Because nothing says political victory like fic about celebrities fucking...
There is totally no porn here, so the subject line's kind of a lie. But I wrote this while watching election coverage to keep myself from spamming LJ every time the numbers changed.
Jensen Ackles is a Republican. He has always been a Republican, and the chances that he will ever register as anything else are slim. He doesn’t trust big government, he likes the idea of tax cuts, and right now he’s gripping Jared’s hand so hard Jared’s starting to get cramps in his fingers, biting his lip and whispering, “Turn blue,” at CNN.
“If you were a girl,” Jared says, “I’d be worried you were pregnant.” But he doesn’t pull his hand away.
“I didn’t pee on anything,” Jensen replies, leaning forward as the map shifts to Indiana again.
Jared’s pretty confident of the outcome on this one, but Jensen needs everything signed in triplicate before he believes it, presidential elections as much as “I love you.” Jared presses his thumb against the racing pulse in Jensen’s wrist, rubbing slow circles there, and Jensen looks sideways at him, suspicious.
“You think I’m nuts, right?” he says tiredly, obviously itching to turn back to the TV, to the ticker that’s showing them slow progress.
Jared shakes his head. “Didn’t take you for a political junkie though.”
“I voted for George Bush. Twice. I don’t want us to make the same mistake again.”
“We won’t,” says Jared, and Jensen cocks an eyebrow at him. What are you? Psychic? says the folded up line of Jensen’s mouth.
It’s several hours, a half-dozen swing states, and thirty political commentators before Jensen starts breathing normally again, before Jared sees him allowing it to sink in. He spoons up close on the oversize couch, one leg hooked between Jensen’s, their tangled hands curving over Jensen’s hip. “What’d I tell you?” Jared whispers, pressing his mouth in tight behind Jensen’s ear as the city of Chicago explodes into cheers, and tears stream down Jesse Jackson’s face. “Yes. We. Can.”
~fin~
Now if California would just NOT SUCK on this Proposition 8 thing, my day would be entirely made of WIN. (I'm going to bed this time. Really.)
Jensen Ackles is a Republican. He has always been a Republican, and the chances that he will ever register as anything else are slim. He doesn’t trust big government, he likes the idea of tax cuts, and right now he’s gripping Jared’s hand so hard Jared’s starting to get cramps in his fingers, biting his lip and whispering, “Turn blue,” at CNN.
“If you were a girl,” Jared says, “I’d be worried you were pregnant.” But he doesn’t pull his hand away.
“I didn’t pee on anything,” Jensen replies, leaning forward as the map shifts to Indiana again.
Jared’s pretty confident of the outcome on this one, but Jensen needs everything signed in triplicate before he believes it, presidential elections as much as “I love you.” Jared presses his thumb against the racing pulse in Jensen’s wrist, rubbing slow circles there, and Jensen looks sideways at him, suspicious.
“You think I’m nuts, right?” he says tiredly, obviously itching to turn back to the TV, to the ticker that’s showing them slow progress.
Jared shakes his head. “Didn’t take you for a political junkie though.”
“I voted for George Bush. Twice. I don’t want us to make the same mistake again.”
“We won’t,” says Jared, and Jensen cocks an eyebrow at him. What are you? Psychic? says the folded up line of Jensen’s mouth.
It’s several hours, a half-dozen swing states, and thirty political commentators before Jensen starts breathing normally again, before Jared sees him allowing it to sink in. He spoons up close on the oversize couch, one leg hooked between Jensen’s, their tangled hands curving over Jensen’s hip. “What’d I tell you?” Jared whispers, pressing his mouth in tight behind Jensen’s ear as the city of Chicago explodes into cheers, and tears stream down Jesse Jackson’s face. “Yes. We. Can.”
~fin~
Now if California would just NOT SUCK on this Proposition 8 thing, my day would be entirely made of WIN. (I'm going to bed this time. Really.)