Fic: Spare Tyre (SPN RPF, J2, 900 words, PG-13)
Title: Spare Tyre
Fandom: SPN RPF
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: J2
Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki
Warnings: none
AO3 link
Summary: It's not Jensen's fault that he's a little insecure.
Author's note: I got this idea when somebody sent me a Tumblr 'make me choose', Jared's tummy or Jensen's tummy? I didn't wanna lie about my unparalleled passion for Jared's abs but I also felt bad for Jensen's nice tum so, um, I wrote fluffy J2 (with a side of Amellecki envy) in its honour. (And I guess this was also at the back of my mind...!)
Jensen thinks he’s hiding it pretty well, pushing through the pain, grinning and bearing it and gritting his teeth every time the spasming muscles at the base of his spine give a particularly vicious twinge. That’s until Jared casually throws him a can of beer, Jensen twists round to grab it just a little too quickly and the whole lower half of his back seizes up in a rigid, piercing agony. Before he can stop himself, he gasps out loud.
“What the fuck, Jen?”
Jared crosses the kitchen in long strides, concern cut sharp on his handsome face.
“It’s nothing,” Jensen tells him hopefully, and is rewarded for his stoicism with a glare.
“Stop trying to play the hero,” Jared says, guiding him carefully into a chair. “What have you done to your back?”
Sometimes Jensen really hates the fact that he’s a thirty-something man who still blushes like a teenage schoolgirl. It has a terrible effect on his manly self-image and worse than that, it makes it extra additionally difficult to lie to Jared, who is already scary perceptive. Right now, squirming under his boyfriend’s gaze, Jensen feels the warmth rising tell-tale across his cheeks. His embarrassment is reflected back at him in Jared’s expression, which shifts in seconds from real anxiety to a barely suppressed amusement.
“OK. Come on,” Jared says. “‘Fess up.”
Jensen heaves a sigh. There’s no way to make this sound cool. So he just speaks really fast and low and quiet and hopes that Jared maybe… won’t hear him? Will just pretend he hasn’t heard him? Will, for the love of Jensen’s dignity, please for once let this one go??
“Iwastryingtoflipatyreandipulledamuscleinmyback.”
Jared raises a perfectly contoured eyebrow. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that,” he says.
“I was trying. To flip. A tyre,” Jensen says, hating him. “And I pulled. A muscle. In my back.”
Jared is trying very hard to keep a straight face but that dimple in his left cheek just can’t behave.
“Why would you do that?” he asks.
Jensen is probably magenta now. Magenta. He shouldn’t even know that word, probably. Friggin’ girly boyfriend and his girly hair and his girly dimples and his embarrassing girliness making Jensen turn all effeminate. Or something. Man he’s humiliated.
“I just. You know. You see these guys with their bodies. You,” he gestures with his hand, indicating Jared’s Greek God abdominals. “… Stephen Amell.”
At the mention of Amell’s name Jared abandons all pretence at solemnity. His mouth curls up at the corners. He starts to chuckle.
“Amell.”
“Fuck off,” says Jensen, vaguely. He’s casting around for somebody else he can mention, to kind of drown out the Amell thing. Actually by this point, it might be a little too late. Jared is already full-on guffawing, head back, his whole body engaged in the laugh.
Jensen huffs an outraged breath. He’s. It’s not that funny.
“It’s not that funny,” he says. He must have let something of his genuine anxiety slide into his tone, because Jared suddenly stops laughing and looks him straight in the eye. Jensen feels oddly more embarrassed, exposed. (Exposed? To Jared? That is. The pair of them have been exposed to each other, every way you might imagine, and enjoyed it greatly thank you very much. But this does feel a little… raw.) “Is it that funny that I would want a good body?”
Jared’s mouth drops open.
“Jensen Ross Ackles,” he says.
Jensen looks away, looks down; but Jared’s crouching now and his big hands are at the side of Jensen’s face, pulling his gaze back around to the front. Big hazel green blue eyes look serious into his.
“You have the BEST body,” Jared tells him, and leans forward and kisses him on the lips. “The best.”
“Shut up,” Jensen says.
“I mean it,” says Jared, and drops down onto his knees. He reaches towards Jensen, and Jensen thinks for a crazy moment that Jared’s gonna go for his fly; but actually he just hitches up Jensen’s T-shirt, sliding it up over the tummy which yeah OK is probably Jensen’s most sensitive feature. Like, his stomach is fine. He’s not fat. But there’s a definite give to it, a softness that’s nowhere to be found on Jared’s sculpted torso and nowhere (Jensen might think, if he thought about these things) on the kind of superhero bodies that… other CW stars possess.
“I love you,” Jared tells Jensen, looking up at him, “and I love love love your body.” He kisses Jensen on his squishy stomach.
“Oh my God,” says Jensen. But he kind of loves it.
“Especially your tummy,” Jared says. At least, Jensen thinks that’s what he’s saying. He hasn’t exactly taken his mouth off Jensen’s skin; mouthing at it with his lips and tongue and yeah mm maybe Jensen could kind of get into this.
“OK?” Jared says (probably).
“OK,” says Jensen, throaty, surprising himself.
Still smushed into Jensen’s stomach, “Good,” says Jared. He comes up for air and then leans in again, kisses Jensen’s tummy one more time. “The best,” he says. He glares up at Jensen, mock-serious. “Don’t fuck with this, OK?”
“OK.”
“And if you do…” The dimple is out again. “At least let me be there to make sure you’re doing it properly. A little… personal training never hurt. If you know what I mean.”
Jensen groans.
Fandom: SPN RPF
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: J2
Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki
Warnings: none
AO3 link
Summary: It's not Jensen's fault that he's a little insecure.
Author's note: I got this idea when somebody sent me a Tumblr 'make me choose', Jared's tummy or Jensen's tummy? I didn't wanna lie about my unparalleled passion for Jared's abs but I also felt bad for Jensen's nice tum so, um, I wrote fluffy J2 (with a side of Amellecki envy) in its honour. (And I guess this was also at the back of my mind...!)
Jensen thinks he’s hiding it pretty well, pushing through the pain, grinning and bearing it and gritting his teeth every time the spasming muscles at the base of his spine give a particularly vicious twinge. That’s until Jared casually throws him a can of beer, Jensen twists round to grab it just a little too quickly and the whole lower half of his back seizes up in a rigid, piercing agony. Before he can stop himself, he gasps out loud.
“What the fuck, Jen?”
Jared crosses the kitchen in long strides, concern cut sharp on his handsome face.
“It’s nothing,” Jensen tells him hopefully, and is rewarded for his stoicism with a glare.
“Stop trying to play the hero,” Jared says, guiding him carefully into a chair. “What have you done to your back?”
Sometimes Jensen really hates the fact that he’s a thirty-something man who still blushes like a teenage schoolgirl. It has a terrible effect on his manly self-image and worse than that, it makes it extra additionally difficult to lie to Jared, who is already scary perceptive. Right now, squirming under his boyfriend’s gaze, Jensen feels the warmth rising tell-tale across his cheeks. His embarrassment is reflected back at him in Jared’s expression, which shifts in seconds from real anxiety to a barely suppressed amusement.
“OK. Come on,” Jared says. “‘Fess up.”
Jensen heaves a sigh. There’s no way to make this sound cool. So he just speaks really fast and low and quiet and hopes that Jared maybe… won’t hear him? Will just pretend he hasn’t heard him? Will, for the love of Jensen’s dignity, please for once let this one go??
“Iwastryingtoflipatyreandipulledamuscleinmyback.”
Jared raises a perfectly contoured eyebrow. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that,” he says.
“I was trying. To flip. A tyre,” Jensen says, hating him. “And I pulled. A muscle. In my back.”
Jared is trying very hard to keep a straight face but that dimple in his left cheek just can’t behave.
“Why would you do that?” he asks.
Jensen is probably magenta now. Magenta. He shouldn’t even know that word, probably. Friggin’ girly boyfriend and his girly hair and his girly dimples and his embarrassing girliness making Jensen turn all effeminate. Or something. Man he’s humiliated.
“I just. You know. You see these guys with their bodies. You,” he gestures with his hand, indicating Jared’s Greek God abdominals. “… Stephen Amell.”
At the mention of Amell’s name Jared abandons all pretence at solemnity. His mouth curls up at the corners. He starts to chuckle.
“Amell.”
“Fuck off,” says Jensen, vaguely. He’s casting around for somebody else he can mention, to kind of drown out the Amell thing. Actually by this point, it might be a little too late. Jared is already full-on guffawing, head back, his whole body engaged in the laugh.
Jensen huffs an outraged breath. He’s. It’s not that funny.
“It’s not that funny,” he says. He must have let something of his genuine anxiety slide into his tone, because Jared suddenly stops laughing and looks him straight in the eye. Jensen feels oddly more embarrassed, exposed. (Exposed? To Jared? That is. The pair of them have been exposed to each other, every way you might imagine, and enjoyed it greatly thank you very much. But this does feel a little… raw.) “Is it that funny that I would want a good body?”
Jared’s mouth drops open.
“Jensen Ross Ackles,” he says.
Jensen looks away, looks down; but Jared’s crouching now and his big hands are at the side of Jensen’s face, pulling his gaze back around to the front. Big hazel green blue eyes look serious into his.
“You have the BEST body,” Jared tells him, and leans forward and kisses him on the lips. “The best.”
“Shut up,” Jensen says.
“I mean it,” says Jared, and drops down onto his knees. He reaches towards Jensen, and Jensen thinks for a crazy moment that Jared’s gonna go for his fly; but actually he just hitches up Jensen’s T-shirt, sliding it up over the tummy which yeah OK is probably Jensen’s most sensitive feature. Like, his stomach is fine. He’s not fat. But there’s a definite give to it, a softness that’s nowhere to be found on Jared’s sculpted torso and nowhere (Jensen might think, if he thought about these things) on the kind of superhero bodies that… other CW stars possess.
“I love you,” Jared tells Jensen, looking up at him, “and I love love love your body.” He kisses Jensen on his squishy stomach.
“Oh my God,” says Jensen. But he kind of loves it.
“Especially your tummy,” Jared says. At least, Jensen thinks that’s what he’s saying. He hasn’t exactly taken his mouth off Jensen’s skin; mouthing at it with his lips and tongue and yeah mm maybe Jensen could kind of get into this.
“OK?” Jared says (probably).
“OK,” says Jensen, throaty, surprising himself.
Still smushed into Jensen’s stomach, “Good,” says Jared. He comes up for air and then leans in again, kisses Jensen’s tummy one more time. “The best,” he says. He glares up at Jensen, mock-serious. “Don’t fuck with this, OK?”
“OK.”
“And if you do…” The dimple is out again. “At least let me be there to make sure you’re doing it properly. A little… personal training never hurt. If you know what I mean.”
Jensen groans.