Compensating, PG-13, J2 crack fic
Dec. 12th, 2008 09:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ht_murrayThis just a cracky little pre-J2 fic I came up with following a conversation with a couple of my friends regarding a certain picture of Jared that surfaced recently. Pre-J2 that turns into tentative J2, first time. Body image issues. About 4800 words. Jared’s affected by the response to a certain picture of his from the set of his summer movie, and not in the way most people would think.
Compensating
Saturday afternoon, Jensen stumbles out of bed, blinking back the sun which has been so inconsiderate as to change sides of the house without his permission. It's a rare Saturday he's not needed on set for something, an even rarer one where Jared doesn't need him for something else and chase him out of bed before lunch. The house is quiet when he pads down the hallway on barefeet, his glasses low on his nose from constantly rubbing to get the sleep out of his eyes. He figures Jared's gone for a run, but the nose prints on the patio door say otherwise.
Huh.
He opens the door, leaping back out of the way of sharp dog toenails as Sadie and Harley barrel past into the mud room where they manage to knock over one food bowl and both water bowls before they get the brakes applied on the slippery vinyl floor. Luckily, they're not finicky eaters and clean up their own mess, all except the couple pieces of kibble that roll under the washing machine (and the one or two Jensen 'accidentally' kicks under there with a curse after he steps on them with his bare feet.)
He's still watching the dogs with raised eyebrows through the steam of hot coffee, one arm crossed over his chest and under his armpit, when he hears the garage door open. Funny, he doesn't recall hearing Jared's car. There's not much else in this neighborhood that sounds like Jared's Corvette. Even the dogs don't look up, and usually they're a mess of waggling tails and bodies the second they hear their daddy turn down the street. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he minces his way through the few remaining chunks of dog food to the side door and opens it.
He does a double and then a triple take, removes his glasses to wipe off the steam and looks again. "What the hell is that?" he scoffs.
Jared unfolds his long legs from the itty bitty car that's wrongly (oh so wrongly) parked in Jared's parking space. With that trademark quirky grin that means something like, 'I know, right?' he leans an elbow on the roof of the car, which Jensen can tell is shorter than he imagined by the odd, bent-over angle that puts him in. It's like one of those yoga poses that always makes him think of that movie, Nell... a tay in the win'. "It's a Subaru."
"I see that," Jensen nods, lips pursed. "Just explain to me how you leave in a sports car and come back in a... Subaru."
Jared either looks put off or just in pain from the awkward position he's in. "Dude, a Subaru is a sports car."
"In what universe?"
"Gran Turismo. I got all my Rally licenses with a Subaru," Jared asserts with a nod.
"No," Jensen corrects. "I got all your Rally licenses with a Subaru because you couldn't make it through he Tahiti maze without spinning out. And that still doesn't answer my question," he prods. "Where's your 'vette?"
"I traded it in," Jared shrugs, and he's a fine actor, but Jensen knows when he's hiding something.
"You traded it in," Jensen acknowledges with a thoughtful lip pucker. "Um...why?"
Jared scratches the back of his head, hides a wince as he straightens back to full height. "I was just thinking..."
"Don't think Jared..."
"Ha, friggin' ha. Anyway, I was just thinking how I'm kinda associated with certain charities and causes and whatnot. Everyone knows I support shelter dogs and PETA, and well, I wondered how I could be so outspoken on some issues and completely ignore others."
"Like?"
"Like..." Jared shrugs, shoving his hands all the way down in his front pockets. "Like, uh, global warming, consumption of fossil fuels, des...uh...destruction of the rain forests."
"Don't sweat it. Leo Di Caprio's got that covered, man." Jensen takes another long drag of his coffee, because he's still not entirely convinced this isn't some waking dream. "And trust me, you don't want none of Leo's thunder."
"Oh, no no no, I'm not doing it for anyone to notice. Just trying to do my own little part."
"But you loved that car."
"I love this one," Jared asserts, smacking the roof like it's his his new best friend's shoulder.
Jensen smirks with huff into his coffee cup and turns away without letting on that he's noticed the hand-sized dent Jared just made in his brand new... Subaru. "Whatever you want, Jay. Whatever you want."
--
The car is just the first item on a list of 'things that have suddenly gone oh so wrong in the land of Jared Padalecki.'
Sunday morning, Jensen stumbles out of bed to find breakfast laid out on the table. Actual breakfast. Two kinds of eggs, waffles, pancakes, toast and three kinds of breakfast meat. Jared must have been cooking for hours, which can only mean, "No workout today?"
"Nope." Jared peeks up from above a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, takes a long drink of orange juice before continuing. "I've been thinking."
"Not again." Jensen's almost afraid to ask.
"Yeah. I packed on a lot of muscle for my movie this summer, and then, you know, after the whole Sandy thing," he swallows the last bite of whatever he's got lodged inside his cheek, "well, it was a good distraction, but I'm probably getting too big. I'm not looking to be the next Conan the Barbarian, ya know?"
Jensen looks down at the spread on the table, takes it all in with a slow eye, then up at Jared, his brow furrowed. "Maybe, except..."
"Hmm?" Jared forks in half a sausage link. "Except what?"
Jensen flips three pancakes onto a plate, couple pats of butter, then pours the syrup on, the bottle a good foot above the stack so he can pour it without breaking eye contact. "Except the part where you're impossible to live with before you work off all that excess..." he gestures wildly with his hands, because there really is no word for what Jared is with a full of head of steam, nearly knocks over the juice pitcher in the process, "All that excess energy you have. Sonic the Hedgehog's got nothing on you."
"You exaggerate," Jared snorts, then bends the tines on his fork by stabbing his sausage too hard.
"Sure I do," Jensen says, reaching for his phone.
"Who you calling?"
"Kripke."
"What for?"
"Just figured I'd tell him to take out some extra insurance on the set. I got a feeling there's a natural disaster brewing."
Jared stabs his bent fork into his eggs and takes a bite defiantly.
Jensen looks away when Jared cuts his lip on the crooked fork.
--
Monday marks the beginning of the work week from Hell. And despite the context of the show, that's not actually par for the course around set. In a staged fight scene, Jared doesn't pull a punch when he's supposed to and ends up pushing that scene to the end of the week. The local emergency room takes all afternoon to clear the broken nose, and the black eyes have to be written into the script, because there's no way makeup can hide those shiners.
Tuesday, Jared breaks a table that isn't supposed to be a breakaway table. It takes the set doctor two hours to remove all the splinters, and they have to write bandaged knuckles into the script, because hey, those suckers could get infected. No one's taking any chances. He also reaches across the catering table instead of walking around the other side and knocks the whole thing over. One of the caterers nearly loses a toe, and half the crew ends up going hungry. Of course, Jared's so apologetic, no one can stay mad, but people start to duck for cover when they see him coming.
Wednesday, he spins around in the makeup chair until he kicks over the glass of combs in cleaning solution. The cleaning solution shorts out a hair dryer, which blows up the outlet, and cuts off power to the entire trailer.
Thursday, insurance adjusters show up on set, because the makeup trailer should've had ground fault interrupts in the outlets, which would've prevented the blown breaker. Since it obviously didn't, filming's shut down for half the day while inspectors check out every outlet and fuse box on the lot.
Friday, Kripke's insurance premiums go up, and he sends Jensen to wardrobe with a stern order to, "Get Jared under control. I dunno, buy him a giant hamster wheel to run on. Shoot him with a tranquilizer dart if that will help." Jensen gets why Kripke places it on his shoulders, because no one spends as much time with Jared as Jensen, but really, he's got no clue. He heads to the wardrobe trailer worried for the first time since the breakup with Sandy about what he's going to say. To Jared. What he's going to say to Jared. That's not supposed to be hard. It never has been until now.
By the time he gets there, he still doesn't know what to say. He can't even look Jared in the eye, pretends to be focused on running lines in his head while he dresses. His first reminder that he should never, ever take his eyes off a hyper, definitely got some issues brewing under the surface, Jared is when he trips over his own pant legs. Or rather, the legs of the pants he's wearing which obviously? NOT his pants. And how the fuck did that happen?
The second reminder he should never take his eyes off an unstable Padalecki is when, as he's lying on the floor wondering how he got in Jared's pants, Jared stands above him wearing Jensen's and says, "Do these make my ass look fat?"
From Jensen's angle of observation, it's not Jared's ass that looks fat in Jensen's jeans.
"Jay, those are my jeans."
"Oh, I know," Jared says, turning and twisting in front of the full length mirror in an effort to see...uh... everything.
"Well, you can't wear them. You've got more sock showing than Urkel."
Jared scoffs. "I know that, jackass." He turns around one more time, then reaches a hand down to help Jensen off the floor. "I'm just talking about, you know, general fit. I'm thinking I should talk to wardrobe about re-fitting Sam's clothes. Something more like Dean's. I wanted to get some idea what that would look like."
"Um, no."
"Why not?"
"Because," Jensen gestures...uh...down in that general vicinity, "that's just... It's vulgar, dude." For real, that has to chafe.
The pants agree, and the next time Jared ogles himself in the mirror, the jeans just give up the ghost...and everything else.
Jensen's laughing, on the inside. On the inside, he's cackling madly, gut-splitting, rib cracking laughter. On the inside. On the outside, he's biting his lip, because Jared looks downright heartbroken, and Jensen has no idea what to say to a guy with all his junk hangin' out the trunk. Finally, at the risk of biting through his lip and delaying filming even more, he pulls himself together and says, "Jared, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Sam's wardrobe is fine. I won't tell anyone about this. Put on Sam's pants, and let's go back to work."
"You won't tell anyone?" And why does he sound disappointed about that?
"Nope, not a soul," Jensen promises. Jared looks like he just lost his shoe.
When they have to practically surgically remove Jared from the remnants of the jeans, a procedure which involves the poking, prodding, jerking, and placing of hands in... unhandy places, it stops being funny.
They so need to talk.
--
Kripke sends Jared home early after he unhinges a prop door from its frame just by knocking. (He wasn't allowed to use the bell, because the wiring hadn't been approved yet.) Jensen spends the rest of the day between takes preparing what he's going to say to Jared when he gets home, because this? Has to stop. Everyone's walking the razor's edge, and the only people not covering nicks in toilet paper squares are the ones who manage duck for cover. That's not a working environment. It's a recipe for PTSD.
When Jensen gets home, a hot pizza and a case of beer in tow, the place is dark, and he nearly trips over the dogs sprawled out on their blankies (Jared's word, not Jensen's) in the mud room. If he hadn't seen the Subaru in the garage, he'd think Jared had gone out. But there's a low rumble from upstairs and a stream of light coming down the stairs. Jensen pops the beer in the fridge, save what he can carry, sucks in a deep breath to clear his head, and starts up the stairs.
About halfway up, he stops. He knows porn when he hears it. No girl makes that much noise, and Jensen's sure Jared doesn't even own any music that cheesy, so yeah, Jared's watching porn. That could be a problem. As much as they need to talk, the last thing he needs is to walk in on Jared with his hand on his dick.
Still, the bedroom door is open, and the pizza is getting heavy. It's worth a peek. Besides, Kripke won't let either of them back on set until Jensen assures him Jared's issues have been resolved. The five a.m. set call looming in less than eight hours doesn't leave him time for protecting his delicate sensibilities.
Lucky for him, Jared's just watching the porn when he knocks on the door jamb to announce his arrival. He doesn't even look like he's enjoying it, and Jensen would know considering he's just sitting one the bed in his socks and boxer briefs, a stack of about ten more DVDs on the end table. The only thing in his hand is the remote, and he looks angry with it, skipping from one scene to the next before the actors even get started.
Jensen takes in the scene on the bed, then the scene on the screen with quiet appraisal. "Um, y'know technically, guy on girl porn is only useful if you're watching it with a girl. For serious alone time, the girl on girl is the way to go."
"It's research," Jared mumbles. He glances at Jensen balancing the pizza and the beer, and smacks a hand down on the side of the bed. "Thanks man, put that down."
Jensen does, and pops open a beer apiece, feeling like a third wheel as Jared continues his love affair with the remote control. "Actually, I uh, thought we could hang out tonight. Slurp some suds, get a few things out in the open." Okay, that's probably a poor choice of words. He plops down next to the pizza, squinting at the... odd collection of DVDs Jared's gathered for his evening of "research."
"Like what?" Jared asks.
"Like, what exactly are you researching by watching porn and..." he picks up a couple other DVDs, "Mr. Olympia posedowns."
Without looking away from the screen where a scrawny, pasty dude who's hung like a mule is about to mount some chick who whinnies like a horse, Jared shrugs. "Have you ever watched a bodybuilder competition?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Me neither, ya know? I started working out just to have some place to channel my energy, and it turned out, I was good at it. I finally felt like... well, like I wasn't just another tall, emo baby-faced actor. Like maybe I could be.. I dunno.. hot."
"Dude, you are hot, and you are good at it. That's what I'm confused about. Why did you stop? And while we're at, what's with the Subaru, and the sudden fascination with tight jeans?"
Jared glares at him like he's a moron. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches into the end table, grabs something out, and flips it onto the bed in front of Jensen. Jensen recognizes it. It's the flavor of the week in internet pinups. "It's that picture of you from the movie set with your shirt off. I've seen it."
"Yeah, and so has everyone else."
"So?"
"So, I overheard a couple of the PAs talking on set last week. One of 'em had that picture on their clipboard, and the were talking about it, ya know?"
"So, you didn't overhear so much as you... spied on them."
"That's beside the point."
"Yeah, fine. So, what is the point?"
Jared drops the remote and takes a long swig of his beer, crosses his arms over his chest with his fingertips in his armpits, thumbs twitching self-consciously. "Well, one girl was saying how hot I looked in that pic. So, yeah, I kinda ducked in behind some props to listen. And the other one..." he swallows hard before continuing, "... the other one said guys who spent that much time on their bodies are just compensating for something. She said every bodybuilder she ever met drove a sports car, spent all his spare time working out, and..." rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, "...had a little dick."
Jensen tries his hardest not to choke on his beer, but he fails miserably, ends up with Jared thumping him between the shoulder blades to get his breath back under control. When he can breathe again, he says, "Jared, that's just a theory based on one girl's experience. Everyone's got a theory. I read one the other day that said the west Texas drought was caused by bottlers removing too much water from the rain cycle. That don't make it true."
"I know that," Jared sighs, "but after she said that, then well, the other girl, she agreed that was probably the case. And now, look." He grabs up the stack of DVDs and sends them spilling over onto the side of the bed next to the pizza. "Six porn flicks, probably twenty different guys, and in every one, the built guy gets shown up by the scrawny when it's time to take off their clothes. And these?" All the Mr. Olympia DVDs unceremoniously shoved across the mattress. "Pretty darned unimpressive if you ask me."
Jensen shrugs, flops down on the bed, feet beside the pizza box. "That's them, Jared, not you. You're... fine, I'm sure."
"Am I big?"
"Jay, man, friends don't ask friends to go there."
"Am I?"
"Sure. You're big, okay."
"Bigger than you?"
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Jared pouts, bottom lip curved down just so, and Jensen crushes the beer can in his hand. "Fine. Yes. You're bigger. Are you happy?"
"No!" Jared bellows like a bull ready to charge a picador. "That's just the problem! It doesn't matter whether I am or not, if I work out and drive a sports car, people are gonna think I'm compensating. It's like I have to be someone I'm not just to prove I am... what I am." He clarifies the last bit by pointing at his crotch, and Jensen so didn't need to have his eyes drawn there.
"So what? I drive a full-size truck. I don't care what people think."
"Dude," Jared scoffs, "Your Tundra? As far as trucks go, you don't get more sensible than that. No way would anyone think you're compensating by driving that."
Okay, now Jensen's offended. "Hey! That thing's got a V-8 Triton. That's so not standard. I'd put her up against anything in her weight class."
"That's what I'm talking about. The power is under the hood. No one would know it's there," Jared huffs. "And besides..."
"Besides, what?"
"Besides, no one would think you're small. Everyone's seen the pictures of you sprawled on that staircase with your engine block strapped to your thigh."
"Yeah," Jensen shudders, "including my mom." He shudders again for good measure, then again when he makes the mistake of looking up at the television. Talk about kinky. "Y'know, if you were gonna do research, you could've done actual scientific research. From what I've read, penis size correlates to height and nothing else. And let's not forget, before you started working out all the time, you were just as scrawny as that dude on the television."
"Huh," Jared says. "I never thought of it like that."
"And sexy is all about confidence." Why he's telling Jared this, he doesn't know. "If you feel better about yourself when you've got a little muscle on you...not to mention you're a lot easier to live with without the extra energy... then you've got it hands down over Francis the talking Dick. Which is why, you are doing television and movies, and he's doing porn."
"You're probably right," Jared concedes, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Still, what if people think...?"
"What do you want me to do, Jared, post some pictures of your dick on the internet so people can see for themselves?"
"What? No. I mean, everyone would just say it's photoshopped, and like you said...moms. Eeeeew."
"Then, I'm sorry, dude, but this sounds like a personal problem. You've just gotta make peace with yourself in your own head and stop worrying what people will think." He snags two pieces of pizza out of the box and slides off the bed. "Now, we've got a five a.m. set call, which means, you need to be up in about four hours if you want to get your workout in." He raises his finger before Jared can protest. "Kripke ain't letting you on set unless you can present a sweat-soaked t-shirt. If the insurance premiums go up any more, we're gonna have to cut out Bobby, Ruby, and all the angels. I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to any extra hours."
"Fine." Jared clicks off the television, pushes all the DVDs onto the floor. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
Jensen stands in the doorway a little longer, wishing there was something else he could say, but right then, his stomach's the only thing speaking, and tomorrow's another day.
--
The next day, things are worse, if that's even possible. Sure, Jared resumes his workout routine, puts on Sam's jeans without a complaint, gets through to lunch without spilling, breaking, or maiming anything, but he stalks around set like a kicked puppy, shoulders slouched, head down.
When they sit down in their chairs between takes and Jared suddenly jumps up, making some excuse about needing to use the bathroom as a group of giggling PAs crosses the set, Jensen decides that is just fucking it. It's time to take matters into his own hands.
Literally.
Just as he expected, he finds Jared behind one of the props that's supposed to look like the front of a closet. Before Jared even notices he's there, Jensen fists his hands in the shoulders of Sam's jacket and slams him up against the faux wall. He's pretty sure the whole thing shakes, and he's fine with that. When Jared opens his mouth in a surprised, "Oh," Jensen seals his lips over the opening, shoves his tongue inside.
One thigh pressed between Jared's, he grinds upward until Sam's shirts start to ruck up between them, slides his fingers under the hem so he can get a good grip on Jared's hip bones.
When Jared starts to return the kiss, panting into Jensen's mouth, and whimpering in time to little hitches of his hips, Jensen breaks the kiss. After a few quick breaths, Jared's eyes flutter open. "Jen? What? Nnngh..." his hips buck against Jensen's, "What are you doing?"
"I'm compensating for a slight... misconception that's been floating around."
Jared moans as Jensen scrapes his teeth along Jared's collarbone, his fingers sliding over the snap on his jeans.
"Is this okay?" Jensen asks.
"I'm not..." Jared gasps, "you're not..."
"I don't care if you don't." Jensen sucks a bruise at the juncture of neck and shoulder, tiny nips along the tendon. When Jared nods, Jensen grinds up, popping the button on Sam's jeans. He jerks the zipper down in one fluid motion so his hand's inside before Jared can change his mind.
Jared's head thunks back against the set wall hard enough that the latch on the fake closet door opens with a click and the door starts a slow swing open.
Jensen takes Jared into his hand, and oh yeah, nothing to compensate for there. He draws it out over the elastic of his boxer briefs, thumb smearing precome into the slit. A twist of his wrist, quick tug up, and Jared's knees start to buckle, landing him on Jensen's thigh. "C'mon, show me what you got," Jensen rasps, teeth dragging over Jared's jaw. "We don't want to leave anything... undisclosed."
"Hmmph," Jared grunts, "Jen, you don't have to."
"The fuck I don't."
"But..."
"I want to," and he does. This might be for Jared, about redeeming Jared's image, or saving Jared's face, but God, nothing's ever felt like this in Jensen's hand. He's always had a fine appreciation for big boobs, likes the way they feel in his hands, in his mouth, with his face pressed between them. But Jared's solid and wired, every inch of him vibrates against Jensen, nothing soft to dampen the sensation and smother out the tingle working its way up from the place where his inseam burns against Jared's. "Fuck yeah, I want to."
Jensen buries his nose in Jared's chest, breathes deep of sweat and need, feels his mouth flood with hunger that dampens the fabric over the peaks of Jared's nipples. His hand works feverishly, Jared hard and throbbing along Jensen's hip and up against that ticklish spot at the base of his rib cage.
Jared's close, knees shaking, hips pumping up into Jensen's hand. His fingers latch over the muscle at Jensen's waist, tighten down like a vice as if he can't pull Jensen close enough, can't find the right amount of contact and friction to drive him over. He's keening, desperate, hips stuttering against the prop wall... thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk-a.
They almost don't hear the director clearing his throat and the rash of giggling in its wake.
Almost, but they do. Not that Jensen's gonna let that stop him. Glancing over his shoulder, he slips to the side, makes sure every inch of Jared is on display, on display and owned by Jensen, then one, two tugs, and a twist send Jared spurting over his hand in long, thick streams.
Jensen licks off his hand in long smooth strokes, eyes fixed on the girls blushing behind their clipboards, then tucks Jared back in, slams the door shut in their faces.
Jared sags against him, nuzzling into Jensen's shoulder. "Aren't you worried, about what they'll think?"
"Dude, they know I let myself get shot in the ass with a bb gun... more than once. I don't think there's anything I could say or do to screw up my image after that. And besides," he licks along Jared's bottom lip, sucks it in before initiating a long, slow kiss. When it breaks off, "if the looks on their faces was any indicator, I scored more sexass points right there than I got in all the years screwing girls on Days."
He starts to step away, fastening up Jared's jeans. Jared's hands slide down around Jensen's ass and keep him pulled up tight. "But you didn't..."
"You can pay me back next time," Jensen smirks.
"Next time?"
"Hell, yeah."
Jared looks stunned for a second, then his face splits in a grin Jensen hasn't seen all week. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," Jensen says. "You know what I like the sound of?"
"What?"
"The scream of a high-powered sports car engine... like, maybe a Corvette."
"I always wanted to try making out in the back of a pickup truck."
"And I've always wanted to test out your weight bench."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, all right, then."
Jensen tugs Dean's jacket back into place, helps Jared get Sam's shirt tails tucked back in. Pressing one final kiss to Jared's lips, he steps back, breaking contact at last. "You ready to go back out there?"
Jared pauses momentarily.
"Hey," Jensen reprimands, "Remember what I said? Confidence. You got nothing to be ashamed of and now everyone knows it. Now own up."
And he does, right after he grabs Jensen's ass and squeezes.
Jensen grins. Now that's confidence. And he was right. It's totally sexass.
Next time can't come fast enough.
The End
Compensating
Saturday afternoon, Jensen stumbles out of bed, blinking back the sun which has been so inconsiderate as to change sides of the house without his permission. It's a rare Saturday he's not needed on set for something, an even rarer one where Jared doesn't need him for something else and chase him out of bed before lunch. The house is quiet when he pads down the hallway on barefeet, his glasses low on his nose from constantly rubbing to get the sleep out of his eyes. He figures Jared's gone for a run, but the nose prints on the patio door say otherwise.
Huh.
He opens the door, leaping back out of the way of sharp dog toenails as Sadie and Harley barrel past into the mud room where they manage to knock over one food bowl and both water bowls before they get the brakes applied on the slippery vinyl floor. Luckily, they're not finicky eaters and clean up their own mess, all except the couple pieces of kibble that roll under the washing machine (and the one or two Jensen 'accidentally' kicks under there with a curse after he steps on them with his bare feet.)
He's still watching the dogs with raised eyebrows through the steam of hot coffee, one arm crossed over his chest and under his armpit, when he hears the garage door open. Funny, he doesn't recall hearing Jared's car. There's not much else in this neighborhood that sounds like Jared's Corvette. Even the dogs don't look up, and usually they're a mess of waggling tails and bodies the second they hear their daddy turn down the street. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he minces his way through the few remaining chunks of dog food to the side door and opens it.
He does a double and then a triple take, removes his glasses to wipe off the steam and looks again. "What the hell is that?" he scoffs.
Jared unfolds his long legs from the itty bitty car that's wrongly (oh so wrongly) parked in Jared's parking space. With that trademark quirky grin that means something like, 'I know, right?' he leans an elbow on the roof of the car, which Jensen can tell is shorter than he imagined by the odd, bent-over angle that puts him in. It's like one of those yoga poses that always makes him think of that movie, Nell... a tay in the win'. "It's a Subaru."
"I see that," Jensen nods, lips pursed. "Just explain to me how you leave in a sports car and come back in a... Subaru."
Jared either looks put off or just in pain from the awkward position he's in. "Dude, a Subaru is a sports car."
"In what universe?"
"Gran Turismo. I got all my Rally licenses with a Subaru," Jared asserts with a nod.
"No," Jensen corrects. "I got all your Rally licenses with a Subaru because you couldn't make it through he Tahiti maze without spinning out. And that still doesn't answer my question," he prods. "Where's your 'vette?"
"I traded it in," Jared shrugs, and he's a fine actor, but Jensen knows when he's hiding something.
"You traded it in," Jensen acknowledges with a thoughtful lip pucker. "Um...why?"
Jared scratches the back of his head, hides a wince as he straightens back to full height. "I was just thinking..."
"Don't think Jared..."
"Ha, friggin' ha. Anyway, I was just thinking how I'm kinda associated with certain charities and causes and whatnot. Everyone knows I support shelter dogs and PETA, and well, I wondered how I could be so outspoken on some issues and completely ignore others."
"Like?"
"Like..." Jared shrugs, shoving his hands all the way down in his front pockets. "Like, uh, global warming, consumption of fossil fuels, des...uh...destruction of the rain forests."
"Don't sweat it. Leo Di Caprio's got that covered, man." Jensen takes another long drag of his coffee, because he's still not entirely convinced this isn't some waking dream. "And trust me, you don't want none of Leo's thunder."
"Oh, no no no, I'm not doing it for anyone to notice. Just trying to do my own little part."
"But you loved that car."
"I love this one," Jared asserts, smacking the roof like it's his his new best friend's shoulder.
Jensen smirks with huff into his coffee cup and turns away without letting on that he's noticed the hand-sized dent Jared just made in his brand new... Subaru. "Whatever you want, Jay. Whatever you want."
--
The car is just the first item on a list of 'things that have suddenly gone oh so wrong in the land of Jared Padalecki.'
Sunday morning, Jensen stumbles out of bed to find breakfast laid out on the table. Actual breakfast. Two kinds of eggs, waffles, pancakes, toast and three kinds of breakfast meat. Jared must have been cooking for hours, which can only mean, "No workout today?"
"Nope." Jared peeks up from above a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, takes a long drink of orange juice before continuing. "I've been thinking."
"Not again." Jensen's almost afraid to ask.
"Yeah. I packed on a lot of muscle for my movie this summer, and then, you know, after the whole Sandy thing," he swallows the last bite of whatever he's got lodged inside his cheek, "well, it was a good distraction, but I'm probably getting too big. I'm not looking to be the next Conan the Barbarian, ya know?"
Jensen looks down at the spread on the table, takes it all in with a slow eye, then up at Jared, his brow furrowed. "Maybe, except..."
"Hmm?" Jared forks in half a sausage link. "Except what?"
Jensen flips three pancakes onto a plate, couple pats of butter, then pours the syrup on, the bottle a good foot above the stack so he can pour it without breaking eye contact. "Except the part where you're impossible to live with before you work off all that excess..." he gestures wildly with his hands, because there really is no word for what Jared is with a full of head of steam, nearly knocks over the juice pitcher in the process, "All that excess energy you have. Sonic the Hedgehog's got nothing on you."
"You exaggerate," Jared snorts, then bends the tines on his fork by stabbing his sausage too hard.
"Sure I do," Jensen says, reaching for his phone.
"Who you calling?"
"Kripke."
"What for?"
"Just figured I'd tell him to take out some extra insurance on the set. I got a feeling there's a natural disaster brewing."
Jared stabs his bent fork into his eggs and takes a bite defiantly.
Jensen looks away when Jared cuts his lip on the crooked fork.
--
Monday marks the beginning of the work week from Hell. And despite the context of the show, that's not actually par for the course around set. In a staged fight scene, Jared doesn't pull a punch when he's supposed to and ends up pushing that scene to the end of the week. The local emergency room takes all afternoon to clear the broken nose, and the black eyes have to be written into the script, because there's no way makeup can hide those shiners.
Tuesday, Jared breaks a table that isn't supposed to be a breakaway table. It takes the set doctor two hours to remove all the splinters, and they have to write bandaged knuckles into the script, because hey, those suckers could get infected. No one's taking any chances. He also reaches across the catering table instead of walking around the other side and knocks the whole thing over. One of the caterers nearly loses a toe, and half the crew ends up going hungry. Of course, Jared's so apologetic, no one can stay mad, but people start to duck for cover when they see him coming.
Wednesday, he spins around in the makeup chair until he kicks over the glass of combs in cleaning solution. The cleaning solution shorts out a hair dryer, which blows up the outlet, and cuts off power to the entire trailer.
Thursday, insurance adjusters show up on set, because the makeup trailer should've had ground fault interrupts in the outlets, which would've prevented the blown breaker. Since it obviously didn't, filming's shut down for half the day while inspectors check out every outlet and fuse box on the lot.
Friday, Kripke's insurance premiums go up, and he sends Jensen to wardrobe with a stern order to, "Get Jared under control. I dunno, buy him a giant hamster wheel to run on. Shoot him with a tranquilizer dart if that will help." Jensen gets why Kripke places it on his shoulders, because no one spends as much time with Jared as Jensen, but really, he's got no clue. He heads to the wardrobe trailer worried for the first time since the breakup with Sandy about what he's going to say. To Jared. What he's going to say to Jared. That's not supposed to be hard. It never has been until now.
By the time he gets there, he still doesn't know what to say. He can't even look Jared in the eye, pretends to be focused on running lines in his head while he dresses. His first reminder that he should never, ever take his eyes off a hyper, definitely got some issues brewing under the surface, Jared is when he trips over his own pant legs. Or rather, the legs of the pants he's wearing which obviously? NOT his pants. And how the fuck did that happen?
The second reminder he should never take his eyes off an unstable Padalecki is when, as he's lying on the floor wondering how he got in Jared's pants, Jared stands above him wearing Jensen's and says, "Do these make my ass look fat?"
From Jensen's angle of observation, it's not Jared's ass that looks fat in Jensen's jeans.
"Jay, those are my jeans."
"Oh, I know," Jared says, turning and twisting in front of the full length mirror in an effort to see...uh... everything.
"Well, you can't wear them. You've got more sock showing than Urkel."
Jared scoffs. "I know that, jackass." He turns around one more time, then reaches a hand down to help Jensen off the floor. "I'm just talking about, you know, general fit. I'm thinking I should talk to wardrobe about re-fitting Sam's clothes. Something more like Dean's. I wanted to get some idea what that would look like."
"Um, no."
"Why not?"
"Because," Jensen gestures...uh...down in that general vicinity, "that's just... It's vulgar, dude." For real, that has to chafe.
The pants agree, and the next time Jared ogles himself in the mirror, the jeans just give up the ghost...and everything else.
Jensen's laughing, on the inside. On the inside, he's cackling madly, gut-splitting, rib cracking laughter. On the inside. On the outside, he's biting his lip, because Jared looks downright heartbroken, and Jensen has no idea what to say to a guy with all his junk hangin' out the trunk. Finally, at the risk of biting through his lip and delaying filming even more, he pulls himself together and says, "Jared, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Sam's wardrobe is fine. I won't tell anyone about this. Put on Sam's pants, and let's go back to work."
"You won't tell anyone?" And why does he sound disappointed about that?
"Nope, not a soul," Jensen promises. Jared looks like he just lost his shoe.
When they have to practically surgically remove Jared from the remnants of the jeans, a procedure which involves the poking, prodding, jerking, and placing of hands in... unhandy places, it stops being funny.
They so need to talk.
--
Kripke sends Jared home early after he unhinges a prop door from its frame just by knocking. (He wasn't allowed to use the bell, because the wiring hadn't been approved yet.) Jensen spends the rest of the day between takes preparing what he's going to say to Jared when he gets home, because this? Has to stop. Everyone's walking the razor's edge, and the only people not covering nicks in toilet paper squares are the ones who manage duck for cover. That's not a working environment. It's a recipe for PTSD.
When Jensen gets home, a hot pizza and a case of beer in tow, the place is dark, and he nearly trips over the dogs sprawled out on their blankies (Jared's word, not Jensen's) in the mud room. If he hadn't seen the Subaru in the garage, he'd think Jared had gone out. But there's a low rumble from upstairs and a stream of light coming down the stairs. Jensen pops the beer in the fridge, save what he can carry, sucks in a deep breath to clear his head, and starts up the stairs.
About halfway up, he stops. He knows porn when he hears it. No girl makes that much noise, and Jensen's sure Jared doesn't even own any music that cheesy, so yeah, Jared's watching porn. That could be a problem. As much as they need to talk, the last thing he needs is to walk in on Jared with his hand on his dick.
Still, the bedroom door is open, and the pizza is getting heavy. It's worth a peek. Besides, Kripke won't let either of them back on set until Jensen assures him Jared's issues have been resolved. The five a.m. set call looming in less than eight hours doesn't leave him time for protecting his delicate sensibilities.
Lucky for him, Jared's just watching the porn when he knocks on the door jamb to announce his arrival. He doesn't even look like he's enjoying it, and Jensen would know considering he's just sitting one the bed in his socks and boxer briefs, a stack of about ten more DVDs on the end table. The only thing in his hand is the remote, and he looks angry with it, skipping from one scene to the next before the actors even get started.
Jensen takes in the scene on the bed, then the scene on the screen with quiet appraisal. "Um, y'know technically, guy on girl porn is only useful if you're watching it with a girl. For serious alone time, the girl on girl is the way to go."
"It's research," Jared mumbles. He glances at Jensen balancing the pizza and the beer, and smacks a hand down on the side of the bed. "Thanks man, put that down."
Jensen does, and pops open a beer apiece, feeling like a third wheel as Jared continues his love affair with the remote control. "Actually, I uh, thought we could hang out tonight. Slurp some suds, get a few things out in the open." Okay, that's probably a poor choice of words. He plops down next to the pizza, squinting at the... odd collection of DVDs Jared's gathered for his evening of "research."
"Like what?" Jared asks.
"Like, what exactly are you researching by watching porn and..." he picks up a couple other DVDs, "Mr. Olympia posedowns."
Without looking away from the screen where a scrawny, pasty dude who's hung like a mule is about to mount some chick who whinnies like a horse, Jared shrugs. "Have you ever watched a bodybuilder competition?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Me neither, ya know? I started working out just to have some place to channel my energy, and it turned out, I was good at it. I finally felt like... well, like I wasn't just another tall, emo baby-faced actor. Like maybe I could be.. I dunno.. hot."
"Dude, you are hot, and you are good at it. That's what I'm confused about. Why did you stop? And while we're at, what's with the Subaru, and the sudden fascination with tight jeans?"
Jared glares at him like he's a moron. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches into the end table, grabs something out, and flips it onto the bed in front of Jensen. Jensen recognizes it. It's the flavor of the week in internet pinups. "It's that picture of you from the movie set with your shirt off. I've seen it."
"Yeah, and so has everyone else."
"So?"
"So, I overheard a couple of the PAs talking on set last week. One of 'em had that picture on their clipboard, and the were talking about it, ya know?"
"So, you didn't overhear so much as you... spied on them."
"That's beside the point."
"Yeah, fine. So, what is the point?"
Jared drops the remote and takes a long swig of his beer, crosses his arms over his chest with his fingertips in his armpits, thumbs twitching self-consciously. "Well, one girl was saying how hot I looked in that pic. So, yeah, I kinda ducked in behind some props to listen. And the other one..." he swallows hard before continuing, "... the other one said guys who spent that much time on their bodies are just compensating for something. She said every bodybuilder she ever met drove a sports car, spent all his spare time working out, and..." rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, "...had a little dick."
Jensen tries his hardest not to choke on his beer, but he fails miserably, ends up with Jared thumping him between the shoulder blades to get his breath back under control. When he can breathe again, he says, "Jared, that's just a theory based on one girl's experience. Everyone's got a theory. I read one the other day that said the west Texas drought was caused by bottlers removing too much water from the rain cycle. That don't make it true."
"I know that," Jared sighs, "but after she said that, then well, the other girl, she agreed that was probably the case. And now, look." He grabs up the stack of DVDs and sends them spilling over onto the side of the bed next to the pizza. "Six porn flicks, probably twenty different guys, and in every one, the built guy gets shown up by the scrawny when it's time to take off their clothes. And these?" All the Mr. Olympia DVDs unceremoniously shoved across the mattress. "Pretty darned unimpressive if you ask me."
Jensen shrugs, flops down on the bed, feet beside the pizza box. "That's them, Jared, not you. You're... fine, I'm sure."
"Am I big?"
"Jay, man, friends don't ask friends to go there."
"Am I?"
"Sure. You're big, okay."
"Bigger than you?"
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Jared pouts, bottom lip curved down just so, and Jensen crushes the beer can in his hand. "Fine. Yes. You're bigger. Are you happy?"
"No!" Jared bellows like a bull ready to charge a picador. "That's just the problem! It doesn't matter whether I am or not, if I work out and drive a sports car, people are gonna think I'm compensating. It's like I have to be someone I'm not just to prove I am... what I am." He clarifies the last bit by pointing at his crotch, and Jensen so didn't need to have his eyes drawn there.
"So what? I drive a full-size truck. I don't care what people think."
"Dude," Jared scoffs, "Your Tundra? As far as trucks go, you don't get more sensible than that. No way would anyone think you're compensating by driving that."
Okay, now Jensen's offended. "Hey! That thing's got a V-8 Triton. That's so not standard. I'd put her up against anything in her weight class."
"That's what I'm talking about. The power is under the hood. No one would know it's there," Jared huffs. "And besides..."
"Besides, what?"
"Besides, no one would think you're small. Everyone's seen the pictures of you sprawled on that staircase with your engine block strapped to your thigh."
"Yeah," Jensen shudders, "including my mom." He shudders again for good measure, then again when he makes the mistake of looking up at the television. Talk about kinky. "Y'know, if you were gonna do research, you could've done actual scientific research. From what I've read, penis size correlates to height and nothing else. And let's not forget, before you started working out all the time, you were just as scrawny as that dude on the television."
"Huh," Jared says. "I never thought of it like that."
"And sexy is all about confidence." Why he's telling Jared this, he doesn't know. "If you feel better about yourself when you've got a little muscle on you...not to mention you're a lot easier to live with without the extra energy... then you've got it hands down over Francis the talking Dick. Which is why, you are doing television and movies, and he's doing porn."
"You're probably right," Jared concedes, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Still, what if people think...?"
"What do you want me to do, Jared, post some pictures of your dick on the internet so people can see for themselves?"
"What? No. I mean, everyone would just say it's photoshopped, and like you said...moms. Eeeeew."
"Then, I'm sorry, dude, but this sounds like a personal problem. You've just gotta make peace with yourself in your own head and stop worrying what people will think." He snags two pieces of pizza out of the box and slides off the bed. "Now, we've got a five a.m. set call, which means, you need to be up in about four hours if you want to get your workout in." He raises his finger before Jared can protest. "Kripke ain't letting you on set unless you can present a sweat-soaked t-shirt. If the insurance premiums go up any more, we're gonna have to cut out Bobby, Ruby, and all the angels. I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to any extra hours."
"Fine." Jared clicks off the television, pushes all the DVDs onto the floor. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
Jensen stands in the doorway a little longer, wishing there was something else he could say, but right then, his stomach's the only thing speaking, and tomorrow's another day.
--
The next day, things are worse, if that's even possible. Sure, Jared resumes his workout routine, puts on Sam's jeans without a complaint, gets through to lunch without spilling, breaking, or maiming anything, but he stalks around set like a kicked puppy, shoulders slouched, head down.
When they sit down in their chairs between takes and Jared suddenly jumps up, making some excuse about needing to use the bathroom as a group of giggling PAs crosses the set, Jensen decides that is just fucking it. It's time to take matters into his own hands.
Literally.
Just as he expected, he finds Jared behind one of the props that's supposed to look like the front of a closet. Before Jared even notices he's there, Jensen fists his hands in the shoulders of Sam's jacket and slams him up against the faux wall. He's pretty sure the whole thing shakes, and he's fine with that. When Jared opens his mouth in a surprised, "Oh," Jensen seals his lips over the opening, shoves his tongue inside.
One thigh pressed between Jared's, he grinds upward until Sam's shirts start to ruck up between them, slides his fingers under the hem so he can get a good grip on Jared's hip bones.
When Jared starts to return the kiss, panting into Jensen's mouth, and whimpering in time to little hitches of his hips, Jensen breaks the kiss. After a few quick breaths, Jared's eyes flutter open. "Jen? What? Nnngh..." his hips buck against Jensen's, "What are you doing?"
"I'm compensating for a slight... misconception that's been floating around."
Jared moans as Jensen scrapes his teeth along Jared's collarbone, his fingers sliding over the snap on his jeans.
"Is this okay?" Jensen asks.
"I'm not..." Jared gasps, "you're not..."
"I don't care if you don't." Jensen sucks a bruise at the juncture of neck and shoulder, tiny nips along the tendon. When Jared nods, Jensen grinds up, popping the button on Sam's jeans. He jerks the zipper down in one fluid motion so his hand's inside before Jared can change his mind.
Jared's head thunks back against the set wall hard enough that the latch on the fake closet door opens with a click and the door starts a slow swing open.
Jensen takes Jared into his hand, and oh yeah, nothing to compensate for there. He draws it out over the elastic of his boxer briefs, thumb smearing precome into the slit. A twist of his wrist, quick tug up, and Jared's knees start to buckle, landing him on Jensen's thigh. "C'mon, show me what you got," Jensen rasps, teeth dragging over Jared's jaw. "We don't want to leave anything... undisclosed."
"Hmmph," Jared grunts, "Jen, you don't have to."
"The fuck I don't."
"But..."
"I want to," and he does. This might be for Jared, about redeeming Jared's image, or saving Jared's face, but God, nothing's ever felt like this in Jensen's hand. He's always had a fine appreciation for big boobs, likes the way they feel in his hands, in his mouth, with his face pressed between them. But Jared's solid and wired, every inch of him vibrates against Jensen, nothing soft to dampen the sensation and smother out the tingle working its way up from the place where his inseam burns against Jared's. "Fuck yeah, I want to."
Jensen buries his nose in Jared's chest, breathes deep of sweat and need, feels his mouth flood with hunger that dampens the fabric over the peaks of Jared's nipples. His hand works feverishly, Jared hard and throbbing along Jensen's hip and up against that ticklish spot at the base of his rib cage.
Jared's close, knees shaking, hips pumping up into Jensen's hand. His fingers latch over the muscle at Jensen's waist, tighten down like a vice as if he can't pull Jensen close enough, can't find the right amount of contact and friction to drive him over. He's keening, desperate, hips stuttering against the prop wall... thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk-a.
They almost don't hear the director clearing his throat and the rash of giggling in its wake.
Almost, but they do. Not that Jensen's gonna let that stop him. Glancing over his shoulder, he slips to the side, makes sure every inch of Jared is on display, on display and owned by Jensen, then one, two tugs, and a twist send Jared spurting over his hand in long, thick streams.
Jensen licks off his hand in long smooth strokes, eyes fixed on the girls blushing behind their clipboards, then tucks Jared back in, slams the door shut in their faces.
Jared sags against him, nuzzling into Jensen's shoulder. "Aren't you worried, about what they'll think?"
"Dude, they know I let myself get shot in the ass with a bb gun... more than once. I don't think there's anything I could say or do to screw up my image after that. And besides," he licks along Jared's bottom lip, sucks it in before initiating a long, slow kiss. When it breaks off, "if the looks on their faces was any indicator, I scored more sexass points right there than I got in all the years screwing girls on Days."
He starts to step away, fastening up Jared's jeans. Jared's hands slide down around Jensen's ass and keep him pulled up tight. "But you didn't..."
"You can pay me back next time," Jensen smirks.
"Next time?"
"Hell, yeah."
Jared looks stunned for a second, then his face splits in a grin Jensen hasn't seen all week. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," Jensen says. "You know what I like the sound of?"
"What?"
"The scream of a high-powered sports car engine... like, maybe a Corvette."
"I always wanted to try making out in the back of a pickup truck."
"And I've always wanted to test out your weight bench."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, all right, then."
Jensen tugs Dean's jacket back into place, helps Jared get Sam's shirt tails tucked back in. Pressing one final kiss to Jared's lips, he steps back, breaking contact at last. "You ready to go back out there?"
Jared pauses momentarily.
"Hey," Jensen reprimands, "Remember what I said? Confidence. You got nothing to be ashamed of and now everyone knows it. Now own up."
And he does, right after he grabs Jensen's ass and squeezes.
Jensen grins. Now that's confidence. And he was right. It's totally sexass.
Next time can't come fast enough.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 03:50 pm (UTC)It would seem just like Jensen to take care of things and make Jared understand.
OH BOYS ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 03:52 pm (UTC)*smish*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 04:47 pm (UTC)(The dammit is not for you. Just in general.)
Also I have a really goofy grin on now 'cause I love Jensen's appreciation of Jared in this. Sexass indeed. LOL.
(Also woo voyeurism!)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 04:51 pm (UTC)Thank you much! And hee! Sexass... nomnomonom.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 06:48 pm (UTC)"I finally felt like... well, like I wasn't just another tall, emo baby-faced actor. Like maybe I could be.. I dunno.. hot."
Oh Jared, you were hot then, you are equally hot now. Though I must say I do miss that emo baby-faced Sam of season 1!
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Date: 2008-12-13 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 12:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 12:19 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 07:52 pm (UTC)That was great!
Now we need next time!!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 08:20 pm (UTC)Personally not a fan of the muscles, but for Jensen he's perfect ;-)
Enjoyed Tracy, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:03 pm (UTC)Favorite line?
"Besides, no one would think you're small. Everyone's seen the pictures of you sprawled on that staircase with your engine block strapped to your thigh."
"Yeah," Jensen shudders, "including my mom." He shudders again for good measure, then again when he makes the mistake of looking up at the television. Talk about kinky.
I really really loved this whole thing.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:05 pm (UTC)Thank you for that nice piece of fic, I love the fun and incharge!Jensen is always a must.
Sweetness good too.
<3
kisses
San
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Date: 2008-12-13 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:19 pm (UTC)BOYS ♥
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Date: 2008-12-13 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:41 pm (UTC)Great job fleshing it out and turning it into yummy aggressive Jensen and J2!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 08:16 pm (UTC)And Jensen would not allow that! *g*
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 10:31 pm (UTC)I think I may have died about five times in there.
Awesome!!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 12:14 am (UTC)Rock On!
Alley
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Date: 2008-12-13 01:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 04:20 am (UTC)One thing this fandom is insanely good for is uncovering hidden kinks. Apparently I have a huge kink for Jared in a Corvette. Also for drawlin', Texas-talkin' Jensen. (Okay, I already knew about that one.)
Everyone's seen the pictures of you sprawled on that staircase with your engine block strapped to your thigh."
Yes. Yes we have. *goes to look at it again*
This made me laugh; I doubt he ever thinks this, but I sometimes do.
"Yeah. I packed on a lot of muscle for my movie this summer, and then, you know, after the whole Sandy thing," he swallows the last bite of whatever he's got lodged inside his cheek, "well, it was a good distraction, but I'm probably getting too big. I'm not looking to be the next Conan the Barbarian, ya know?"
The other day a friend of mine remarked that the inside of the Impala looked smaller this season. I said, "That's because, just when you think Jared/Sam can't get any bigger, he totally DOES. Pretty soon Sam's shoulders are going to have to ride in the backseat."
This is all cute, chiquita, but I do have a (wholly personal) problem with their little "outing" scene. I was embarrassed for them when everyone saw. I know--that's my thing. However, I'm just twisted enough that I agreed with this:
if the looks on their faces was any indicator, I scored more sexass points right there than I got in all the years screwing girls on Days."
Glad you posted. Made me smile.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-17 02:59 am (UTC)Yes. Yes we have. *goes to look at it again*"
huh?! are you telling me that's a real pic they were writing about? if so where is it, why haven't i see it and where have i been that i haven't seen it? *hopes it's a real pic*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 04:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-13 06:18 am (UTC)I was just waiting for someone to write a fic about that photo. Thank you so much, this was perfect.
Peachus