I wish I may - RPS!
My muse against my better judgment. *shifty eyes* There, new stuff.
Title: I wish I may, I wish I might [1/1]
Rating: PG for language.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (pre-slash)
Word Count: ~1,600
Disclaimer: Lies.
Warnings: AU, but apart from that none, really. I guess it’s crack?
This is a stand-alone, even though it would work as a first chapter to a longer story. I might be talked into continuing, but, eh. Not now.
Summary: Jensen drops a penny into a wishing well. The result is not what he expected.
~~~
Jensen huffs in the cooling air, trying to quicken his step. It’s already a lot later than he’s strictly comfortable with, and he’s buzzed enough that getting up tomorrow is going to be a pain. God, he had known this was going to happen. Damn Chris and Steven and that guy Jason for dragging him out - people hear the word freelance and think of late breakfasts and lounging around in his sweatpants all day (granted, that part is true, at least), but Jensen is working against a deadline. He can already hear his agent’s shrill voice in his head, the way she will screech and bitch and threaten, not quite ineffectively, to dock his pay.
The park he is trudging through, loose gravel crunching underneath his boots, is empty. It’s well after dark, the patches of grass clear of necking couples and screaming children for once. A few trees rise tall and threatening into the clear night sky. The only light comes from distant street lamps and the fountain, twisted art-nouveau metal heap illuminated by beamers from below, painting bizarre shadows on the paved plaza.
Jensen ducks his head between his shoulders. He’s aware that he looks a little like a turtle with his collar turned up, mostly because the guys take it upon themselves to remind him regularly, but despite the sunny days it is still spring and chilly at night. He buries his hands into his pockets and kicks at a small stone, stopping dead in his tracks when something reflects on the ground in front of him.
It’s a penny.
He stares at it for a moment, dimly aware of how ridiculous he has to look, standing there in a deserted park in the middle of the night, mesmerized by the sight of loose change. He bends to pick it up. Dusting it off with sticky fingers, he looks around but he’s still alone, but only the fountain is there to keep him company with its soft, dim light and the ever present rustling of cascading water.
Jensen looks down at the penny in his hand, then back at the fountain. He turns towards it, hesitates, marches two resolute steps homewards and spins on his heel again. The fountain doesn’t come to life as he approaches, there are no murdering axe men or secret service ninjas. It’s deadly quiet. For a ridiculous moment Jensen feels like time stopped around him and no one felt obliged to let him know.
He stops at the low barrier. There are dark spots where other hopefuls have tried their luck before him. The surface of the water ripples softly, distorting his reflection. He can’t recognize himself, no surprise there.
Eyeing the coin he is idly twirling between his fingers, he looks up at the statue.
“I want…” he says.
I want to be normal, he wants to say, but dozens of bad movies and books stop him. He isn’t sure what normal is, exactly, only that he isn’t, and if ‘normal’ means his neighbor Mrs. Frederickson with her fresh apple pies and chauffeur duty for her snot-nosed brats, then he’ll beg off gladly.
He could ask for money, but despite what he tells the guys, Jensen isn’t really that short on cash. He’s good at what he does, even if it will cause him to go grey before he reaches thirty, and even if he can’t afford to bathe in champagne (which, yuck), it seems silly to waste a wish on that. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, either, because that would mean he would have to be interested in girls. Women. Whatever. And he isn’t.
And guys… Well, Jensen doesn’t exactly have the best track record with guys. Maybe he should ask for a dog -it could be the special someone in Jensen’s life who doesn’t run away.
Jensen sighs, licks his lip in indecision and flips the coin into the air.
I don’t know what I want.
The penny hits the surface with a little splash, rings rippling outward as the metal sinks down. Jensen already feels stupid before it even hits the tiled bottom and he turns away, ready to run on home with his tail between his legs, and jerks backward.
Jensen bites back his yelp, too girly even for a gay guy. There is a stranger standing not ten feet away, tall and dark and even in profile, his face turned away from the warm light emanating from the statue, Jensen can tell he’s gorgeous. Dark hair, slightly curly, a sharp nose and sharp eyes that pay him no attention. He’s holding an unscrewed Mountain Dew bottle in one hand. His tongue is out, flicking inside the cap he’s holding in his other hand to capture even the tiny drops of sweetness hiding there. His eyes are closed in utter bliss, but before Jensen can come to terms with the tightening low in his belly the man pulls back a little, squinting at the code stamped inside.
Without looking up, he asks, “What the Hell kind of a wish is that?”
“Excuse me?” Jensen wants to squeak, but he only manages a small, choked off noise.
The stranger - and he is strange, indeed - looks over at him, calmly taking a sip of sugar water.
“You can’t drop a penny and not make a wish, man, it’s against the rules.”
“Rules,” Jensen echoes. It’s probably not very bright nor very important in the grand scheme of things, but he’s pretty proud of himself for managing to respond at all.
“Yes, rules,” SexyGorgeous says with a sigh. “Everything follows rules, even the random stuff. You know, like the chaos theory?”
“Chaos theory.”
That comes out nice and even, if a little dry, but people around Jensen are used to that.
The man nods, a little exasperated perhaps.
“I knew your puny little human mind wouldn’t understand,” he says, even though he’s grinning.
Jensen feels a flare of heat in his belly. His tone comes a little sharper than intended when he snaps, “And your puny little human mind does?”
SexyGorgeous grins a little wider; this time when Jensen’s stomach flip-flops, it’s not because of anger.
“Who said my mind was human?”
Oh, great, Jensen thinks to himself, a lunatic. But the guy plows on like he doesn’t even notice Jensen edging backwards.
“But yeah, I understand. I guess I’m above your level. Got a few more experience points?”
The guy gulps down a few more mouthfuls of Mountain Dew and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
“God, I love this stuff. Can only get it when I’m up here, you know? Mmmhh, sugar.”
He licks his lips, moaning in near-orgasmic delight when he seems to find a drop of liquid in the corner of his mouth.
“Almost worth getting stuck in this body for, I swear.”
He straightens and sobers up a little, pulling his - tight - jacket straight. Jensen’s calves hit the edge of the fountain.
“But I’m not human. I’m a demi-god of sorts. The Wishing Well genie. The Frog King, if you will. And I’m here ‘cause of you, Jensen.”
He smiles.
Woah, woah, woah. Dangerous lunatic.
“How do you know my name?” Jensen squeaks, and the guy sighs.
“Were you listening at all? I was in your head, listening to your thoughts. How else was I supposed to know what you’d wish for?”
“So tell me what I’m thinking now,” Jensen demands, crossing his arms in front of his chest stubbornly, but all he earns himself is another sigh.
“I can’t. I’m stuck in this body, yeah? And this body’s pretty damn human.”
He slaps his own ass to prove it and Jesus, doesn’t that give Jensen ideas.
“Okay, uh, Mr. God,” he says, clearing his throat to hide his discomfort and ignoring the guy’s half-frown, “What do you want with me, exactly?”
Gorgeous tilts his head to the side, drinks some more sugar water and screws the bottle shut.
“You broke the rules,” he says, like that explains everything.
Jensen swallows heavily. Great, a lunatic who thinks he’s done something wrong; maybe needs to be ‘punished’. Is it too over the top to start screaming for the police?
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, forcing a soothing note into his voice, “Okay, so…?”
“So we need to fix that.” He grins a little. “You make a wish, I grant it, we can all go home.”
Jensen swallows heavily. He isn’t sure exactly when he started considering the fact that this guy might be for real, but the guy's eyes/hands/ass might have had something to do with it. A wish. Any wish, God, he hasn’t been in this much pressure since his first commission. Of course, it doesn’t help that the maybe-not-lunatic leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “Make it a good one!”
“I…”
The man - god? - leans in a little closer, twisting his torso, and winks a little.
“Come on, Jensen. One teeny tiny wish and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Can’t you, can’t you give me some time to think it over?”
SexyGorgeous shakes his head at him, though in disbelief or as a ‘no’, he’s not quite certain.
“I can’t,” Jensen stammers, “I just. I can’t decide something like that, just on the spot.”
He expects his stranger to be angry, or at least put out, but the man simply grins at him from underneath long, dark lashes.
“In that case,” he says, like it doesn’t matter at all, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to stick around.”
~~~
Anyway, I love you all for not kicking my ass. Really.
Title: I wish I may, I wish I might [1/1]
Rating: PG for language.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen (pre-slash)
Word Count: ~1,600
Disclaimer: Lies.
Warnings: AU, but apart from that none, really. I guess it’s crack?
This is a stand-alone, even though it would work as a first chapter to a longer story. I might be talked into continuing, but, eh. Not now.
Summary: Jensen drops a penny into a wishing well. The result is not what he expected.
~~~
Jensen huffs in the cooling air, trying to quicken his step. It’s already a lot later than he’s strictly comfortable with, and he’s buzzed enough that getting up tomorrow is going to be a pain. God, he had known this was going to happen. Damn Chris and Steven and that guy Jason for dragging him out - people hear the word freelance and think of late breakfasts and lounging around in his sweatpants all day (granted, that part is true, at least), but Jensen is working against a deadline. He can already hear his agent’s shrill voice in his head, the way she will screech and bitch and threaten, not quite ineffectively, to dock his pay.
The park he is trudging through, loose gravel crunching underneath his boots, is empty. It’s well after dark, the patches of grass clear of necking couples and screaming children for once. A few trees rise tall and threatening into the clear night sky. The only light comes from distant street lamps and the fountain, twisted art-nouveau metal heap illuminated by beamers from below, painting bizarre shadows on the paved plaza.
Jensen ducks his head between his shoulders. He’s aware that he looks a little like a turtle with his collar turned up, mostly because the guys take it upon themselves to remind him regularly, but despite the sunny days it is still spring and chilly at night. He buries his hands into his pockets and kicks at a small stone, stopping dead in his tracks when something reflects on the ground in front of him.
It’s a penny.
He stares at it for a moment, dimly aware of how ridiculous he has to look, standing there in a deserted park in the middle of the night, mesmerized by the sight of loose change. He bends to pick it up. Dusting it off with sticky fingers, he looks around but he’s still alone, but only the fountain is there to keep him company with its soft, dim light and the ever present rustling of cascading water.
Jensen looks down at the penny in his hand, then back at the fountain. He turns towards it, hesitates, marches two resolute steps homewards and spins on his heel again. The fountain doesn’t come to life as he approaches, there are no murdering axe men or secret service ninjas. It’s deadly quiet. For a ridiculous moment Jensen feels like time stopped around him and no one felt obliged to let him know.
He stops at the low barrier. There are dark spots where other hopefuls have tried their luck before him. The surface of the water ripples softly, distorting his reflection. He can’t recognize himself, no surprise there.
Eyeing the coin he is idly twirling between his fingers, he looks up at the statue.
“I want…” he says.
I want to be normal, he wants to say, but dozens of bad movies and books stop him. He isn’t sure what normal is, exactly, only that he isn’t, and if ‘normal’ means his neighbor Mrs. Frederickson with her fresh apple pies and chauffeur duty for her snot-nosed brats, then he’ll beg off gladly.
He could ask for money, but despite what he tells the guys, Jensen isn’t really that short on cash. He’s good at what he does, even if it will cause him to go grey before he reaches thirty, and even if he can’t afford to bathe in champagne (which, yuck), it seems silly to waste a wish on that. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, either, because that would mean he would have to be interested in girls. Women. Whatever. And he isn’t.
And guys… Well, Jensen doesn’t exactly have the best track record with guys. Maybe he should ask for a dog -it could be the special someone in Jensen’s life who doesn’t run away.
Jensen sighs, licks his lip in indecision and flips the coin into the air.
I don’t know what I want.
The penny hits the surface with a little splash, rings rippling outward as the metal sinks down. Jensen already feels stupid before it even hits the tiled bottom and he turns away, ready to run on home with his tail between his legs, and jerks backward.
Jensen bites back his yelp, too girly even for a gay guy. There is a stranger standing not ten feet away, tall and dark and even in profile, his face turned away from the warm light emanating from the statue, Jensen can tell he’s gorgeous. Dark hair, slightly curly, a sharp nose and sharp eyes that pay him no attention. He’s holding an unscrewed Mountain Dew bottle in one hand. His tongue is out, flicking inside the cap he’s holding in his other hand to capture even the tiny drops of sweetness hiding there. His eyes are closed in utter bliss, but before Jensen can come to terms with the tightening low in his belly the man pulls back a little, squinting at the code stamped inside.
Without looking up, he asks, “What the Hell kind of a wish is that?”
“Excuse me?” Jensen wants to squeak, but he only manages a small, choked off noise.
The stranger - and he is strange, indeed - looks over at him, calmly taking a sip of sugar water.
“You can’t drop a penny and not make a wish, man, it’s against the rules.”
“Rules,” Jensen echoes. It’s probably not very bright nor very important in the grand scheme of things, but he’s pretty proud of himself for managing to respond at all.
“Yes, rules,” SexyGorgeous says with a sigh. “Everything follows rules, even the random stuff. You know, like the chaos theory?”
“Chaos theory.”
That comes out nice and even, if a little dry, but people around Jensen are used to that.
The man nods, a little exasperated perhaps.
“I knew your puny little human mind wouldn’t understand,” he says, even though he’s grinning.
Jensen feels a flare of heat in his belly. His tone comes a little sharper than intended when he snaps, “And your puny little human mind does?”
SexyGorgeous grins a little wider; this time when Jensen’s stomach flip-flops, it’s not because of anger.
“Who said my mind was human?”
Oh, great, Jensen thinks to himself, a lunatic. But the guy plows on like he doesn’t even notice Jensen edging backwards.
“But yeah, I understand. I guess I’m above your level. Got a few more experience points?”
The guy gulps down a few more mouthfuls of Mountain Dew and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
“God, I love this stuff. Can only get it when I’m up here, you know? Mmmhh, sugar.”
He licks his lips, moaning in near-orgasmic delight when he seems to find a drop of liquid in the corner of his mouth.
“Almost worth getting stuck in this body for, I swear.”
He straightens and sobers up a little, pulling his - tight - jacket straight. Jensen’s calves hit the edge of the fountain.
“But I’m not human. I’m a demi-god of sorts. The Wishing Well genie. The Frog King, if you will. And I’m here ‘cause of you, Jensen.”
He smiles.
Woah, woah, woah. Dangerous lunatic.
“How do you know my name?” Jensen squeaks, and the guy sighs.
“Were you listening at all? I was in your head, listening to your thoughts. How else was I supposed to know what you’d wish for?”
“So tell me what I’m thinking now,” Jensen demands, crossing his arms in front of his chest stubbornly, but all he earns himself is another sigh.
“I can’t. I’m stuck in this body, yeah? And this body’s pretty damn human.”
He slaps his own ass to prove it and Jesus, doesn’t that give Jensen ideas.
“Okay, uh, Mr. God,” he says, clearing his throat to hide his discomfort and ignoring the guy’s half-frown, “What do you want with me, exactly?”
Gorgeous tilts his head to the side, drinks some more sugar water and screws the bottle shut.
“You broke the rules,” he says, like that explains everything.
Jensen swallows heavily. Great, a lunatic who thinks he’s done something wrong; maybe needs to be ‘punished’. Is it too over the top to start screaming for the police?
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, forcing a soothing note into his voice, “Okay, so…?”
“So we need to fix that.” He grins a little. “You make a wish, I grant it, we can all go home.”
Jensen swallows heavily. He isn’t sure exactly when he started considering the fact that this guy might be for real, but the guy's eyes/hands/ass might have had something to do with it. A wish. Any wish, God, he hasn’t been in this much pressure since his first commission. Of course, it doesn’t help that the maybe-not-lunatic leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “Make it a good one!”
“I…”
The man - god? - leans in a little closer, twisting his torso, and winks a little.
“Come on, Jensen. One teeny tiny wish and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Can’t you, can’t you give me some time to think it over?”
SexyGorgeous shakes his head at him, though in disbelief or as a ‘no’, he’s not quite certain.
“I can’t,” Jensen stammers, “I just. I can’t decide something like that, just on the spot.”
He expects his stranger to be angry, or at least put out, but the man simply grins at him from underneath long, dark lashes.
“In that case,” he says, like it doesn’t matter at all, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to stick around.”
~~~
Anyway, I love you all for not kicking my ass. Really.