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play with me!
Who wants to play round robin with me? *makes eyes* I have the beginning of a fic, and y'all can jump in and add to it, then someone else or me, and it'll be a huge big fun thing that we can do and there will be NO RULES because that's just better. So, how's about it?
Option One: Sam and Dean
Option Two: Jensen and Jared
Annnndd YOUR TURN.
Option One: Sam and Dean
Sam’s not innocent.
His brother may like to think he is, or pretend that he is, but it’s not true. He’s fucked and been fucked, he’s killed, he’s stolen – he’s a big boy. And even though Dean may be the lady killer, Sam’s no slouch when it comes to getting ass, and he’s damn proud of that fact.
Hell, he’d only known Meg five hours before he fucked her right there in the bus station men’s room. They hadn’t even tried to lock the door or get into a stall, he’d just pressed her up against the dirty tile wall, pulled her pants down, and slammed in. He remembers the little noises she made when he hit everything just right: breathy moans, tiny, hitching gasps. He remembers how loud she yelled when he went down on his knees afterwards and ate his own come out of her cunt.
Yeah, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea ever, considering, but she was still a pretty damn good lay – nice and tight.
Point is, Sam’s not a little computer nerd that’s never stuck his hand up a girl’s shirt before. And Dean needs to recognize that fact and stop trying to set Sam up or else he’s going to get a foot broken off in his ass.:::
“How about that sexy blonde thing over there? The one in the little blue number.”
Sam takes another gulp of his beer and tries not to slam it back down onto the table too hard. “Dean, we’ve been through this.”
“Aw, come on, Sammy,” his brother says, reaching across the table to pat Sam encouragingly on the shoulder. “You need to get rid of some of that tension, y’know? Think of it as a kind of stress relief.”
“We need to focus on this case, Dean.” Sam turns the laptop around and taps his finger over the photo he’d brought up of a banshee. “This is the thing in Mr. Tanner’s house, and I haven’t found anything yet about how to banish one of them. This is important, Dean. Focus for one second.”
Dean’s eyes are on that same blonde again, one eyebrow raised in appreciation. “I am focusing,” he says. “Are you sure you don’t want to get with that, Sam? Because she has a gorgeous ass, and she looks like the type that would let you fully appreciate it.”
Something in Sam snaps. He leans across the table, only barely restraining himself from fisting his hand in the front of Dean’s shirt. “You know what I would appreciate?” he asks, and his voice has enough of a growl in it to get Dean’s full attention. “If you’d stop trying to get me laid, because I really don’t need your help and, honestly, I’m more in the mood for cock tonight anyway.”
Option Two: Jensen and Jared
Maybe those last five tequila shots weren’t a good idea, Jensen muses hazily as another potted plant bumps into him and he nearly falls over. He has no idea what he ever did to the potted plants, but that fern over there is eyeing him up too and he’s a little worried.
“Jen?” Jared’s suddenly at his elbow, long fingers curling around Jensen’s forearm. “Dude, are you talking to that palm tree?”
Jensen blinks slowly. “When’d you get here?”
“Don’t be an ass, we came together, remember?” Jared says. He tugs on Jensen’s arm, pulling him away from the plant and back towards the bar. “Come on, man, grab your jacket and I’ll take you home.”
A pretty blonde sitting at a booth halfway towards the dance floor catches Jensen’s eyes and licks her lips. “Don’t wanna go home,” Jensen says immediately, trying to get Jared to let go of him. It’s useless, though, because Jared is half giant and bench-presses mopeds, damn it all. “Jared,” Jensen whines.
“You’re tanked,” Jared says without looking back, “and you’ll regret it in the morning. Pick up your stupid jacket and let’s go.”
So Jensen picks up his stupid jacket and they go.
Annnndd YOUR TURN.
*cringe*
The near silence within the vehicle is almost unbearable, though, and he pulls his attention away from the roadside to reach forward in an attempt to turn the radio up.
Jared easily flicks his hand away, the sharp sting against his knuckles enough to make him glance up at him with wide eyes and a, "Dude."
Jared says nothing, and Jensen flops back into the seat, honest-to-God pouting.
New Year's Resolution #1. Stop drinking.
Re: *cringe*
Jensen’s pushed into a lumpy yellow armchair in the corner of the room, watching through hooded eyelids as Jared folds the bed out of the couch and fits clean sheets and blankets.
“There you go.” He says triumphantly, standing back with his hands on his hips.
Jensen just stares at Jared’s image as it swims before his eyes and tries his darndest not to drool over the front of his shirt.
“Come on Jen,” Jared coaxes, taking a step forward.
“S’not gonna happen.” Jensen mumbles and wonders when he lost all feeling in his feet.
“You need to go to bed, Jen. You need to sleep off some of that alcohol and you’re not going to be able to do that sitting in a chair.”
“M’maybe I can.” Jensen slurs, letting out a yawn.
“Come on.” Jared repeats patiently, tugging on Jensen’s left arm and hefting him to his feet. Jensen sways dangerously until Jared wraps a large hand around his waist to steady him.
“No gettin’ frisky now, Jay.” Jensen laughs, like it’s the funniest thing that’s been said all year.
“In your dreams.” Jared says, shaking his head slowly.
Jensen wriggles from his grasp, holding one arm out for balance while attempting to remove his jeans without taking off his belt first…or his shoes.
“What are you doing?” Jared smiles.
“Getting’ ready for bed.” Jensen explains, starting when Jared pushes him down onto the bed, untying his laces and pulling off Jensen’s boots.
“You need a hand with your belt?” Jared asks softly.
“No!” Jensen sneers, then he waits a beat before muttering darkly, “Yes.”
Jared makes short work of the fastening, the leather making a quiet swoosh as he pulls it free from Jensen’s jeans.
Wriggling out of the denim until it pools near his ankles, Jensen kicks free of his jeans, rolling onto his side on the makeshift bed.
He can sense someone looking at him from across the room and freezes, and the person there freezes too. His heartbeat returns to normal when he realizes it was just his reflection caught in the full length mirror Jared keeps in the corner of the room. As his vision clears slightly, Jensen catches sight of his flushed cheeks, blown pupils and bruised lips. He’s tanked alright.
His gaze filters down the length of his body in the mirror and he inwardly cringes as he makes out the words scrawled on his black silk boxer shorts. There’s an arrow pointing up towards Jensen with the words, “The Man” written beneath it, but it’s the other arrow pointing sideways to Jensen’s cock with “The Legend” written in blaring white that makes his stomach drop. Not to mention the ripped waste band of his shorts and the hole in the left leg near the hem.
New Year’s Resolution #2. Clean out his wardrobe.
Ahahahahaha
When Jared comes back, Jensen's already half asleep, just barely conscious enough to notice as Jared puts some things down on the coffee table and sighs. He wants to say What the hell is your problem or maybe Shut the damn light off, but his mouth doesn't seem to want to move, and Jared's already heading off to bed himself.
Jensen wakes up to a cold nose against his bare foot. He has time to register the fact that (1) he's in Jared's house, (2) he's in Jared's living room, and (3) Sadie is doing her best to slobber all over him, all before the nauseau hits.
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But they don’t get very far.
As soon as Jared takes his arm off Jensen to fumble with his car keys, the other man slides gracelessly down the passenger side door to thump heavily onto the rocky ground of the car park.
“Ow.” Jensen laughs, gazing blearily around himself, trying to work out who to take a swing at.
“You idiot.” Jared curses, unlocking the car door and bending down to shift Jensen out of the way so that he can open it and shove Jensen inside. “I swear to God man, if you puke in my car? The friendship is over.”
“M’not gonna spew Jar.” Jensen protests weakly, as he tries to focus on the three images of Jared swimming and swaying before his eyes, “And would ya fuckin’ keep still.”
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"You know, I had plans for tonight," he tells Jensen. "They were good plans, and you being drunk off your ass ruined them. You have the worst fucking timing ever."
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Sam expects Dean to choke on his beer, or curse a blue streak or blush or something, anything other than rock back in his chair and laugh at Sam like he’s just told Dean that vampires really exist or something.
“What?” Sam snaps, his own cheeks flushing crimson. He’s never been more gratefully for Dean’s affirmation of these dimly lit dives as he struggles to hide his embarrassment.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean sings, placing his palms flat on the table. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? If it’s cock you want, we’ve obviously come to the wrong place.”
bwah!
That *points above*, is Dean's stride. And it takes EVERYTHING in!
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Dean laughs again, and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. "Let's go." He drops a few coins on the table and stands up, walking towards the exit without waiting for Sam to catch up.
Sam shakes his head a few times, then sighs and dutifully follows him towards the door.
Dean walks a few feet in front of him towards the car, laughing inwardly. "Knew it. Knew it all along. Ah well, I'll take him somewhere he won't forget..."
They sit in silence for a few minutes in the car, Sam's mind whirling as he tries to figure out what on earth is going on.
Simultaneously, they both start to talk.
"How..."
"When..."
Dean grins. "You first."
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Everything about the way Dean is standing sharpens, his muscles tensing, his eyes brighter with something Sam's not sure he even wants to try and name. He leans forward, conspiratorially. "It's a surprise."
"You're a jerk," Sam tells him, annoyed. He opens the Impala's door with less care than he normally has for their girl and slides in. Dean goes around the other side and then the engine's purring happily. He turns to grin at Sam, a quick flash of sharp teeth that reminds Sam eerily of a shark.
"Don't worry, Sammy, you'll have fun."
Sam is not having fun. As soon as they'd gotten through the door of the club, Dean headed straight for the dance floor without even a passing glance to his brother, and now he's somewhere in the writhing mass of bodies. Sam hasn't even caught sight of his spikey hair through the mass in over twenty minutes.
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He turns back to his drink, swivelling on his barstool back to face the chirpy bartender who is apparently Irish, and wearing a beret. Sam gives him a suspicious, sideways look, before picking up him drink and taking a generous slug. It was revolting. He couldn't quite remember what he had ordered, but he was fairly sure that it wasn't this bright, lime green concoction with a pink paper umbrella in it. Pink, Sam thinks with disgust.
Sam drains his drink with a grimace of disgust, and then digs deep into his pockets to find any more cash. Nothing.
Suddenly, a drink materialises in front of him. A beer. Sam blinks in shock. He looks up at the bartender, who gives him a vague approximation of a 'cheeky grin'.
"With compliments," Says the bartender, gesturing in the direction of a brown-haired guy sitting at the other end of the bar from Sammy.
Sam looks over, raising his beer towards the guy who sent it to him. He looks back, smiling rather mysteriously and raising an eyebrow.