Fic - "Bed, Bath and Beyond" | J2 | R
Title: Bed, Bath and Beyond
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Prompt: Jensen buys sheets that match Jared's eyes.
Rating: Adult (ish)
Summary: Jensen has trouble picking out sheets.
Disclaimer: Pretty little fairytale, sadly.
Notes: I suppose this should be labeled AU, only because there is no mention of the strike. It's my happy place, so the boys are, um, happy. And have jobs and stuff. Also, 4500 words of SCHMOOP. They bring it out in me. Thanks to titti for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine. And last, part of this is dedicated to rejeneration; you'll know what it is, babe. :D
Okay, I lied: LAST. Thank you to wendy and affectingly for running this. I can't wait to read all the domestic fic! (Now, I'll shut up.)
*
This shouldn't have been nearly as intimidating as it was.
As if to drive that point home, Jared reminded him, "They're only sheets, Jen," as they both strained their necks, staring up at shelf after endless shelf of colorful cotton, flannel and satin expertly folded into tight plastic wrapping.
White was probably the most practical, but black, that was certainly manlier. Of course, dark blue could do the trick, if what he was doing here was searching out the manliest shade for his bedroom. Jensen's eyes skipped over colors, pink and sea-foam green, paisley sheets that looked more like bad curtains than anything else, and even linens with bright yellow smiley faces that Jensen secretly kind of liked, though he'd never say it aloud.
Beside him, Jared asked, "Do you ever feel like you're in a Charlie Brown Christmas Special when you do this?" And Jensen was used to Jared's non-sequiturs, true, but sometimes -
He glanced sharply to his left, at Jared with his neck stretched back and his Adam's apple protruding, eyes unblinking at the colorful rows. "What the hell are you talking about, man?"
Jared's gaze lighted on him. "When they sing, you know, they always flip their heads back, yeah? And their noses are just sticking in the air, like you can see right into 'em."
"They're cartoons, J." The bright lights in this place were giving him a headache.
"I'm just saying it looks like it hurts."
Jensen sighed. He grabbed a package at eyelevel - white cotton, king size - and walked to the register.
Still staring at the rows, Jared said, "Don't you want to think about this?"
1
For all that they gave the same tired spiel to interviewers about their similarities - two Texas boys, laidback and lackadaisical - he and Jared weren't that alike. He'd never been as good at optimism as Jared, for one thing. Just days after they'd got the green light for Season Three, Jared had met with a real estate agent, discussing square footage and Jacuzzi tubs, the benefits of gas versus electric and taxes, while Jensen still spent every weekend lugging his two duffels back and forth across international lines.
It had taken Jared one day of hunting and he was putting in a bid to a four-bedroom house with a large sunny deck and a front yard with a basketball hoop cemented into the driveway; the sort of place that meant long-term, family. By the time Jensen decided to follow suit, it was four months into shooting the third season, and their ratings were higher than ever. He'd dragged Jared to no less than twenty-seven places, had written pro and con lists and actually missed out on his top two picks because he'd taken too long to decide.
In the end, he went with this: a condo with exorbitant monthly fees and two bedrooms, a whitewashed kitchen and neighbors who he still hadn't seen. He liked the wide windows that dropped from ceiling to floor, spilling watery sunlight into his living room, and could imagine himself watching the cityscape of Vancouver while he drank his morning coffee.
His couch was brown leather, wide and squishy, and his grandfather's sturdy wood coffee table sat in the middle of the room. Jared sprawled with his stocking feet propped up on it, putting away thick slices of pizza and wiping the grease on his shirt.
He looked at Jensen with red sauce smeared across the side of his mouth and said, "You're going to need to buy sheets if you want to sleep comfortably tonight."
*
His mamma would've been proud, Jensen imagined, that he had even thought about washing the sheets before making up his bed with 'em. She'd always harped on him about laundering his clothes before wearing them when he brought 'em home from the store, and this wouldn't be any different, he was sure. He'd dumped a big capful of detergent from the girly purple bottle of Tide Jared had insisted on - ignoring Jared's talk of smelling like he'd just run through a meadow - and put the water on hot.
And, really, it's the sort of thing they should warn for, in big block letters. How was he supposed to know the sheets would shrink and end up fourteen sizes too small for his brand new king-sized bed?
Under the buzzing bright lights of the store, Jensen located an identical package, making certain they were the right size, and manfully restrained from lecturing the sales girl behind the customer service counter about warning shoppers of the dangers of hot water; she'd been really helpful, after all, exchanging the sheets without any fuss and at least trying to hide the light of recognition in her eyes when Jared and he had walked in.
He got them home, washed them in cold (he checked three times, just to be sure) and by the time he smoothed them onto his new pillow-top mattress, it was past midnight, and he was feeling soft and sleepy from the six pack of Labatts he and Jared had split. His condo was night-quiet, and moonlight spilled through his large windows, making the whole room glow blue.
He stepped back to admire his handy work. And frowned. The sheets were smooth and crisp, and the scent of lavender wafted from them.
They were just really…white. Too white. Hospital white, really, and that just wouldn't do.
2
"So tell me again why we're back here," Jared pleaded. He wore a sweatshirt claiming he went to Stanford University and a white baseball cap, pulled low over hair that flipped up at the ends. Tinny music played over hidden speakers. Jared's lips were chapped, pink.
Jensen eyed the shelves, the same colors from before all staring reproachfully at him from their plastic-wrap confinements. "I felt like I was sleeping on a hospital bed, man; it was disturbing my sleep."
"God forbid you don't get your eight hours," Jared deadpanned.
"You didn't have to come in here with me, you know."
"Did you ever think that maybe it wasn't the sheets, but the mattress that was fucking with your chi?"
"It was the sheets."
"What about black?" Jared said, pointing to a row two shelves above his head.
"Well, it's not white."
"Hey, what about black satin," Jared said around a smirk. "They'd probably feel great against your legs."
Jensen ignored him, reached for a package of black sheets - cotton - and said, "These. These should do it."
"Okay," Jared said. "So get them so we can get going."
And Jensen asked, "Do you think I can get my money back for the other set?"
*
"Goddamn, this is a big ass TV."
Jensen smirked. "Watch your mouth, boy," he called from the kitchen, as he carried out a bag of Sour Cream and Cheddar Lays and two Heinekens with their caps already popped off.
"Sorry," Jared said around a grin, teeth flashing. "It's just really fucking huge."
Jensen's laughter was quick and clear. He gave a shrug. "Figure if you're gonna do it - "
"Do it right," Jared finished, accepting a beer, big hand obscuring the label as he took a drink. "What's the sound like?"
Flopping onto his couch, Jensen picked up a remote with a lot of primary-colored buttons. "Pretty tight if I can ever figure out how to work this damn thing."
He punched at a button, and the TV flared to life. "Stephen installed surround sound for me over the weekend, but by his damn instructions on how to work all this, you'd think I was operating a nuclear sub."
"That's what you get for having a sound guy hook up your, uh, sound."
"Yeah, I should know better." He punched another button and watched Jared set his beer down on a coaster.
A ref's whistle blew hard and long from the television. They could hear sneakers squeak on the polished wood floor. Josh Howard shot a three point, and the crowd gave a loud roar.
"It's too loud," Jared said, scowling a little at the TV.
"Ah, don't be like that, baby," Jensen teased, twisting to look at Jared and take a swig from his beer at the same time. The score was forty-one to thirty-three, with the Mavericks in the lead. Jensen settled back on the couch, kicking his feet up. He crunched loud on a handful of chips, reached over and wiped the powdery residue on Jared's Spurs T-shirt.
"Fucker," Jared grumbled. "Don't make me go down the hall and mess up your sheets."
"What exactly do you think you're gonna do to 'em?"
Jared smirked. A whistle blew on the television. "Spunk all over your pretty new black sheets would be a damn shame."
"Do it and die," Jensen warned.
"I still can't believe they took the white sheets back," said Jared.
"Luckily, I'm just that charming."
"Luckily, the girl behind the counter didn't want to hear you bitch anymore, you mean."
"Eh, whatever, man, don't be hatin' just 'cos I got mad skills."
A bubble of laughter flew out of Jared's mouth. "Never again, dude."
Johnson made a lay up, and Jared tried to scowl at the TV again, but Jensen could see the remnants of a smile. He took a long, pouty sip of his beer and it left his lips wet, shiny. Jensen caught his eye and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in check. He turned to the TV and didn't bat an eye when Jared licked his lips.
3
"You're possibly the most pathetic man I've ever met."
"Dude, how can you say that with Murray as one of your nearest and dearest?"
"Murray doesn't drag me into the same home store four times. In three days, I might add."
"Again, J, you didn't have to come."
Jared snorted, eyeing the rows before them. "As if I trust you to make this decision on your own."
Jensen reached for a package.
"I thought you didn't like dark colors," Jared said.
Eyeing the package, Jensen shook his head. "It was just the black, dude. It showed every piece of lint."
"If you weren't so damn anal this wouldn't be a problem."
"Go wait in the car," Jensen grumbled. He put the sheets back on the shelf, picked up another set.
"These the one's you want?" asked Jared.
Jensen shrugged. "Sure."
"These," Jared said again, gesturing to the sheets in Jensen's hands.
"Yes," said Jensen slowly.
"Are you sure?"
"J."
Jared grabbed the package out of Jensen's hands. "C'mon," he said, walking to the front of the store. "These are on me."
Jensen had no choice but to follow.
*
Jared's long legs ate up the pavement, and it was only because Jensen was the real athlete of the two that he could keep up for longer than one mile. Sweat stung his eyes, and his muscles ached as he pushed himself forward, his lungs a sweet, slow burn.
They didn't do this very often. Usually, when one or the other crashed on a couch, it was after a long night of drinking, and no way in hell were either of them feeling sprite enough to go for an early morning run all hung over and dehydrated.
Lately, though, after Sandy and Jared decided to call it quits and Jensen found his own place to call home, one that had no policy on large, hairy dogs other than Jensen's rules (i.e. that they stay off his fucking bed and they don't slobber all over his knee; rules that neither Harley nor Sadie paid any attention to) Jared had taken to showing up with cartons of Chinese take out and his dogs. They piled up next to Jensen's sofa, and Jared was always falling asleep completely sober, mouth open and drool drying on his chin. Jensen never bothered waking him; he just threw a blanket over him, scratched the dogs behind their ears, and face planted on his bed.
So occasionally, when they woke up, both feeling refreshed and happy, each took a leash, and they set out into the morning, the sun crawling its way toward its zenith as yellow light hovered all around them. They took long strides, breathing heavy, and the air was scented with sweat and left over cologne.
At the entrance to his condo, Jensen bent low at the waist, hands on his hips, as his heartbeat calmed. His shirt clung to his back.
Beside him, he could hear Jared's loud pants. Harley gave a happy yip.
Jensen sniffed. "You smell gross," he said.
"Harsh, dude," Jared said, breath still shallow. "You don't exactly smell like a rose, you know."
"Smell better than you."
Jared's smile was wide and white, mischievous. "I'll go roll around all sweaty in your sheets if you keep insulting me."
Jensen eyed him, a slow smile spreading across his face, and he said, "What's your preoccupation with my sheets, J?"
Jared looked at him, and the tips of his ears went pink. His hair was sticky with sweat, wet at his temples. He coughed, grinned, and said, "I feel I have intimate knowledge of 'em, dude. You keep dragging me to the fuckin' store to pick 'em out."
Jensen let his grin linger, his gaze linger on Jared's flushed cheeks, wondering if the pinky hue was all from the exertion of the run. He licked his lips, and turned away. His heart thumped loud in his ears.
"You take a shower," he ordered, walking into the building and leading Sadie by a leash. "I'll make you pancakes."
4.
This place was starting to become irritatingly familiar.
Jared gave an exasperated sigh. "They were too girly?" he said, parroting Jensen's earlier reasoning.
"Too girly," Jensen repeated.
"Well, I don't know what you were expecting," Jared said, eyes squinty under the white lights. "They were purple."
"I thought they were blue. They looked blue in the package."
"Keep telling yourself that, Jen." He paused. "Maybe you should try a pattern this time. Those bright pink flowers look neat, or hey, maybe these." He held up a set with the yellow smiley faces, grin wider than the Pacific.
"I think I liked the girly purple sheets better."
Jared shrugged, put the package back. "Just tryin' to help, dude. What about those, the paisley ones."
Jensen huffed. "I'm starting to think Sandy left you because of your bad taste," he grumbled.
"Sandy didn't leave me," Jared said vaguely, examining the paisley sheets with interest. "It was a mutual decision to expand our horizons."
"How's that working out for you?"
Jared handed Jensen a package of plaid flannel sheets. "Get these," he said. His eyes were dark, and they lingered just a second too long on Jensen's hands. "And it's working out fine, thanks for asking."
*
"C'mon!" Jared cried earnestly, cocking his head to one side and aiming the gun. "We have to save the world." He pulled the trigger, and missed.
Jensen cackled. "For all that you handle guns as Sam Winchester, boy king extraordinaire, your aim's shit."
"It's this damn plastic gun," Jared said, shaking it. "Hard to aim."
"I think maybe it's an operator problem." He grinned over at Jared, at skin a warm nutty brown that never fully faded in winter.
Jared mock-frowned back before staring intently at the TV, aiming his red, plastic gun again, and mumbling something about aliens and destruction. Black Site: Area 51 wasn't much different from the giant arcade game version Jensen used to play in high school, better graphics maybe, but the intent was still the same. Jensen aimed his gun, squinted one eye to line up his target, and shot.
A depressed sound bleeped from the TV when Jared's soldier got hit for the sixth time, and Jensen threw his own controller down. "Okay," he groaned, stretching from the couch. His spine popped. "Break time."
He looked down to find Jared's eyes level with this stomach. Jared glanced up, gave a grin and stood. "Good," he said, his eyes trained to the spot just above Jensen's shoulder. "'Cos I gotta piss." Standing this close, Jensen could smell him, the damn citrus cologne Jared always wore and sweat; his eyes were green and dark, mouth wide. Jensen felt heat sweep across his chest.
"Right," Jensen murmured. "Piss. Good. I'm gonna go do the same." He escaped to the bathroom, willing his dick to stay down long enough so that he could take leak. His reflection in the bathroom mirror showed pink cheeks and wide eyes.
He collapsed onto an empty couch when he got back from the bathroom, picking up his controller and taking a sip from his beer.
Jared came back, threw something at him. It hit Jensen in the chest. "What's this?'
Jared's grin was ridiculous. "Tootsie Pop," he chirped happily.
"You're such a girl," Jensen said, already unwrapping the candy. He stuck in his mouth. "C'mon." He gestured with his controller, Tootsie Pop hanging of the side of his mouth. "I'll give you another chance to save the world."
"It's the least you can do…." Jared plopped down next to Jensen. His thigh was warm, pressed up against Jensen's. "After insulting my manhood."
Jensen laughed. Twenty minutes later, Jared looked over at him. "Hey, what color's my tongue?" he asked.
"What?"
Jared stuck his tongue out, pulled it back in again. "What color?"
"Er, red, dude."
"Red or red red?"
"Yeah, y' know, Tootsie Pop red."
Jared's grin was wide. "Awesome. Lemme see yours."
Jensen scoffed. "No."
"C'mon. Stick it out."
Rolling his eyes with a put upon sigh, Jensen stuck his tongue out. Jared smiled. "Purple. It's a good look for you."
Jensen punched him lightly on the shoulder, said, "Lame, dude," and Jared just grinned, teeth toothpaste-ad-white and blinding.
"Whatever, you think I'm awesome."
Warm yellow light spilled over Jared's skin, and Jensen's fingers twitched. He curled them around his controller, and smiled.
5
Staring up at the rows, Jared said, "So, flannel's out."
"They were too damn hot."
"And the eight hundred thread count?"
"Too soft."
"Three hundred thread count?"
"Too scratchy."
"Man, I'mma get you a blond wig and start calling you Goldilocks."
"I hate you."
"Sure you do."
*
"Ah…ah…ah choo!"
Snot and whatever else was icky and wet flew out of Jared's mouth, his nose, and landed on Jensen's arm. "Dude, cover your mouth when you do that." He glared, wiping his arm on his jeans.
"I'b sorry, mab," Jared mumbled around a sniffle, and Jensen felt himself soften. "I cab't help i'."
"No big deal - just - ah, try and warn a guy next time you go spewing snot all over him."
Jared's eyes were glassy, wide, and his cheeks were flushed, his forehead damp and hot. He nodded, and it looked like even that small movement made him nauseous.
"Go lay down," Jensen instructed softly, as something hot and uncomfortable uncurled in his belly. "My bedroom."
"No, couch is fibe. I dob' wabba mess up yer bew sheets."
Jensen rolled his eyes good naturedly, tried to stifle a smile at Jared's pathetic sick voice, and took Jared by the shoulders. He pushed him gently down the narrow, dim hallway. Even his shoulders were damp through his thin T-shirt.
"Don't be ridiculous. My mattress is way more comfortable."
"What about by dogs?"
"I'll go get 'em after I get you tucked in like a little girl."
"Fug off."
"Play nice," Jensen said around a smile. He pushed Jared onto his bed, rummaged around the back of his closet and finally unearthed one of Jared's giant sweatshirts that he'd left over a few weeks ago; the collar was worn and the Cowboys appliqué faded. It smelled like Jensen's laundry detergent.
"Put this on," he said, laying it next to Jared's thigh, "and I'm gonna go get you some Tylenol and water, 'k?"
Jared gave a pathetic nod.
When he got back to his room five minutes later, Jared sat in the same spot, still in his jeans and T-shirt.
"J, man," said Jensen. "You doing okay?" He set the bottle and large cup of water, plus a hot mug of tea, down on his nightstand.
"I'd fibe," Jared all but whimpered, "jus' didb't feel like movib."
Jensen bit back his worried frown. He grasped the bottom of Jared's sticky, wet T-shirt. "Up," he commanded, taking care not to jostle Jared too much as he lifted the shirt over his head. Jared shivered.
"Keep your arms up…there you go."
The sweatshirt mussed up Jared's hair. It wasn't until Jared gave a small, satisfied sigh, leaning toward Jensen, that Jensen even realized he was smoothing Jared's wet hair back from his forehead.
He felt his cheeks heat, irrationally grateful that Jared's eyes were so unfocused, and gruffly said, "You need a haircut. You look like a freakin' girl."
Jared gave a huff that might have been a laugh. Jensen forced him to swallow three Tylenol before pushing him back by the shoulders and tucking his comforter up under his chin.
Jared's eyes were tightly shut. His cheeks were each a bright red spot.
"I'm gonna go get your mutts, and then I'll be back. You need anything, you call me," Jensen commanded.
He watched Jared give a small nod and made sure a phone was within reaching distance. As an afterthought, just to be sure, he put his wastebasket next the bed.
On his way to Jared's, he stopped off at the grocery store, bought orange juice and enough chicken soup to feed a small army, some toast and oatmeal, and Twizzlers for when Jared felt better. He put dog bones and a fistful of brightly-colored toothbrushes into his basket, and stood at the check out impatiently, jiggling his keys the whole time, ignoring the annoyed clerk's glare. Outside the store's windows, night lay heavy over the ground. Inside the lights were too bright. His ears rang and his chest felt tight and he checked his phone four times, making sure he didn't miss any calls.
Jared's house was big and dark, lonely. He let the dogs run around the back yard for two minutes before loading them into his truck. It was crowded, too many giant paws and wet tongues, and by the time they got back to Jensen's place, Jared was dead to the world, snoring quietly. In sleep, he looked about five-years-old, his mouth soft and his face relaxed, and Jensen tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the sight.
He refilled the water glass and took the dogs for a long walk. Under the moonlight, they barked happily, and Jensen felt too warm in the cool air, too big for his skin.
6
He made one secret trip to the store, bought the sheets with bright yellow smiling faces, but in the end he couldn't bring himself to put them on his bed. They ended up buried in the back of his closet, behind an old stack of Maxims he never got around to throwing out.
*
Maybe, when it finally happened, he shouldn't have been surprised.
At the top of his ten-story building was a rooftop garden, complete with picnic tables and three charcoal grills. The bright afternoon sunlight nuzzled right up against his cheek. It was a rare day in Vancouver, and they were gifted with warm weather and a clear sky that bled blue all the way into the horizon.
No one else seemed interested in taking advantage of the sunlight, though, and it was just Jensen and Jared sitting at a table, their shoulders pressed together as both devoured ice cream from individual pint containers.
Jared made a sound straight out of a porno, and Jensen squirmed a little in his seat. He gripped his cardboard container of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey tightly. It was melting, just a little, soft enough to dip the spoon in without much give, but still cold and smooth on his tongue.
"This stuff is fucking amazing," Jared murmured around a spoonful. He made more ridiculous happy sounds. "'S so good it should be illegal." He looked up and over at Jensen, stuck another spoonful on Cherry Garcia in his mouth. "How's yours?"
"It's real good, actually. You want some?"
His smile was sweet and slow like molasses. "Fuck yeah."
Jensen didn't think about passing over the tub, just dug his spoon in. "Here," he said, holding it out. Jared smiled at him, and how Jensen completely missed Jared's mouth was sort of a mystery, but then there was ice cream, all over the side of Jared's face.
Jared squawked a little, reached up a hand and tried to wipe it off, missing most of it.
Jensen's laughter was quick, bright. "C'mere," he ordered gruffly. "Can't fucking take you anywhere, you know that?"
Jared beamed. "It's part of my charm."
Jensen stuck his thumb in his mouth, watching Jared's eyes follow the movement. "My mom does that," Jared said, his voice suddenly shaky though his whole body had gone real still.
"Uh huh," Jensen said. He popped his thumb out of his mouth, reached up, and brushed it along Jared's face, at the corner of his mouth. Jared's eyes stayed focused on his the whole time. His mouth was wide and pink. Jensen fought to control his breathing.
He started to pull away, and Jared grabbed his wrist, the tips of his fingers cool from holding his ice cream. "Don't want to waste it," Jared murmured. And then. And then he opened his mouth, pulling Jensen's thumb into it, tongue swirling around to pull the taste off his finger. Every part of Jensen's body felt connected to his thumb.
He gave up on trying to control his breathing. His mouth dropped open in a pant. "J," he said. Sweat broke out along his back.
Jared let go of his wrist and it fell into Jensen's lap. His thumb was wet, throbbing, and his wrist felt branded by the tips of Jared's fingers.
"This okay, Jen?" Jared asked.
Jensen answered, "Fuck yeah," and leaned over. Jared's lips were cold and he tasted sticky, sweet. He smelled like sunshine and sugar, cologne and sweat, and his blunt fingernails scrapped at Jensen's shoulder, making shivers crawl up and down his spine.
7
"This is the last time we're doing this."
"Agreed."
"I mean, I feel like I'm on a first name basis with at least three of the cashiers."
"Ah, actually, J, you are."
"My point exactly."
"These are it. I can feel it." Jensen held up the package. From it, he read, "Cotton, pre-washed so it won't shrink; 500 thread count; green." He looked into Jared's eyes. "Not light enough to be girly and not so dark as to show lint."
"And they're for a king size bed?"
"Yep, it'll be a perfect fit."
"God, I hope so," Jared said. He trailed behind Jensen to the front of the store. "Also, your ass looks awesome in those jeans."
Jensen hid his smile, and paid for the sheets. His arm brushed Jared's on the way out, and neither pulled away.
*
Dim light hovered over the air, melting into the corners of his bedroom. Half-bitten nails curled around Jensen's hip, and Jared's eyes were dark in the light, pupils wide and aroused.
He made the same sort of sounds he made when eating, soft and happy, and they made heat sweep through Jensen, made him want. He licked into Jared's mouth, pulling away the taste of sugar, before moving down, mouthing the head of his cock. It was messy, loud - "God, yeah, do it." - and it was perfect.
Later, Jared peered at him from underneath his stupid floppy hair. His eyes, Jensen noticed, were a perfect match for the mossy green sheets.
"I don't think the store's gonna take these back," Jared said around a grin. He had come drying on his belly.
Jensen felt his lips stretch. He said, "I think these are just about perfect, so that's fine by me," and he leaned in for another kiss.
*spirit fingers*
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Prompt: Jensen buys sheets that match Jared's eyes.
Rating: Adult (ish)
Summary: Jensen has trouble picking out sheets.
Disclaimer: Pretty little fairytale, sadly.
Notes: I suppose this should be labeled AU, only because there is no mention of the strike. It's my happy place, so the boys are, um, happy. And have jobs and stuff. Also, 4500 words of SCHMOOP. They bring it out in me. Thanks to titti for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine. And last, part of this is dedicated to rejeneration; you'll know what it is, babe. :D
Okay, I lied: LAST. Thank you to wendy and affectingly for running this. I can't wait to read all the domestic fic! (Now, I'll shut up.)
*
This shouldn't have been nearly as intimidating as it was.
As if to drive that point home, Jared reminded him, "They're only sheets, Jen," as they both strained their necks, staring up at shelf after endless shelf of colorful cotton, flannel and satin expertly folded into tight plastic wrapping.
White was probably the most practical, but black, that was certainly manlier. Of course, dark blue could do the trick, if what he was doing here was searching out the manliest shade for his bedroom. Jensen's eyes skipped over colors, pink and sea-foam green, paisley sheets that looked more like bad curtains than anything else, and even linens with bright yellow smiley faces that Jensen secretly kind of liked, though he'd never say it aloud.
Beside him, Jared asked, "Do you ever feel like you're in a Charlie Brown Christmas Special when you do this?" And Jensen was used to Jared's non-sequiturs, true, but sometimes -
He glanced sharply to his left, at Jared with his neck stretched back and his Adam's apple protruding, eyes unblinking at the colorful rows. "What the hell are you talking about, man?"
Jared's gaze lighted on him. "When they sing, you know, they always flip their heads back, yeah? And their noses are just sticking in the air, like you can see right into 'em."
"They're cartoons, J." The bright lights in this place were giving him a headache.
"I'm just saying it looks like it hurts."
Jensen sighed. He grabbed a package at eyelevel - white cotton, king size - and walked to the register.
Still staring at the rows, Jared said, "Don't you want to think about this?"
1
For all that they gave the same tired spiel to interviewers about their similarities - two Texas boys, laidback and lackadaisical - he and Jared weren't that alike. He'd never been as good at optimism as Jared, for one thing. Just days after they'd got the green light for Season Three, Jared had met with a real estate agent, discussing square footage and Jacuzzi tubs, the benefits of gas versus electric and taxes, while Jensen still spent every weekend lugging his two duffels back and forth across international lines.
It had taken Jared one day of hunting and he was putting in a bid to a four-bedroom house with a large sunny deck and a front yard with a basketball hoop cemented into the driveway; the sort of place that meant long-term, family. By the time Jensen decided to follow suit, it was four months into shooting the third season, and their ratings were higher than ever. He'd dragged Jared to no less than twenty-seven places, had written pro and con lists and actually missed out on his top two picks because he'd taken too long to decide.
In the end, he went with this: a condo with exorbitant monthly fees and two bedrooms, a whitewashed kitchen and neighbors who he still hadn't seen. He liked the wide windows that dropped from ceiling to floor, spilling watery sunlight into his living room, and could imagine himself watching the cityscape of Vancouver while he drank his morning coffee.
His couch was brown leather, wide and squishy, and his grandfather's sturdy wood coffee table sat in the middle of the room. Jared sprawled with his stocking feet propped up on it, putting away thick slices of pizza and wiping the grease on his shirt.
He looked at Jensen with red sauce smeared across the side of his mouth and said, "You're going to need to buy sheets if you want to sleep comfortably tonight."
*
His mamma would've been proud, Jensen imagined, that he had even thought about washing the sheets before making up his bed with 'em. She'd always harped on him about laundering his clothes before wearing them when he brought 'em home from the store, and this wouldn't be any different, he was sure. He'd dumped a big capful of detergent from the girly purple bottle of Tide Jared had insisted on - ignoring Jared's talk of smelling like he'd just run through a meadow - and put the water on hot.
And, really, it's the sort of thing they should warn for, in big block letters. How was he supposed to know the sheets would shrink and end up fourteen sizes too small for his brand new king-sized bed?
Under the buzzing bright lights of the store, Jensen located an identical package, making certain they were the right size, and manfully restrained from lecturing the sales girl behind the customer service counter about warning shoppers of the dangers of hot water; she'd been really helpful, after all, exchanging the sheets without any fuss and at least trying to hide the light of recognition in her eyes when Jared and he had walked in.
He got them home, washed them in cold (he checked three times, just to be sure) and by the time he smoothed them onto his new pillow-top mattress, it was past midnight, and he was feeling soft and sleepy from the six pack of Labatts he and Jared had split. His condo was night-quiet, and moonlight spilled through his large windows, making the whole room glow blue.
He stepped back to admire his handy work. And frowned. The sheets were smooth and crisp, and the scent of lavender wafted from them.
They were just really…white. Too white. Hospital white, really, and that just wouldn't do.
2
"So tell me again why we're back here," Jared pleaded. He wore a sweatshirt claiming he went to Stanford University and a white baseball cap, pulled low over hair that flipped up at the ends. Tinny music played over hidden speakers. Jared's lips were chapped, pink.
Jensen eyed the shelves, the same colors from before all staring reproachfully at him from their plastic-wrap confinements. "I felt like I was sleeping on a hospital bed, man; it was disturbing my sleep."
"God forbid you don't get your eight hours," Jared deadpanned.
"You didn't have to come in here with me, you know."
"Did you ever think that maybe it wasn't the sheets, but the mattress that was fucking with your chi?"
"It was the sheets."
"What about black?" Jared said, pointing to a row two shelves above his head.
"Well, it's not white."
"Hey, what about black satin," Jared said around a smirk. "They'd probably feel great against your legs."
Jensen ignored him, reached for a package of black sheets - cotton - and said, "These. These should do it."
"Okay," Jared said. "So get them so we can get going."
And Jensen asked, "Do you think I can get my money back for the other set?"
*
"Goddamn, this is a big ass TV."
Jensen smirked. "Watch your mouth, boy," he called from the kitchen, as he carried out a bag of Sour Cream and Cheddar Lays and two Heinekens with their caps already popped off.
"Sorry," Jared said around a grin, teeth flashing. "It's just really fucking huge."
Jensen's laughter was quick and clear. He gave a shrug. "Figure if you're gonna do it - "
"Do it right," Jared finished, accepting a beer, big hand obscuring the label as he took a drink. "What's the sound like?"
Flopping onto his couch, Jensen picked up a remote with a lot of primary-colored buttons. "Pretty tight if I can ever figure out how to work this damn thing."
He punched at a button, and the TV flared to life. "Stephen installed surround sound for me over the weekend, but by his damn instructions on how to work all this, you'd think I was operating a nuclear sub."
"That's what you get for having a sound guy hook up your, uh, sound."
"Yeah, I should know better." He punched another button and watched Jared set his beer down on a coaster.
A ref's whistle blew hard and long from the television. They could hear sneakers squeak on the polished wood floor. Josh Howard shot a three point, and the crowd gave a loud roar.
"It's too loud," Jared said, scowling a little at the TV.
"Ah, don't be like that, baby," Jensen teased, twisting to look at Jared and take a swig from his beer at the same time. The score was forty-one to thirty-three, with the Mavericks in the lead. Jensen settled back on the couch, kicking his feet up. He crunched loud on a handful of chips, reached over and wiped the powdery residue on Jared's Spurs T-shirt.
"Fucker," Jared grumbled. "Don't make me go down the hall and mess up your sheets."
"What exactly do you think you're gonna do to 'em?"
Jared smirked. A whistle blew on the television. "Spunk all over your pretty new black sheets would be a damn shame."
"Do it and die," Jensen warned.
"I still can't believe they took the white sheets back," said Jared.
"Luckily, I'm just that charming."
"Luckily, the girl behind the counter didn't want to hear you bitch anymore, you mean."
"Eh, whatever, man, don't be hatin' just 'cos I got mad skills."
A bubble of laughter flew out of Jared's mouth. "Never again, dude."
Johnson made a lay up, and Jared tried to scowl at the TV again, but Jensen could see the remnants of a smile. He took a long, pouty sip of his beer and it left his lips wet, shiny. Jensen caught his eye and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in check. He turned to the TV and didn't bat an eye when Jared licked his lips.
3
"You're possibly the most pathetic man I've ever met."
"Dude, how can you say that with Murray as one of your nearest and dearest?"
"Murray doesn't drag me into the same home store four times. In three days, I might add."
"Again, J, you didn't have to come."
Jared snorted, eyeing the rows before them. "As if I trust you to make this decision on your own."
Jensen reached for a package.
"I thought you didn't like dark colors," Jared said.
Eyeing the package, Jensen shook his head. "It was just the black, dude. It showed every piece of lint."
"If you weren't so damn anal this wouldn't be a problem."
"Go wait in the car," Jensen grumbled. He put the sheets back on the shelf, picked up another set.
"These the one's you want?" asked Jared.
Jensen shrugged. "Sure."
"These," Jared said again, gesturing to the sheets in Jensen's hands.
"Yes," said Jensen slowly.
"Are you sure?"
"J."
Jared grabbed the package out of Jensen's hands. "C'mon," he said, walking to the front of the store. "These are on me."
Jensen had no choice but to follow.
*
Jared's long legs ate up the pavement, and it was only because Jensen was the real athlete of the two that he could keep up for longer than one mile. Sweat stung his eyes, and his muscles ached as he pushed himself forward, his lungs a sweet, slow burn.
They didn't do this very often. Usually, when one or the other crashed on a couch, it was after a long night of drinking, and no way in hell were either of them feeling sprite enough to go for an early morning run all hung over and dehydrated.
Lately, though, after Sandy and Jared decided to call it quits and Jensen found his own place to call home, one that had no policy on large, hairy dogs other than Jensen's rules (i.e. that they stay off his fucking bed and they don't slobber all over his knee; rules that neither Harley nor Sadie paid any attention to) Jared had taken to showing up with cartons of Chinese take out and his dogs. They piled up next to Jensen's sofa, and Jared was always falling asleep completely sober, mouth open and drool drying on his chin. Jensen never bothered waking him; he just threw a blanket over him, scratched the dogs behind their ears, and face planted on his bed.
So occasionally, when they woke up, both feeling refreshed and happy, each took a leash, and they set out into the morning, the sun crawling its way toward its zenith as yellow light hovered all around them. They took long strides, breathing heavy, and the air was scented with sweat and left over cologne.
At the entrance to his condo, Jensen bent low at the waist, hands on his hips, as his heartbeat calmed. His shirt clung to his back.
Beside him, he could hear Jared's loud pants. Harley gave a happy yip.
Jensen sniffed. "You smell gross," he said.
"Harsh, dude," Jared said, breath still shallow. "You don't exactly smell like a rose, you know."
"Smell better than you."
Jared's smile was wide and white, mischievous. "I'll go roll around all sweaty in your sheets if you keep insulting me."
Jensen eyed him, a slow smile spreading across his face, and he said, "What's your preoccupation with my sheets, J?"
Jared looked at him, and the tips of his ears went pink. His hair was sticky with sweat, wet at his temples. He coughed, grinned, and said, "I feel I have intimate knowledge of 'em, dude. You keep dragging me to the fuckin' store to pick 'em out."
Jensen let his grin linger, his gaze linger on Jared's flushed cheeks, wondering if the pinky hue was all from the exertion of the run. He licked his lips, and turned away. His heart thumped loud in his ears.
"You take a shower," he ordered, walking into the building and leading Sadie by a leash. "I'll make you pancakes."
4.
This place was starting to become irritatingly familiar.
Jared gave an exasperated sigh. "They were too girly?" he said, parroting Jensen's earlier reasoning.
"Too girly," Jensen repeated.
"Well, I don't know what you were expecting," Jared said, eyes squinty under the white lights. "They were purple."
"I thought they were blue. They looked blue in the package."
"Keep telling yourself that, Jen." He paused. "Maybe you should try a pattern this time. Those bright pink flowers look neat, or hey, maybe these." He held up a set with the yellow smiley faces, grin wider than the Pacific.
"I think I liked the girly purple sheets better."
Jared shrugged, put the package back. "Just tryin' to help, dude. What about those, the paisley ones."
Jensen huffed. "I'm starting to think Sandy left you because of your bad taste," he grumbled.
"Sandy didn't leave me," Jared said vaguely, examining the paisley sheets with interest. "It was a mutual decision to expand our horizons."
"How's that working out for you?"
Jared handed Jensen a package of plaid flannel sheets. "Get these," he said. His eyes were dark, and they lingered just a second too long on Jensen's hands. "And it's working out fine, thanks for asking."
*
"C'mon!" Jared cried earnestly, cocking his head to one side and aiming the gun. "We have to save the world." He pulled the trigger, and missed.
Jensen cackled. "For all that you handle guns as Sam Winchester, boy king extraordinaire, your aim's shit."
"It's this damn plastic gun," Jared said, shaking it. "Hard to aim."
"I think maybe it's an operator problem." He grinned over at Jared, at skin a warm nutty brown that never fully faded in winter.
Jared mock-frowned back before staring intently at the TV, aiming his red, plastic gun again, and mumbling something about aliens and destruction. Black Site: Area 51 wasn't much different from the giant arcade game version Jensen used to play in high school, better graphics maybe, but the intent was still the same. Jensen aimed his gun, squinted one eye to line up his target, and shot.
A depressed sound bleeped from the TV when Jared's soldier got hit for the sixth time, and Jensen threw his own controller down. "Okay," he groaned, stretching from the couch. His spine popped. "Break time."
He looked down to find Jared's eyes level with this stomach. Jared glanced up, gave a grin and stood. "Good," he said, his eyes trained to the spot just above Jensen's shoulder. "'Cos I gotta piss." Standing this close, Jensen could smell him, the damn citrus cologne Jared always wore and sweat; his eyes were green and dark, mouth wide. Jensen felt heat sweep across his chest.
"Right," Jensen murmured. "Piss. Good. I'm gonna go do the same." He escaped to the bathroom, willing his dick to stay down long enough so that he could take leak. His reflection in the bathroom mirror showed pink cheeks and wide eyes.
He collapsed onto an empty couch when he got back from the bathroom, picking up his controller and taking a sip from his beer.
Jared came back, threw something at him. It hit Jensen in the chest. "What's this?'
Jared's grin was ridiculous. "Tootsie Pop," he chirped happily.
"You're such a girl," Jensen said, already unwrapping the candy. He stuck in his mouth. "C'mon." He gestured with his controller, Tootsie Pop hanging of the side of his mouth. "I'll give you another chance to save the world."
"It's the least you can do…." Jared plopped down next to Jensen. His thigh was warm, pressed up against Jensen's. "After insulting my manhood."
Jensen laughed. Twenty minutes later, Jared looked over at him. "Hey, what color's my tongue?" he asked.
"What?"
Jared stuck his tongue out, pulled it back in again. "What color?"
"Er, red, dude."
"Red or red red?"
"Yeah, y' know, Tootsie Pop red."
Jared's grin was wide. "Awesome. Lemme see yours."
Jensen scoffed. "No."
"C'mon. Stick it out."
Rolling his eyes with a put upon sigh, Jensen stuck his tongue out. Jared smiled. "Purple. It's a good look for you."
Jensen punched him lightly on the shoulder, said, "Lame, dude," and Jared just grinned, teeth toothpaste-ad-white and blinding.
"Whatever, you think I'm awesome."
Warm yellow light spilled over Jared's skin, and Jensen's fingers twitched. He curled them around his controller, and smiled.
5
Staring up at the rows, Jared said, "So, flannel's out."
"They were too damn hot."
"And the eight hundred thread count?"
"Too soft."
"Three hundred thread count?"
"Too scratchy."
"Man, I'mma get you a blond wig and start calling you Goldilocks."
"I hate you."
"Sure you do."
*
"Ah…ah…ah choo!"
Snot and whatever else was icky and wet flew out of Jared's mouth, his nose, and landed on Jensen's arm. "Dude, cover your mouth when you do that." He glared, wiping his arm on his jeans.
"I'b sorry, mab," Jared mumbled around a sniffle, and Jensen felt himself soften. "I cab't help i'."
"No big deal - just - ah, try and warn a guy next time you go spewing snot all over him."
Jared's eyes were glassy, wide, and his cheeks were flushed, his forehead damp and hot. He nodded, and it looked like even that small movement made him nauseous.
"Go lay down," Jensen instructed softly, as something hot and uncomfortable uncurled in his belly. "My bedroom."
"No, couch is fibe. I dob' wabba mess up yer bew sheets."
Jensen rolled his eyes good naturedly, tried to stifle a smile at Jared's pathetic sick voice, and took Jared by the shoulders. He pushed him gently down the narrow, dim hallway. Even his shoulders were damp through his thin T-shirt.
"Don't be ridiculous. My mattress is way more comfortable."
"What about by dogs?"
"I'll go get 'em after I get you tucked in like a little girl."
"Fug off."
"Play nice," Jensen said around a smile. He pushed Jared onto his bed, rummaged around the back of his closet and finally unearthed one of Jared's giant sweatshirts that he'd left over a few weeks ago; the collar was worn and the Cowboys appliqué faded. It smelled like Jensen's laundry detergent.
"Put this on," he said, laying it next to Jared's thigh, "and I'm gonna go get you some Tylenol and water, 'k?"
Jared gave a pathetic nod.
When he got back to his room five minutes later, Jared sat in the same spot, still in his jeans and T-shirt.
"J, man," said Jensen. "You doing okay?" He set the bottle and large cup of water, plus a hot mug of tea, down on his nightstand.
"I'd fibe," Jared all but whimpered, "jus' didb't feel like movib."
Jensen bit back his worried frown. He grasped the bottom of Jared's sticky, wet T-shirt. "Up," he commanded, taking care not to jostle Jared too much as he lifted the shirt over his head. Jared shivered.
"Keep your arms up…there you go."
The sweatshirt mussed up Jared's hair. It wasn't until Jared gave a small, satisfied sigh, leaning toward Jensen, that Jensen even realized he was smoothing Jared's wet hair back from his forehead.
He felt his cheeks heat, irrationally grateful that Jared's eyes were so unfocused, and gruffly said, "You need a haircut. You look like a freakin' girl."
Jared gave a huff that might have been a laugh. Jensen forced him to swallow three Tylenol before pushing him back by the shoulders and tucking his comforter up under his chin.
Jared's eyes were tightly shut. His cheeks were each a bright red spot.
"I'm gonna go get your mutts, and then I'll be back. You need anything, you call me," Jensen commanded.
He watched Jared give a small nod and made sure a phone was within reaching distance. As an afterthought, just to be sure, he put his wastebasket next the bed.
On his way to Jared's, he stopped off at the grocery store, bought orange juice and enough chicken soup to feed a small army, some toast and oatmeal, and Twizzlers for when Jared felt better. He put dog bones and a fistful of brightly-colored toothbrushes into his basket, and stood at the check out impatiently, jiggling his keys the whole time, ignoring the annoyed clerk's glare. Outside the store's windows, night lay heavy over the ground. Inside the lights were too bright. His ears rang and his chest felt tight and he checked his phone four times, making sure he didn't miss any calls.
Jared's house was big and dark, lonely. He let the dogs run around the back yard for two minutes before loading them into his truck. It was crowded, too many giant paws and wet tongues, and by the time they got back to Jensen's place, Jared was dead to the world, snoring quietly. In sleep, he looked about five-years-old, his mouth soft and his face relaxed, and Jensen tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the sight.
He refilled the water glass and took the dogs for a long walk. Under the moonlight, they barked happily, and Jensen felt too warm in the cool air, too big for his skin.
6
He made one secret trip to the store, bought the sheets with bright yellow smiling faces, but in the end he couldn't bring himself to put them on his bed. They ended up buried in the back of his closet, behind an old stack of Maxims he never got around to throwing out.
*
Maybe, when it finally happened, he shouldn't have been surprised.
At the top of his ten-story building was a rooftop garden, complete with picnic tables and three charcoal grills. The bright afternoon sunlight nuzzled right up against his cheek. It was a rare day in Vancouver, and they were gifted with warm weather and a clear sky that bled blue all the way into the horizon.
No one else seemed interested in taking advantage of the sunlight, though, and it was just Jensen and Jared sitting at a table, their shoulders pressed together as both devoured ice cream from individual pint containers.
Jared made a sound straight out of a porno, and Jensen squirmed a little in his seat. He gripped his cardboard container of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey tightly. It was melting, just a little, soft enough to dip the spoon in without much give, but still cold and smooth on his tongue.
"This stuff is fucking amazing," Jared murmured around a spoonful. He made more ridiculous happy sounds. "'S so good it should be illegal." He looked up and over at Jensen, stuck another spoonful on Cherry Garcia in his mouth. "How's yours?"
"It's real good, actually. You want some?"
His smile was sweet and slow like molasses. "Fuck yeah."
Jensen didn't think about passing over the tub, just dug his spoon in. "Here," he said, holding it out. Jared smiled at him, and how Jensen completely missed Jared's mouth was sort of a mystery, but then there was ice cream, all over the side of Jared's face.
Jared squawked a little, reached up a hand and tried to wipe it off, missing most of it.
Jensen's laughter was quick, bright. "C'mere," he ordered gruffly. "Can't fucking take you anywhere, you know that?"
Jared beamed. "It's part of my charm."
Jensen stuck his thumb in his mouth, watching Jared's eyes follow the movement. "My mom does that," Jared said, his voice suddenly shaky though his whole body had gone real still.
"Uh huh," Jensen said. He popped his thumb out of his mouth, reached up, and brushed it along Jared's face, at the corner of his mouth. Jared's eyes stayed focused on his the whole time. His mouth was wide and pink. Jensen fought to control his breathing.
He started to pull away, and Jared grabbed his wrist, the tips of his fingers cool from holding his ice cream. "Don't want to waste it," Jared murmured. And then. And then he opened his mouth, pulling Jensen's thumb into it, tongue swirling around to pull the taste off his finger. Every part of Jensen's body felt connected to his thumb.
He gave up on trying to control his breathing. His mouth dropped open in a pant. "J," he said. Sweat broke out along his back.
Jared let go of his wrist and it fell into Jensen's lap. His thumb was wet, throbbing, and his wrist felt branded by the tips of Jared's fingers.
"This okay, Jen?" Jared asked.
Jensen answered, "Fuck yeah," and leaned over. Jared's lips were cold and he tasted sticky, sweet. He smelled like sunshine and sugar, cologne and sweat, and his blunt fingernails scrapped at Jensen's shoulder, making shivers crawl up and down his spine.
7
"This is the last time we're doing this."
"Agreed."
"I mean, I feel like I'm on a first name basis with at least three of the cashiers."
"Ah, actually, J, you are."
"My point exactly."
"These are it. I can feel it." Jensen held up the package. From it, he read, "Cotton, pre-washed so it won't shrink; 500 thread count; green." He looked into Jared's eyes. "Not light enough to be girly and not so dark as to show lint."
"And they're for a king size bed?"
"Yep, it'll be a perfect fit."
"God, I hope so," Jared said. He trailed behind Jensen to the front of the store. "Also, your ass looks awesome in those jeans."
Jensen hid his smile, and paid for the sheets. His arm brushed Jared's on the way out, and neither pulled away.
*
Dim light hovered over the air, melting into the corners of his bedroom. Half-bitten nails curled around Jensen's hip, and Jared's eyes were dark in the light, pupils wide and aroused.
He made the same sort of sounds he made when eating, soft and happy, and they made heat sweep through Jensen, made him want. He licked into Jared's mouth, pulling away the taste of sugar, before moving down, mouthing the head of his cock. It was messy, loud - "God, yeah, do it." - and it was perfect.
Later, Jared peered at him from underneath his stupid floppy hair. His eyes, Jensen noticed, were a perfect match for the mossy green sheets.
"I don't think the store's gonna take these back," Jared said around a grin. He had come drying on his belly.
Jensen felt his lips stretch. He said, "I think these are just about perfect, so that's fine by me," and he leaned in for another kiss.
*spirit fingers*