SPN RPS: One Million Strings 1/1
Jul. 10th, 2006 01:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: One Million Strings
Author: James
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: as if
Summary: Beer, basketball, and strings. The boys are hella drunk and no on-screen smut.
Notes: This fic really serves no useful purpose other than to get my brain into RPS gear.
Jensen leaned his head back on the couch, rolling the bottle of beer between his hands and thought about the question. It was difficult, despite the topic -- Mavs basketball. Something he knew in his sleep, backwards, forwards, and dead drunk.
Well, maybe not dead drunk. He was buzzed, now, and Jared's question was bouncing in his head like he'd watched soccer all his life and knew basketball only from car commercials.
But he knew the Mavs, and despite how hard it seemed to get his tongue to form words, he finally settled on his answer. "Dampier." He nodded and thought that if he had to name four more players he'd rescue from a burning building before he rescued anyone else, he'd need less beer and more time.
He looked over at Jared and found him staring back, blinking at him with a rather stupefied expression.
Jensen frowned. "What?"
"You'd do Erick Dampier?"
Jensen blinked back. Had he missed a change of topic? He thought back over the conversation -- he remembered talking about being a breast man versus an ass man. He remembered arguing about football coaches and how Switzer had fucking ruined the game. Then this, only Jared was looking at him like maybe he'd passed out for ten minutes and no one had noticed.
Maybe he had. "What are we talking about?" he asked, cautiously as he could when he felt like maybe he was going to fall off the couch if he moved too fast.
"Who would you have sex with, no strings attached," Jared said carefully enunciating his words.
"Oh." Apparently he had missed a turn somewhere. He gave the new question some thought, and really, his brain was pretty much shutting down for the night. Or the morning -- he didn't want to try looking at his watch to find out. Finally he shrugged. "Hell, Dampier's got a nice smile."
He watched as Jared froze, staring at him with wide eyes and a growing smile on his face before he broke up laughing. Jensen scowled and reached over, giving him a kick. Jared fell off the couch, still laughing, and Jensen decided that he wanted more beer, less Jared being an ass.
"Just for that, I'm not naming you, either," Jensen said, sternly as he could.
Jared looked up at him and grinned, then shook his head. "Wouldn't count, man."
"Why not?"
He watched as Jared crawled to his knees, scooted forward then rested his hands on Jensen's legs. He leaned in, and Jensen could smell the beer on his breath -- or possibly on both their breaths. It was really hard to think clearly.
"Because there would be a million strings attached," Jared said, leaning close enough that Jensen had time to think Jared was going to fucking kiss him, before Jared fell to the side, laughing as he slid off the couch.
Jensen just watched him, and after a moment, he gave Jared another kick. "Hey." He waited until he had Jared's attention, looking up at him from the ungangly sprawl of limbs and drunken insanity on the floor. "What strings?" he wasn't sure why they couldn't just have meaningless sex, then he told himself he was blitzed for thinking anything at all. Even if he'd thought it before, because he wasn't blind or ball-less.
Jared held up a hand, trying to hold up a single finger and seemingly having a little trouble. Finally he just waved his hand at Jensen and said, "You'd send flowers," he listed, and Jensen kicked him again.
"The hell I would." Even if he did send flowers -- but only to girlfriends he'd been dating awhile, and only for birthdays and apologies.
"You'd call me the next day," Jared said, ignoring Jensen's kick. Jensen scowled, and told himself that Jared was really drunk, so he didn't have to make sense.
"Of course I'd call, we work together, we're friends -- I'm supposed to never talk to you ever again after we have sex?"
But Jared shook his head. "You'd make me breakfast," he said, and sighed as though that were the real deal-breaker. "Seriously," he slurred. "There's no way."
"No way what? That we'd have sex?"
Jared shook his head again and leaned on one elbow. "I'd have to start dating you."
"Because I made you breakfast?"
"You'd make omelets. And orange juice, and you'd slice and toast the bagels, and you'd apologise for not having the honey almond cream cheese."
Jensen waited for something resembling an explanation, but nothing more followed. "You're drunk," he finally announced.
Jared rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and Jensen wondered if going for another beer would require more coordination than he had. He knew better than to send Jared for more -- the last time, Jared had disappeared into the kitchen for half an hour and Jensen had finally found him staring into the fridge, talking to himself about the merits of sliced lunch meat versus tuna salad.
Jared looked up at him and gave him an easy smile. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself," Jensen replied.
"I don't mind regular cream cheese, you know."
Jensen scowled. "Dude, I am so not having sex with you, and I am not making breakfast."
Jared nodded, still smiling, and closed his eyes.
~~~
When Jensen woke up, he rolled over, found the glass of water he'd brilliantly left beside the bed -- he'd had two aspirin and a gallon of water before going to bed, because he'd done the drunk off his ass thing before.
After downing the water, he laid back down and gave Jared another kick. "Make breakfast," he said.
There was no response at first, then Jared moaned. A hand wormed out of the blankets, and four fingers folded down leaving a fifth sticking up -- a clear and concise reply.
"I want pancakes," Jensen said, ignoring him. He closed his eyes, feeling the pillow hit his head. He needed to pee soon, but he wasn't going anywhere until Jared got his lazy ass out of bed and at least made some coffee. He reached over and found bare skin, and gave a sharp, hard pinch.
"What the hell!" Jared shouted.
Jensen smirked. "Just tugging one of those strings."
Author: James
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: as if
Summary: Beer, basketball, and strings. The boys are hella drunk and no on-screen smut.
Notes: This fic really serves no useful purpose other than to get my brain into RPS gear.
Jensen leaned his head back on the couch, rolling the bottle of beer between his hands and thought about the question. It was difficult, despite the topic -- Mavs basketball. Something he knew in his sleep, backwards, forwards, and dead drunk.
Well, maybe not dead drunk. He was buzzed, now, and Jared's question was bouncing in his head like he'd watched soccer all his life and knew basketball only from car commercials.
But he knew the Mavs, and despite how hard it seemed to get his tongue to form words, he finally settled on his answer. "Dampier." He nodded and thought that if he had to name four more players he'd rescue from a burning building before he rescued anyone else, he'd need less beer and more time.
He looked over at Jared and found him staring back, blinking at him with a rather stupefied expression.
Jensen frowned. "What?"
"You'd do Erick Dampier?"
Jensen blinked back. Had he missed a change of topic? He thought back over the conversation -- he remembered talking about being a breast man versus an ass man. He remembered arguing about football coaches and how Switzer had fucking ruined the game. Then this, only Jared was looking at him like maybe he'd passed out for ten minutes and no one had noticed.
Maybe he had. "What are we talking about?" he asked, cautiously as he could when he felt like maybe he was going to fall off the couch if he moved too fast.
"Who would you have sex with, no strings attached," Jared said carefully enunciating his words.
"Oh." Apparently he had missed a turn somewhere. He gave the new question some thought, and really, his brain was pretty much shutting down for the night. Or the morning -- he didn't want to try looking at his watch to find out. Finally he shrugged. "Hell, Dampier's got a nice smile."
He watched as Jared froze, staring at him with wide eyes and a growing smile on his face before he broke up laughing. Jensen scowled and reached over, giving him a kick. Jared fell off the couch, still laughing, and Jensen decided that he wanted more beer, less Jared being an ass.
"Just for that, I'm not naming you, either," Jensen said, sternly as he could.
Jared looked up at him and grinned, then shook his head. "Wouldn't count, man."
"Why not?"
He watched as Jared crawled to his knees, scooted forward then rested his hands on Jensen's legs. He leaned in, and Jensen could smell the beer on his breath -- or possibly on both their breaths. It was really hard to think clearly.
"Because there would be a million strings attached," Jared said, leaning close enough that Jensen had time to think Jared was going to fucking kiss him, before Jared fell to the side, laughing as he slid off the couch.
Jensen just watched him, and after a moment, he gave Jared another kick. "Hey." He waited until he had Jared's attention, looking up at him from the ungangly sprawl of limbs and drunken insanity on the floor. "What strings?" he wasn't sure why they couldn't just have meaningless sex, then he told himself he was blitzed for thinking anything at all. Even if he'd thought it before, because he wasn't blind or ball-less.
Jared held up a hand, trying to hold up a single finger and seemingly having a little trouble. Finally he just waved his hand at Jensen and said, "You'd send flowers," he listed, and Jensen kicked him again.
"The hell I would." Even if he did send flowers -- but only to girlfriends he'd been dating awhile, and only for birthdays and apologies.
"You'd call me the next day," Jared said, ignoring Jensen's kick. Jensen scowled, and told himself that Jared was really drunk, so he didn't have to make sense.
"Of course I'd call, we work together, we're friends -- I'm supposed to never talk to you ever again after we have sex?"
But Jared shook his head. "You'd make me breakfast," he said, and sighed as though that were the real deal-breaker. "Seriously," he slurred. "There's no way."
"No way what? That we'd have sex?"
Jared shook his head again and leaned on one elbow. "I'd have to start dating you."
"Because I made you breakfast?"
"You'd make omelets. And orange juice, and you'd slice and toast the bagels, and you'd apologise for not having the honey almond cream cheese."
Jensen waited for something resembling an explanation, but nothing more followed. "You're drunk," he finally announced.
Jared rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and Jensen wondered if going for another beer would require more coordination than he had. He knew better than to send Jared for more -- the last time, Jared had disappeared into the kitchen for half an hour and Jensen had finally found him staring into the fridge, talking to himself about the merits of sliced lunch meat versus tuna salad.
Jared looked up at him and gave him an easy smile. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself," Jensen replied.
"I don't mind regular cream cheese, you know."
Jensen scowled. "Dude, I am so not having sex with you, and I am not making breakfast."
Jared nodded, still smiling, and closed his eyes.
~~~
When Jensen woke up, he rolled over, found the glass of water he'd brilliantly left beside the bed -- he'd had two aspirin and a gallon of water before going to bed, because he'd done the drunk off his ass thing before.
After downing the water, he laid back down and gave Jared another kick. "Make breakfast," he said.
There was no response at first, then Jared moaned. A hand wormed out of the blankets, and four fingers folded down leaving a fifth sticking up -- a clear and concise reply.
"I want pancakes," Jensen said, ignoring him. He closed his eyes, feeling the pillow hit his head. He needed to pee soon, but he wasn't going anywhere until Jared got his lazy ass out of bed and at least made some coffee. He reached over and found bare skin, and gave a sharp, hard pinch.
"What the hell!" Jared shouted.
Jensen smirked. "Just tugging one of those strings."