R | Sharp Dressed Man
Title: Sharp Dressed Man
Words: ~600
Rating: R - few bad words
Warnings: Bad clothing
Summary: Jared and Jensen discuss their clothing choices for Vancon.
Notes: Title and link text from ZZ Top. (I know I said I wouldn't post any more fic while I work on the epic thing but ...) Eff this. arlad is a total enabler. This is for her.
It obviously wasn’t their first convention, but with it being the final season, Jared had a feeling it would be one of their last, especially in Vancouver. For that, he wanted to make an impression.
“Dude,” Jensen calls out when he spots Jared.
“What?” he smirks in return, totally knowing what’s going through his friend’s mind.
“What’re you - okay, seriously? What is? Dude.”
Jared smirks again. “What?”
"I can’t even - man. I can’t formulate the words. They’re stuck in my brain.”
“Well, obviously,” Jared smarts back as he grabs a pair of sunglasses and puts them on his face. Only to shove them up onto his head to hold hair away from his forehead.
Jensen’s head shakes like the words are jumbled in his brain and have to be placed together. Like a Boggle game. “What’re you wearing?” he finally asks.
“What?” Jared asks for about the twentieth time, it seems.
“Jared.”
“Huh?”
“Are those Wesson’s?”
Jared snorts, almost sure what Jensen really means, but not exactly willing to respond.
“Seriously. All the shit you steal off set … You took khakis?”
“These are fucking comfy, dude.”
Jensen shakes his head and moves into the kitchen to down his fifth - maybe sixth - cup of coffee. “I can’t believe you’re wearing those. They’re fucking nasty.”
“Your face is nasty.”
“Real smart.”
“Yeah? Look at you,” Jared challenges.
Jensen looks down on his blue plaid button down and jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”
“You look like a farmer.”
“Fuck you. You’re a farmer,” he shoots back instantly, eyeing Jared’s equally heinous plaid shirt.
“At least I’m matching.” Sure, Jared’s plaid shirt features a shade of tan close to his pants.
Jensen’s eyes are locked on Jared’s, fierce and challenging. Jared cracks a smirk and Jensen sighs as he looks away. “Guy, that is not good matching. Just an FYI.”
“Khakis are classy.”
“Yeah, for like engineers or accountants. What the fuck? We’re actors. You can’t wear something better?”
“You’re no better.” And here, Jared almost sounds like he’s starting to get offended.
Jensen’s hand rests at the middle of his shirt, pushing the fabric against his stomach. “I look awesome,” he says with the kind of attitude only Dean Winchester brings to the table.
Jared barks out a laugh and busies himself with tying his shoes.
“At least tuck your shirt in, you slob.”
“Fuck you,” he shoots back. But he’s totally doing it anyway, shoving fabric into the waist before yanking it back out a reasonable amount. “You tuck your shirt in.”
“I absolutely will,” Jensen pushes back with more Dean-ness. “Because this is the best fucking belt you’ve ever seen in your life.”
When Jensen’s shirt is properly tucked and the belt is showing itself off, Jared eyes another part that is absolutely showing itself off.
“Nice jeans,” Jared murmurs with a raised eyebrow as he stares below the belt.
“Shut up.”
He leans in just a little with a big tease in his voice. “The ladies are gonna cream over that package.”
“Fuck you,” he mutters as he moves towards the door so they can leave.
“Best delivery FedEx ever made.”
Jensen grumbles, “I hate you.”
On their way out the door, Jared’s response is a sound smack to Jensen’s ass.
Words: ~600
Rating: R - few bad words
Warnings: Bad clothing
Summary: Jared and Jensen discuss their clothing choices for Vancon.
Notes: Title and link text from ZZ Top. (I know I said I wouldn't post any more fic while I work on the epic thing but ...) Eff this. arlad is a total enabler. This is for her.
It obviously wasn’t their first convention, but with it being the final season, Jared had a feeling it would be one of their last, especially in Vancouver. For that, he wanted to make an impression.
“Dude,” Jensen calls out when he spots Jared.
“What?” he smirks in return, totally knowing what’s going through his friend’s mind.
“What’re you - okay, seriously? What is? Dude.”
Jared smirks again. “What?”
"I can’t even - man. I can’t formulate the words. They’re stuck in my brain.”
“Well, obviously,” Jared smarts back as he grabs a pair of sunglasses and puts them on his face. Only to shove them up onto his head to hold hair away from his forehead.
Jensen’s head shakes like the words are jumbled in his brain and have to be placed together. Like a Boggle game. “What’re you wearing?” he finally asks.
“What?” Jared asks for about the twentieth time, it seems.
“Jared.”
“Huh?”
“Are those Wesson’s?”
Jared snorts, almost sure what Jensen really means, but not exactly willing to respond.
“Seriously. All the shit you steal off set … You took khakis?”
“These are fucking comfy, dude.”
Jensen shakes his head and moves into the kitchen to down his fifth - maybe sixth - cup of coffee. “I can’t believe you’re wearing those. They’re fucking nasty.”
“Your face is nasty.”
“Real smart.”
“Yeah? Look at you,” Jared challenges.
Jensen looks down on his blue plaid button down and jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”
“You look like a farmer.”
“Fuck you. You’re a farmer,” he shoots back instantly, eyeing Jared’s equally heinous plaid shirt.
“At least I’m matching.” Sure, Jared’s plaid shirt features a shade of tan close to his pants.
Jensen’s eyes are locked on Jared’s, fierce and challenging. Jared cracks a smirk and Jensen sighs as he looks away. “Guy, that is not good matching. Just an FYI.”
“Khakis are classy.”
“Yeah, for like engineers or accountants. What the fuck? We’re actors. You can’t wear something better?”
“You’re no better.” And here, Jared almost sounds like he’s starting to get offended.
Jensen’s hand rests at the middle of his shirt, pushing the fabric against his stomach. “I look awesome,” he says with the kind of attitude only Dean Winchester brings to the table.
Jared barks out a laugh and busies himself with tying his shoes.
“At least tuck your shirt in, you slob.”
“Fuck you,” he shoots back. But he’s totally doing it anyway, shoving fabric into the waist before yanking it back out a reasonable amount. “You tuck your shirt in.”
“I absolutely will,” Jensen pushes back with more Dean-ness. “Because this is the best fucking belt you’ve ever seen in your life.”
When Jensen’s shirt is properly tucked and the belt is showing itself off, Jared eyes another part that is absolutely showing itself off.
“Nice jeans,” Jared murmurs with a raised eyebrow as he stares below the belt.
“Shut up.”
He leans in just a little with a big tease in his voice. “The ladies are gonna cream over that package.”
“Fuck you,” he mutters as he moves towards the door so they can leave.
“Best delivery FedEx ever made.”
Jensen grumbles, “I hate you.”
On their way out the door, Jared’s response is a sound smack to Jensen’s ass.