The sun won't melt our wings tonight
It is time to set this free and stop obsessing about it, I believe. My first RPS! First kisses are a fabulous thing.
Title: The sun won't melt our wings tonight
Fandom: CWRPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Michael Rosenbaum
Rating: G/PG
Words: 1346
Disclaimer: Completely fabricated.
Notes: For lissa_bear! Thanks so much for suggesting it; it turned out to be really fun to write. I am terribly grateful to the wonderful elsane for the beta and encouragement.
Jensen kind of hates hanging out with just Mike and Tom. It always feels like they're in a little bubble of their own, an iridescent film he can never quite break through.
Therefore, when Mike shows up at his door for Friday night barhopping alone, his first instinct is to be just a tiny bit relieved. He's not proud of it, but at least he's honest with himself. His relief quickly turns to worry because it is not a happy Mike standing on his doorstep, despite the manic grin plastered on his face. Now, Mike without Tom is naturally missing a core of contentment, but this goes far beyond absence.
"Tom...?"
"Not coming," snaps Mike. "But we," he continues, slinging an arm around Jensen's shoulders, "are going to get smashingly drunk, yeah?"
"Damn right we are," answers Jensen with a decisive nod, hoping to quiet that half-hidden wisp of anxiety he can see in Mike's eyes.
They coast through a couple of shiny, trendy clubs, downing improbably-colored drinks amidst pulsing crowds. Not what Jensen would normally choose, and Mike doesn't seem exactly soothed by the pounding beat. Still, as Jensen looks on he dances wildly, flirts grandly with the bartenders, and determinedly projects upbeat, carefree revelry.
At the third door, Jensen balks. The glimpse of stage he can see down the stairs reveals a slightly disheveled blonde in her late-20s wailing "I Will Always Love You" as what look like a gaggle of former sorority sisters and fratboys clustered near the front cheer her on. "No fucking way." He glares at Mike. "I am not going to a karaoke bar."
"Aw, c'mon." Mike tugs gently on Jensen's wrist as he opens the door. "It'll be fun! And I promise not to make you sing.
Jensen's pretty sure he didn't actually agree to anything, but finds himself sitting in a high-backed booth to the left of the stage anyway. He eyes with suspicion the experiment in colorful fluid dynamics that Mike sets in front of him a couple minutes later, blue swirling into magenta. Catching his expression, Mike smiles brightly and says, "I asked for something fun, now drink up," and downs his in one gulp, throat working smoothly. Still standing next to the booth, he gives the empty glass a considering look before setting it back down and flashing Jensen another wide grin. "Time for a song!" he announces, rubbing his hands together as he bounds towards the stage.
Shaking his head, Jensen picks up his own glass and swirls the liquid around, watching the blue fall into the red in slow, complicated patterns. He takes a sip, tastes orange and raspberry. Huh. Could be worse. Then he hears the music for "I Got You Babe" start up over the sound system and groans, wishing to God Mike had brought something stronger. Head suddenly throbbing, he folds his arms on the table and pillows his head in the crook of an elbow, and fuzzily watches a sideways Mike approach the karaoke microphone.
Even through his alcohol-induced haze, Jensen can see the heady dazzle of Mike's smile. From the stage, Mike points down into the crowd, provoking a flurry of giggles and murmurs, and eventually a tiny brunette climbs the steps to join him. Her thin nasal twang sets Jensen's teeth on edge, and he burrows his head further into his arms. Mike doesn't seem to mind, however, as he throws himself into Sonny Bono's part, gesturing expansively and clutching at her with exaggerated affection.
By the time Jensen raises his head to take another sip, two girls have materialized next to the booth, one looking hesitant and the other beaming enthusiastically. Of course. It was too much to hope for, a whole night out without this.
"Hi! I loved you in Days of Our Lives!" she says. "And Mel here has never missed an episode of Smallville! She has a total crush on your Jason," she adds, glancing at her friend, whose face has flushed pink with embarrassment. "Could we maybe get your autograph? I'm Cora, by the way." She looks so hopeful that he can't find it in him to say no, so he snags one of the bar napkins and scrawls her name and his signature on it with the pen she hands him.
He smiles at the other girl and asks, "Do you want one too, Mel?" She squeaks and nods, so he does the same for her, adding a little flourish to the end before handing it over and returning the pen.
They thank him profusely, and he answers, "It's my pleasure, have a nice night," hoping they'll get the hint and leave him alone. But they just stand there at the side of the booth, foolishly happy, if admittedly sweet, expressions on their faces. He concentrates briefly on trying to come up with something more to say, but before he's forced to utter something, anything, he hears his name called out over the sound system. Blinking, he turns to the stage, where Mike has apparently stopped channelling Sonny and has dispensed with his temporary Cher, and is instead standing there looking straight at Jensen with his head cocked expectantly.
What the hell, Jensen thinks, and the next thing he knows he's slid out of the booth and is standing on stage, blinded by lights and holding a microphone as the familiar, bombastic strains of Queen surround him. As Jensen watches, Mike's expression morphs from triumphantly gleeful to an overemphasized sobriety as he intones, with great sincerity, "I've paid my dues, time after time. I've done my sentence, but committed no crime. And bad mistakes, I've made a few. I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through." The background singers kick in with "And we mean to go on and on and on..." and Jensen is suddenly belting out at the top of his lungs, "We are the champions, my friends," mood lifting as he sings. Mike joins him at "And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end," and as they continue Jensen feels his smile splitting his face, the sheer joy expanding within him mirrored in Mike's every movement.
Jensen sings the second verse alone, eyes closed and standing perfectly still as each syllable rolls off his tongue. On the chorus Mike pulls him into a half-hug, arm curled close around his waist as together they finish the song to much whooping and applause. They take their bows, and, always one for the dramatic exit, Mike pulls Jensen off the stage and out of the bar, both of them smiling and waving at the crowd as they go. They tumble into one of the taxis lying in wait outside, laughing breathlessly. Mike gives the driver Jensen's address and then his own as Jensen leans against the door and tries to make the world stop spinning a little.
When he opens his eyes, Mike has gone all quiet and still, looking at Jensen with a strangely open seriousness.
"Hey," he says, voice low and a bit unsteady. He presses his lips into a thin line, small furrow appearing in his forehead. "Thanks."
"For what, man?" Jensen smiles, trying to pull back towards the lightness that they'd had a moment ago, but if anything Mike's eyes widen even more as he takes a breath.
"Just, thanks."
And then Mike kisses him. Lips, soft and dry. Heat, barely contained. Faintest hint of slick, sweet tongue.
As if from very far away, Jensen hears his own voice say, "Oh. Didn't you promise not to make me sing?"
Startlingly sharp blue eyes slowly open to lock onto his, and the mouth hovering an inch or two away whispers, "Are you really complaining?"
Jensen retains just enough presence of mind to reply, "No," as his eyes flutter closed and he tips forward, licking his way into Mike's curacao-flavored mouth.
Title: The sun won't melt our wings tonight
Fandom: CWRPS
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Michael Rosenbaum
Rating: G/PG
Words: 1346
Disclaimer: Completely fabricated.
Notes: For lissa_bear! Thanks so much for suggesting it; it turned out to be really fun to write. I am terribly grateful to the wonderful elsane for the beta and encouragement.
Jensen kind of hates hanging out with just Mike and Tom. It always feels like they're in a little bubble of their own, an iridescent film he can never quite break through.
Therefore, when Mike shows up at his door for Friday night barhopping alone, his first instinct is to be just a tiny bit relieved. He's not proud of it, but at least he's honest with himself. His relief quickly turns to worry because it is not a happy Mike standing on his doorstep, despite the manic grin plastered on his face. Now, Mike without Tom is naturally missing a core of contentment, but this goes far beyond absence.
"Tom...?"
"Not coming," snaps Mike. "But we," he continues, slinging an arm around Jensen's shoulders, "are going to get smashingly drunk, yeah?"
"Damn right we are," answers Jensen with a decisive nod, hoping to quiet that half-hidden wisp of anxiety he can see in Mike's eyes.
They coast through a couple of shiny, trendy clubs, downing improbably-colored drinks amidst pulsing crowds. Not what Jensen would normally choose, and Mike doesn't seem exactly soothed by the pounding beat. Still, as Jensen looks on he dances wildly, flirts grandly with the bartenders, and determinedly projects upbeat, carefree revelry.
At the third door, Jensen balks. The glimpse of stage he can see down the stairs reveals a slightly disheveled blonde in her late-20s wailing "I Will Always Love You" as what look like a gaggle of former sorority sisters and fratboys clustered near the front cheer her on. "No fucking way." He glares at Mike. "I am not going to a karaoke bar."
"Aw, c'mon." Mike tugs gently on Jensen's wrist as he opens the door. "It'll be fun! And I promise not to make you sing.
Jensen's pretty sure he didn't actually agree to anything, but finds himself sitting in a high-backed booth to the left of the stage anyway. He eyes with suspicion the experiment in colorful fluid dynamics that Mike sets in front of him a couple minutes later, blue swirling into magenta. Catching his expression, Mike smiles brightly and says, "I asked for something fun, now drink up," and downs his in one gulp, throat working smoothly. Still standing next to the booth, he gives the empty glass a considering look before setting it back down and flashing Jensen another wide grin. "Time for a song!" he announces, rubbing his hands together as he bounds towards the stage.
Shaking his head, Jensen picks up his own glass and swirls the liquid around, watching the blue fall into the red in slow, complicated patterns. He takes a sip, tastes orange and raspberry. Huh. Could be worse. Then he hears the music for "I Got You Babe" start up over the sound system and groans, wishing to God Mike had brought something stronger. Head suddenly throbbing, he folds his arms on the table and pillows his head in the crook of an elbow, and fuzzily watches a sideways Mike approach the karaoke microphone.
Even through his alcohol-induced haze, Jensen can see the heady dazzle of Mike's smile. From the stage, Mike points down into the crowd, provoking a flurry of giggles and murmurs, and eventually a tiny brunette climbs the steps to join him. Her thin nasal twang sets Jensen's teeth on edge, and he burrows his head further into his arms. Mike doesn't seem to mind, however, as he throws himself into Sonny Bono's part, gesturing expansively and clutching at her with exaggerated affection.
By the time Jensen raises his head to take another sip, two girls have materialized next to the booth, one looking hesitant and the other beaming enthusiastically. Of course. It was too much to hope for, a whole night out without this.
"Hi! I loved you in Days of Our Lives!" she says. "And Mel here has never missed an episode of Smallville! She has a total crush on your Jason," she adds, glancing at her friend, whose face has flushed pink with embarrassment. "Could we maybe get your autograph? I'm Cora, by the way." She looks so hopeful that he can't find it in him to say no, so he snags one of the bar napkins and scrawls her name and his signature on it with the pen she hands him.
He smiles at the other girl and asks, "Do you want one too, Mel?" She squeaks and nods, so he does the same for her, adding a little flourish to the end before handing it over and returning the pen.
They thank him profusely, and he answers, "It's my pleasure, have a nice night," hoping they'll get the hint and leave him alone. But they just stand there at the side of the booth, foolishly happy, if admittedly sweet, expressions on their faces. He concentrates briefly on trying to come up with something more to say, but before he's forced to utter something, anything, he hears his name called out over the sound system. Blinking, he turns to the stage, where Mike has apparently stopped channelling Sonny and has dispensed with his temporary Cher, and is instead standing there looking straight at Jensen with his head cocked expectantly.
What the hell, Jensen thinks, and the next thing he knows he's slid out of the booth and is standing on stage, blinded by lights and holding a microphone as the familiar, bombastic strains of Queen surround him. As Jensen watches, Mike's expression morphs from triumphantly gleeful to an overemphasized sobriety as he intones, with great sincerity, "I've paid my dues, time after time. I've done my sentence, but committed no crime. And bad mistakes, I've made a few. I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through." The background singers kick in with "And we mean to go on and on and on..." and Jensen is suddenly belting out at the top of his lungs, "We are the champions, my friends," mood lifting as he sings. Mike joins him at "And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end," and as they continue Jensen feels his smile splitting his face, the sheer joy expanding within him mirrored in Mike's every movement.
Jensen sings the second verse alone, eyes closed and standing perfectly still as each syllable rolls off his tongue. On the chorus Mike pulls him into a half-hug, arm curled close around his waist as together they finish the song to much whooping and applause. They take their bows, and, always one for the dramatic exit, Mike pulls Jensen off the stage and out of the bar, both of them smiling and waving at the crowd as they go. They tumble into one of the taxis lying in wait outside, laughing breathlessly. Mike gives the driver Jensen's address and then his own as Jensen leans against the door and tries to make the world stop spinning a little.
When he opens his eyes, Mike has gone all quiet and still, looking at Jensen with a strangely open seriousness.
"Hey," he says, voice low and a bit unsteady. He presses his lips into a thin line, small furrow appearing in his forehead. "Thanks."
"For what, man?" Jensen smiles, trying to pull back towards the lightness that they'd had a moment ago, but if anything Mike's eyes widen even more as he takes a breath.
"Just, thanks."
And then Mike kisses him. Lips, soft and dry. Heat, barely contained. Faintest hint of slick, sweet tongue.
As if from very far away, Jensen hears his own voice say, "Oh. Didn't you promise not to make me sing?"
Startlingly sharp blue eyes slowly open to lock onto his, and the mouth hovering an inch or two away whispers, "Are you really complaining?"
Jensen retains just enough presence of mind to reply, "No," as his eyes flutter closed and he tips forward, licking his way into Mike's curacao-flavored mouth.