Fic: and hearts will be glowing
It feels kind of depressing to admit, but Jensen really hates Christmas. Like, a lot.
And yeah, okay, he’s not a total Grinch about it, but it’s just that endless cheesy Christmas carols make him want to start kicking puppies, and the horrible commercials cause him to throw things at the TV. One time he chucked a shoe at Jared’s new plasma-screen, which did not go over well, but he couldn’t help himself. Little kids were singing a charming holiday carol about great savings at Target. Anybody with a working moral compass would have died a little on the inside.
Jared rolls his eyes a lot, calls Jensen ‘Scrooge.’ When he’s feeling especially cheery, he plays Christmas Shoes and The Little Drummer Boy on repeat, ignores Jensen’s groans of despair and throws his head back, laughing in that way that always makes Jensen think of Texas - humidity that presses in from all sides and barbeque and drawling accents and home.
Somehow, when Jared had suggested they live together, it hadn’t occurred to Jensen that he might be forced to listen to hours of Christmas carols, and decorate things, and stuff himself with all the Pillsbury sugar cookies Jared keeps making batches of. He briefly considers booking himself into a hotel until January second, before deciding that this would only increase the number of jokes about his heart being two sizes too small. Plus, Jared might actually get his feelings hurt, knowing him, and the last thing Jensen needs is his best friend-slash-co-star pouting like a homeless kitten or something.
He starts to re-think this point of view when a week before Christmas, Jared insists on a real Christmas tree, one of those gigantic, wide Douglas Firs that’s about nine feet tall and just barely avoids scraping the living room ceiling. It even dwarfs Jared.
“You’re insane,” Jensen observes from his spot on the sofa, folding his arms and watching in amazement as Jared attempts to wrestle the thing into a stand.
“And you,” Jared calls, voice slightly muffled, “are a jerk. You could get off your lazy ass and help me, you know.”
“Hey, you were the one who wanted this ridiculous tree,” Jensen points out. “I was all for getting that other one-”
“Which was barely four feet tall, if that!” Jared reminds him.
”Looked fine to me.” Jensen eyes Jared warily as he dives sideways to stop the tree from crashing to the ground. “God, Jay. The thing could eat you.”
“It’ll crush me to death if somebody doesn’t help me out here,” Jared manages in a strangled voice. Jensen almost feels sorry for him. “Jen-!” It happens so fast that Jensen barely has time to draw breath: the demon tree teeters precariously, then hurtles down on top of Jared, who falls to the ground with a surprised yelp.
“Shit!” Jensen lunges across the room, unexpected panic coursing through him, his mouth already dry. One of Jared’s large, booted feet is peeking out from under a mass of pine needles, and he can just glimpse a long arm waving helplessly in the air. “Jared! Fuckin’-are you all right, man?”
“Dunno,” Jared groans in a strange, raspy voice. “Ca-can’t really…”
“Don’t talk,” Jensen directs, worriedly surveying the situation in front of him. “Don’t move, either. I’m gonna get you out of there, Jay, don’t sweat it.”
“B-but you said this th-thing could eat me,” Jared somehow chokes out. “How are y-you gonna move it by y-yourself?”
“What’d I say about talking?” Jensen snaps, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I’ll figure something out. You just lie there and try not to kill yourself, okay?” Jared makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort of disgust, but does as he’s told, leaving Jensen free to brainstorm useless ideas that will probably lead to both of them underneath the stupid tree. God, and people wonder why he hates Christmas so much.
It worries him that Jared Padalecki, who benches like three hundred pounds and runs a couple miles every freakin’ day, not to mention already has the advantage of basically being forty feet tall, couldn’t handle this on his own. Jensen isn’t exactly scrawny, but he doesn’t think he can lift the tree by himself. The other option, of course, would be to pull Jared out from underneath it, but a) Jared probably weighs as much as the tree, if not more, and b) what if Jared is seriously injured but can’t tell because the weight of the tree is the only thing holding him together or something? Jensen doesn’t think that particular situation is very likely, but he can’t help remembering (in vivid detail, no less) this show he once saw where a married couple got plowed into by a truck, and the concrete blocks that fell off the truck and landed on top of them were the only things keeping them alive.
He shudders, eyeing Jared’s boot worriedly, until Jared rasps, in a very sarcastic manner for someone who’s internal organs are possibly being held in by a Christmas tree,
”A-any day now, d-dude.”
“I’m working on it!” Jensen takes a deep breath, making a snap decision. He doesn’t particularly like this, but he doesn’t have many other options. “Okay, Jay, on the count of three, I’m going to lift the top half of the tree, and, um, check you out to make sure you can move. And if you’re good to go, you can roll out from under this beast.”
“W-what do y-you mean, check to make sure I c-can move?” Jared demands in a worried tone, one of his arms flailing again. “I c-can move fine!” Jensen winces, remembering how the woman on the show could move her toes, despite the fact that a two ton block of cement was what was keeping her body in one piece.
”Sure you can, Jay. Just wanna make sure,” Jensen says quickly, moving towards his friend’s voice. He glances around the top of the tree and stifles a chuckle at Jared’s disgruntled expression. Most of his neck is buried in Douglas Fir, and he keeps trying to crane his head to avoid inhaling needles. “All right. Remember, the count of three. Don’t move until I say so, and then roll fast.”
“Don’t d-drop it,” Jared advises, coughing around a grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Jensen braces himself, bending his knees and getting a good grip on the top of the tree and the trunk. Needles prick at his hands and face, and the bark is rough, splintery almost, beneath his hands. “Ready? One…two…three.” With a grunt, he manages to haul the tree up off of Jared, but just barely. Jared inhales gratefully, coughing, and Jensen glances quickly down to make sure there aren’t any intestines or whatever where there shouldn’t be. From what he can tell, Jared is in one piece, so he manages to growl,
“Move!”
Jared rolls to the left just in time: the tree crashes back to the ground, shaking the entire floor and prompting Harley and Sadie, who are lounging in the kitchen, to start barking worriedly and trot into the living room.
Jensen collapses beside the tree, chest heaving, and glances over at Jared, who’s lying spread-eagled a few feet away. Sadie is worriedly licking his face, concern in her large eyes.
“How ya doin’?”
“Mmph.” Jared woozily sits up, absentmindedly stroking Sadie’s ears. “I been better.” The Texas in his voice is stronger than usual, a sure sign that he’s drunk, tired, or hurt. A flash of-of something, Jensen hates to acknowledge what, makes him draw a shallow breath, squeeze his eyes briefly shut, before he pulls himself to his feet and goes to Jared.
“You’re bleeding,” he notes gruffly, motioning to Jared’s face. “No - not that low.” Just barely, Jensen touches a spot just to the left of Jared’s temple. “There.”
“Oh.” Jared swallows, staring at Jensen. “It doesn’t need stitches, does it?”
“Nah. Just a Band-aid and some ice. You hurt anywhere else?”
“My shoulder,” Jared admits, wincing slightly as Jensen helps haul him to his feet. “Chest, too.”
“Well, let me take a look,” Jensen prompts, leading Jared over to the couch. “I’ll just go get the First Aid kit. Does your head hurt?”
“Nope.”
“That’s good. Don’t want any concussions; you can’t stand to lose any more of those dwindling brain cells.”
”Hey!” Jared yells, but he grins so bright, all dimples and straight white teeth, the kind of grin that warms Jensen inside out.
“I’m not the one who bought the Tree From Hell, dumbass,” Jensen replies, unable to stop his own grin. “If I had Dean’s gun and rock salt, I’d have wasted the son-of-a-bitch ten minutes ago.”
“You’re just jealous it didn’t fall on you so you could Grinch some more about how pointless Christmas is,” Jared announces.
“Uh, not quite,” Jensen chuckles. “Stay put while I get the kit, will you?”
Jared’s laughter follows him down the hall, makes his cheeks strangely hot, twists in his stomach.
--
“I think you should get your money back,” Jensen says frankly, slightly aghast at the amount of bruising Jared has sustained. “I mean, damn. Spirit of the Season my ass.”
”Is it really that bad?” Jared glances down, then grimaces, turning his head away. “Ow,” he adds, sighing resolutely.
“You need Advil.” Jensen kneels in front of Jared, pressing an ice pack to one massive, black and blue shoulder. “That’s gotta kill.”
“Yeah.” Jared coughs brokenly, turning his head away as Jensen applies pressure.
“Here.” Jensen leans over Jared to reach for the bottle, straining not to bump against him and hit one of his various injuries. Of course, when he draws back, thee Advil in hand, Jared turns his head just so, and for a split second, their cheeks brush. Jensen pretends not to hear Jared’s breath hitch, doesn’t acknowledge the thrill that trails up his spine, and they jerk away quickly, as they always do when things like this happen. Which is far too often lately.
Jared hurriedly downs the medicine, and for a moment, it’s all heavy silence - a little uncomfortable, a little knowing. A little something Jensen usually only thinks about late at night, in the comfort of his own bed.
Shaking his head resolutely, Jensen wraps a bandage around one of the cuts on Jared’s left forearms, smoothing his thumb over it for good measure.
“Well now,” he says at last. “Looks like you’re about as patched up as I can do. You should probably just take it easy. No more Christmas decorations for you today, big guy.”
Jared nods, eyes still trained on the floor, a strange expression plastered across his face. Jensen realizes his hand is still on Jared’s arm and pulls it away sharply, heat coloring his cheeks yet again.
“Thanks,” Jared says quickly, getting to his feet and turning to go. “I just…thanks. I’m sorry I-” Another cough. “Anyway. I think I’m just…yeah.”
“Jay.” Jensen holds out his friend’s shirt, which had been lying in a faded ball beside the couch. Briefly, their eyes meet, and then Jared reaches out, takes the shirt carefully. A wince twists his face as he strains his injured arm, and without really thinking, Jensen reaches up and rests his hand on Jared’s cheek, the side without the cut. His thumb brushes softly, tenderly almost, across Jared’s cheekbone in a way that is quite unlike any way best friends are supposed to touch each other. Ever.
Yet another silence, this one so loud Jensen feels like his head might explode from the sheer crushing weight of it. Jared is just staring at him, the shirt crumpled loosely in one of his huge hands, and Jensen still can’t bring himself to jerk his hand away. To laugh harshly and joke it off, walk away from this like he always does when things get all tense between them. To pretend like he doesn’t watch Jared every morning when he comes in from his run, shirtless and dripping sweat. To ignore the fact that there wasn’t a person in the entire world whose Christmas cheer and cookies and carols and Trees from Hell he’d put up with, until Jared Padalecki came along and upended his life.
Four years of this. Four years of staring, of friendship, of want and secrets and yes, Jensen knows, yes - love.
So he stands up, never breaking Jared’s gaze for an instant, and thinks that maybe this is the one shot he’ll get, and he shouldn’t waste it. Shouldn’t throw it away because he’s scared or confused, or a million other things.
It’s unclear whether Jensen moves first or Jared does (because, as always, it’s something to bicker about later), but the one thing that’s certain is that they’re kissing, with Jared’s arms pulling Jensen in tight, Jensen’s hands on Jared’s face. It’s still so eerily quiet, but there’s nothing strained or secretive or uncomfortable about this. It’s not perfect, and they bump noses, and Jensen accidentally hits one of Jared’s bruises, and they’re still figuring out whose hands go where and what this will mean and a million other things too complicated to think about.
But when they finally draw away, gasping for air, all Jensen can really feel is right. Everything feels right, at the moment: Jared’s wide, wide smile and the smell of the awful gingerbread cookie candles he always insists on putting out during the winter and the fallen Christmas tree (from Hell) and the way one of Jared’s hands still curls around the nape of his neck.
“So,” Jensen starts, unsure of what he’s really supposed to say. There’s so much. Too many things to puzzle out, to ask, to tell.
”I told you Christmas wasn’t so bad!” Jared cuts in triumphantly. “Didn’t I? I did!”
“Oh, for the love of - that was not the Christmas spirit, you gigantic loser.”
”It so was. You never would have done that if it was, like, August or something. Admit it! You actually felt something different in the air-”
“Or maybe my horniness just got the better of me.”
“It did not!”
“Okay, Jared. Suit yourself.”
“‘And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day’-hey, ow, don’t kick me!”
“So help me, I will torch that tree if you quote Dr. Seuss at me one more damn time.”
“Aw! Then we could sing The Christmas Song, and I could actually try roasting some chestn-mph.”
Though they still haven’t figured much out yet, one of the biggest perks of this whole kissing Jared thing is that it’s probably the only way short of duct tape to shut him up.
And it feels kind of ridiculous to admit, but Jared might actually have a point about this whole Christmas thing. Not that Jensen wants to start singing carols, or bake any more cookies, or deal with the massive tree on the living room floor, or - well, have anything to do with it at all, really, but….
Oh, who is he kidding?
He’s been in love with Christmas since the day after Thanksgiving, when he woke up to Jared blasting “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” as he decorated Jensen’s bedroom door with a wreath, that smile spread bright across his face.
And yeah, okay, he’s not a total Grinch about it, but it’s just that endless cheesy Christmas carols make him want to start kicking puppies, and the horrible commercials cause him to throw things at the TV. One time he chucked a shoe at Jared’s new plasma-screen, which did not go over well, but he couldn’t help himself. Little kids were singing a charming holiday carol about great savings at Target. Anybody with a working moral compass would have died a little on the inside.
Jared rolls his eyes a lot, calls Jensen ‘Scrooge.’ When he’s feeling especially cheery, he plays Christmas Shoes and The Little Drummer Boy on repeat, ignores Jensen’s groans of despair and throws his head back, laughing in that way that always makes Jensen think of Texas - humidity that presses in from all sides and barbeque and drawling accents and home.
Somehow, when Jared had suggested they live together, it hadn’t occurred to Jensen that he might be forced to listen to hours of Christmas carols, and decorate things, and stuff himself with all the Pillsbury sugar cookies Jared keeps making batches of. He briefly considers booking himself into a hotel until January second, before deciding that this would only increase the number of jokes about his heart being two sizes too small. Plus, Jared might actually get his feelings hurt, knowing him, and the last thing Jensen needs is his best friend-slash-co-star pouting like a homeless kitten or something.
He starts to re-think this point of view when a week before Christmas, Jared insists on a real Christmas tree, one of those gigantic, wide Douglas Firs that’s about nine feet tall and just barely avoids scraping the living room ceiling. It even dwarfs Jared.
“You’re insane,” Jensen observes from his spot on the sofa, folding his arms and watching in amazement as Jared attempts to wrestle the thing into a stand.
“And you,” Jared calls, voice slightly muffled, “are a jerk. You could get off your lazy ass and help me, you know.”
“Hey, you were the one who wanted this ridiculous tree,” Jensen points out. “I was all for getting that other one-”
“Which was barely four feet tall, if that!” Jared reminds him.
”Looked fine to me.” Jensen eyes Jared warily as he dives sideways to stop the tree from crashing to the ground. “God, Jay. The thing could eat you.”
“It’ll crush me to death if somebody doesn’t help me out here,” Jared manages in a strangled voice. Jensen almost feels sorry for him. “Jen-!” It happens so fast that Jensen barely has time to draw breath: the demon tree teeters precariously, then hurtles down on top of Jared, who falls to the ground with a surprised yelp.
“Shit!” Jensen lunges across the room, unexpected panic coursing through him, his mouth already dry. One of Jared’s large, booted feet is peeking out from under a mass of pine needles, and he can just glimpse a long arm waving helplessly in the air. “Jared! Fuckin’-are you all right, man?”
“Dunno,” Jared groans in a strange, raspy voice. “Ca-can’t really…”
“Don’t talk,” Jensen directs, worriedly surveying the situation in front of him. “Don’t move, either. I’m gonna get you out of there, Jay, don’t sweat it.”
“B-but you said this th-thing could eat me,” Jared somehow chokes out. “How are y-you gonna move it by y-yourself?”
“What’d I say about talking?” Jensen snaps, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I’ll figure something out. You just lie there and try not to kill yourself, okay?” Jared makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort of disgust, but does as he’s told, leaving Jensen free to brainstorm useless ideas that will probably lead to both of them underneath the stupid tree. God, and people wonder why he hates Christmas so much.
It worries him that Jared Padalecki, who benches like three hundred pounds and runs a couple miles every freakin’ day, not to mention already has the advantage of basically being forty feet tall, couldn’t handle this on his own. Jensen isn’t exactly scrawny, but he doesn’t think he can lift the tree by himself. The other option, of course, would be to pull Jared out from underneath it, but a) Jared probably weighs as much as the tree, if not more, and b) what if Jared is seriously injured but can’t tell because the weight of the tree is the only thing holding him together or something? Jensen doesn’t think that particular situation is very likely, but he can’t help remembering (in vivid detail, no less) this show he once saw where a married couple got plowed into by a truck, and the concrete blocks that fell off the truck and landed on top of them were the only things keeping them alive.
He shudders, eyeing Jared’s boot worriedly, until Jared rasps, in a very sarcastic manner for someone who’s internal organs are possibly being held in by a Christmas tree,
”A-any day now, d-dude.”
“I’m working on it!” Jensen takes a deep breath, making a snap decision. He doesn’t particularly like this, but he doesn’t have many other options. “Okay, Jay, on the count of three, I’m going to lift the top half of the tree, and, um, check you out to make sure you can move. And if you’re good to go, you can roll out from under this beast.”
“W-what do y-you mean, check to make sure I c-can move?” Jared demands in a worried tone, one of his arms flailing again. “I c-can move fine!” Jensen winces, remembering how the woman on the show could move her toes, despite the fact that a two ton block of cement was what was keeping her body in one piece.
”Sure you can, Jay. Just wanna make sure,” Jensen says quickly, moving towards his friend’s voice. He glances around the top of the tree and stifles a chuckle at Jared’s disgruntled expression. Most of his neck is buried in Douglas Fir, and he keeps trying to crane his head to avoid inhaling needles. “All right. Remember, the count of three. Don’t move until I say so, and then roll fast.”
“Don’t d-drop it,” Jared advises, coughing around a grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Jensen braces himself, bending his knees and getting a good grip on the top of the tree and the trunk. Needles prick at his hands and face, and the bark is rough, splintery almost, beneath his hands. “Ready? One…two…three.” With a grunt, he manages to haul the tree up off of Jared, but just barely. Jared inhales gratefully, coughing, and Jensen glances quickly down to make sure there aren’t any intestines or whatever where there shouldn’t be. From what he can tell, Jared is in one piece, so he manages to growl,
“Move!”
Jared rolls to the left just in time: the tree crashes back to the ground, shaking the entire floor and prompting Harley and Sadie, who are lounging in the kitchen, to start barking worriedly and trot into the living room.
Jensen collapses beside the tree, chest heaving, and glances over at Jared, who’s lying spread-eagled a few feet away. Sadie is worriedly licking his face, concern in her large eyes.
“How ya doin’?”
“Mmph.” Jared woozily sits up, absentmindedly stroking Sadie’s ears. “I been better.” The Texas in his voice is stronger than usual, a sure sign that he’s drunk, tired, or hurt. A flash of-of something, Jensen hates to acknowledge what, makes him draw a shallow breath, squeeze his eyes briefly shut, before he pulls himself to his feet and goes to Jared.
“You’re bleeding,” he notes gruffly, motioning to Jared’s face. “No - not that low.” Just barely, Jensen touches a spot just to the left of Jared’s temple. “There.”
“Oh.” Jared swallows, staring at Jensen. “It doesn’t need stitches, does it?”
“Nah. Just a Band-aid and some ice. You hurt anywhere else?”
“My shoulder,” Jared admits, wincing slightly as Jensen helps haul him to his feet. “Chest, too.”
“Well, let me take a look,” Jensen prompts, leading Jared over to the couch. “I’ll just go get the First Aid kit. Does your head hurt?”
“Nope.”
“That’s good. Don’t want any concussions; you can’t stand to lose any more of those dwindling brain cells.”
”Hey!” Jared yells, but he grins so bright, all dimples and straight white teeth, the kind of grin that warms Jensen inside out.
“I’m not the one who bought the Tree From Hell, dumbass,” Jensen replies, unable to stop his own grin. “If I had Dean’s gun and rock salt, I’d have wasted the son-of-a-bitch ten minutes ago.”
“You’re just jealous it didn’t fall on you so you could Grinch some more about how pointless Christmas is,” Jared announces.
“Uh, not quite,” Jensen chuckles. “Stay put while I get the kit, will you?”
Jared’s laughter follows him down the hall, makes his cheeks strangely hot, twists in his stomach.
--
“I think you should get your money back,” Jensen says frankly, slightly aghast at the amount of bruising Jared has sustained. “I mean, damn. Spirit of the Season my ass.”
”Is it really that bad?” Jared glances down, then grimaces, turning his head away. “Ow,” he adds, sighing resolutely.
“You need Advil.” Jensen kneels in front of Jared, pressing an ice pack to one massive, black and blue shoulder. “That’s gotta kill.”
“Yeah.” Jared coughs brokenly, turning his head away as Jensen applies pressure.
“Here.” Jensen leans over Jared to reach for the bottle, straining not to bump against him and hit one of his various injuries. Of course, when he draws back, thee Advil in hand, Jared turns his head just so, and for a split second, their cheeks brush. Jensen pretends not to hear Jared’s breath hitch, doesn’t acknowledge the thrill that trails up his spine, and they jerk away quickly, as they always do when things like this happen. Which is far too often lately.
Jared hurriedly downs the medicine, and for a moment, it’s all heavy silence - a little uncomfortable, a little knowing. A little something Jensen usually only thinks about late at night, in the comfort of his own bed.
Shaking his head resolutely, Jensen wraps a bandage around one of the cuts on Jared’s left forearms, smoothing his thumb over it for good measure.
“Well now,” he says at last. “Looks like you’re about as patched up as I can do. You should probably just take it easy. No more Christmas decorations for you today, big guy.”
Jared nods, eyes still trained on the floor, a strange expression plastered across his face. Jensen realizes his hand is still on Jared’s arm and pulls it away sharply, heat coloring his cheeks yet again.
“Thanks,” Jared says quickly, getting to his feet and turning to go. “I just…thanks. I’m sorry I-” Another cough. “Anyway. I think I’m just…yeah.”
“Jay.” Jensen holds out his friend’s shirt, which had been lying in a faded ball beside the couch. Briefly, their eyes meet, and then Jared reaches out, takes the shirt carefully. A wince twists his face as he strains his injured arm, and without really thinking, Jensen reaches up and rests his hand on Jared’s cheek, the side without the cut. His thumb brushes softly, tenderly almost, across Jared’s cheekbone in a way that is quite unlike any way best friends are supposed to touch each other. Ever.
Yet another silence, this one so loud Jensen feels like his head might explode from the sheer crushing weight of it. Jared is just staring at him, the shirt crumpled loosely in one of his huge hands, and Jensen still can’t bring himself to jerk his hand away. To laugh harshly and joke it off, walk away from this like he always does when things get all tense between them. To pretend like he doesn’t watch Jared every morning when he comes in from his run, shirtless and dripping sweat. To ignore the fact that there wasn’t a person in the entire world whose Christmas cheer and cookies and carols and Trees from Hell he’d put up with, until Jared Padalecki came along and upended his life.
Four years of this. Four years of staring, of friendship, of want and secrets and yes, Jensen knows, yes - love.
So he stands up, never breaking Jared’s gaze for an instant, and thinks that maybe this is the one shot he’ll get, and he shouldn’t waste it. Shouldn’t throw it away because he’s scared or confused, or a million other things.
It’s unclear whether Jensen moves first or Jared does (because, as always, it’s something to bicker about later), but the one thing that’s certain is that they’re kissing, with Jared’s arms pulling Jensen in tight, Jensen’s hands on Jared’s face. It’s still so eerily quiet, but there’s nothing strained or secretive or uncomfortable about this. It’s not perfect, and they bump noses, and Jensen accidentally hits one of Jared’s bruises, and they’re still figuring out whose hands go where and what this will mean and a million other things too complicated to think about.
But when they finally draw away, gasping for air, all Jensen can really feel is right. Everything feels right, at the moment: Jared’s wide, wide smile and the smell of the awful gingerbread cookie candles he always insists on putting out during the winter and the fallen Christmas tree (from Hell) and the way one of Jared’s hands still curls around the nape of his neck.
“So,” Jensen starts, unsure of what he’s really supposed to say. There’s so much. Too many things to puzzle out, to ask, to tell.
”I told you Christmas wasn’t so bad!” Jared cuts in triumphantly. “Didn’t I? I did!”
“Oh, for the love of - that was not the Christmas spirit, you gigantic loser.”
”It so was. You never would have done that if it was, like, August or something. Admit it! You actually felt something different in the air-”
“Or maybe my horniness just got the better of me.”
“It did not!”
“Okay, Jared. Suit yourself.”
“‘And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day’-hey, ow, don’t kick me!”
“So help me, I will torch that tree if you quote Dr. Seuss at me one more damn time.”
“Aw! Then we could sing The Christmas Song, and I could actually try roasting some chestn-mph.”
Though they still haven’t figured much out yet, one of the biggest perks of this whole kissing Jared thing is that it’s probably the only way short of duct tape to shut him up.
And it feels kind of ridiculous to admit, but Jared might actually have a point about this whole Christmas thing. Not that Jensen wants to start singing carols, or bake any more cookies, or deal with the massive tree on the living room floor, or - well, have anything to do with it at all, really, but….
Oh, who is he kidding?
He’s been in love with Christmas since the day after Thanksgiving, when he woke up to Jared blasting “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” as he decorated Jensen’s bedroom door with a wreath, that smile spread bright across his face.