Title: Home Cookin’
Rating: PG-13 for language?
Pairing: pre-slash Jared and Jensen
Warnings: domesticity shaped; boys being boys
AN: I just decided to finish this out of the blue, so not beta’d; also I haven’t written anything below an “R” in ages, and I didn’t know that’s what was happening when I started this, but well…the fic does what the fic does
Disclaimer: Damn dirty lies.
There wasn't a single part of this that wasn't Jared's fault. If the giant lug had just learned how to cook from his momma, Jensen wouldn't be standing here at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes for the third Saturday in a row. Unfortunately, although Jensen's kitchen prowess was far superior to Jared's, his entire repertoire consisted of three things: mashed potatoes, spaghetti and grilled meat. Better than Jared's recipe file of Ramen noodles and salad; but not by much.
Jensen heard the mudroom door bang open and the scrabble of Sadie and Harley tugging Jared into the house after their evening run. A few minutes later Jared came into the kitchen, threw open the freezer door and just stood there, eyes closed letting the cool fog drift across his face. The same thing every evening. Jared came back from his run with a bang and a vacuum released rush of air.
"You're lettin' all the cold out." Jensen said without looking up from the last of the potatoes.
"Yes, Mom." Jensen could hear the grin in his voice and a few seconds later the freezer door made a sucking sound as it closed. Quickly followed by another suck-thump and then a pop of a cap as Jared got a beer. It was Jared who insisted on the automatic vacuum sealed fridge/freezer—god only knows why. Jensen was the only one who made any real use of it. But not anymore. He rinsed the final potato, plopped it in the pot with the others and turned to Jared.
( You're going to learn how to cook. )
For cherrymmm, because she knows how to hit me where it hurts
Title: Game in a Bottle
Summary: Based off recent con shenanigans. The green-eyed monster gets a hold of Jensen and he decides he’s had enough.
Author’s Note: not beta’d beyond spell/grammar check; please forgive me
Disclaimer: This is all a damned dirty lie. More’s the pity.
Rubbing a hand down the length of his face Jensen focuses on his reflection in the mirror. He has no clue how he got here. To this place where he's living this double-triple-secret life. Every nerve in his body is taught and quivering, strained to breaking. He hates these conventions. He's just not this guy. He's not the guy who can let seemingly innocuous comments about his "true" feelings for Jared run off his back like water. He's not the calm and patient man who smiles tolerantly when yet another "fan" brings up the topic of "slash" and how does he feel about the brothers being written that way? Most of all, he's not the buddy who can sit idly by and let his best friend romp and tease and have a bromance with another actor without being bothered by it.
( Read more... )
There was something unnerving about the intensity of Xander’s expression as he watched Spike during her talk to the potentials. Buffy made a mental note to have a private conversation with Xander later.
Xander thundered down the stairs and kept his momentum all the way to Spike’s cot. Yanking the sleeping vamp up, he pinned him to the wall, forearm under Spike’s angled jaw.
“What is it about you?” Xander hissed.
Spike simply stared at him.
Xander pressed forward, tilting the vampire’s head back even farther, “Why do they always forgive you?” Harsh. Desperate.
Long minutes passed as Spike returned Xander’s fiery gaze inscrutably.
“Do you want to understand? No. No you don’t. You want to feel it.”
Hands came up behind Xander’s head and pulled him away from his captive. A quick twist and Xander was the one pinned to the wall.
“Is this what you want Harris?” Spikes’ face changed, fangs and ridges replacing blue eyes and razor cheeks as prominent features. He dipped his head to the man’s neck and grazed over the throbbing vein there. Xander groaned.
“Or is it this?”
Spike’s visage had changed back and searing blue focused on Xander’s flushed face. He brought his full, pallid lips to Xander’s hot, parted ones. Xander took in a great gasp of air as Spike’s lips brushed feather-light over his won and then let it out in a rush as Spike pressed in, mashing their lips together and pushing a darting tongue between them. Smoked alcohol invaded his mouth. Where had he gotten the booze? flashed through Xander’s brain just before the haze descended and Xander became an eager participant. He twirled his tongue with Spike’s, caressing the smooth silk of Spike’s inner cheek, running the tip of his tongue over and over the roof of his mouth, blunted nibbles on his lips, swirls of sensation building in his head and his groin.
“Or is it this?”
Whisper soft voice in his ear accompanied by rasping pressure over the straining bulge between his legs. Xander thrust forward into the firm, hand that rubbed languorously through the denim.
Spike pushed away and regarded Xander disdainfully. “It’s all you’ll ever believe me capable of, so why should I care, you git?”
Eyes wide, Xander raced out of the basement as quickly as he descended, the click of a lighter and creaking springs following him.