never getting sick of this
Better mood today! Going into town with barthi! World = my oyster!
SAZZ, HEY SAZZ, LOOK OVER HERE SAZZ.
(This may be becoming a thing.)
*
Jensen’s taking a piss when Jared shambles in, yawning and scratching bluntly at his belly. Jared likes to wander around half-naked perhaps a little too much; today he’s wearing the orange boxers they spent a whole weekend debating the ownership of, plus a pair of almost-certainly-Jensen’s socks.
“Those are my socks,” says Jensen.
Jared looks at him, then down at his socks. “Huh,” he says, after a moment of quiet contemplation. “Thought they smelled different.”
Jensen sighs and turns back to his pissing. He can hear Jared shuffling around behind him, stifling another yawn, cursing as he knocks something over, beginning to whistle softly.
Shake off, zip up. “Is that the Muppets?” Jensen asks, frowning down at the toilet seat. Does he leave it up, ‘cause he’s living with a guy? Does he put it down, to keep himself trained? Shit.
“Man, when I was a kid, I basically wanted to be Kermit.” Jared squints at himself in the mirror, then opens his eyes wide to flick at an eyelash. “It was bordering on mancrush,” he adds, moving on to squeeze a zit on his chin. The lash is still caught in the corner of his eye, fluttering and looking generally ridiculous every time he blinks.
“That explains everything,” Jensen says, leaning around Jared to wash his hands. “Where’d you put my soap?”
“It’s hidden somewhere secret. Use my duck soap.”
“I’m not using your fucking duck soap. It’s shaped like a fucking duck.”
“Observant,” Jared murmurs, scratching at his chin.
Jensen sighs. Then he uses the duck soap.
Rubbing his hands all over a pretty, pink duck is really not Jensen’s number one way to start the day, FYI.
“Soul patch,” says Jared, as Jensen rinses the duck off his hands. “Yes or no?” He thrusts his chin out for examination; it’s closer to Jared’s zit than anyone has ever needed to be.
“If you grow a soul patch,” Jensen muses, “I’m strangling you in your sleep.”
“Then you’ll know never where I put your soap.”
“I’ll fight through the pain.”
“I’m gonna eat your waffles now,” Jared says.
One day- Jensen promises himself, as he races Jared to the kitchen in a way that thirty year old men probably should have grown out of by now- one day he’s going to grate the duck soap up in the dead of night. And dump it on Jared’s pillow. And then piss in his Lucky Charms.
SAZZ, HEY SAZZ, LOOK OVER HERE SAZZ.
(This may be becoming a thing.)
*
Jensen’s taking a piss when Jared shambles in, yawning and scratching bluntly at his belly. Jared likes to wander around half-naked perhaps a little too much; today he’s wearing the orange boxers they spent a whole weekend debating the ownership of, plus a pair of almost-certainly-Jensen’s socks.
“Those are my socks,” says Jensen.
Jared looks at him, then down at his socks. “Huh,” he says, after a moment of quiet contemplation. “Thought they smelled different.”
Jensen sighs and turns back to his pissing. He can hear Jared shuffling around behind him, stifling another yawn, cursing as he knocks something over, beginning to whistle softly.
Shake off, zip up. “Is that the Muppets?” Jensen asks, frowning down at the toilet seat. Does he leave it up, ‘cause he’s living with a guy? Does he put it down, to keep himself trained? Shit.
“Man, when I was a kid, I basically wanted to be Kermit.” Jared squints at himself in the mirror, then opens his eyes wide to flick at an eyelash. “It was bordering on mancrush,” he adds, moving on to squeeze a zit on his chin. The lash is still caught in the corner of his eye, fluttering and looking generally ridiculous every time he blinks.
“That explains everything,” Jensen says, leaning around Jared to wash his hands. “Where’d you put my soap?”
“It’s hidden somewhere secret. Use my duck soap.”
“I’m not using your fucking duck soap. It’s shaped like a fucking duck.”
“Observant,” Jared murmurs, scratching at his chin.
Jensen sighs. Then he uses the duck soap.
Rubbing his hands all over a pretty, pink duck is really not Jensen’s number one way to start the day, FYI.
“Soul patch,” says Jared, as Jensen rinses the duck off his hands. “Yes or no?” He thrusts his chin out for examination; it’s closer to Jared’s zit than anyone has ever needed to be.
“If you grow a soul patch,” Jensen muses, “I’m strangling you in your sleep.”
“Then you’ll know never where I put your soap.”
“I’ll fight through the pain.”
“I’m gonna eat your waffles now,” Jared says.
One day- Jensen promises himself, as he races Jared to the kitchen in a way that thirty year old men probably should have grown out of by now- one day he’s going to grate the duck soap up in the dead of night. And dump it on Jared’s pillow. And then piss in his Lucky Charms.