(no subject)
I need to clear off my HD more often; I keep finding random stuff. So here--have a teeny bit of J2 non-AU. Olllld and unbeta'd.
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“Wake up, jerk.”
Jared groans and rolls over, away from the noise. “Don’ wanna. ‘M sick,” he says, keeping his eyes closed. He feels gross and he’s totally entitled to a few hours extra sleep. Everything else can just go away.
“You’re not sick,” says Jensen’s voice. “You have a hangover, because you went out drinking with Genevieve last night. Ringing any bells?”
“Sorta. Why?” Jared asks, mushing his face into the pillow. He expects Jensen to get what he means because Jensen always does, and he’s right, this time’s no exception.
“Like I know how your brain works, dude. Who knows why you keep taking her up on her challenges--she drinks you under the table every time and you come home with your tail between your legs.”
Jared feels the bed move, and a warm hand lands gently on the back of his neck. It feels really amazing, and Jared kind of thinks maybe he could think about getting up if it involved more warm Jensen, but he’s not gonna tell Jensen that. Jensen will think he’s won if Jared does that.
“C’mon. I got you water and Advil, and I made you hangover-appropriate breakfast in bed,” Jensen says.
“You did?” Jared asks, turning his face over so he can see the other man, who’s leaning over him with a smile somewhere between fond and secretly laughing his ass off. Jared squints, trying to figure out which one it is.
“Yep,” Jensen says. “Sit up and I’ll give it to you.”
Jared grimaces but does it, because Jensen, bastard that he is, is usually right about these things. He takes the Advil and feels like puking, but the water helps a little. Jensen watches him quietly, leaning against Jared’s headboard and drumming a rhythm absently against his leg.
“Hey,” Jared says, as his brain starts to catch up with him. “You said you had breakfast. I don’t see any breakfast.”
Jensen grins and reaches into the pocket of the hoodie he’s wearing, from which he produces two Pop Tarts wrapped in a greasy paper towel.
Jared stares. “Pop Tarts,” he says, “Pop Tarts. You call Pop Tarts breakfast in bed?”
“Hey, man,” Jensen says, holding up a hand in defense and raising his eyebrows, “if you don’t want ‘em, that’s cool. I’m kinda hungry anyway.”
“No!” Jared says, snatching them from Jensen’s hand, which is halfway to his mouth. “You made them for me,” he says, a little petulantly, and takes a huge bite of one in retaliation.
Jensen grins at him and reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. “Yeah, I did.”
Jared chews mulishly and glares, knowing he’s gotten fucked over somehow but not caring enough to find out how. Besides, the Pop Tarts are kind of amazing.
Jensen just keeps smiling. He shifts over and lifts up a corner of the blanket so he can get under it, and moves so he’s right next to Jared, solid and warm. From somewhere he produces the remote to Jared’s TV, turns it on and flips channels until they’re watching a telenovela, with some woman screeching about Fernando while having what looks like a hand seizure.
After a few minutes Jared finishes his Pop Tarts, brushes the crumbs off his chest, and looks at Jensen, who’s watching the TV with one eyebrow raised perfectly. Jared feels warmth fill his chest. He’s hungover and feels gross and needs to think of how to beat Genevieve at her own game, but he’s kind of completely in love with Jensen, who puts up with all his shit and still knows how to make him laugh.
He leans over until he’s pretty much crushing Jensen, and presses a thick kiss to his cheek. Jensen turns a little, kisses Jared back lightly, and pats Jared’s chest twice over his heart. Jared leans on him and settles back to watch Fernando try to explain.
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“Wake up, jerk.”
Jared groans and rolls over, away from the noise. “Don’ wanna. ‘M sick,” he says, keeping his eyes closed. He feels gross and he’s totally entitled to a few hours extra sleep. Everything else can just go away.
“You’re not sick,” says Jensen’s voice. “You have a hangover, because you went out drinking with Genevieve last night. Ringing any bells?”
“Sorta. Why?” Jared asks, mushing his face into the pillow. He expects Jensen to get what he means because Jensen always does, and he’s right, this time’s no exception.
“Like I know how your brain works, dude. Who knows why you keep taking her up on her challenges--she drinks you under the table every time and you come home with your tail between your legs.”
Jared feels the bed move, and a warm hand lands gently on the back of his neck. It feels really amazing, and Jared kind of thinks maybe he could think about getting up if it involved more warm Jensen, but he’s not gonna tell Jensen that. Jensen will think he’s won if Jared does that.
“C’mon. I got you water and Advil, and I made you hangover-appropriate breakfast in bed,” Jensen says.
“You did?” Jared asks, turning his face over so he can see the other man, who’s leaning over him with a smile somewhere between fond and secretly laughing his ass off. Jared squints, trying to figure out which one it is.
“Yep,” Jensen says. “Sit up and I’ll give it to you.”
Jared grimaces but does it, because Jensen, bastard that he is, is usually right about these things. He takes the Advil and feels like puking, but the water helps a little. Jensen watches him quietly, leaning against Jared’s headboard and drumming a rhythm absently against his leg.
“Hey,” Jared says, as his brain starts to catch up with him. “You said you had breakfast. I don’t see any breakfast.”
Jensen grins and reaches into the pocket of the hoodie he’s wearing, from which he produces two Pop Tarts wrapped in a greasy paper towel.
Jared stares. “Pop Tarts,” he says, “Pop Tarts. You call Pop Tarts breakfast in bed?”
“Hey, man,” Jensen says, holding up a hand in defense and raising his eyebrows, “if you don’t want ‘em, that’s cool. I’m kinda hungry anyway.”
“No!” Jared says, snatching them from Jensen’s hand, which is halfway to his mouth. “You made them for me,” he says, a little petulantly, and takes a huge bite of one in retaliation.
Jensen grins at him and reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. “Yeah, I did.”
Jared chews mulishly and glares, knowing he’s gotten fucked over somehow but not caring enough to find out how. Besides, the Pop Tarts are kind of amazing.
Jensen just keeps smiling. He shifts over and lifts up a corner of the blanket so he can get under it, and moves so he’s right next to Jared, solid and warm. From somewhere he produces the remote to Jared’s TV, turns it on and flips channels until they’re watching a telenovela, with some woman screeching about Fernando while having what looks like a hand seizure.
After a few minutes Jared finishes his Pop Tarts, brushes the crumbs off his chest, and looks at Jensen, who’s watching the TV with one eyebrow raised perfectly. Jared feels warmth fill his chest. He’s hungover and feels gross and needs to think of how to beat Genevieve at her own game, but he’s kind of completely in love with Jensen, who puts up with all his shit and still knows how to make him laugh.
He leans over until he’s pretty much crushing Jensen, and presses a thick kiss to his cheek. Jensen turns a little, kisses Jared back lightly, and pats Jared’s chest twice over his heart. Jared leans on him and settles back to watch Fernando try to explain.