Texts From Last Night RESULTS Posting
I'm just putting these all in an entry so they'll look prettier. ^___^
For jennybliss , J2: Just woke up in bed, AC on high, with a fresh pack of smokes, an unopened pint of vodka, and a bag w a beef patty w cheese in it. I think my roommate's like the toothfairy or something. Or that was way more Xanax than I needed. ((Honestly, i think this one's my favorite. XD))
"Jared."
Jared jumps so hard he nearly wrenches his shoulder, and then cringes tight enough to shut his eyes so he can try to scour the sight of his best friend and roommate leaning heavily against the doorframe, quite naked, clutching a Burger King bag and a pint of vodka in the same white knuckled fist. The hell should Jensen be awake, let alone standing, let alone standing naked.
"Pants, dude," he coughs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I definitely put you to bed with pants."
"You put me to bed." Jensen is beaming so hard Jared can taste it, and that's something to see, life scarring or no. Of course the instant his eyes open Jensen's stumbling towards him, and Jared has a Whole New Set of Problems because now naked-Jensen is warm and pliant and in his lap.
"Jensen!"
"Are you a fairy?"
Jared chokes on thin air. "You're asking me now?" He's been waiting about three years for Jensen to pick up on his not so subtle heavy panting flirtatious pining, and Jensen--
"Not like, a tooth fairy," Jensen murmurs, eyes so wide and green and well into Jared's personal bubble. "'Cause 'm pretty sure..." And then he starts running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they're all there.
"Jensen," Jared orders, only it comes out a lot more desperate than dangerous, "let me get you back to bed, okay? We can talk about this in the morning." The hell they will.
It's like Jensen doesn't even hear him, leaning even closer all lithe muscle and taller than Jared this way, fuck. Jared has no place to put his hands. "Think 'm may've taken too many Xanax."
Jared can't help but laugh, can't help but relax a little into the couch because--"You're telling me."
"You get me these things, Jay?" Jensen whispers, lifting his fist with the bottle like he's a mechanized doll, eyes half lidded but locked on Jared's like he's the whole fucking world.
"I--yeah. Some of the stuff--" If there was ever a time he should've been able to lie to Jensen, right now was it. Stupid fucking mouth. "Some of it was groceries left in the car you wouldn't let go of after we got back from the premier, but the--I got you the burger."
"Jared," Jensen hisses even quieter, like the thud is at all muted when he drops the vodka and lets it roll off the couch. His knuckles curl obscenely around the edges of the paper bag, peeling them apart like Indiana Jones is going to pop out, then flicks his eyes downward and breathes, "Where are my buns?"
And Jared has to kiss him after that. It's like a rule.
Jensen tastes like flour and sesame seeds, and Jared isn't going to say a word.
Not until tomorrow, anyway.
For
shri_amato, There is now a Twilight themed dildo. What do YOU want for christmas??
"I'm going to throw up," Dean announced, voice low and garbled with disgust as he let the book fall from his hands and snap it's spine against the library floor. Sam winced on principle. You just don't treat books like that.
Only...well, his brother did look like maybe he wasn't joking.
"What?" Sam asked, barely sparing him a glance. Three hours in the stacks, two since Dean stopped pretending to help--he was probably acting out just to beg off from being trapped there a minute longer.
"Placenta. He ate. Her. Placenta."
"Who ate what?" Sam blurted, suddenly feeling queasy himself. "What the hell are you reading?"
"Some kids book," Dean managed to choke out through his near constant litina of "What the fuck. What the fuck."
"Jesus," Sam whispered, shook off and forced his attention back on Gregorian tree demons.
~*~
"He's the 107 year old virgin," Dean blurted quite suddenly, in the middle of their very late dinner.
"What?" Sam snapped, shoulders hunched up high against the sudden influx of attention in their direction. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dean, being Dean, ignored him, hands waving in disbeleiving circles over his meatloaf. "Mormon subliminal messaging aside, no way does a guy go through more than a lifetime of marriage to his right hand!"
"Maybe," Sam heard himself hissing as he trapped one of Dean's hands against his silverware. "Maybe he got a little bit more creative than his hand. Now will you let this fucking drop?"
Dean's face was impassive, eyebrows high, but his arm twisted under Sam's grasp until his wrist was caught, pulse just a little quicker than normal under Sams fingers.
"What are you saying?" Dean asked, voice just a little too brassy to believe. "Edward Cullin was a little too friendly with his hairbrush?" Sam blushed, because a lifetime of Dean had taught him to. "Or something tamer. Think if you put a pocket pussy in the fridge it'll feel like a vamp p--"
"Dean," he growls, low and lethal, and his brother knows that tone, relaxes even as the smarmy smile slips into place and his legs spread under the table.
"Yeah?"
~*~
The next morning, it took Dean a couple seconds after carefully easing into the driver's seat--after a night of Sam showing him exactly what could be done with a hairbrush--to notice the piece of paper taped to his steering wheel.
"This is..." His eyes scanned the paper again, just to make sure. "...an order form for a vampire dildo."
Sam nodded, eyes taking unconcerned sweeps of the parking lot. "Should get here around Christmas."
Dean stared at him, head cocked, eyes comically wide, words forced out through grit teeth when he could finally close his mouth. "It sparkles, Sam."
"Wrong," Sam corrected around the grin splitting his face, "It thparkles!"
Last he heard about Twilight til Christmas. Worth every penny.
For
chica_charlie, j2: I just need someone to hold me and tell me i dont turn boys gay
.
"Chris and Steve are dating," Jensen snarls down the phone, so fast it's almost one word.
"Uh, yeah," Jared says inbetween plopping popcorn in his mouth. It's a late shoot, made even later by the rain they're going to have to wait out, and Jared's more than happy to kick his heels up and watch some Bones until Jensen-- "Hey, wait, are you done?"
"You don't understand." Jensen somehow manages to turn that into a plea. "No, I just wrapped my head around the apparent fact that Mike and Tom have been fucking for years--"
"Jensen," Jared articulates, setting the popcorn down so anyone looking could tell you he's serious. "Where are you?"
"I'm...I'm outside your trailer."
Jared blinks. "In the rain?" At least he doesn't sound like he wants to be there. "Dude, come in!"
"No, I--"
Fuck this. Jared's on his feet in less time than it usually takes to move, to coordinate his legs, and yup, he pays for it. "Ow!"
"Don't!" Jensen bellows into the phone. "Don't--Jesus, Jay, for your own sake stay inside!"
"Are you on something?" Jared snaps, shoving aside the plasticy window curtains to peer out into the darkness. Jensen's... "Christ, Jen, you look like someone tried to drown you." He's moving for the door again, barely gets there before a solid thump says Jensen's thrown his weight against it. Like that's going to stop him.
It takes one linebacker tackle for the door to pop open and let Jared topple to the muddy ground, arms pinwheeling and, well, kind of expecting someone to catch him.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jensen's saying before Jared can even get upright, raking a shaking hand through his rain soaked hair. His eyes look huge and miserable, confused and embarrassed because he has to know how rediculous this all is. "I'd-- I swear, it's like I'm the queer Midas or something; everything I touch turns to gay."
Jared's covered in mud, he's cold, pissed off, and he's not paying nearly as much attention as he should when he shoots off, "Well, I'm pretty sure I hadn't met you in the tenth grade and that's definitely when I gave my first blow job--wanna run this turning-me-gay thing by me again?" He's not paying attention, until he suddenly is.
Jensen's gaping at him. When he finally gets it together, his voice comes out somewhere between a squawk and a roar. "The hell you say!"
"Uh."
"Fuck you!" Jensen shoves him back a step, then shoves him again. "You don't-- Fuck you!"
And then he grabs him, grabs Jared by Sam's jacket and hauls him flush until there's nowhere else for Jared's mouth to be than on Jensen's.
"That's not--" Jared stammers when he can bear to haul back far enough to stare at his best friend, roommate, and secret gay crush. It's like Jensen transfered his high and panicky voice to him. "That's not how this-- I have popcorn in my teeth!"
"Get over it!" Jensen orders, and okay, maybe they just shared. "I turn people gay!"
But he does sound a little calmer, and hell, it's not like Jared's got any grounds for complaint, so he fits one huge hand at the back of Jensen's head and pulls until everything slots back together, resolves to kiss some sense into the both of them.
It kind of works.
For pattyposh Sam/Dean: I bet a guy could be masturbating under the table now and people would just think he was clapping along.
Aaaahhh, conference room. Dean's favorite place to be.
No, wait, that's wrong.
"Chill, Dean," Sam orders through his teeth, trapping Dean's ankle between his foot and the table leg. He looks stupidly perfect in his suit, like he belongs here amongst the lawyers and debutants (surprise there) and Dean's collar is itching like a son of a bitch. "Just. Focus on keeping an eye out for our suspect and--" Sam's nails bear down, trying to pry Dean's fingers loose from where they're clamped around Sam's thigh. "--keep your hands to yourself."
"Oh come on," Dean snaps in his quietest whisper, foot resuming it's twitch even though Sam has it pinned. "I could be jerking off under the table and people would think I was clapping along."
It's totally fucking true, that's what's killing him. He could. He could totally inch his hand higher along Sam's thigh and just--
He squeaks.
"You're the one who needs to loosen up, Dean," Sam points out almost blandly, hand doing a little inching of it's own where it's cupping Dean through his dress slacks. "Think just because I see a couple nice suits I'm going to run off on you?"
Dean makes a quiet, strangled noise and sinks a little lower in his chair, straining for more of that unbelievable friction. It's just not e-fucking-nough. By the time Sam gets him off there's no way Dean will be able to keep anything above the belt look like it's not having the best public orgasm of his life.
"Oops," Sam says, just loud enough for anyone eavesdropping to hear, "Dropped my pen."
And he disappears under the table.
Dean bites the inside of his lip and raises his hands to clap.
For sweetlittlefire M2!!!: So you started off by saying "no homo," but patting his crotch and saying his jeans fit him wonderfully may have overshadowed that. ((Okay, maybe this is my favorite))
Misha is beautiful. Misha is a god amonst men. Misha--
"Mike." Tom is not so beautiful, but he's getting there. "Mike, you're talking again, and I don't want to hear what you're saying."
"Stupid girly mouth," Mike sympathizes, patting Tom on his stupid girly cheek. "You and Jensen ever have a baby it'll be the most beautifulest cocksucker in the whole of the universe."
"Okay, that's it." Tom, stupid beautiful Tom, extracts himself from Mikes many octopussy limbs and backs off, which is highly unfair seeing as he's the main reason Mike is still upright. "Try not to grope Misha."
"No promo-ses." Heeeey, he's on a couch! Bonus points for not falling over!
"Uh."
Mike blinks, up and up and up. "Misha!"
"Yeah, um." He's flushed, maybe he's hit the booze too. And his hair is all spiky and in desperate need of some hands running through it, if only Mike could reach. "You called me over, Mike."
"No way!" Mike beams, and pats Misha's beautiful crotch. "No homo."
"U-uh," Misha skitters, like a skittery thing, but Mike's already looped his arms around Misha's pretty pretty hips to keep him there. So what if his face kind of nuzzles his zipper, it's not like there's anywhere else for it to be.
"You should." Misha's knuckles-amongst-men are brushing against the skin behind his ear, and Misha's mouth is letting out this shaky sort of sigh that makes Mike's spine tingle. "You should really call me when you're sober."
"Mmm," Mike hums. "You should really stick around until I am."
"Oh." Misha's smiling! It is a good day! "Can I at least sit on the couch?"
"Mmm-hmm." Mike doesn't let go.
For pattyposh again (hey, i never said no doubles!) J2: Hello rock bottom. My name is Jared. Nice to meet you. (1-405): which gay bar do you need a ride home from?
'Hello rock bottom. My name is Jared. Nice to meet you.'
It takes a couple seconds, but then his phone beeps. 'What gay bar do u need a ride home frm?'
Jared is very glad he decided to text, because talking right now would let on how tight his throat is, and he already feels like a world class idiot enough. 'Bigger in texas'
'...Ur in vancouver.'
'So r u.' He's so sick of this. Almost the instant he hits send his thumb is back to moving. 'Just come get me?
Ten minutes later a red mustang rental is pulling out front, and Jared pours himself into the front seat without making eye contact.
"So," Chad says after a long ass minute. "Apparently I am the official fagmobile."
"Shut up," Jared grumbles, then winces because of course Chad didn't have to get him, shouldn't have had to get him, not when he's specifically freezing his balls off in Canada to visit his best friend. "'M sorry, 'm sorry." Half of pawing at Chad's knee is guilt and half is needing something to hold onto to make the world stop spinning. Okay, it's more like 60/40. But he's not too sure which is 60 and which is 40.
"Out of curiosity," Chad drawls, and maybe it's just Jared but his tone sounds way too light and fluffy for someone just insulted. "What the hell would you do if I hadn't been in town?"
"Walked," Jared mumbles, semi-indistinctly.
"You wouldn't have called Jensen?"
Oh god. "No." The whole point is to forget Jensen. Maybe he said that last bit out loud.
Chad's knuckles are cuffing his jaw before he sees them coming and they're almost gentle about it, which is bizarre on too many levels.
"Seriously, man. Why don't you tell him?"
"...hate me," he mumbles, barely audible.
"And you know for dead certain he's not in the same car?"
"Yes." Wait. "Boat. You mean boat."
"No, I mean car." Chad's fingers lock around his ear and tug until there's nothing left to do but lose it or look in the back. "Douchenozzle."
Jensen's in the back seat. Jensen's in the back seat, passed out, in a shiny red button up and way too tight pants. With a little drink umbrella tucked behind his ear.
"What?" Jared's world is spinning harder than usual, but it feels like maybe he's clawed an inch off rock bottom.
"Douchenozzle. The gay bar I picked him up at. And when we get home, not that you'll remember, but I'm handcuffing the two of you together so when you wake up you can pull your shit together like very gay, very in love morons so I can actually get some sleep past three in the morning."
"Chad," Jared whispers, blinking bleary happy drunk tears out of his eyes. "You're my hero."
"Damn straight I am."
For leodragon1 , Sam/Dean: I was at circle k buying gas and this girl in a papa johns uniform comes up and is like " I've got a bunch of extra pizzas. Large peperoni for $5." then she went to her trunk and pulled one out. It felt like a drug deal for a fat person
"Sammmmmmmmmmmmm."
Sam's instincts aren't exactly lacking when it comes to being attacked in the middle of the night, but when it's Dean doing the attacking Sam tends to drop the ball.
"The. Hell," he growls, and shoves Dean onto the floor.
Which begs the question why Dean was on his bed in the first place. Or why, instead of cursing and struggling to his feet, Dean seems content to lie on the floor and snicker.
"Dean." Sam flops over until one arm kind of falls off the mattress, knuckles brushing the ground and Dean's leather jacket. Dean's head just lolls to the side, grin lighting up his face. "Dean?"
"I am full of cheese."
"Uh."
"Sam," Dean giggled. Giggled. "There was this chick. Pizzas. Everywhere. Sam..."
"Are you--are you high?" It's just. It's Dean. Dean never ever ever gets high. This is like. Walking in on Dean rocking out to...some hippy band Dean would never rock out to, because he's Dean. He's his brother, and he's high. Maybe.
"Heh heh, yup."
"Oh god." Sam's going to suffocate himself in his pillow now. "What the hell. What the hell?"
"Not on a case," Dean reminds him in a hum, rolling on his side so Sam's hand is tucked close to his chest. Sam could remove his arm, if he wasn't currently warm and kind of shivery.
UNTIL DEAN LICKS HIS ARM. "DEAN!"
"Taste like pepperoni."
"I do not!"
"Mrrr," Dean purrs, dragging himself after Sam's snatched-back hand.
"Jesus Christ--oof!" Dean's on top of him. Dean's on top of him? "Dean!"
"Grrr...mmmm..." Dean's. Licking. His jaw.
"Okay, Dean? You need to stop. Now. Because--dream or not, this is--" His brother's hips grind down, and Sam chokes on a very unexpected groan. Very unexpected, because it is his BROTHER.
"Pizzzaaaa," Dean growls against Sam's neck, and there's really nothing to do but let him fall asleep.
Really.
Right where he is.
It should probably say something that it's the best night's sleep Sam's had since before Stanford, crushed underneath his brother whose breath smells like marinara sauce. But he's not thinking too hard about it.
For helloapollo J2: i wish that high-me and normal-me were two different ppl so that high-me could thank normal-me for setting out a feast before smoking (1-503): I wish that high-you wouldn't text me stupid shit at 3:30 in the morning
"Oh my god." Jared is going to kill him. Jared is going to KILL HIM.
"Muh." Jensen's warm hand flails over and lands on Jared's face. Couple times. "Shhh. Shh."
"'S Chad," Jared grunts, closing his eyes so his phone will stop burning off his retinas.
"Don't fuckin'." Jared waits for the "care" but it doesn't ever come.
"He wants to thank his high self for buying cheetos, noodles and butterscotch pudding," he grunts and rolls over, burrying his nose a little desperately into Jensen's shoulder. "Because that way everything's color coordinated."
"Friends with that." Jensen is less than monosyllabic in the middle of the night, and Jared thinks it might be a bad sign that he can almost understand him better with half the sentence missing.
"Me either."
The phone beeps. Again. Jared's almost groan drowns it out.
"Gimme." Jensen smacks at him until he gives up and leans over Jared to grab the phone, then gives up before rolling back. "I," he grunts out, fumbling the buttons, "am. in. bed. blowing. my. boyfriend. Boyfriend spelled with 'h?' Goodnight," he adds before Jared can figure out where an H would go, hits send, and falls asleep.
"Thought you wanted a blow job," Jared points out with the last of his air.
Jensen just snores.
For flyingsoftly (sorry it's half-assed!) Sam/Dean: You got so drunk you kept singing the Sailor Moon theme song and kept making everyone call you Sailor Venus. AND (334): I'm driving in the middle of nowhere, and I just saw a stuffed Barney hanging from a noose on a tree. Maybe I should turn around.
"Fighting evil by moonlight!"
"Dean."
"Winning love by dayliiiight!"
"The hell you are."
"Never running from a real fight!"
"Get off. My lap."
"She is the one called Sailor Moooooon. Sam. Sam. We are Sailor Moon."
"We are not."
"You don't know! She will...never turn her back on a friennnnd..."
"Hey Dean? Remember that creepy kid we found practicing voodoo?"
"She is... always there to defend..."
"And how she was hanging all of her dolls after turning them into vestiges of her friends? Yeah? Remember Barney?"
"Sailor Moon would never do that."
"Yeah, well, neither would we. But I will sneak that bloody, decapitated, purple dinasaur head into your bed late at night if you don't stop. Accepting. Drinks. From strangers."
"Your bed too."
"Which should motivate you more."
"Let me call you Sailor Venus tonight and you've got a dealio. SHE IS THE ONE, SAILOR MOOOOOOOOON."
.