R | Blind Auditions | J2
HAPPY BIRTHDAY RONA!
Title: Blind Audition
Words: 1200ish
Rating: R for suggestive language, I suppose?
Summary: As the music industry’s rising country star, Jared mans one of the judge’s seats on the newest singing competition, hoping to tap into the next new star. But he can’t keep his mind off one of the other judges.
notes: Written for matalinolukaret’s birthday and inspired by NBC’s new singing competition The Voice. Hah. Beta by kelleigh
The soft twang of a six-string acoustic fills the studio, followed by a deep, rough voice that expertly slips along the meaty lyrics of classic Reba. Jared rocks his head, closing his eyes to truly feel the voice, judge it against those he’s heard before, and determine just how hard it hits him inside.
Then he hears a loud shush and picks his head up. He glances to the left, three chairs down, where Jensen’s going on with his typical whispering and Katie’s shaking her head at Jensen.
“Hit it. C’mon, dude, hit it.”
Jensen’s looking right at him, nodding and pointing at his own buzzer in front of him.
Jared chuckles and shakes his head. Every potential country star that’s crossed this stage behind him forces Jensen to egg him on like this. Hell, every time there’s a Soul Man or Diva, Jensen’s goading Aldis and Katie between them. They have a stronger disposition, shrugging him off to just laugh at him and wait for the right moment to say yes to the right wannabe stars.
Jensen keeps murmuring for Jared to pick this girl, going restless in his chair, legs crossed up on the seat, and head bobbing as he tries to convince Jared to hit the buzzer.
After a particularly mean and fast run of words that would do Nashville ladies justice, Jared finally smacks his buzzer, forcing his chair to spin around and face their contestant, the audience cheering him for it. The applause doubles when Jensen’s chair spins two seconds later.
Jared glares at Jensen then huffs at himself. He should’ve known better; for every contestant the others buzz in for, Jensen chases, too. He runs right at each hopeful with a pitch that would make a door-to-door salesman drool - anything from pointing out his clichéd rise to the top as a singer-songwriter who fills every reputable venue in each big city he visits, to amping up his good looks with a playful smile or panty-dropping leer.
And maybe boxers, too. Jared’s have remained in place so far, but damn Jensen if he doesn’t try hard to play both ends of the field.
Once the song is over and they’re given their chance to convince the singer, Jared’s prepared to serve his typical I’m a good country boy, we’re stitched from the same fabric sermon, but Jensen jumps in first, smiling at the stylish twenty-something before them, rail thin in a flowing pale dress, cream cowboy boots, and a steady stream of auburn curls falling nearly to her trim waist.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Jensen smirks, tucking his legs in tighter beneath thighs in a way that should be illegal for how it makes the jeans sculpt to his limbs.
Jared shakes his head and bites his tongue, well aware that the audience, this contestant, the other judges, and hell, all of America through the cameras, can see his bitter, shaken look but he figures it’ll play well. The bickering between him and Jensen has become a fan favorite; he’s not about to deprive them of it.
“Now, the quick and dirty answer is for you to choose Jared,” Jensen’s saying. “But I don’t do quick and dirty. I’m in it for the long haul, we’re gonna take our time, go slow, and just marinate in your voice.”
Snickering passes through the crowd and even Katie and Aldis are laughing, covering their mouths and shutting their eyes against the ridiculousness that leaves Jensen’s mouth every time he opens it.
“That guy down there,” Jensen says, pointing beyond the others to Jared.
“This guy right here,” Jared interrupts, leaning forward with a wide palm to his chest for more feeling. “I’m the one with the connections,” he says, starting to tick the words off the fingers of one hand. “I can get you the producers, the musicians, the songwriters. I will cultivate your sound, and we can make you a country hit in no time.”
“Connections, connections, connections,” Jensen mumbles, though it’s loud enough for the cameras, and the way he smiles says he means for it to be.
“What d’you got, hot shot? A pile of Rolling Stones and a seat at the House of Blues?”
“Even that there is worth more than your boots.”
Jared puts a foot out, his tan mad dog goat colored throwback cowboy boots drag quite a few catcalls from the audience.
“How big are those puppies?” Aldis asks as he bats at Jared’s foot.
With a sidelong grin, Jared nods at Aldis. “You know what they say about a man’s boots.”
Katie lifts a sharp eyebrow and serves him a hard look. “What do they say about a man’s boots, Jared?”
Aldis laughs and puts his hands up above his head, waving them about. “It is impossible to stay clean for network television,” he says and the crowd erupts in laughter.
#
Backstage, Jared reaches for a bottle of water off the craft services table just as he hears a familiar chuckle behind him.
“Nothin’ gets between ‘em,” Jensen drawls out, all smooth country from the base of his throat.
Jared slowly faces him, one eyebrow up as he regards Jensen’s cool smirk, and ignores how the sound of Jensen’s put-upon accent cuts right in his belly, firing up his nerves. “What’s that?”
“A man and his boots.”
After flicking a small, amused look at Jensen, Jared tries to appear nonchalant when he glances down the walkway to the stage. No one else is around; they’re completely alone. “Well, not nothing.”
Jensen reaches to Jared’s side, keeping their distance ridiculously minute, as he grabs a bottle of Diet Coke from the table. His eyes stick with Jared’s when he carefully opens it, takes a lifetime to bring it up to his lips, and ever-so-slowly drinks, throat working in the most obscene and cruel fashion. When he’s done with the long drink, he sighs in appreciation and smiles at Jared.
“So, what does get between a man and his boots?”
Jared shoves his tongue against the side of his mouth and grins when he’s aware of how the visual must’ve dried up Jensen’s mouth because of how quickly he drinks again. “Sometimes I manage to take them off for bed.”
After a moment, Jensen gets his wits about him, it seems, because he closes off the bottle and stands tall, all bravado from the show returning. “Just sometimes?”
With a short shake of his head, Jared says, “Guess you’ll have to find out yourself.”
Jensen’s voice slips down to a southern twang. “You a true country boy now, Jared?”
Jared tips his head forward, reaching for an invisible brim. “Boots, chaps, and cowboy hats. I am what I am.”
“Chaps?” he laughs suddenly, and his cheeks go red before he gets a hold of himself. “My, I’d like to see that sometime.”
“You just might,” Jared replies with a wink, and turns away from Jensen to return to the studio. The call sheet details another few hours of filming, which will really just be bickering and flirting with Jensen for the rest of the day. And whatever they can figure out after.
Title: Blind Audition
Words: 1200ish
Rating: R for suggestive language, I suppose?
Summary: As the music industry’s rising country star, Jared mans one of the judge’s seats on the newest singing competition, hoping to tap into the next new star. But he can’t keep his mind off one of the other judges.
notes: Written for matalinolukaret’s birthday and inspired by NBC’s new singing competition The Voice. Hah. Beta by kelleigh
The soft twang of a six-string acoustic fills the studio, followed by a deep, rough voice that expertly slips along the meaty lyrics of classic Reba. Jared rocks his head, closing his eyes to truly feel the voice, judge it against those he’s heard before, and determine just how hard it hits him inside.
Then he hears a loud shush and picks his head up. He glances to the left, three chairs down, where Jensen’s going on with his typical whispering and Katie’s shaking her head at Jensen.
“Hit it. C’mon, dude, hit it.”
Jensen’s looking right at him, nodding and pointing at his own buzzer in front of him.
Jared chuckles and shakes his head. Every potential country star that’s crossed this stage behind him forces Jensen to egg him on like this. Hell, every time there’s a Soul Man or Diva, Jensen’s goading Aldis and Katie between them. They have a stronger disposition, shrugging him off to just laugh at him and wait for the right moment to say yes to the right wannabe stars.
Jensen keeps murmuring for Jared to pick this girl, going restless in his chair, legs crossed up on the seat, and head bobbing as he tries to convince Jared to hit the buzzer.
After a particularly mean and fast run of words that would do Nashville ladies justice, Jared finally smacks his buzzer, forcing his chair to spin around and face their contestant, the audience cheering him for it. The applause doubles when Jensen’s chair spins two seconds later.
Jared glares at Jensen then huffs at himself. He should’ve known better; for every contestant the others buzz in for, Jensen chases, too. He runs right at each hopeful with a pitch that would make a door-to-door salesman drool - anything from pointing out his clichéd rise to the top as a singer-songwriter who fills every reputable venue in each big city he visits, to amping up his good looks with a playful smile or panty-dropping leer.
And maybe boxers, too. Jared’s have remained in place so far, but damn Jensen if he doesn’t try hard to play both ends of the field.
Once the song is over and they’re given their chance to convince the singer, Jared’s prepared to serve his typical I’m a good country boy, we’re stitched from the same fabric sermon, but Jensen jumps in first, smiling at the stylish twenty-something before them, rail thin in a flowing pale dress, cream cowboy boots, and a steady stream of auburn curls falling nearly to her trim waist.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Jensen smirks, tucking his legs in tighter beneath thighs in a way that should be illegal for how it makes the jeans sculpt to his limbs.
Jared shakes his head and bites his tongue, well aware that the audience, this contestant, the other judges, and hell, all of America through the cameras, can see his bitter, shaken look but he figures it’ll play well. The bickering between him and Jensen has become a fan favorite; he’s not about to deprive them of it.
“Now, the quick and dirty answer is for you to choose Jared,” Jensen’s saying. “But I don’t do quick and dirty. I’m in it for the long haul, we’re gonna take our time, go slow, and just marinate in your voice.”
Snickering passes through the crowd and even Katie and Aldis are laughing, covering their mouths and shutting their eyes against the ridiculousness that leaves Jensen’s mouth every time he opens it.
“That guy down there,” Jensen says, pointing beyond the others to Jared.
“This guy right here,” Jared interrupts, leaning forward with a wide palm to his chest for more feeling. “I’m the one with the connections,” he says, starting to tick the words off the fingers of one hand. “I can get you the producers, the musicians, the songwriters. I will cultivate your sound, and we can make you a country hit in no time.”
“Connections, connections, connections,” Jensen mumbles, though it’s loud enough for the cameras, and the way he smiles says he means for it to be.
“What d’you got, hot shot? A pile of Rolling Stones and a seat at the House of Blues?”
“Even that there is worth more than your boots.”
Jared puts a foot out, his tan mad dog goat colored throwback cowboy boots drag quite a few catcalls from the audience.
“How big are those puppies?” Aldis asks as he bats at Jared’s foot.
With a sidelong grin, Jared nods at Aldis. “You know what they say about a man’s boots.”
Katie lifts a sharp eyebrow and serves him a hard look. “What do they say about a man’s boots, Jared?”
Aldis laughs and puts his hands up above his head, waving them about. “It is impossible to stay clean for network television,” he says and the crowd erupts in laughter.
#
Backstage, Jared reaches for a bottle of water off the craft services table just as he hears a familiar chuckle behind him.
“Nothin’ gets between ‘em,” Jensen drawls out, all smooth country from the base of his throat.
Jared slowly faces him, one eyebrow up as he regards Jensen’s cool smirk, and ignores how the sound of Jensen’s put-upon accent cuts right in his belly, firing up his nerves. “What’s that?”
“A man and his boots.”
After flicking a small, amused look at Jensen, Jared tries to appear nonchalant when he glances down the walkway to the stage. No one else is around; they’re completely alone. “Well, not nothing.”
Jensen reaches to Jared’s side, keeping their distance ridiculously minute, as he grabs a bottle of Diet Coke from the table. His eyes stick with Jared’s when he carefully opens it, takes a lifetime to bring it up to his lips, and ever-so-slowly drinks, throat working in the most obscene and cruel fashion. When he’s done with the long drink, he sighs in appreciation and smiles at Jared.
“So, what does get between a man and his boots?”
Jared shoves his tongue against the side of his mouth and grins when he’s aware of how the visual must’ve dried up Jensen’s mouth because of how quickly he drinks again. “Sometimes I manage to take them off for bed.”
After a moment, Jensen gets his wits about him, it seems, because he closes off the bottle and stands tall, all bravado from the show returning. “Just sometimes?”
With a short shake of his head, Jared says, “Guess you’ll have to find out yourself.”
Jensen’s voice slips down to a southern twang. “You a true country boy now, Jared?”
Jared tips his head forward, reaching for an invisible brim. “Boots, chaps, and cowboy hats. I am what I am.”
“Chaps?” he laughs suddenly, and his cheeks go red before he gets a hold of himself. “My, I’d like to see that sometime.”
“You just might,” Jared replies with a wink, and turns away from Jensen to return to the studio. The call sheet details another few hours of filming, which will really just be bickering and flirting with Jensen for the rest of the day. And whatever they can figure out after.