Quoth the Memfish...
Man, I am procrastinating on housey-stuff like WHOA...
5 drabble/flashficlet thingies as inspired by quotes from this post!
For fleshflutter, Dean/Sam, R:
I'm sure we all feel that he exploded too young, but the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Sometimes He'll come in at an angle, other times He'll hover and swoop. Sometimes He can come in from beneath like a worm or a mole. The Lord, it's His call how He chooses to manoeuvre...
It happens once every 500 years. When the stars and planets align themselves just so. When the cult of the Rotting Black Head makes its annual sacrifice in triplicate-in anticipation of the day being the one. In anticipation of it being the day they can finally summon their Dark Lord back from the depths of hell, when he can draw strength from their devotion and rend his chains to pieces. When he can crawl out of the pit and into the light again.
And when the great and terrible Dark Lord is summoned, he finds himself summoned to the Best Western just outside of Rancho Cucamonga, California.
He is drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Drawn to the one who fills him with power, whose mere existence fuels his ability to sustain his presence in the waking world. He is drawn-to Sam Winchester.
The Dark Lord touches the doorframe to room 212, feels the power within, the strength and the energy. Feels a darkness and evil that rivals his own. Perhaps he won't simply drain Sam Winchester like a battery, but rather use him to aid his conquest of the world. They will return to his followers-the cult of the Rotting Black Head and they will be worshipped like the gods they are. Cities will crumble to ash and the ground will bleed fire and tar.
The Dark Lord shoves the door open, and charges in, roaring as loud as he can.
Sam stirs, "Dean? Did you-nnnngh!" And Dean fucks deeper into him, shoving him back on the mattress.
"What's that, Sammy?"
"Hear-hear something!" Sam shouts and claws at Dean's shoulders. "Fuck! Dean you forgot to lock the door, the wind blew it open!"
"Fucking-! C'mon Sam, you don't want me to stop, do you?"
Sam sucks in a breath, "Someone could see!" he says quickly.
"Fuck me," Dean huffs.
Sam kisses his collarbone, breathes into his skin, "Hurry, I want you coming inside me, fucking screaming my name."
Dean pulls out with a groan and moves off the bed in a flash, slamming the door shut and locking it. Dean frowns, looking at the ground. "Ew."
"What? What is it?" Sam whispers, as he's stroking his own dick on the bed. He's moaning looking at Dean standing naked before him. Dean lifts up his foot, and grimaces at what's stuck to the heel.
"Ugh, I stepped on something. Fucking waterbug I think. Oh sick, it smells horrible." Dean scrapes his heel against the carpet, rubbing some little squished pieces into it.
"Dean..." Sam groans.
"Seriously, I've gotta wash my foot," Dean says, hopping off to the bathroom and rinsing his foot under the hot water spray.
"Dean! Get back here and finish this!" Sam whines, hitting his head against the pillows.
"There, I got it!" Dean shouts from the bathroom and he leaps back onto the mattress, spreading his body over Sam's. "Hey," he smiles.
"Get back to it," Sam sighs, and Dean starts fingering Sam open again. He's so soft against Dean's pressure, opening up all over again for his slick, hard, cock.
*
Elsewhere, the leader of the cult of the Rotting Black Head reads the scripture once again to his followers. "And when our Dark Lord comes, you will know him by his stench-the stench of gangrenous flesh. You will hear his terrible cries-like those of a thousand black cats calling in the night. And you will see him-and when you do you will be very careful not to step on him, for he is rather small."
The leader sighs again, checking his watch and looks to his cult brothers and sisters, standing on their chairs. "Seriously, are you all keeping your feet off the floor? I don't want to have to scrape Our Dark Lord off of anyone's shoes. It'd be embarrassing."
For regala_electra, J2, PG-13:
Take me for what I am/who I was meant to be/and if you give a damn/take me baby/or leave me
Jensen flosses in bed. He'll just sit there on his side, right in the middle of watching Iron Chef with Jared and he'll take out a piece of floss from wherever spontaneous floss seems to generate and pick at his teeth, rubbing it on a tissue. And Jared will lose his appetite, which defeats the purpose of watching the Food Channel.
Jensen talks in his sleep. Well, that's not right. Jensen speaks Spanish in his sleep. He recites lines from Mexican Telenovelas that he got addicted to when he was on the last hiatus. Jared will often wake up to hear Jensen mumbling, "¡Ay Pedro! ¡Tú hermano y mi esposa estan las padres de Maria!" It's kind of disconcerting since he never resolves anything in one night, just gives him more questions.
Jensen shouts out the answers during Jeopardy; but he never says them in the form of a question. Maybe that's the last straw.
They're in the middle of an argument, Jared doesn't remember how it started, or what the original disagreement was, they've reached the point where they are shouting for the sake of shouting. Jared's losing his mind living with Jensen, and he tells him. "God! Do you realize how difficult you are sometimes!?"
"No, why don't you tell me-?"
"You're so freaking neurotic that you're driving me insane!"
"Well, maybe you're the neurotic one if I'm bothering you so damn much!"
Alex Trebek interrupts from the television set they haven't bothered turning off. "Of the world's 4 largest countries in area, it has the smallest percentage of farmland."
Jensen quickly answers, "Canada."
"What is Canada?" Jared shouts. "You have to say it in the form of a question!"
"Why?"
"Because! That's the rule! That's the only rule that makes Jeopardy, Jeopardy."
"But I'm not actually playing Jeopardy, Jared. I don't know if you've noticed."
"Then why do you always have to answer first?"
"Oh, like you knew that one."
"Of course I knew it! We live there, remember?"
"Jared," Jensen sighs. "Look around."
Jared's in Los Angeles-not Vancouver. He's in his big, empty apartment that he doesn't share with anyone; fighting with a memory, an old ghost that won't go away.
*
It's late when Jensen's phone rings and he picks it up, mumbling into the receiver. "¿Hola?"
Jared laughs. "It's me."
"Es no que-Jared? Why're you calling me at 3 in the morning?"
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, I'm up now."
"No, I mean, I'm sorry." Jared swallows. "That's why I'm calling, to tell you that I'm sorry. And I'm kinda hoping you'll take me back."
Jensen's quiet. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"
"No."
"That's okay, neither have I."
Jared smiles. "I wouldn't want you any other way."
For hkath, J2, R-ish:
I was born on the side of a hill.
Once upon a time, long, long ago there were two boys. They were very pretty, and destined to have a great destiny together. Or something. They each shared a small piece of the other's soul, and when they were united again, they would fall in love immediately and have lots of sweaty buttsex in public.
The only problem was that neither boy knew the other existed. You see, in those faiytale times of old, there were forces that worked to keep these two apart. Maybe those forces were bitter about their own destinies, or maybe they were bored. Or maybe they just had a sick sense of humor, but regardless, Jared and Jensen never laid eyes on one another for most of their lives; though they lived close to one another. In fact, they both drank water from the same well. Only they were sent by their respective families to climb the hill at different times of the day, thereby missing each other completely and returning to their lonely lives of servitude none the wiser.
Of course, the powers that be can only stave off buttsex-filled destiny for so long. And so one day while Jensen was filling his pail of water, he stopped suddenly, to think of things. Of his lonely life of servitude; of how no one had noticed his bitchin' new haircut even though it had been a week; how maybe he should switch back to wearing his glasses. And he contemplated all this while sitting on the edge of the well like an idiot.
Because the next thing he knew, he'd slipped on the wet stone edge of the well and fell inside. Luckily, the well was deep and the fall only startled him. And as fate would have it, he was the champion at treading water at Sleepaway Camp for Pretty But Woefully Indentured Servants for seven years straight.
(Jared had gone to the Indentured Servants Sleepaway and Musical Theater Camp on the other side of the lake)
The only real problem was, after the first hour. Oh man, did he have to pee real bad.
That's when the bucket fell on his head and he shouted, "Ow!"
There was a pause, and then a voice. "Did you say something?"
"Yes! I said, ow! You hit me in the head."
"Sorry, I didn't know talking wells had soft spots!" The voiced shouted back.
"I'm not a talking well! I'm Jensen Ackles: the lonely servant boy; and if you can help me out of here I'd appreciate it, because I really need to go to the bathroom!"
"Wow, I'm a lonely servant boy too!" The voice booms back. "Hey, grab onto the bucket and I'll pull you up. Why didn't you just go in the well, though?"
"Sick!" Jensen yells back, hooking his foot in the bucket. "I drink from that water! Plus it'd be all warm."
"Oh, oh yeah," the voice answers, and Jensen feels himself start to move up, tug by tug. There's a deep, deep groan coming from above.
"You're really strong," Jensen comments.
"I spend all day doing chores, it's given me ridiculously large arms and upper body strength!"
"Oh, I mostly do cooking around my house."
"Really? I've got such a huge appetite."
"I always make too much food!" Jensen exclaims reaching up to the top of the rim of the well. He feels hands grab his own and yank him out quickly. He falls onto the body, tumbling down the side of the hill. When they finally come to a stop from their tumbling, Jensen looks down and immediately falls in love with the boy between his legs.
The boy looks back up at him and drops his jaw. "Shit, you're the sexiest well-boy I've ever seen," he says, grinning. "My name is Jared Padalecki."
"I hope you don't think it's too forward of me to say, but I'm pretty sure I've just fallen hopelessly in love with you, Jared."
"Oh good, because it would have been awkward otherwise. What, with the fact that I'm going to fuck you right here in the grass and then drag you off to a liberal and progressive nudist colony so we can get married and have lots of sex and you'll legally be forced to walk around naked all the time."
And they started having hot, sweaty buttsex right there on the side of the hill, but not before Jensen ran off to relieve himself behind a tree. That would have been awkward otherwise.
For causeways, who let me pick so, DEAN/VICTOR HENRIKSEN!! :D, AU schmoop. *evil laughter*
That ain't no etch-a-sketch. This is one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskillet.
Dean steps back. "Shit."
"What's that?" Victor says, poking his head in the room. Dean turns around, hides paintbrush behind his back.
"Nothing."
"Look it's just one weekend of watching your language. Unless you'd rather-?" Victor gestures vaguely.
"For the last time, Vic, I like kids. And they love me." Dean says, cocking his eyebrow and leaning against the wall. "I'll have Maya begging me to read her bedtime stories all weekend long, just watch me."
Victor rolls his eyes. "Your hands are in wet paint."
"Shit! Shit!" Dean says pulling back and trying to fix the smudged yellow stars.
"Dean, I told you to use the stencils."
Dean scoffs, "I've been drawing these-"
"It's not a damn Devil's Trap. It's a star. A happy yellow star with a blue background like she's wanted ever since her mother painted over the old mural in her house."
Dean worries his mouth. "Speaking of the ex?"
Victor laughs, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulling him tight. "She's not even coming upstairs. You both want as little to do with each other as possible, trust me."
"Funny that?"
"What, that you're similar in some way?"
"No, that I thought I was bringing all the baggage with me?" Dean smirks, and Victor leans in to kiss it away, pull at his lips until they soften and Dean kisses him back, wicked little tongue darting out to push past Victor's teeth.
"Y'know, you can ask him to come. Bring over Uncle Sammy to meet her."
"I think he's finally merged with the library. They are one in the same." Dean says, cryptically.
"Okay, don't tell me what he's up to."
Dean cups Victor's face and kisses him. Pulls him really close and there are hands up and down his body, Dean's mouth against his and Dean's short hairs under his hands. The downstairs buzzer rings.
"Sonavabitch," Dean murmurs as Victor pulls away.
"None of that this weekend, promise?" Victor says kissing him once more, gently.
"Uhh, Vic, maybe you should let me go downstairs?" Dean says, staring at him as he opens the door to the apartment.
"I'm not really in the mood for a catfight. You can claw her eyes out later, tough guy," Victor jokes as he jogs down the hallway. Dean just claps his hands over his mouth.
*
Maya laughs as Victor opens the lobby door to let her in and he picks her up, spinning her around. His ex-wife, Carrie, is giving him the usual angry pout and foot-stamp.
"What took you such a long time, Victor?" she asks.
"Daddy! Were you finger-painting?" Maya laughs. Victor looks at a yellow smudge on his shirtsleeve, Dean must have rubbed some of the paint on him.
"Yeah I was, Princess, I've got a big surprise for you upstairs! Now where's your bag?"
"Mommy!" Maya holds out her hands and Carrie hands Victor the overnight bag.
"Victor, were you, in the middle of something with... Dane?"
"Dean."
"Whatever."
Victor scoffs. "I'll see you on Sunday night, Carrie. Say bye-bye, Mommy!" Victor says to Maya as they wave to Carrie and turn towards the elevators.
Carrie watches him walk away, yellow and blue handprints on the back of his head and the seat of his pants.
For wendy:
-Jared Padalecki'>"Just be yourself and the right guy will come along, whether it be today, tomorrow, or next year. It'll happen!"
-Jared Padalecki
"Are you tired of not finding Mr. Right, and settling for Mr. Right-Now?" the woman on the television says, with her fake grin.
"Oh shut up!" Jensen says, almost throwing the remote through the TV, instead he just switches it off. Damn Oprah and her damn week on healing relationships. That is, Oprah was still his girl and all, she just needed to pick a topic that didn't make him feel so hopelessly pathetic.
*
"Jensen, you don't really mean that!" Jared says the next day at brunch.
"I mean it, I'm never going to find 'The One'. So why bother? I should just focus on more important things. Having lots and lots of sex with ridiculously gorgeous people who only like me for my money. At least then I'll get to live the dream."
"But it's not your dream," Jared says, gesturing with a mini-muffin.
"Details, hey!" Jensen says smiling up at the waiter. "Are you an actor?" Jared groans, god it's the oldest line in the book. But Jensen has him wrapped around his little finger, and half hour later Jared's sitting alone at the table while Jensen bangs the hot waiter in the bathroom.
"You're right, you know," a voice says behind Jared, but when he looks, no one's there.
"What?"
"You mustn't give up on love! Harness the inner you!" And then his cinnamon French toast starts to glitter and sparkle. There's a shimmer above the table and the whole world seems to slow down as a woman in a glittering pantsuit appears before his eyes, hovering over his table.
"O-Oprah?!" he says, gaping at the vision before him.
"I am your fairy-god-Oprah. And boy, let me tell you something!" she says. "You've got to stop hoping he'll see what's right before his eyes! Make him want it! Harness your sexual energy! And put it out there for him to see!" She disappears as quickly as she came, in a bevy of sparkles and glitter and little tinkling sound effects.
Jensen slides back into the table, rolling his shoulders and sighing happily. Then frowning. "What's wrong?"
Jared stares at his champagne glass. "No more mimosas."
*
Jensen's spent a good month banging everything dumb, gorgeous, and even the least bit bi-curious in Beverly Hills. And Jared's spent a month pretending not to see a little floating Oprah fairy following him around and trying to give him dating tips.
Jared loses it when she tells him to consider tucking in his shirt to show off his figure, and he turns to her shouting. "No! Listen, I've been putting out the signals the entire time we've been friends! If he wanted to be with me, he could have me! Anytime, anyplace! But he doesn't feel the same! I've done everything short of walk right up to him, like this," Jared says, walking up to Jensen.
"Grabbing his face like this," he says, placing hands against Jensen's startled face. "And kissing him!" Jared shouts before shoving their mouths together. "And then saying, 'I love you, Jensen Ackles, will you run away to Cabo with me for the weekend?' And it hasn't worked! He hasn't caught on yet!"
"Jared?"
"Hold on, Jensen, I'm making a point."
"To... who?"
Jared snaps out of it, realizing he's got an armful of Jensen. And that Jensen's used the wall against his back to brace himself and wrap his legs around his waist. He's actually holding him now, cupping his ass with his hands-god it's such a nice firm ass. It's been a long time since he's gotten this close to a full-on grope.
"Um, my fairy-god-Oprah."
"Please don't tell me this is all because you've had a nervous breakdown or something. My ego couldn't handle it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I've finally gotten the guy of my dreams, and he's only into me because he's gone schizo and fairy-Oprah told him to."
"I'm the guy of your what?"
"Dreams, Jared. I used to have them, you know. You me, and a bottle of Pinot at a picnic on the beach..." Jensen sighs, "Please don't make me go back to the land of pretty slutty dumb guys who think White Zinfandel was a band in the 80's."
Jared closes his eyes tight.
"What are you doing now?"
"Getting ready to harness the inner you."
end!
5 drabble/flashficlet thingies as inspired by quotes from this post!
For fleshflutter, Dean/Sam, R:
I'm sure we all feel that he exploded too young, but the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Sometimes He'll come in at an angle, other times He'll hover and swoop. Sometimes He can come in from beneath like a worm or a mole. The Lord, it's His call how He chooses to manoeuvre...
It happens once every 500 years. When the stars and planets align themselves just so. When the cult of the Rotting Black Head makes its annual sacrifice in triplicate-in anticipation of the day being the one. In anticipation of it being the day they can finally summon their Dark Lord back from the depths of hell, when he can draw strength from their devotion and rend his chains to pieces. When he can crawl out of the pit and into the light again.
And when the great and terrible Dark Lord is summoned, he finds himself summoned to the Best Western just outside of Rancho Cucamonga, California.
He is drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Drawn to the one who fills him with power, whose mere existence fuels his ability to sustain his presence in the waking world. He is drawn-to Sam Winchester.
The Dark Lord touches the doorframe to room 212, feels the power within, the strength and the energy. Feels a darkness and evil that rivals his own. Perhaps he won't simply drain Sam Winchester like a battery, but rather use him to aid his conquest of the world. They will return to his followers-the cult of the Rotting Black Head and they will be worshipped like the gods they are. Cities will crumble to ash and the ground will bleed fire and tar.
The Dark Lord shoves the door open, and charges in, roaring as loud as he can.
Sam stirs, "Dean? Did you-nnnngh!" And Dean fucks deeper into him, shoving him back on the mattress.
"What's that, Sammy?"
"Hear-hear something!" Sam shouts and claws at Dean's shoulders. "Fuck! Dean you forgot to lock the door, the wind blew it open!"
"Fucking-! C'mon Sam, you don't want me to stop, do you?"
Sam sucks in a breath, "Someone could see!" he says quickly.
"Fuck me," Dean huffs.
Sam kisses his collarbone, breathes into his skin, "Hurry, I want you coming inside me, fucking screaming my name."
Dean pulls out with a groan and moves off the bed in a flash, slamming the door shut and locking it. Dean frowns, looking at the ground. "Ew."
"What? What is it?" Sam whispers, as he's stroking his own dick on the bed. He's moaning looking at Dean standing naked before him. Dean lifts up his foot, and grimaces at what's stuck to the heel.
"Ugh, I stepped on something. Fucking waterbug I think. Oh sick, it smells horrible." Dean scrapes his heel against the carpet, rubbing some little squished pieces into it.
"Dean..." Sam groans.
"Seriously, I've gotta wash my foot," Dean says, hopping off to the bathroom and rinsing his foot under the hot water spray.
"Dean! Get back here and finish this!" Sam whines, hitting his head against the pillows.
"There, I got it!" Dean shouts from the bathroom and he leaps back onto the mattress, spreading his body over Sam's. "Hey," he smiles.
"Get back to it," Sam sighs, and Dean starts fingering Sam open again. He's so soft against Dean's pressure, opening up all over again for his slick, hard, cock.
*
Elsewhere, the leader of the cult of the Rotting Black Head reads the scripture once again to his followers. "And when our Dark Lord comes, you will know him by his stench-the stench of gangrenous flesh. You will hear his terrible cries-like those of a thousand black cats calling in the night. And you will see him-and when you do you will be very careful not to step on him, for he is rather small."
The leader sighs again, checking his watch and looks to his cult brothers and sisters, standing on their chairs. "Seriously, are you all keeping your feet off the floor? I don't want to have to scrape Our Dark Lord off of anyone's shoes. It'd be embarrassing."
For regala_electra, J2, PG-13:
Take me for what I am/who I was meant to be/and if you give a damn/take me baby/or leave me
Jensen flosses in bed. He'll just sit there on his side, right in the middle of watching Iron Chef with Jared and he'll take out a piece of floss from wherever spontaneous floss seems to generate and pick at his teeth, rubbing it on a tissue. And Jared will lose his appetite, which defeats the purpose of watching the Food Channel.
Jensen talks in his sleep. Well, that's not right. Jensen speaks Spanish in his sleep. He recites lines from Mexican Telenovelas that he got addicted to when he was on the last hiatus. Jared will often wake up to hear Jensen mumbling, "¡Ay Pedro! ¡Tú hermano y mi esposa estan las padres de Maria!" It's kind of disconcerting since he never resolves anything in one night, just gives him more questions.
Jensen shouts out the answers during Jeopardy; but he never says them in the form of a question. Maybe that's the last straw.
They're in the middle of an argument, Jared doesn't remember how it started, or what the original disagreement was, they've reached the point where they are shouting for the sake of shouting. Jared's losing his mind living with Jensen, and he tells him. "God! Do you realize how difficult you are sometimes!?"
"No, why don't you tell me-?"
"You're so freaking neurotic that you're driving me insane!"
"Well, maybe you're the neurotic one if I'm bothering you so damn much!"
Alex Trebek interrupts from the television set they haven't bothered turning off. "Of the world's 4 largest countries in area, it has the smallest percentage of farmland."
Jensen quickly answers, "Canada."
"What is Canada?" Jared shouts. "You have to say it in the form of a question!"
"Why?"
"Because! That's the rule! That's the only rule that makes Jeopardy, Jeopardy."
"But I'm not actually playing Jeopardy, Jared. I don't know if you've noticed."
"Then why do you always have to answer first?"
"Oh, like you knew that one."
"Of course I knew it! We live there, remember?"
"Jared," Jensen sighs. "Look around."
Jared's in Los Angeles-not Vancouver. He's in his big, empty apartment that he doesn't share with anyone; fighting with a memory, an old ghost that won't go away.
*
It's late when Jensen's phone rings and he picks it up, mumbling into the receiver. "¿Hola?"
Jared laughs. "It's me."
"Es no que-Jared? Why're you calling me at 3 in the morning?"
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, I'm up now."
"No, I mean, I'm sorry." Jared swallows. "That's why I'm calling, to tell you that I'm sorry. And I'm kinda hoping you'll take me back."
Jensen's quiet. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"
"No."
"That's okay, neither have I."
Jared smiles. "I wouldn't want you any other way."
For hkath, J2, R-ish:
I was born on the side of a hill.
Once upon a time, long, long ago there were two boys. They were very pretty, and destined to have a great destiny together. Or something. They each shared a small piece of the other's soul, and when they were united again, they would fall in love immediately and have lots of sweaty buttsex in public.
The only problem was that neither boy knew the other existed. You see, in those faiytale times of old, there were forces that worked to keep these two apart. Maybe those forces were bitter about their own destinies, or maybe they were bored. Or maybe they just had a sick sense of humor, but regardless, Jared and Jensen never laid eyes on one another for most of their lives; though they lived close to one another. In fact, they both drank water from the same well. Only they were sent by their respective families to climb the hill at different times of the day, thereby missing each other completely and returning to their lonely lives of servitude none the wiser.
Of course, the powers that be can only stave off buttsex-filled destiny for so long. And so one day while Jensen was filling his pail of water, he stopped suddenly, to think of things. Of his lonely life of servitude; of how no one had noticed his bitchin' new haircut even though it had been a week; how maybe he should switch back to wearing his glasses. And he contemplated all this while sitting on the edge of the well like an idiot.
Because the next thing he knew, he'd slipped on the wet stone edge of the well and fell inside. Luckily, the well was deep and the fall only startled him. And as fate would have it, he was the champion at treading water at Sleepaway Camp for Pretty But Woefully Indentured Servants for seven years straight.
(Jared had gone to the Indentured Servants Sleepaway and Musical Theater Camp on the other side of the lake)
The only real problem was, after the first hour. Oh man, did he have to pee real bad.
That's when the bucket fell on his head and he shouted, "Ow!"
There was a pause, and then a voice. "Did you say something?"
"Yes! I said, ow! You hit me in the head."
"Sorry, I didn't know talking wells had soft spots!" The voiced shouted back.
"I'm not a talking well! I'm Jensen Ackles: the lonely servant boy; and if you can help me out of here I'd appreciate it, because I really need to go to the bathroom!"
"Wow, I'm a lonely servant boy too!" The voice booms back. "Hey, grab onto the bucket and I'll pull you up. Why didn't you just go in the well, though?"
"Sick!" Jensen yells back, hooking his foot in the bucket. "I drink from that water! Plus it'd be all warm."
"Oh, oh yeah," the voice answers, and Jensen feels himself start to move up, tug by tug. There's a deep, deep groan coming from above.
"You're really strong," Jensen comments.
"I spend all day doing chores, it's given me ridiculously large arms and upper body strength!"
"Oh, I mostly do cooking around my house."
"Really? I've got such a huge appetite."
"I always make too much food!" Jensen exclaims reaching up to the top of the rim of the well. He feels hands grab his own and yank him out quickly. He falls onto the body, tumbling down the side of the hill. When they finally come to a stop from their tumbling, Jensen looks down and immediately falls in love with the boy between his legs.
The boy looks back up at him and drops his jaw. "Shit, you're the sexiest well-boy I've ever seen," he says, grinning. "My name is Jared Padalecki."
"I hope you don't think it's too forward of me to say, but I'm pretty sure I've just fallen hopelessly in love with you, Jared."
"Oh good, because it would have been awkward otherwise. What, with the fact that I'm going to fuck you right here in the grass and then drag you off to a liberal and progressive nudist colony so we can get married and have lots of sex and you'll legally be forced to walk around naked all the time."
And they started having hot, sweaty buttsex right there on the side of the hill, but not before Jensen ran off to relieve himself behind a tree. That would have been awkward otherwise.
For causeways, who let me pick so, DEAN/VICTOR HENRIKSEN!! :D, AU schmoop. *evil laughter*
That ain't no etch-a-sketch. This is one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskillet.
Dean steps back. "Shit."
"What's that?" Victor says, poking his head in the room. Dean turns around, hides paintbrush behind his back.
"Nothing."
"Look it's just one weekend of watching your language. Unless you'd rather-?" Victor gestures vaguely.
"For the last time, Vic, I like kids. And they love me." Dean says, cocking his eyebrow and leaning against the wall. "I'll have Maya begging me to read her bedtime stories all weekend long, just watch me."
Victor rolls his eyes. "Your hands are in wet paint."
"Shit! Shit!" Dean says pulling back and trying to fix the smudged yellow stars.
"Dean, I told you to use the stencils."
Dean scoffs, "I've been drawing these-"
"It's not a damn Devil's Trap. It's a star. A happy yellow star with a blue background like she's wanted ever since her mother painted over the old mural in her house."
Dean worries his mouth. "Speaking of the ex?"
Victor laughs, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulling him tight. "She's not even coming upstairs. You both want as little to do with each other as possible, trust me."
"Funny that?"
"What, that you're similar in some way?"
"No, that I thought I was bringing all the baggage with me?" Dean smirks, and Victor leans in to kiss it away, pull at his lips until they soften and Dean kisses him back, wicked little tongue darting out to push past Victor's teeth.
"Y'know, you can ask him to come. Bring over Uncle Sammy to meet her."
"I think he's finally merged with the library. They are one in the same." Dean says, cryptically.
"Okay, don't tell me what he's up to."
Dean cups Victor's face and kisses him. Pulls him really close and there are hands up and down his body, Dean's mouth against his and Dean's short hairs under his hands. The downstairs buzzer rings.
"Sonavabitch," Dean murmurs as Victor pulls away.
"None of that this weekend, promise?" Victor says kissing him once more, gently.
"Uhh, Vic, maybe you should let me go downstairs?" Dean says, staring at him as he opens the door to the apartment.
"I'm not really in the mood for a catfight. You can claw her eyes out later, tough guy," Victor jokes as he jogs down the hallway. Dean just claps his hands over his mouth.
*
Maya laughs as Victor opens the lobby door to let her in and he picks her up, spinning her around. His ex-wife, Carrie, is giving him the usual angry pout and foot-stamp.
"What took you such a long time, Victor?" she asks.
"Daddy! Were you finger-painting?" Maya laughs. Victor looks at a yellow smudge on his shirtsleeve, Dean must have rubbed some of the paint on him.
"Yeah I was, Princess, I've got a big surprise for you upstairs! Now where's your bag?"
"Mommy!" Maya holds out her hands and Carrie hands Victor the overnight bag.
"Victor, were you, in the middle of something with... Dane?"
"Dean."
"Whatever."
Victor scoffs. "I'll see you on Sunday night, Carrie. Say bye-bye, Mommy!" Victor says to Maya as they wave to Carrie and turn towards the elevators.
Carrie watches him walk away, yellow and blue handprints on the back of his head and the seat of his pants.
For wendy:
-Jared Padalecki'>"Just be yourself and the right guy will come along, whether it be today, tomorrow, or next year. It'll happen!"
-Jared Padalecki
"Are you tired of not finding Mr. Right, and settling for Mr. Right-Now?" the woman on the television says, with her fake grin.
"Oh shut up!" Jensen says, almost throwing the remote through the TV, instead he just switches it off. Damn Oprah and her damn week on healing relationships. That is, Oprah was still his girl and all, she just needed to pick a topic that didn't make him feel so hopelessly pathetic.
*
"Jensen, you don't really mean that!" Jared says the next day at brunch.
"I mean it, I'm never going to find 'The One'. So why bother? I should just focus on more important things. Having lots and lots of sex with ridiculously gorgeous people who only like me for my money. At least then I'll get to live the dream."
"But it's not your dream," Jared says, gesturing with a mini-muffin.
"Details, hey!" Jensen says smiling up at the waiter. "Are you an actor?" Jared groans, god it's the oldest line in the book. But Jensen has him wrapped around his little finger, and half hour later Jared's sitting alone at the table while Jensen bangs the hot waiter in the bathroom.
"You're right, you know," a voice says behind Jared, but when he looks, no one's there.
"What?"
"You mustn't give up on love! Harness the inner you!" And then his cinnamon French toast starts to glitter and sparkle. There's a shimmer above the table and the whole world seems to slow down as a woman in a glittering pantsuit appears before his eyes, hovering over his table.
"O-Oprah?!" he says, gaping at the vision before him.
"I am your fairy-god-Oprah. And boy, let me tell you something!" she says. "You've got to stop hoping he'll see what's right before his eyes! Make him want it! Harness your sexual energy! And put it out there for him to see!" She disappears as quickly as she came, in a bevy of sparkles and glitter and little tinkling sound effects.
Jensen slides back into the table, rolling his shoulders and sighing happily. Then frowning. "What's wrong?"
Jared stares at his champagne glass. "No more mimosas."
*
Jensen's spent a good month banging everything dumb, gorgeous, and even the least bit bi-curious in Beverly Hills. And Jared's spent a month pretending not to see a little floating Oprah fairy following him around and trying to give him dating tips.
Jared loses it when she tells him to consider tucking in his shirt to show off his figure, and he turns to her shouting. "No! Listen, I've been putting out the signals the entire time we've been friends! If he wanted to be with me, he could have me! Anytime, anyplace! But he doesn't feel the same! I've done everything short of walk right up to him, like this," Jared says, walking up to Jensen.
"Grabbing his face like this," he says, placing hands against Jensen's startled face. "And kissing him!" Jared shouts before shoving their mouths together. "And then saying, 'I love you, Jensen Ackles, will you run away to Cabo with me for the weekend?' And it hasn't worked! He hasn't caught on yet!"
"Jared?"
"Hold on, Jensen, I'm making a point."
"To... who?"
Jared snaps out of it, realizing he's got an armful of Jensen. And that Jensen's used the wall against his back to brace himself and wrap his legs around his waist. He's actually holding him now, cupping his ass with his hands-god it's such a nice firm ass. It's been a long time since he's gotten this close to a full-on grope.
"Um, my fairy-god-Oprah."
"Please don't tell me this is all because you've had a nervous breakdown or something. My ego couldn't handle it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I've finally gotten the guy of my dreams, and he's only into me because he's gone schizo and fairy-Oprah told him to."
"I'm the guy of your what?"
"Dreams, Jared. I used to have them, you know. You me, and a bottle of Pinot at a picnic on the beach..." Jensen sighs, "Please don't make me go back to the land of pretty slutty dumb guys who think White Zinfandel was a band in the 80's."
Jared closes his eyes tight.
"What are you doing now?"
"Getting ready to harness the inner you."
end!