain why that box of pine tree air fresheners (many of which are currently hanging from Howie’s glossy, plastic leaves) followed Jared home from the set along with the lights.
Jared starts tossing candy again, because it’s “Christmas” and according to Jared, Christmas candy doesn’t count, but really, even though he’ll deny it tonight, he’s going to get up an hour early tomorrow for an extra long workout just-
“What?” says Jared, interrupting Jensen’s thoughts and also taking the opportunity to be efficient by forming words and crunching festive candy shells at the same time.
“Nothing,” Jensen says, “I just…”
The truth is, all declarations of supremacy aside, and whether or not he knows Jared like the back of his hand (which, yes, he really, really does), Jared actually kind of surprises him, all the time. With random things like houseplants and Christmas trees, things that he would never in a million years have expected but are somehow just exactly the kind of things he knows Jared would do.
Jared, who’s on the floor, on his dog bed, wearing a ridiculous red sweater with a band of snowflakes knitted across his chest, and Jensen says, “I mean, yeah, Howie looks… uh. Like a freakishly festive fire hazard, actually,” he finishes with a half chuckle, and Jared grins and pelts a green M&M at his forehead.
From the kitchen, Mike yells, “Padalecki! Why do you buy this shit?”
“You knew that was coming,” Jensen says, rattling his M&M around against his teeth and tracking the changing folds in Jared’s sweater as he moves. He wants to ask if it came from the set of that ridiculous Christmas movie, wants to see how the knitted snowflakes feel under his fingers, wants to know how Jared manages to make it look cozy instead of dumb-though not necessarily in that particular order.
He really wants to add an I told you so because he told Jared not to buy that beer with Mike coming over, but he’s not entirely convinced that’s what would come out of his mouth if he opened it right now, so he leaves it alone.
“The better to seduce you with,” Jared calls back to the kitchen. “Is it working?”
There’s clinking and rustling and more clinking from the kitchen, and Mike shouts, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your fuckin’ mind!”
“Only if you promise to swallow, Bitch!” Jared yells, laughing, and Jensen rolls his eyes and tries to remember if there was a time in his life when no one joked about sucking anyone else’s cock, and no fairy tales were corrupted in the process. If there was, he’s pretty sure it was pre-Jared-Jared, who shouts, “Seriously, what’ve you got against cinnamon and nutmeg?” in the direction of the kitchen.
Jensen says, “They offend him on a fundamental level.”
“They offend me on a fundamental level,” Mike says when he emerges from the hallway a second later with his arms loaded, and he drops an inappropriately spiced beer in Jensen’s hand before reclaiming his chair and dumping assorted bowls of what Jensen can only assume are a second round of festive snacks on the coffee table.
“See?” Jensen says.
“See what, Goldilocks?” Mike asks.
Jensen glares as threateningly as he can from the comfort of the couch. Mike really ought to remember that Jensen is bigger than him. Especially when he’s standing up. Which, granted, is not something he plans on doing for a very long time (if ever), but still. Mike should really try to keep in mind that when he’s standing up, Jensen is not only bigger, but he also lives in Mike’s house, and Jared can attest to the fact that Jensen is not above fighting dirty and fighting late. Four a.m. and Jensen are old pals, and the things they get up to together are both varied and unpleasant. Mike’s a Goldilocks or two away from learning that firsthand.
“Keep it up…” Jensen mutters.
Jared laughs, because clearly, he’s forgotten he’s supposed to be on Jensen’s side, not-definitely not throwing his head back and making it really hard for Jensen to concentrate on the very important point he needs to make, here, which is-
“Goldilocks,” Jared giggles.
Exactly. And if anyone has furniture issues, seriously, it’s the guy on the dog bed.
“Dude, if anyone has furniture issues,” Jensen says. He’s going for pointedly, but anything in the general vicinity will do. “Jared, you’re sitting on a dog bed.”
Jared’s smile is fucking huge, so big Jensen doesn’t even have to look because he can hear it when Jared says, “Santa Claus loves me.” He leans back against the couch, tips his head back until his hair brushes against Jensen’s knee. “Don’t you, Santa?”
The angle’s weird, but Jensen can see the way Jared’s neck curves against the cushion, imagines he can feel Jared’s hair where it’s grazing his jeans.
“You guys know it’s March, right?” Mike says through the tail end of a cinnamon and nutmeg-laced grimace. “And that you’re not some kind of creepy, overgrown elves?”
Jared says, “Thanks for the update, Mr. Grinch,” and then adds, “Dude, where’s your Christmas spirit?”
Mike makes a big show of patting his pockets and then deadpans, “Damn, where’d I leave that? Oh, yeah. December.” Jared reaches out to kick him, but his legs don’t quite reach, and he doesn’t seem to be willing to make any effort that involves moving larger portions of his body.
Jensen sympathizes.
He also sympathizes with Mike a little, too, so he nudges Jared’s head with his knee and says, “Just give him the good stuff.” He twirls Dean’s ring around the tip of his index finger while Jared gives Mike directions to a specific corner of the garage and necessary tips on dog redirection and relocation.
When Jared snorts, Jensen looks up just in time to see Mike headed out toward the garage with a full canine escort. “Good luck,” he says, probably too softly for Mike to hear, but Jared turns to look at him. Jensen can only see part of his face from this angle, but he doesn’t move because he already knows the rest of it by heart (dimpled and slanted and unique in ways that always seem to get airbrushed away) and he kind of feels like he wants to memorize Jared’s face this way, too, parts of pieces that make up the whole.
Plus, there’s the part where he’s never moving again, ever.
The seconds stretch out, and he imagines he can hear things in the silence they’d be sharing if not for the Chipmunks, things like the electric hum of the Christmas lights and Jared’s breathing. He wonders how long he’d have to stare to pick out the tiny shifts the air creates as it enters and exits Jared’s body, but then Jared breaks the eye contact they’re almost but not quite having and looks down at his dog bed. He pushes the hair back out of his eyes, sighs a little and settles back in against the couch.
“What?” Jensen says.
“Klepto,” Jared answers softly, and when he leans his head back again, Jensen can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For a minute, he watches the light filter through the fraction of an inch between his knee and Jared’s hair, and then he closes the gap and says, “Look who’s talking.”
Unlike some people-people who may or may not be wearing one of Sam Winchester’s shirts under their sweaters, people whose adopted houseplants may or may not be wearing Christmas decorations that were last seen on prime time TV-it’s been ages since he accidentally brought something home from the set.
Somehow, though, there’s a difference between Jared stealing things on purpose and keeping them and Jensen stealing things accidentally and losing them, and for whatever reason, only the former is acceptable. This is why he’s decided that it’s probably a good idea to keep it on. It’s much less likely to turn up missing if it’s on his finger.
“You’re gonna lose it again,” Jared says. “And I’m not gonna find it for you this time. And if Harley eats it, I’m sending you the vet bill.”
Jensen twirls it a couple more times and decides he’s cool with that arrangement. Besides, Jared only found it earlier because it was in Harley’s mouth, and Jared apparently has less of a problem than Jensen with sticking his hand into a gaping cesspool of warm dog drool.
Not that Jensen doesn’t love Harley, but his mouth is really kind of toxic at the best of times.
He tips the ring from one index finger to the other and back. It doesn’t fit as well as he remembers, and it’s tight as he slides it back and forth over his knuckle.
“Hey Jensen?”
“Yeah?” Jensen says, twisting at the ring when it gets stuck on the wrong hand. He has to yank it harder than he really wants to before it comes loose, which hurts, and also isn’t fair because he shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of bodily injury just because he accidentally came home wearing part of his wardrobe like it’s his first fucking week on the job. Which, incidentally, is not his fault. In fact, he blames Jared, Christmas, and the writers’ strike, in no particular order. It actually works out really well, because as long as he doesn’t plan on disclosing his assessment of blame to anyone-and he doesn’t-it needs no justification.
Though, a) Jared did rush him off the set for b) “Christmas” and c) well-that was a hell of a long vacation, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think he deserves a day or two to re-adjust.
“Jensen.”
“What?”
“Can you stop?” Jared turns, puts one elbow up on the couch so those ridiculous snowflakes are just barely visible above the cushion, and he leans in and puts his hand over Jensen’s. “Just stop, okay?” he says, and when he pulls his hand away, Dean’s ring is gone, too.
“Dude,” Jensen says, but the word gets half caught in his throat, and when Jared cuts him off, it’s just as well because his attention is mostly focused on the way Jared’s fingers maybe lingered a little bit on his palm and he’s not really sure what the rest of his sentence was going to be.
“Number one,” Jared says, “you’re gonna take your finger off with that thing, and then you’re gonna get gangrene or some shit, and I am not taking anyone to the hospital tonight, and two-dude, you gotta chill. No one expected everything to be perfect the first day back and as far’s I can tell, you’re the only one who didn’t enjoy the fuck outta today.”
“I enjoyed it,” Jensen says, on principle, mostly.
“Uh-huh. When? When you ditched lunch to run lines? When you bailed on hockey to talk to Phil about working with the handycams? Or was it when you were so busy stressing about how everything wasn’t God damn perfect that you forgot to take the ring off?”
Jared’s not yelling, he’s not even really mad as far as Jensen can tell, this is just his own strange, special way of letting Jensen know that he noticed, that he cares, that he’s gonna kick Jensen’s ass (metaphorically, because Jensen can totally hold his own) if it becomes a regular thing.
Jensen’s honestly not sure when he figured out that it’s better to listen to what Jared means than what he says, but he counts it among the most useful discoveries he’s ever made. And he knows (because he knows Jared like the back of his hand) that Jared hears the gratitude, the thanks, you big. fucking. girl. when he cocks his head as best he can while still remaining horizontal on the couch and says, “You’re just pissed I have a better work ethic than you.”
Jared rolls his eyes and fights back a grin, works Dean’s ring up and down his pinkie, and Jensen’s kind of mesmerized by the slow movement, the way it synchronizes with the music, lines up and then falls out of time again.
“I knew you were gonna do that,” Jared says softly, like he’s telling a secret, like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I knew you were gonna come in today and stress out.” He looks down at the ring as it slides over his knuckle, and when he looks up again, his smile is mischievous. “Made twenty bucks offa Phil, just for being awesome and predicting what a lame dumbass you are.”
“Glad to be of service,” Jensen says, and he doesn’t argue because he approves of taking Phil’s money, and also, he figures maybe part of knowing Jared so well is that Jared kind of knows him, too.
Though, for the record, he’s not lame, he’s not a dumbass, and he’s very unpredictable.
And he really does have an awesome work ethic, which is why he sometimes gets a little caught up in wanting to make sure everything is perfect. That’s kind of the beauty of having Jared around, though-Jared, who tries to buy a Christmas tree and ends up with a decorated freak show of a plastic houseplant and somehow manages to make it work anyway, because he always says the best things happen when nothing goes according to plan.
Secretly, Jensen thinks he might be right about that, if only because it’s March, the Chipmunks are on endless repeat, and both Jared and his house look and sound ridiculous, and this is still maybe the best Christmas Jensen’s ever had.
“Hey,” he says. “Thanks.”
Jared rests his arm on the couch and his chin on his arm and says, “For what?”
There’s a foot between them, give or take, even less when Jensen shifts onto his side and cradles his head on his arm, and he thinks maybe the right thing to do is just lay it all out in some sloppy, imperfect way, tell Jared that he doesn’t want to touch Mike’s ugly-ass sweater or memorize Tommy’s face from a new angle and let Jared find some kind of perfection in that, let him make some kind of sense out of whatever it means and turn it into something good.
Before he can get it out, though, before he can do anything more than take in the way Jared’s head is tilted just enough so that his hair falls over his forehead but not into his eyes, the scratch of claws on hardwood echoes in from the hallway, and Harley bursts into the living room.
Jared looks like he might say something for a minute, but Harley nudges at his side and Jared takes a second to pet him.
“You’re just pissed that I have a better workout ethic than you,” he says, after a second. He’s grinning, and he pushes Harley’s head away and holds Dean’s ring out to Jensen.
“Hey, awesome,” Mike says, walking Sadie, himself, and his impeccable timing into the room, “you’re finally gonna make an honest woman outta Jen.”
Jensen takes the ring from Jared, divides his efforts between not brushing Jared’s fingertips with his own and trying very carefully not to encourage Mike.
Jared flashes a huge grin in Mike’s direction and says, “You know it,” and Jensen rolls onto his back and tries to figure out whether it’s God or just the universe in general that hates him.
At least this is a conversation he knows how to have, though, so he says, “Just so you know, I expect to be supported in the matter to which I’ve become accustomed,” and tries to pretend that he wasn’t just thinking about someone in a way that he’s not willing to name because he’s only ninety-nine percent sure that Mike can’t read minds, and it’s really not worth taking the chance right now.
Jared throws his head back and laughs, and then he flops back on his dog bed and says, “You keep buying me presents like this, and I promise, I will shave my head and play an evil mastermind on TV and do all those other little things Mike does to keep you satisfied.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Mike says, and it’s clear to Jensen now that Jared and Mike should never be allowed in the same room. He rubs his palms over his eyes for a minute while he decides on the best course of action.
In the end, the bottom line is that there’s still one crucial part of this equation that Jared’s not getting, so Jensen says, for the millionth time, “Dude, they’re matching dog beds, it was supposed to be funny.”
Jared says, “There’s nothing funny about the way my ass feels right now.”
“Can we not talk about your ass?” Jensen asks.
“I have an awesome ass and you love it,” Jared says. “Besides, you got this so I’d have a comfy place to play with the dogs instead of rolling around on the floor. That means you love me.”
Jensen says, “No, that means I love them, and they love you. See the difference?”
Mike laughs and says, “Well, I hate all of you, and I gotta be on set in four hours and this beer sucks.”
“Cheers,” Jensen says, holding up his bottle, and then, “Wait, what about the-”
“Oh, this?” Mike asks, holding up what looks like a very nice bottle of something Jensen can’t quite make out that was definitely not in the same corner of the garage as the stacked up cases of Lone Star he went out there to find. “This is your gift to me,” he says, smiling in Jared’s direction. “Merry Christmas, and to all a good night.”
Jensen yawns and says, “I’d come, only I’m never moving again.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, “that’s totally why,” and when Jensen pretends not to hear the implication in favor of kicking his boots off, Mike turns to Jared. “This works out great, actually-you can take him off my hands, and I don’t have to worry about him selling himself on the streets.”
“I can’t believe you’re really doing it,” Jared says.
“Believe it,” Mike says. “May first, he’s up for grabs and I am a free man.”
“That’s awesome, man,” Jared says, and he takes Mike’s hand and lets Mike pull him up into half a hug. “Lemme get the dogs so you can get out easy.”
“You really staying?” Mike asks while Jared gets Sadie lying on her bed and grabs Harley’s collar.
“It’s custom made,” Jensen answers, shifting and settling a little deeper into the cushions of Jared’s couch.
Mike laughs and says, “See? Furniture issues,” then he points and stares threateningly in Jensen’s direction. “No means no, Jen.”
“Fuck you, it’s more comfortable than my bed,” Jensen says, and that’s not even close to a lie. Jared’s couch is quite possibly the best piece of furniture ever made.
“Uh-huh,” Mike says. “Hey, remind me never to go furniture shopping with you again, okay Goldilocks?”
“No problem, right after I remind you not to move back to L.A. and kick my ass out on the streets so I have to go buy my own furniture.”
“Touché,” Mike says, holding up both hands in mock surrender and grinning, and then he turns to Jared. “You should’ve seen him. No, that one’s too hard! No that one’s too soft! The one at Jared’s house is juuuust right,” he says. “Swear to God, I thought five separate salespeople were gonna murder him.”
“Keep it up, man,” Jensen says, “I swear,” but he’s tired and comfortable enough that he’s cool with vowing revenge now and executing later.
He does manage to muster up enough energy to throw a pillow when Mike gets to the hallway and tells Jared, “You know, he is the one who bought you the dog bed,” but he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to see if he hit his target, and he can’t make out their conversation as they move toward the front door.
He’s not surprised when he feels the couch dip under his knees a few minutes later. It’s big enough for him and Jared both (which is yet another part of its appeal) but when he starts drawing his knees up to give Jared room, Jared stops him.
“You need anything?” Jared says, when he opens his eyes.
Jared’s got Howie blinking behind him and both dogs at his feet, and Jensen shakes his head. He watches Jared until he can’t keep his eyelids from closing, though, and he feels Jared’s hand on his knee for a little longer before he falls asleep.
In the morning, the weight on his legs is one Harley Padalecki, he knows that for a fact, without a doubt, before he’s even had a chance to blink. There’s supposed to be a rule, and the rule is supposed to say that Harley is not allowed to be on Jensen while he’s sleeping, but somehow, it’s just never been communicated properly, and pretty much every morning on Jared’s couch begins the same way.
“Harley, I swear to God,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t get to finish because something squeaks from the other room, and Harley’s gone before Jensen can explain the finer points of crime and punishment.
Then there’s the sound of the gate going up, and Jared says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jensen says, and he’s a little bit afraid to open his eyes, but he’s an adult, so he does.
Jared’s not wearing the ridiculous red sweater or his pajamas or his boxer briefs and Jensen’s maybe a tiny bit more disappointed than he is relieved. He takes in a Spurs hoodie and jeans and Jared’s ugly-ass old basketball sneakers before he stops to consider that Jared’s sitting on the couch across the room.
The couch across the room that wasn’t there when he went to sleep last night.
“Hey,” Jared says again. “Merry Christmas.”
Jensen sits up on the couch and blinks. Then he rubs a hand over his eyes and blinks again, and even after all that, the best he can come up with is, “Huh?”
Jared chuckles a little. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“Give a guy a chance to wake up,” Jensen says.
Jared says, “Okay,” and Jensen stands and stretches, cracks his back and then nods.
“Merry Christmas,” Jared says again. He shrugs and says, “It was waiting at your place, but you wouldn’t go home.”
“You didn’t exactly kick me out,” Jensen says. Clearly, without thinking first. Whoever decided that there would be a new couch and a whole bunch of talking before coffee should be reprimanded.
Jared says, “When have I ever kicked you out?” and Jensen gets caught up trying to answer the question and doesn’t even notice that Jared’s moved until there’s only a few feet of space between them. “It’s just like mine,” he says, looking down and then pushing the hair out of his face. “What do you think?”
“It’s awesome,” Jensen answers, though he knows there are better words out there, and he really wishes he could think of some right now. He figures that sitting on the couch might help (at the very least it can’t hurt) but it doesn’t really go as planned because he trips over what he’s pretty sure is an empty bottle of spiced beer on his way over, and he ends up sprawled out on one of the dog beds.
He checks the embroidery-Jared’s dog bed.
Jared, who is currently laughing his ass off at Jensen’s misfortune, and Jensen feels no guilt whatsoever when he hooks a leg around Jared’s ankle and pulls him off his feet.
The lapful of Jared that he ends up with wasn’t necessarily part of the plan, though Jared is still laughing, and he doesn’t protest when Jensen shoves until they’re sufficiently separated. Which, when it comes to Jared, means that only some-rather than all- of Jared is on top of him.
“Having fun?” Jensen says, when Jared finally stops laughing.
“Yes,” Jared says, and then he runs a hand through his hair like he does when he’s nervous. Jensen takes a minute to consider telling him that his hair’s going to fall out if he keeps doing that so much, but then Jared says, “Okay, here’s the thing,” and then he does it again before he continues. “See, I could tell you all about how I asked Mike to figure out what kind of couch you’d want for when he goes back to L.A. and how he said you wanted one like mine, and how it’s exactly the same and I rush ordered it so it’d get here on time, but the bottom line is, the colors match and it goes with the room and I think it looks better here anyway.”
Jensen waits a second to make sure Jared’s done, and another to let it all sink in, and then he asks, “Better than where?”
“Better than anywhere,” Jared says. “I kinda think it should live here.”
“The couch,” Jensen says.
“And its owner,” Jared answers.
“So you’re saying-”
“Yeah,” Jared says, and he turns over onto his stomach and looks at Jensen, and the thing is, Jensen knows Jared, but watching him on a dog bed on the living room floor, in a secret, tucked-away spot between a brand new couch and a Christmas houseplant, he feels like he doesn’t know Jared at all because he doesn’t know what it would feel like to lean six inches to the left and press their lips together.
And he doesn’t think he can live with that.
It’s quick, the way he does it. Soft and good and he pulls away wanting more.
Which is why it’s fortunate that Jared only lets their lips part for a second, chases Jensen’s mouth with his own and groans when he latches onto Jensen’s lower lip.
When he pulls away, he’s straddling Jensen on the dog bed, one huge hand covering Jensen’s jaw and neck, and Jensen breathes for a second, then says, “So, uh. This thing is actually pretty comfy. I think I could get used to this.”
Jared laughs, just like Jensen knew he would, but then he says, “Good, ’cause I ordered you one this morning. Rush delivery.”
“Yeah?”
“Can’t have you being the only member of the family without one,” Jared says.
“No,” Jensen says, “can’t have that.”
He tugs on Jared’s sweatshirt until Jared leans in for another kiss, then tugs on a belt loop until he can feel Jared against him, hard and wanting. He opens up, lets Jared fuck into his mouth while he grinds his hips up against Jared’s, and he learns the feel of Jared’s tongue against his teeth, the way his breath hitches when their cocks drag together beneath layers of denim, the way he groans when Jensen’s hand slides inside his boxer briefs, over his ass.
“I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out,” Jared says between kisses.
“Yeah?” Jensen asks. “How long?”
Jared pulls back a little, grins and says, “A while. Maybe a little longer.”
“Huh,” Jensen says, and Jared settles in beside him.
“Huh what?”
“I didn’t know,” Jensen says.
Jared turns Jensen’s face until their lips meet, and he says, “No shit, Sherlock,” and then kisses Jensen again.
His hand traces a line down to Jensen’s hip, and he says, “I’ll tell you something else you didn’t know.”
“What’s that?”
“The couch,” Jared says. “It’s not exactly the same as mine.”
“No?” Jensen asks.
“Nope,” Jared says, and he smiles wide. “Three inches shorter. To accommodate your inferior stature.”
“Hey, not my fault you’re an oversized freak of nature,” Jensen says, and he turns on his side to look at Jared. “I can’t believe you bought me a couch,” he says.
“Knew you needed it.”
“And a Christmas tree.”
Jared shakes his head. “No Christmas tree,” he says.
“And a dog bed,” Jensen says.
“You started it,” Jared answers, tracing designs over Jensen’s shoulder. “Because you love me.”
“It was a joke,” Jensen says.
Jared nods and says, “Yeah. Also, you totally love me,” and Jensen doesn’t feel the need to justify his decision to forego arguing a moot point in favor of more kissing.
###