Author: Guede Mazaka
It’s all about how you handle yourself, Jensen thinks. Just gotta hold your ground, keep your feet in touch with the earth. Not like that pansy touchy-feely Earth Mother stuff—the environment is good, going back to Stone Age life is crap—but just keeping a feel for what really matters. Keeping down and not getting all swollen in the head, thinking that Hollywood is the be-all and end-all and it’ll end up handling you then instead of the other way around. Hollywood’s not where he’s from, dammit. “Texas, man.”
“Yep.” Jared flops over the end-arm of the couch, his head coming down towards Jensen’s thighs in motion so slow that Jensen can almost see the cartoony black action marks in the air.
All that hair makes him look like this furry cannonball, and Jensen thinks maybe he should avoid it, should do something like move since earlier they’d done five takes of Padalecki falling on him and damn the guy, it’s more like Padalead-e, but--damn, Jared’s head is heavy. It forces Jensen’s half-heartedly raised knees back down and then keeps getting heavier so Jensen sinks deep into the couch. The guy is a rock. “Solid.”
“Uh-huh.” Why Jared thinks it’s a good idea to stretch out his arm and flop for the next shot is beyond Jensen’s comprehension. Dude knocks over like, three shots, and that just ain’t right. If he—
--but he finally gets his fingers around one and fumbles it over to his mouth, so instead of spilling on the table, it back-splashes out of Jared’s mouth onto Jensen’s jeans. Jared throws off heat like a furnace; he’s already making the sweat start up between the denim and Jensen’s skin. The tequila flash-vaporates away, cool and then sticky, before it even finishes soaking in.
“Dude, I’m—I’m so up on you right now, it…” Words get halfway out of Jared’s mouth so Jensen can see their wet pink edges, then sort of slide back in. Or maybe that’s Jared’s tongue, wriggling randomly around as the other man gives Jensen a big, lazily dopey grin. He lifts his glass like he’s gonna toast to Jensen’s nose, then bonks it on the tip of Jensen’s chin. “I’m awesome.”
“Uh-huh, yeah.” And Jensen’s getting a cramp in his back. He squirms up his arms—this would be so much easier if Jared would get off him, but Jared just rolls over for another shot and attempts to gouge out Jensen’s knee with his chin while he’s at it—and stretches, then slings his arms over the back of the couch. Padalecki weight and cramping aside, he’s pretty comfortable and he isn’t interested in moving.
The hard pointy bone that Jared calls a manly jaw chips away at Jensen’s knee cartilage. It digs down deep as Jared awkwardly cranes his head back to down the shot, then rocks forward in some attempt to take out ligaments and tendons and like, important body parts. Jensen sighs and joggles his leg, hoping to bounce the other man off. Except Jared’s like, spectacularly uncoordinated when he’s smashed and he’s about a fingertip away from crashing down the whole coffee table when Jensen hauls him back.
“No, I am,” Jared slurs, his hands flopping all over the place. He’s got like, five of them now, and one’s dripping down Jensen’s face and one’s making a piss-poor grab for Jensen’s shoulder, and two more are still groping for the tequila. “I’ve got lead on the best fucking show on TV that has monsters.”
“Uh, no, we have lead. We are lead. We, um, shit, Jared, you’re fucking me up.” Okay, now Jensen’s not comfortable. He makes a couple snatches at the other man, hoping to grab the one thing that’ll let him straighten Jared out so the elbow isn’t poking the ribs and the hipbone isn’t crushing the family jewels, but Jared’s a freaking octopus. “Real spec—spectacular, man. Where’s your—”
Jared does that thing where he sticks out his jaw and looks squinty-eyed pissed and basically gets in touch with his caveman ancestors. His ass worms around on Jensen’s lap as he kind of gets upright, and even with five fucking hands, he can’t seem to get a good handhold on Jensen. “And it’s not some dumbass girly show. We kick ass, don’t we? We kick everyone’s ass. We have like, rock-like manhood.”
And Jensen does his thing where he blinks really fast and probably looks like an idiot, but at least he doesn’t sound like one. Damn, is Jared gone. Like, way out there, except for the whole sitting-on-Jensen’s-lap thing with his bony fucking ass. Boy is a goddamn beanpole. “Dude.”
Earnest look. “Dude,” Jared nods, emphatically agreeing with God knows what. “Anyway, we don’t need to worry about people.”
“Okay…” This, Jensen decides, requires a drink. He starts to let go of Jared to do something about that, but Jared honest-to-God tilts when Jensen does that. And the floor’s kind of hard. Jensen has some vague idea of the floor and Jared’s skull not being a good combination, so he just pokes Jared in the middle of the chest. “Bro, I’m drinkless here. Fix that.”
Jared’s still rambling, but at least he turns. Or he makes an attempt to turn, and then Jensen’s grappling with him around and below the waist while his upper body stretches in seriously freaky ways to get to the table. When he pushes off that with the glasses, he doesn’t do it hard enough to get himself past that point where he’d keep rising and Jensen has to do some heavy hauling again. Stupid guy twists at the same time so his elbow grazes hard across Jensen’s jaw, and then he’s on Jensen again with the shots and hey, limes. Jensen hadn’t known they’d had any left.
“No, listen, this is important ‘cause it’s all so hard, and everyone’s looking to see that we do the whole thing with roses and kissing girls and really fucking bad pop songs that, y’know, the audience gets to vote on for the big dance scene. But we’re not going to do that. We shouldn’t even have to worry about that, right? ‘cause we’re not that kind. We’re better. We’re way better—we don’t have to worry about some freak going ‘click-click’ if we go outside and, you know, it’s an off-day or maybe we were sick and the gym was closed and this isn’t so good.”
Is Jensen following this? Nope. He’s bit his lime and drunk his shot and now he’s stuck the lime wedge back in his mouth, pulling at the rind while he uses his teeth to scrape off the fruity part. Because really, Jared is a nutty fucking drunk. What the hell could he be talking about that involves flashing his abs at Jensen?
“Like, I could do this if I wanted—” said abs bow out, like some little kid playing big belly “—and who cares?”
Jensen shifts his mouth around the lime wedge and it fucking squirts on him. Like, right through his fingers onto the slight ripple-ripple of Jared’s muscle-pack that’s freaking him out or whatever, and it does this bouncing roll that makes Jared yelp and jump. Which is not good because Jared is on Jensen’s lap and bouncy Jared seriously bruises Jensen’s thighs, but goddamn—Jensen cracks up. Cracks up and is not ashamed, thank you.
“Hey.” Jared sounds all hurt. He’s got his hand slapped over his stomach so his shirt flaps over his arm at Jensen’s nose. “It’s not funny.”
“No, you’re funny. Dude, just—dude, your stomach’s fine. You look good. You—look, man, if we ever have to do a dance scene, I promise to let you lead if it bothers you so much. Okay? Make you feel better?” Well, maybe some of that ramble got through to Jensen, but probably not enough for him to be making any sense. Anyway, he shouldn’t be worrying about making sense. He should be worrying about that shot in Jared’s hand, which clearly isn’t secure in the other man’s possession.
Weirdly enough, Jared doesn’t want to let him have it. “You’re an asshole.”
“Whoa, hey…no need to get sharp, here,” Jensen says, putting up his hands. Very coolly, he thinks. He’s cool. The situation is cool, except where it’s fucking burning up beneath Jared’s fiery ass. “Dude…uh…do your shot. It’ll make you feel better.”
And it would, except Jared just…just…Jensen grabs the other man’s hand and pulls it down. He takes the shot, takes the lime slice from Jared’s other hand, then pinches Jared’s right wrist between his two bent ones. When it’s in front of his face, he stops it. Spreads Jared’s forefinger and thumb and shoves the lime wedge in between them. Makes their tips close around the shot-glass, which he generously returns. “Jesus, it’s like you’re from Utah or something.”
“I know how to do a shot, man,” Jared sulks at him. “Where’s the salt?”
“Hell if I know.” Jensen leans back, thinks easy thoughts, is patient. After this one, Jared probably would be done and then it’d be simple to get him off.
Jared just looks at him, all disbelieving and annoyed and shit, like he hadn’t just been going off on the most crackpot theory since—since ever. Not that Jensen was into that anyway, but he so was never doing pot with the guy.
“You can’t do a shot right without salt.” Maybe it’s Jensen’s point of view, but it looks like Jared’s tilting again. No, he is; his tequila is slopping out of one side.
He notices and frowns at the glass, then blinks once. Then he leans forward and—
--and Jared licks him! The fuck? Jared had just laid a big old…lick up the side of Jensen’s throat, and now he was leaning back with the lime stuffed in his mouth. No, it was out and his head was tipped back to take the shot so his Adam’s apple was thrown out at Jensen. The fucking son of a bitch…well, okay, fine. Basically Jensen’s thought process as he lunges up to slurp Jared right back. Yeah, neck shot, right there.
He hears a startled gurgle and years of getting vomited on by friends makes him back up fast, only Jared’s on his legs, damn it. And Jared looks down, all wild-eyed and suddenly Jensen thinks this might be slightly more fucked up than the usual drunkenness fucked-upness.
“Um,” Jared says. And swallows hard, staring at Jensen like his Santa Claus dream just got taken from him. “Um, dude.”
“Hey…you first.” Yeah, not brilliant, but…whatever. Jensen’s busy thinking about how he wants to get up now. And he would; he even puts his hand on the table by the couch and drops his shot-glass, except Jesus, Jared weighs a ton.
Jared makes a face. “Man, that was for the salt. You know. On your skin.”
“Like…like…” Jared mumbles, weaving erratically towards Jensen and then swaying back. He does this twice before Jensen figures out that Jared’s trying to grab his arm, but by the time that happens, Jared’s already blown out a frustrated sound and just raised his own wrist and jammed it across Jensen’s mouth. “See?”
Okay. Okay, yeah, but…this…probably bad. Jensen pushes his hands up against Jared’s chest, suddenly thinks about how that might be a bad idea too and starts to pull them down, but gets blocked by something. “Okay, yeah, you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” Big, goofy-proud grin from Jared. He’s over his weirded-out moment and is actually, is in fact scooting his butt around getting himself more comfortable, even as Jensen gets more and more twitchy. He scrunches up his face and somehow thinks this also involves falling forward so he has to catch himself, laughing like an idiot, on Jensen’s shoulder. “’cause that’s…exactly what I was saying, man. We don’t have to worry. We’re that good, man. We like, have this…this…” Jared pushes himself back, almost goes over that way, then rights himself so he can gesture like he’s pulling apart taffy “…vibe. That just takes care of everything.”
“Better not lose the vibe, then,’ Jensen mutters. He has the sneaking suspicion that he’s actually not only making sense, but also edging towards dead serious. Jesus Christ, if Jared’s blown his buzz here, he’s going to be unbelievably pissed.
Jared nods enthusiastically and knocks himself forward with his effort. He does catch himself on Jensen’s chest, his fingers slightly curling to hook into Jensen’s shirt, and his breath is sweet-sour and warm in Jensen’s face. Jensen automatically puts one hand on Jared’s side, helping the other man keep balance because once again, the idea that Jared-skull and floor is bad, they watched each other’s back, that’s what they…he’s losing it again. Yeah.
“No, shit, no, fuck.” The tip of Jared’s nose keeps sliding on and off Jensen’s cheek. It’s kind of damp, sweat rolling down it so Jensen can practically smell the salt in it. It’s not a bad smell, really. “No…look, we’re not gonna lose the vibe. We got it, man. We got it. And we just have to…hold on.”
It’s probably a bad sign that this makes a lot of sense to Jensen, but honestly, it’s like what he was thinking just a couple minutes ago and it’s still so fucking weird how Jared hooks into his brain like that. Or maybe how he hooks into Jared’s brain—dude, brainwashed Padalecki. Something about that rings wrong to Jensen, but he can’t help lingering over the thought, vague ideas and images stirring in him and getting beneath his skin, making it itch.
He shifts, and Jared shifts, and his mouth sort of opens and slides right over the bottom third of Jared’s face, his upper lip gliding along just under Jared’s nose and then his lower lip getting stuck, Jared’s damn pointy chin again. Jensen’s head jerks, comes to a stop and Jared moves in to close his mouth for him, except not all the way because wow, okay, Jared’s fond of the long sloppy twisty tongue. It’s kind of drooltastic, getting Jensen’s whole chin wet, but something about it gets Jensen really…he’s moving around again, trying to get his legs moving but Jared is so fucking heavy.
Jensen has that hand on Jared’s side. He pushes, just a little, and Jared goes sideways like a freaking dead elephant. Shakes the couch and makes the floorboards rattle and lets out the funny squeal and everything. There’s a tiny tinkle-crack, like the afterthoughts Jensen probably should be having right now but isn’t, in the background to that.
Jared blinks, limply lifts his empty hand. “Dude, my glass.”
“Fuck,” Jensen says, pretty genially. He twists over and gets a double handful of Jared-hips, then hitches up his hips from where they’ve been trying to meld with the cushions. It takes a little more effort than he expects and he lets out a grunt, then a hiss as suddenly the blood goes flooding down.
“Um, fuck, um—” There’s an edge to Jared’s voice that makes Jensen look up. The other man has one arm thrown up and over the top of the couch, and the other is clutching at the front edge of the cushion. He’s kind of bug-eyed and his mouth is doing that little-“o” thing that makes Jensen freeze except for his dick, which heats up. “Uh, what? No? You don’t believe me?”
“About the vibe thing, or that other thing?” After a moment, Jensen thinks he’s got an idea of what’s going on in Jared’s head. He finishes digging himself out of the couch and uses his grip on Jared’s hips to pull himself along; the front of Jared’s jeans slowly humps upward, so apparently his guess is right. “Thought we were supposed to keep the ball in the air, Jared.”
So does Jared’s relieved face. He lets out a huge sigh and slumps backward, his arms going everywhere. “Oh, good, it still is. ‘cause I was thinkin’…I was thinking just now, that maybe you were thinking about not, but…um…but…”
Something’s very wrong with this picture on some level, Jensen thinks, but he kind of thinks about it like that nagging pebble in your shoe that’s not really painful but just really needs to get dug out later. Which he can do, because right now he’s crawling up Jared and God, there’s a lot of Jared, and also, Jared’s got bumps and dips in odd places so Jensen has to pay close attention or he’ll fall.
“No fucking flowers,” Jensen says, because it makes perfect sense to him, and leans down to suck on Jared’s lower lip.
Jared lets out this moan that kind of sounds like a ‘yes,’ and that’s good enough. Of course, his hands coming up to stroke along Jensen’s arms, pulling gently and repeatedly like—okay, that’s a fucking tease, and here Jensen is, digging into Jared’s shoulders with his own fingers and going at Jared’s mouth like, like, like something hot and sloppy and hot, and the least Jared could do is move a knee.
Aaaaand Jared does, which is like thank fucking God because Jensen was getting tired, what with the holding himself up and back and a thousand other ways, and now he can lie down a little. He pushes his knee down, accidentally lands on something slightly giving instead of a lot giving, like the cushion he was aiming for, and Jared arches this harsh, low groan into his mouth that rattles the hell out of his own vocal cords. Jared’s got a pretty good hard-on going on there.
Jensen shrugs and twists his hip slightly to get his knee down to the couch, then rocks forward and fuck, that’s good. Pushing his erection along Jared’s thigh, sliding right into the welcome of Jared’s mouth. He opens his own mouth wide, presses down hard and stretches his tongue deep down so he can just lick his way out. And hello, salt all over Jared’s outside, but his insides taste kind of tangy and sweet with a little surprise kick of tequila in the hollows at the base of his tongue.
“We don’t have a song,” Jared mumbles a couple moments later. His hands sliding over Jensen’s back, sloping down so his fingers barely graze over Jensen’s ass before curling over the hips and then back around. He moves his legs around, grunting in frustration—Jensen can kind of understand; he doesn’t really know what to do with his right now and he’s got like, four inches less of them—before something thumps across Jensen’s back and suddenly Jared has like, mad leverage.
“Fuck, no, fuck.” Holy fuck, that’s so good. That, the way that works, the fit of them against each other, the pressure of Jared’s leg urging Jensen down so the ridge of his cock slides into the groove between Jared’s erection and the crease where his thigh flows into his torso. Hell, even the maddening stricture of the unforgiving jeans.
Jensen’s gonna have fucking denim-weave imprints on his dick tomorrow, and one hell of a hangover and some other shit going down too, but right now he has this awesome grip on Jared’s waist and Jared is doing mad shit with his bendy legginess and it’s fucking amazing. It’s rolling Jensen’s eyes back into his head so he can’t see, and he’s kind of pissed at that but then he puts his head into the nice scoop of Jared’s neck-collarbone-shoulder and not looking’s pretty awesome, too. Not looking, just hearing the gasps coming faster above him and feeling the heat squeezed out of Jared, the tension coiling up deep within himself so that he has to bite his lip, choke back his breath till seriously he’s going to pass out, he needs to breathe but he can’t fucking even now till God, finally, God, he comes and it all just rips out of him.
Jared’s totally boneless. If Jensen puts one hand between them and presses on Jared’s belly, it just gives, like…like pudding or something. Though pudding never felt so good, warm and slightly curved like it was just made to fit a spread palm with fingers slightly upturned, and then something about the feel of Jared’s skin is kind of madly addictive. Like, maybe the way he makes these little breathless, recovering-wait-not-yet-fuck-please-anyway noises instead of talking about God knows what. Fucking rocks. He is fucking awesome, Jensen thinks, and Jensen’s thinking about bringing it up because he’s in such a good place right now and really liking Jared when sleep just sidles up on him.
* * *
Most of the morning’s this blur, like this stumble-headachy-wet-oh-shower-icky-teeth-taste blur, and Jensen only really remembers starting when he was spitting out the toothpaste foam. That’d been in his trailer, and he knows that he was in Jared’s trailer last night. He has a pretty good idea what they ended up doing there, too, but there’s enough of a chance that he was just jerking off in his sleep that he doesn’t talk about it. Well, he wouldn’t anyway, but…
…the first time Jared sees him, they’re in the breakfast tent and Padalecki stops dead and stares deerlike at Jensen, and okay, not a nice half-conscious handjob after all.
Other people are milling around. Jensen looks down, is suddenly struck by how obscenely graphic the jelly and cream donuts are from the right perspective, and gets himself a plastic thing of portable cereal instead. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jared walks over. He’s so stiff that anybody touches him and he just might explode.
Of course, it’s totally understandable and Jensen is actually feeling the same way and everything, but no one ever said that Jensen coped with this kind of crap in an appropriately sensitive-guy way. The moment Jared’s near enough, Jensen just has to reach out and smack him on the arm.
“Gyaha!” Most of the time, Jared hangs together pretty well for his height. Not much gawkyness, joints and limbs don’t look like somebody Krazy Glued them together. But once in a while, he does this…this…spaztastic thing where…“You dick, what are you laughing at?”
“Nothing. Nothing, man, I’m sorry…I’m…dude. So how are you? You feeling all right?” Jensen snorts. He reaches for the milk, notices he’s still shaking from suppressing the snickers and puts his hand down. Looks half-seriously at Jared, which is pretty good for this hour of the day. “You were looking kind of wasted last night.”
After a moment, this ripple goes through Jared and when it’s done, he’s a lot more relaxed. He tentatively slides up and gets himself food, including one of those porno donuts. “Hey, there were two of us.”
“Whatever, man. You were the one talking about high school proms. I was totally grounded in comparison.” Hey, sugar. Jensen dumps a load on over his wimpy cornflakes.
“Man, that’s gross,” Jared says, watching. He casually leans forward and his arm kind of ends up around Jensen’s shoulders, like their usual slightly-creepy-but-comfy vibe, and suddenly Jared laughs like he’s just gotten out of school for the summer. And then he’s damn near squishing Jensen, hanging his whole body off Jensen’s shoulder like Jensen is his own personal arm-rest. “Dude, you were not. You were blown. Totally gone.”
Jensen pours milk and throws an elbow at the same time. “I was not. I was—”
“You were so!”
“I was not!”
They’re just fucking awesome, Jensen vaguely thinks. This whole thing where they just kind of go with each other, it’s the best work environment ever and it can take practically anything. It’s tough. It’s got its feet where they should be. But hell, he already knew that.