fic: Why are you such a Pisces? (J2 - PG-13) How I Met Your Mother AU
Um, apparently there is demand for this sort of nonsense?
BE WARNED: THIS IS INCOMPLETE. And also kind of not funny. But whatever. Read it.
Why are you such a Pisces?
PG-13. 1700 words. Barney/Robin!J2, Sandy/Chad, Ted!Danneel.
summary: “Have you met Jensen’s lips?” is the usual opening line. Jared’s a suit-wearing womanizer and Jensen is the best worst wingman ever.
Heap the blame on chash, by the way, for this and tolerating me spamming her comments. Also, hers features Aldis Hodge. Consider your options.
Based on How I Met Your Mother, originally a drabblememe response for caruso.
It’s late afternoon and Jared just wants to get gone, get drunk, and get laid. He’s got a Koosh ball in one hand and a pen twirling in his other, totally pretending to be productive, when Chad appears in his doorway.
“You called?”
“Meeting,” Jared says. “Conference room. I’m told there will be refreshments.”
“I’m there,” Chad says immediately. “Actually, I’ll see you there. I want to beat Kripke to the Danishes. That little bitch always Bogarts the good ones.” And then he’s gone, practically kicking up a trail of dust behind him.
Jared gets up from that ergonomic, make-your-back-love-you-forever chair he bought himself after the whole Jensen thing and grabs his suit jacket from his coat tree. He pulls it on, shrugging his shoulders enough to even out the tension in the fabric. He grins at himself in the mirror on the wall, that little finger-gun gesture of you’re-awesome that even he’s not a big enough tool to do if someone’s watching, then he gives the knot of his tie a final tug and heads out the door.
He sits in a conference room and has coffee and half a croissant that’s going stale, like HR has been hoarding breakfast foods for months and rationing them out like it’s wartime and only one croissant per person per week despite a stockpile that would make the French cry. He looks at the dry, papery pastry he’s about to bite into and sighs.
The half-eaten croissant has barely hit his plate when Chad plops down next to him at the table, his own plate bearing a powdered doughnut and some cantaloupe. “So this meeting,” he says, between bites, powdered sugar all over his chin that he isn’t wiping off, “any idea what it’s about?”
Jared shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. “They’re buttering us up with stale breakfast foods, so it must be bad,” he says. He watches as Chad polishes off his doughnut and then devours every speck of melon.
“Are you going to eat that?” he asks, pointing at the rest of Jared’s croissant. Jared waves him on.
“What, are you pregnant?” he asks, as Chad makes borderline-orgasmic noises over old croissant.
“Oh, you’re a funny guy,” he says, smacking Jared’s arm. “So coming to Collins’s tonight? I got a text from Jensen. Apparently Danneel has some big news or something. Probably met another soulmate-‘for real this time, guys, I swear.’” He pauses, looking around the conference room in case there’s some more unattended food in the area. Jared snipes one of the four cheese Danishes the man on his other side, the little balding dude from Accounts, is hoarding and hands it to Misha. Selfishness deserves to be punished, or something.
Jared rolls his eyes. “Because that always ends well,” he says.
Danneel is his friend and he loves her, but the girl always has some big news regarding a new soulmate. She’s obsessed with the whole Finding The One idea, and in the most cliché, chickflick rom-com possible way. Now that he’s thinking about it, he really should give her more shit about it. She’s kind of adorable when she gets all huffy.
“Do we judge you for being a whore?” Chad asks.
“Yes,” Jared says immediately.
Chad blinks, then shrugs. “Well, okay, fine. But you never know, Jared, this one could be it for her. The Big One. Her roll-the-credits-because-this-is-it romance. Man of her dreams.”
Jared nods patiently. Chad’s been married so long his brain is rotting. “Or it could be another Jensen,” he says reasonably. He kind of hopes not, though, as it might be weird if the group keeps adopting all of Danneel’s ex-boyfriends like stray pets. Plus, really, one Jensen is all Jared needs in his life.
“Hey, you found a bright side!” Chad says, grinning. He sprays some Danish bits on the legal brief in front of him and starts swearing.
--
Later that night, most of the usual group is gathered around their usual table at their usual bar. Danneel is, as usual, wearing something ugly and fashionable, talking excitedly to Sandy, while Chad is getting a round. Jared wonders briefly how he got to be part of a group that has usuals, but then Jensen arrives.
He looks as irritable as he usually does, but Jared thinks he’s the only person in Manhattan who can make prickly look so goddamn gorgeous. And he is, especially when he’s dressed for on-camera and his hair is a little messy from him dragging his hands through it because he was frustrated by traffic on the way to the bar, and Jared could stare at him and play connect-the-freckles for hours except wow, that would be pretty stalkerish and creepy, wouldn’t it?
Jared thinks New York is the greatest city in the world, and it’s mostly because New York has weathermen who look like angry Adonises. Jared has never been turned on by the seven-day forecast in his life, but Jensen’s voice and face manage to make it pornographic, or something. Jared wants to wake up every morning to that, and he does, except it’s because the TV in his bedroom is set to alarm and Jensen’s on the screen instead of in Jared’s bed.
“Hey,” Jared says as Jensen stops at their table.
Jensen, who was looking over toward the bar, glances down at him and nods. “Hey, man,” he says, bumping Jared’s proffered fist with his own. He hugs Sandy hello and leans down to kiss Danneel on the cheek. The girls go back to their conversation, and Jensen gives Jared a tired smile. “I’m not gonna be great company tonight, ‘m afraid. Dead on my feet.”
“Jeez, Ackles, it must be hard work to have a job where you’re only right thirty percent of the time and yet never get fired,” Jared says, grinning.
“Someone’s gotta do it,” Jensen says, sinking down in the seat next to him. He rests his forehead on the table and groans.
The sound goes straight to Jared’s dick, of course. But then again, Jared’s dick has been in the room when Jensen’s making much more inappropriate sounds. In fact, it’s been in the guy’s mouth at the time, so yeah. Jared has to shift uncomfortably in his seat and focus really hard on the girls’ conversation or he’s going to embarrass himself.
Luckily, Misha comes back to the table right then, juggling four glasses. “Oh, fuck, you would come now, Jensen,” he says, doling out drinks. “It’s a madhouse up at the bar right now, so you’re on your own.”
“Alcohol’d prob’ly put me t’sleep anyway,” Jensen mumbles.
“Gang’s all here!” Danneel says cheerfully, slapping the table in front of her as soon as Chad takes his seat next to his wife. “Great!” She looks at each of them, making sure they’re all giving her their undivided attention (Jared’s looking at the hot brunette across the room, who’s safe to be getting wood over, especially wearing that belt as a skirt like she is, but he grins at Danneel when she elbows him).
“So what’s up?” Sandy asks. She looks so appropriately concerned and friendly, and Jared really wishes he could be normal and just fall in love with her instead. They tried once. It ended poorly, and in the way Jared’s relationships usually do: he slept with someone else.
Danneel takes a sip of her beer and pauses for more dramatic tension, which is just like her. Either that, or she’s actually as nervous as she looks. “So, remember that contract I had with the city, about restoring some old paintings at the courthouse? Well, my work must have really impressed somebody, because I just got a call from a guy in Boston who wants to pay me a… well, frankly absurd amount of money to restore a dark period Cézanne. A Cézanne!”
The rest of the group, who collectively know as much about art as Jared’s dogs do about spelunking, no matter how many times Danneel drags them to the Met with stars in her eyes, shares a look of ‘that’s impressive, right?’ Then Sandy claps her hands and cheers. It’s a little too much, and she elbows Chad, who pokes Jared, and soon enough, all three of them are cheering loudly, while Danneel sits there with a slightly bemused look on her face.
Jensen, on the other hand, has fallen asleep.
--
Jared’s thing with Metro News One at Five AM’s weatherman started when Jared sat down at their table at Collins’s and declared that he was in need of “a wingman without a vagina. Sorry, Danneel.”
Sandy had picked up Chad’s left hand, showing Jared the gold band there, and Jensen had shrugged. “I’m game,” he said. “Get me another scotch.”
It always wasn’t an entirely successful mission. The first girls they tried it on took one look at Jensen and forgot Jared existed, and the first time they tried it on guys the only one who got laid was Jensen-by a the hot faghag at the guys’ table. But it worked sometimes, too. Two tall, extremely hot, well-dressed men such as themselves seemed to be pretty irresistible most of the time.
And then there was the night the guy Jensen had been seeing for a couple of weeks dumped him for a teenager, and Jensen showed up at Jared’s apartment at two in the morning with a bottle of tequila, The Departed on BluRay, and droopy shoulders.
“We can’t watch this and drink tequila,” Jared said tiredly. “Come on. Go put the movie in and sit down. I’m going to go get some Jameson.”
Jensen gave him a weak smile. “And where are you going to get that at this time of night?”
Jared grinned. “Oh, ye of little faith. I know people. Go on.”
When he got back, he had two bottles of fine Irish whiskey, a bag of pretzels, and a bag of LifeSavers gummies he couldn’t resist.
“Don’t you have to be to work in, like, an hour?” Jared asked, collapsing onto his couch next to Jensen, who was sitting in his undershirt, feet up on the coffee table. He had an empty glass balanced on his stomach, waiting.
“Called in sick. Mourning,” he replied. He scratched at his stubble and held out his glass. “Whiskey now.”
Leonardo was barely getting out of prison before Jensen was swinging his leg up over Jared’s, pulling himself up into his lap and doing a pretty good job of trying to suck the tongue out of Jared’s mouth.
So, yeah. That's it. Um. My icon is way appropriate, man.
BE WARNED: THIS IS INCOMPLETE. And also kind of not funny. But whatever. Read it.
Why are you such a Pisces?
PG-13. 1700 words. Barney/Robin!J2, Sandy/Chad, Ted!Danneel.
summary: “Have you met Jensen’s lips?” is the usual opening line. Jared’s a suit-wearing womanizer and Jensen is the best worst wingman ever.
Heap the blame on chash, by the way, for this and tolerating me spamming her comments. Also, hers features Aldis Hodge. Consider your options.
Based on How I Met Your Mother, originally a drabblememe response for caruso.
It’s late afternoon and Jared just wants to get gone, get drunk, and get laid. He’s got a Koosh ball in one hand and a pen twirling in his other, totally pretending to be productive, when Chad appears in his doorway.
“You called?”
“Meeting,” Jared says. “Conference room. I’m told there will be refreshments.”
“I’m there,” Chad says immediately. “Actually, I’ll see you there. I want to beat Kripke to the Danishes. That little bitch always Bogarts the good ones.” And then he’s gone, practically kicking up a trail of dust behind him.
Jared gets up from that ergonomic, make-your-back-love-you-forever chair he bought himself after the whole Jensen thing and grabs his suit jacket from his coat tree. He pulls it on, shrugging his shoulders enough to even out the tension in the fabric. He grins at himself in the mirror on the wall, that little finger-gun gesture of you’re-awesome that even he’s not a big enough tool to do if someone’s watching, then he gives the knot of his tie a final tug and heads out the door.
He sits in a conference room and has coffee and half a croissant that’s going stale, like HR has been hoarding breakfast foods for months and rationing them out like it’s wartime and only one croissant per person per week despite a stockpile that would make the French cry. He looks at the dry, papery pastry he’s about to bite into and sighs.
The half-eaten croissant has barely hit his plate when Chad plops down next to him at the table, his own plate bearing a powdered doughnut and some cantaloupe. “So this meeting,” he says, between bites, powdered sugar all over his chin that he isn’t wiping off, “any idea what it’s about?”
Jared shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. “They’re buttering us up with stale breakfast foods, so it must be bad,” he says. He watches as Chad polishes off his doughnut and then devours every speck of melon.
“Are you going to eat that?” he asks, pointing at the rest of Jared’s croissant. Jared waves him on.
“What, are you pregnant?” he asks, as Chad makes borderline-orgasmic noises over old croissant.
“Oh, you’re a funny guy,” he says, smacking Jared’s arm. “So coming to Collins’s tonight? I got a text from Jensen. Apparently Danneel has some big news or something. Probably met another soulmate-‘for real this time, guys, I swear.’” He pauses, looking around the conference room in case there’s some more unattended food in the area. Jared snipes one of the four cheese Danishes the man on his other side, the little balding dude from Accounts, is hoarding and hands it to Misha. Selfishness deserves to be punished, or something.
Jared rolls his eyes. “Because that always ends well,” he says.
Danneel is his friend and he loves her, but the girl always has some big news regarding a new soulmate. She’s obsessed with the whole Finding The One idea, and in the most cliché, chickflick rom-com possible way. Now that he’s thinking about it, he really should give her more shit about it. She’s kind of adorable when she gets all huffy.
“Do we judge you for being a whore?” Chad asks.
“Yes,” Jared says immediately.
Chad blinks, then shrugs. “Well, okay, fine. But you never know, Jared, this one could be it for her. The Big One. Her roll-the-credits-because-this-is-it romance. Man of her dreams.”
Jared nods patiently. Chad’s been married so long his brain is rotting. “Or it could be another Jensen,” he says reasonably. He kind of hopes not, though, as it might be weird if the group keeps adopting all of Danneel’s ex-boyfriends like stray pets. Plus, really, one Jensen is all Jared needs in his life.
“Hey, you found a bright side!” Chad says, grinning. He sprays some Danish bits on the legal brief in front of him and starts swearing.
--
Later that night, most of the usual group is gathered around their usual table at their usual bar. Danneel is, as usual, wearing something ugly and fashionable, talking excitedly to Sandy, while Chad is getting a round. Jared wonders briefly how he got to be part of a group that has usuals, but then Jensen arrives.
He looks as irritable as he usually does, but Jared thinks he’s the only person in Manhattan who can make prickly look so goddamn gorgeous. And he is, especially when he’s dressed for on-camera and his hair is a little messy from him dragging his hands through it because he was frustrated by traffic on the way to the bar, and Jared could stare at him and play connect-the-freckles for hours except wow, that would be pretty stalkerish and creepy, wouldn’t it?
Jared thinks New York is the greatest city in the world, and it’s mostly because New York has weathermen who look like angry Adonises. Jared has never been turned on by the seven-day forecast in his life, but Jensen’s voice and face manage to make it pornographic, or something. Jared wants to wake up every morning to that, and he does, except it’s because the TV in his bedroom is set to alarm and Jensen’s on the screen instead of in Jared’s bed.
“Hey,” Jared says as Jensen stops at their table.
Jensen, who was looking over toward the bar, glances down at him and nods. “Hey, man,” he says, bumping Jared’s proffered fist with his own. He hugs Sandy hello and leans down to kiss Danneel on the cheek. The girls go back to their conversation, and Jensen gives Jared a tired smile. “I’m not gonna be great company tonight, ‘m afraid. Dead on my feet.”
“Jeez, Ackles, it must be hard work to have a job where you’re only right thirty percent of the time and yet never get fired,” Jared says, grinning.
“Someone’s gotta do it,” Jensen says, sinking down in the seat next to him. He rests his forehead on the table and groans.
The sound goes straight to Jared’s dick, of course. But then again, Jared’s dick has been in the room when Jensen’s making much more inappropriate sounds. In fact, it’s been in the guy’s mouth at the time, so yeah. Jared has to shift uncomfortably in his seat and focus really hard on the girls’ conversation or he’s going to embarrass himself.
Luckily, Misha comes back to the table right then, juggling four glasses. “Oh, fuck, you would come now, Jensen,” he says, doling out drinks. “It’s a madhouse up at the bar right now, so you’re on your own.”
“Alcohol’d prob’ly put me t’sleep anyway,” Jensen mumbles.
“Gang’s all here!” Danneel says cheerfully, slapping the table in front of her as soon as Chad takes his seat next to his wife. “Great!” She looks at each of them, making sure they’re all giving her their undivided attention (Jared’s looking at the hot brunette across the room, who’s safe to be getting wood over, especially wearing that belt as a skirt like she is, but he grins at Danneel when she elbows him).
“So what’s up?” Sandy asks. She looks so appropriately concerned and friendly, and Jared really wishes he could be normal and just fall in love with her instead. They tried once. It ended poorly, and in the way Jared’s relationships usually do: he slept with someone else.
Danneel takes a sip of her beer and pauses for more dramatic tension, which is just like her. Either that, or she’s actually as nervous as she looks. “So, remember that contract I had with the city, about restoring some old paintings at the courthouse? Well, my work must have really impressed somebody, because I just got a call from a guy in Boston who wants to pay me a… well, frankly absurd amount of money to restore a dark period Cézanne. A Cézanne!”
The rest of the group, who collectively know as much about art as Jared’s dogs do about spelunking, no matter how many times Danneel drags them to the Met with stars in her eyes, shares a look of ‘that’s impressive, right?’ Then Sandy claps her hands and cheers. It’s a little too much, and she elbows Chad, who pokes Jared, and soon enough, all three of them are cheering loudly, while Danneel sits there with a slightly bemused look on her face.
Jensen, on the other hand, has fallen asleep.
--
Jared’s thing with Metro News One at Five AM’s weatherman started when Jared sat down at their table at Collins’s and declared that he was in need of “a wingman without a vagina. Sorry, Danneel.”
Sandy had picked up Chad’s left hand, showing Jared the gold band there, and Jensen had shrugged. “I’m game,” he said. “Get me another scotch.”
It always wasn’t an entirely successful mission. The first girls they tried it on took one look at Jensen and forgot Jared existed, and the first time they tried it on guys the only one who got laid was Jensen-by a the hot faghag at the guys’ table. But it worked sometimes, too. Two tall, extremely hot, well-dressed men such as themselves seemed to be pretty irresistible most of the time.
And then there was the night the guy Jensen had been seeing for a couple of weeks dumped him for a teenager, and Jensen showed up at Jared’s apartment at two in the morning with a bottle of tequila, The Departed on BluRay, and droopy shoulders.
“We can’t watch this and drink tequila,” Jared said tiredly. “Come on. Go put the movie in and sit down. I’m going to go get some Jameson.”
Jensen gave him a weak smile. “And where are you going to get that at this time of night?”
Jared grinned. “Oh, ye of little faith. I know people. Go on.”
When he got back, he had two bottles of fine Irish whiskey, a bag of pretzels, and a bag of LifeSavers gummies he couldn’t resist.
“Don’t you have to be to work in, like, an hour?” Jared asked, collapsing onto his couch next to Jensen, who was sitting in his undershirt, feet up on the coffee table. He had an empty glass balanced on his stomach, waiting.
“Called in sick. Mourning,” he replied. He scratched at his stubble and held out his glass. “Whiskey now.”
Leonardo was barely getting out of prison before Jensen was swinging his leg up over Jared’s, pulling himself up into his lap and doing a pretty good job of trying to suck the tongue out of Jared’s mouth.
So, yeah. That's it. Um. My icon is way appropriate, man.