Weird tippy is weird

[tiptoe39]

Give me an AU and i will write a J2 kiss in that AU.

Inspired cause I read good J2 AUs yesterday.

You don't actually have to do this, but I had a whim.

EDIT: (O.o) o hai thar explosion of love!!! I will get to as many of these as I can. :D Feel free to run with a prompt if it gives you an idea too <3

EDIT 2: All prompts answered; prompting bar closed! *flops* Wow, you guys do work a girl hard <3 Hope you liked...

Comments

[hils.livejournal.com]

Jared is an archaeologist, Jensen works in a museum.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

It's the way Jensen's hands move, Jared thinks, that pushes him past the point of no return. Jared's the one who brushes off bone with minute bristles and combs, his fingers flexing as he's careful not to disturb millennia-old discoveries, but Jensen frowns, and looks at his books, and flips pages and signs ledgers and in a way he's more immaculate, more methodical than Jared, with his forever-excited demeanor, could ever be. Jared thinks if he were ever to drink in the taste of Jensen's unsmiling lips, he might be able to glean some of his maturity, some of his power. Like in legends of old, when you consumed your enemies and you gained their strength.

So somewhere beneath the ribcage of an apatosaur, late at night and after closing, Jared snatches the book out of Jensen's hands and snatches the spectacles off his face, and when lips (tinted neon-pink in the dim light) curl into a surprised pucker Jared sucks them in, framing Jensen's mouth with his own. For a moment there's a sound of surprise being pushed into his mouth and then Jensen's grabbing him, sliding arms around his waist and arching in, head tipping back, opening, warm, inviting Jared to lick inside his mouth and slide their tongues together with a bolt of warmth that makes him shudder all over.

When it ends, when he pulls back, Jensen's panting raggedly, and a goofy smile spreads across his face. Looks like the transfer of power went the wrong way. Jared will have to try again.

[(Anonymous)]

Squee. I love it when you demands prompts! Oh yesh! Okay try this one on for size. human!AU. Highschool. Prom. First dance leads to first kiss and if it so happens to lead J2 to another kind of first well that's okay too!

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

It's been a long, strange road. From perfunctory, passionless relationships with girls who were cute but not hot, to long nights of discussion, on porch steps and fire escapes, where Jensen would pour his heart out and Jared would catch it, mold it back together and instill it with a strange, beautiful brand of hope that made Jensen's blood rush through him and his fingers tremble. From a look that lingered too long, to a brush of fingertips that left an impression on his palm that still hasn't faded.

To Jared, grinning broadly, tall as the Empire State Building in his tuxedo, waving at him as he enters the ballroom and cementing in Jensen's heart exactly what it is he's been feeling all this time.

It takes him all night, and hours of painful staring and awkward small talk, but he eventually turns to Jared and says, "Can I ask you something weird?"

Jared's face goes blank and his smile fades. "Sure?"

"Would you, uh..." Jensen looks at the dance floor. "...dance with me?"

He sees the urge to chuckle rise up in Jared's face, then die again when he realizes Jensen is dead serious.

"Sure," he says uncertainly, "of course."

There are suspicious and amused glances, here and there, but they all fade the minute Jared slides his arms around Jensen's shoulders and grins at him. "I'll be the girl."

"You're not the girl," Jensen says crossly, and Jared just laughs again. "I'm serious. I don't want to pretend I'm dancing with a girl, Jay. I want to be dancing with you."

It's only after he says it that he realizes just how bold it sounds. Blood rushes to his face. Jared's smile disappears again, and Jensen scrambles to backslide. "Um, I mean--"

"I know what you mean," Jared says. His voice is strangely dark.

Jensen tastes bile in his throat. He's just fucked up four years of friendship with one stupid request for a three-minute dance and--

"Stop it." Jared butts his head against Jensen's briefly, just hard enough to hurt. "Stop overthinking. Look, I get it, you're a cautious guy. But I'm kind of sick of waiting for you."

His head is swimming. Jensen can't even get his eyes to focus now. "Waiting for what?"

Jared heaves a melodramatic, long-suffering sigh. "For this," he says, and leans down and kisses Jensen on the mouth.

It's wet. Wet and long and oh god it's sweet, it's good like Jensen never imagined, with Jared's lips soft and yielding, tender, and the tinsel and sequins of the dance dimming behind Jensen's fast closing eyes as sparkles erupt in his brain instead. And then as soon as it starts, it's over, and his lips tingle and Jared's still frowning at him.

"Just in case you didn't get that," Jared deadpans, "I've had a crush on you since about the second day of freshman year, and I sat through all your girlfriends and all your identity crises because I love you. So if you're not ready to hear that, tough. Everyone else in this room knows it, and you're the last to find out. So news flash, Jen. I love you."

Jensen thinks he says something, but the sudden explosion of applause around him drowns it out.

[morganoconner.livejournal.com]

Jared and Jensen as angels.

0:)

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Jensen is a warrior, Jared a wish-granter. Those are their posts and they're well suited to them, Jensen's focus and Jared's goodwill their respective traits, two opposite poles of angelic intent. They shouldn't even spend time together, much less enjoy that time. It's antithetical to heavenly order.

But Jared has learned a bit of mischief, from a wayward archangel or a sympathetic devil, and he's taught Jensen to appreciate those moments when the mighty fall, when the disciplined slip into sin. Appreciate and embrace, as they do on a grassy hillside somewhere on the fringes of the fields where seraphim train their arms to throw spears of fire and their wings to beat back demonic invasions. There, a scant few yards from war, Jensen and Jared indulge in that most and least angelic of all emotions, love.

Jensen's armor is stripped away, his chest bare, and Jared kisses down it, enthusiastic, smiling to feel a groan rumble forth from Jensen's lungs into the air above him. His thumbs linger on Jensen's hipbones, drawing circles into them, and the tips of his wings fold upward to slide along Jensen's thighs.

Jared slides up, catches Jensen's mouth with his, and they both smile into the kiss. Jensen curls his wings forward to hold Jared in their soft cocoon. Soft wings, soft lips, soft green grass - even with war and a potential apocalypse on the horizon, they have heaven contained right here.

[sinnerforhire.livejournal.com]

Jared is an amusement park mascot, Jensen is his handler.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

"This is the day the clown cried."

"Suck it up, Padalecki. First off, you're not a clown, you're a moose. And that's sweat, not tears."

Jared tears off the moose head. "I've been in this thing for thirty minutes. It's 90 degrees out there, and I'm around kids so much I've lost the ability to swear. Tears are all I've got left."

Jensen grins at him, impassive, and dots a cool cloth across his forehead, mopping up the sweat. "I started as the damn squirrel, remember? I know the feeling."

"Well." Jared grins. "Thanks for the sympathy, then."

"Be nice to me." Jensen points a finger. "I'm the one leading you around by the arm. I could drag you straight into the fountain one of these days."

Jared grabs Jensen's hand in one big moosey paw. "Oh, please. Please do. So hot."

"I know I am," Jensen smirks.

"It's too bad you're not in this costume with me." Jared's eyebrows lift. "You could be even hotter."

Jensen slides the cloth against Jared's face again, smoothing off another layer of pouring sweat. "I'd rather have you out of the costume," he says. "Among other things."

Jared leans in and kisses him, and sweat notwithstanding, it's hardly the most awkward kiss they've ever had. The most awkward kiss they ever had involved moose antlers flopping around in Jensen's eyes.

Jensen arches against them. "Hm, I'm going to have to make sure the kids don't run into that."

"You can feel it through the suit?" Jared's eyes go wide.

"Hung like a moose." Jensen cracks a smile. "You're going to give me a furry fetish, you keep kissing me in the costume."

Jared hangs his head. "Oh, God, don't say that. There are kids out there."

"We're just a subversive threat to the innocence of the nation." Jensen laughs. "Get the hell out of that thing and let's hit the showers. You stink." He slaps Jared's moose belly and backs off, stripping off his shirt. It's been a long, hot day, but at least the company's good.

[peppervl.livejournal.com]

Jared works in a Print Shop. Jensen had to come in to proof the plotter sheets before Jared puts his documents on the press.

this is sort of all over the place, sorry :(

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

This is the second time he's been in. Fucking old-school editors, don't trust the PDF process, have to look at the plates themselves. For the way he's acting, Jensen ought to be an old guy with a cane and a flask of whiskey by his side at all times.

But he's not old. He's very not-old. And he's messing with Jared's concentration with every minute nod or shake of his head. Such sharp eyes, catching every speck of dust on the press, every minute error in spacing or cropping. "The page isn't centered," he says, scowling, his round mouth puckering into a pout. "The crop margins are here, so why is the crop being done over here?"

Jared wants to snap at him, to say "because I don't have super-microscopic vision like you do" or "because I've been working ten hours today on thirteen different projects," but all he says is "sure, I'll adjust that." He makes a note of the plate number and pulls it off the machine.

"One sec." Jensen grabs for the plate. "Let me see that." His hand catches on the corner of it, just above Jared's hand, and Jared's whirled around to face him, his boots scuffing on the concrete floor of the print house.

Staring down into Jensen's face, Jared can suddenly see the severity there, the age that he was missing from only a few feet away. "Sure," he says, and as an afterthought, "You look tired."

"So do you," Jensen says, and though he's got hold of the plate now he's not looking at it; he's looking at Jared's brow, the way it furrows, the way his jaw tenses as though trying desperately to hold his features together.

Jared forces a shrug. "Late nights."

"Me, too." Jensen's look is like a magnet. "I, uh... the plate is fine as it is. It can be a little off-center."

"No, no, we'll fix it," Jared assures him. "I just have to pop up to the office for two seconds to adjust--"

"Don't."

Jensen's hand lands on Jared's wrist. "It's OK. Really."

Printers whirr in the background. "But... you're such a perfectionist."

"Am I?" Jensen gives a self-deprecating little chuckle. "I'm just always afraid I'm gonna let something slip through."

"That explains the iron fist." Jared's eyes are on Jensen's hand on his wrist, which maybe sends the wrong message.

Or maybe the right one. Jensen's grip tightens. "Why do you think I came back down here?" he says. There's a determination to his features now that Jared didn't see before, not even when he was examining the plate.

Jared's muscles are going slack. "Figured you didn't trust me?"

Jensen growls. "Don't want to let you slip away."

The plate dangles between two fingers; Jensen's other hand yanks on Jared's arm, pulls him down, and they're very close, face to face, close enough for Jared to see the intent etched on Jensen's features clear as bright headline type. "Really?" he says, and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smile. For a moment he thinks he's about to get kissed.

But Jensen averts his eyes, lets go. "Sorry," he says. "I'm not so good at this."

Jared stares at him a minute. "The plate?" he says, his voice shaking.

"Right." Jensen makes a show of staring at the plate for another moment, then holds it out for Jared to take.

Jared reaches right past the plate and grabs the socially awkward editor behind it. His mouth comes down on Jensen's with the kind of confidence that comes naturally to him, the kind of insistence that he has to tamp down in order to work with these kinds of people. But work is one thing and this is another, this is Jensen's free arm going around his neck, pulling his face in to taste more, go deeper into this kiss that's crushing them. This is electricity, chemistry. This is perfection.

Jensen's glazed eyes staring into his after they part tell Jared he thinks so, too.

[peppervl.livejournal.com]

Alternatively, Jared & Jensen are faeries on the first day of spring.

(You don't have to write two. I just thought of this one now, so.)

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

They're drunk on joy, on the opening of flowers and the drinking of nectar. Insect wings buzz around them; petals slide like silk sheets beneath them. The sky is opening into warmth and the ground into life, and Jared and Jensen play tag among the green shoots, laughing and shouting, perfect elfin faces alight with joy. Jared's taller, with longer legs, standing a full three inches wingtip to wingtip, and he's always catching Jensen eventually. But Jensen's slippery, and he can get away even from Jared's inevitable grip. It's just a matter of whether he wants to.

They tumble to the ground, dirt mussing their faces and their wings. It will flutter off when they next take flight, but for now the dirt on Jensen's cheeks tastes of spring, of growth. Jared covers his face with kisses, tiny hummingbird tongue sliding into Jensen's mouth to taste the remnants of sweet nectar and honey there. Their bare bodies tangle, for they've never known shame as humans do. Why should they? They're creatures made from magic, and nature and love and joy, and their laughter creates the sparkles that seem to rise off the ground on promising spring days. With soft dotting kisses on tiny rosy faces, they greet spring and revel in each other, and the feeling rises up into the hearts of those who pass by without seeing them. A feeling like the whole world is making love. Spring fever.

[rowdy-missus.livejournal.com]

Ummm ummm ummmmm, Jensen has to take his ickle cute dawggie to the vet 'cos he's all broke or something, Jared is the vet who nurses him back to life, Jensen is graaaaaaaaaateful ;)

i have no knowledge of animal medicine whatsoever. 1/2.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Brown, round, soulful eyes. Once upon a time, Jensen looked into them and fell in love. That was the day he brought home Icarus. Jensen wants to call him a stupid mutt, be mad at him for trying to fly across the street like his namesake, only to be knocked to the curb by a dumbass garbage truck driver who at the very least was driving slowly. But the big eyes looked up at him and Jensen was lucky he didn't break down in tears while dialing the vet.

Now, surgery and doggy casts later, Icarus is finally napping. "He's on a lot of painkillers," the vet says to him. "Probably best to leave him here for a few days until he can walk on his own. You can visit him, though."

Jensen nods, sniffling. "Thanks."

"He'll be fine." The vet's tall and handsome, and when he lays a hand on Jensen's shoulder it's all Jensen can do not to just grab him and hug him tight. His poor baby. "Do you, uh, need a tissue?"

Jensen does his best to scowl, but through a red face he only manages to make the vet laugh.

"I'm serious, though," he says. "Come visit him. It'll be good for both of you."

"Thanks, Doctor." Jensen reaches out to clasp his hand.

"Jared." Warm fingers grip his.

"Jared," Jensen repeats, and then for the second time in his life, he looks into brown eyes and falls in love.

---

He comes back the next day, with overpriced coffee and bagels. It's pretty transparent a flirtation, but Jared looks as though someone has bought him a new car. He claps his hands, startling a parrot in the back room who starts shouting "POKER FACE POKER FACE" for no apparent reason. Neither Jared nor Jensen is able to keep a poker face after that.

Day after that, he shows up in the afternoon, brings a Scrabble board. Jared plays 50-point words in between vaccinations and bunny checkups. When he's gone, Jensen pets Icarus and whispers secrets to him about how he wouldn't mind playing doctor with this vet.

Third day, Jensen can't make it. He wonders how his two brown-eyed crushes are doing. He wonders if Icarus is lonely. He wonders if Jared misses him. He wonders if he hasn't completely lost his mind.

On the fourth day Icarus's casts come off, and Jensen watches with worry-glazed eyes as Jared takes him through doggy physical therapy. when Icarus whimpers, Jensen makes a very similar noise out of sympathy. Jared laughs. He mentions, when Jensen's on his way out, that he's glad Jensen stopped by, that he'd wondered what had happened to him yesterday. Jensen very nearly clicks his heels and dances into the parking lot.

Then it's time for Icarus to go home.

---

[rowdy-missus.livejournal.com]

Ummmm..... JARED AND JENSEN MEET EACH OTHER AT A HAWAII FIVE-0 CON. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

I HOPE YOU'VE READ PEPPER'S SVD FIC. XD

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Jensen likes the hardware. He's a fan of Steve McGarrett and his awesome tats and his awesome muscles and his awesome, awesome guns. The episode where Steve dresses up like Rambo is his favorite.

Jared is that rarest of animals: a male slash fan. He's in love with Scott Caan and wants to see My Two Dads-style domestic drama in the second season. Every other minute he's taking the piss out of Jensen for being such a macho man about it all. "It's chemistry," he says, "chemistry!"

"Sorry, is this a Gossip Girl con?" Jensen retorts, sly smile on his face. "What show have you been watching?"

"The one with the bantering supposedly heterosexual life-mates who can't leave each other alone," Jared says. "You know, that one."

"Sounds like real life right now," Jensen mutters.

At the time it's said, it is awkward enough to shut them both up for a good hour. But then Daniel Dae Kim is signing autographs, and he complimented Jensen's thumb ring, and damned if Jensen isn't pleased as punch about that.

"Thought you were saving yourself for Alex," Jared says with a smirk.

"He's badass, too," Jensen says, but he's smiling a little too hard to pretend he isn't over-the-moon happy about it. Happy enough, even, to admit later that Danny is basically Steve's work wife, and that yeah, Danny's pretty badass too, when you get right down to it.

"And he HEARTS Steve," Jared points out as they lie on Jensen's hotel room bed late that night and rewatch the Season 1 DVD.

"Yes," Jensen murmurs, taking the last swig from the fourth beer bottle and angling in to press against Jared's chest. "Yes, he does."

"You're so drunk," Jared says, drinking in Jensen's beer breath and praying to the gods for control.

"You gonna take advantage of me?" Jensen's lips are pressing against his chin, working their way up.

"Think you're the one taking advantage of me," Jared murmurs. And as if to prove his point, Jensen swings his leg over to straddle Jared's waist, breathing down into his face, eyes half-lidded. Jared lets out a long breath. "Jesus, Jensen, don't do this to me, I can't--"

Too late. Beer lips heavy on his, sweet as syrup, heavy and unyielding. Jared groans, pulls Jensen down onto him and kisses back hard, tongue snaking into Jensen's mouth to taste him, greedily, before Jensen comes to his senses. But Jensen never does, Jensen just bears down on him harder, one hand tugging at his hair, groaning and grinding. Jared leans back and just lets Jensen take the lead.

In the morning, naked, hung over Jensen comes to himself, "Oh, my God," he says, and hides under the blankets.

"Jensen?" Jared's heart gives a painful twinge.

The voice is muffled through the sheet. "Last night was--"

Oh God, here it comes. Last night was a mistake. Last night was nothing, it meant nothing. Last night never happened as far as I'm concerned.

Jensen squints as he peeks out from behind the blanket. But he's grinning. "Last night was badass."

[moorishflower.livejournal.com]

Mmm...Jensen is a guitar player and Jared is a groupie. :D

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

I have to leave and go to rehearsal now but I will write this eventually. In the meantime, have you read rockstarpeach's band/groupie D/C fic? It's AMAZING.

1/2

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Jared keeps changing his mind about which part of Jensen he likes best. One minute it's the bowlegs, knees rocking in toward each other as he wails away above the waist, steady uneven pillars holding up the temple. The next minute it's the facet, he scowl like he's tearing the music out from a thick sheet of emotion, the eyes focused and following every movement on the fingerboard, the lips curled, or pursed, or pressed thin and together.

Tonight it's his arms. Muscled and firm but they cradle the guitar ike a newborn baby. Hands moving deftly, wrists sinewy and taut. Columns of power, the parts of him most directly responsible for making the music. Jensen's arms draw him in, pull at him and bring him to the front of the crowd. Brings his own arms, stupidly long, out beyond the rest of them, onto the stage, to brush Jensen's foot.

Jensen looks down. His eyes meet Jared's. An electric ripple slides down Jared's spine and settles in the pit of his gut. And then it's gone, the contact is gone, and Jared has to wonder if he imagined it all. If so, he'll wander home in a happy haze, just from having imagined something so real-feeling, so intense. God. Jensen's eyes.

"Hey."

A meaty-looking man is snapping his fingers in front of Jared's face. "Hey. You."

"Hm?" Jared looks around - the concert's over, the crowds are dispersing, he's still standing there staring at that point of contact like an idiot - "Oh, sorry, I'm leaving--"

"You want to meet the band?"

It takes Jared another minute to resolve the name tag on the guy's chest to "PERSONAL SECURITY - ACKLES." "Say again?"

"Jensen wants to meet you. C'mon."

Could be a trap, could be a ruse, could get Jared killed. Over and over the thoughts turn into a confusing jumble that only clears up when honey-bright eyes are staring into his and he's in the dressing room of a superstar backstage.

[chibikameai.livejournal.com]

I'm going to give you another one to play with because I can't resist a good sick!fic or something like that. Have Jared fake being sick only to have Jensen to take care of him. (You just had to ask for prompts didn't you. So this is all your fault! LOL!).

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

I have to leave now and will be at rehearsal tonight but I'll totally write this. Did you want this to be an AU or not?

[bballgirl3022.livejournal.com]

EMT Jensen saves Jared's life

[sinnerforhire.livejournal.com]

SECONDED LIKE WHOA.

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

You are a lovely human being for increasing happiness and joy throughout the interwebs!

Hows about Jared is a prince, and Jensen the chief groom in his stables?

purple prose totally intentional :D 1/2

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

He shows every sign of being a commoner. His skin is sun-dappled, his hands raw from exposure and hard work. Jensen has nothing in common with the nobility, not even his way of speaking - coarse and laced with insult. There's nothing about him that should appeal to Jared, there is nothing that they could possibly have in common.

The only thing that does pull them together is their shared love for the mare, Harlequin, with her doe eyes and caramel coat. Jensen brushes her down with loving hands, and Jared watches, content as he soothes her with pats on the nose, his pale hands a contrast to the tanned ones that wield the brush.

Jensen's concentration is absolute. His eyes remain on the horse. He doesn't see Jared staring at him, doesn't see Jared's eyes rake over his hands and wonder how well those hands might grip him in a thousand forbidden places. He misses the unconscious lick of Jared's lips when he gazes at Jensen's mouth, pressed together, but with lips so plush they might as well be a court lady's painted bow of a mouth.

Or maybe he does notice. Maybe the heat Jared feels on the back of his neck as he returns to the palace is Jensen's gaze. Or maybe Jared's just falling into a fever, a delirious state where all he can think about is close-cropped hair and furrowed eyebrows, a roll of the eyes when "Your Majesty" is said, hands that stroke an animal's fur with the tenderness one strokes a lover, and now Jared is stroking himself, alone, in a lonely bed, prey to wants he doesn't know how to name.

[baba-o-reily.livejournal.com]

I hope its not too late, but can I request photojournalist Jensen and non-model subject Jared? Like, Jensen sees this kid on the street, snaps a photo, etc. etc.

P.S. You are a doll. Like, you're the best. Seriously.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

His hair was golden in the sidewalk sunlight; inside the studio it's chestnut brown. In the prints it will be gray, and the deep brown of his eyes (unchanged in any light) will darken to black. Right now, through the shutter, he's innocence and life, a whirring laughing piece of the universe that Jensen's trying desperately to capture.

Jensen's told him to just talk, to tell his story, and Jared has laughed and talked about long summer days in Texas childhood, about dreaming of being a star, about his dogs and his ex-boyfriends.

And then Jared turns away and murmurs, "Truth is, I only really agreed to do this cause you're kind of hot."

The shutter clicks as his eyes are half-lidded, as color rises in his cheeks. Jensen knows immediately the shot will be beautiful. He wants to grab the film now and run into the darkroom, he wants to capture that shot and stare at it forever.

"But," Jared goes on, "you're probably straight and I'm being creepy, so I should probably just let myself out, huh?"

No, forget the shot. Real Jared is way more interesting.

He approaches Jared, still clicking, getting right up into his face so he can look through the shutter at the startled face, deer eyes, round mouth. "Hey, you're, uh, you're getting up in my space... not that I'm complaining but.. uh..."

Jensen lowers the camera. He's an inch from Jared's face. "You're not complaining?"

Jared's eyes are so wide and round now that for an instant Jensen regrets not being able to shoot it.

"No," Jared says softly, "not complaining." He reaches for Jensen's face with cupped palms, and as the distance closes between them he murmurs, "You can tell me to stop."

Jensen does no such thing.

Jared's lips burn a bright brand into his, a wash of color on a plain white canvas, and Jensen grabs his collar with a free hand and tugs tight. The shutter goes off by accident while they're kissing, a click-whirr of a sound, and it's loud in the still room. The smack of parting lips a moment afterward isn't nearly as loud.

"That's going to be a great picture of the floor," Jared says with a soft laugh. His hand slides down from Jensen's neck to his back, skimming over the shoulder strap that keeps the camera in place.

"It's an exercise in negative space," Jensen says. His fingers tease at Jared's collar. "The interesting part is what's not in the picture."

Jared nods and pulls Jensen's body in tight. "I couldn't agree more."

Late to the Party.

[ladyjane]

If you're still taking prompts...

Something with cowboys (ranching or rodeo). Can be set in the past or present.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Starch-dry, white hot, heavy summer days. Stubborn animals. Humans that give 'em a run for their money. In the sunlight, everything complains and nothing moves if it can help it. Jared's a six-foot ball and chain of his own weight, dragging himself along the ground like a dying man, forcing the voice to his throat as he rides, his weight pressing into the horse's heart thick as plaque. It's unfair to the both of them.

Jensen's light and scrappy, and the sunshine gives him energy. He gidyaps and rustles the cattle and frowns at Jared for not having the gumption to shake off the sun's oppressive heat like so many droplets of water. Jared watches him through glazed eyes. He's an impossibility is what he is. He shouldn't be. He should have melted into syrup for all the sweat that pours from his brow.

But at night, when the wind finally picks up along the hills, Jensen shudders, paralyzed, cold seeping into his bones. He glares and huddles closer to the fire when Jared tells him ghost stories, and he scoffs at the legends of dead cowboys whose spirits still haunt these hills. Once in a while he gets angry. He stands, faces Jared, crosses his arms and declares he won't hear of another word. Firelight reflects in his eyes and Jared thinks he's possessed. He backs off. Usually. Most nights.

Not this night. This night there's dry lightning brewing, distant clouds and dust storms, and Jared's remembering an old legend and feeling unsettled, lie he can't stay still. He starts talking, because when his mouth is still he feels like he's holding a whirlwind inside, and Jensen gets up and crosses his arms and says "Not another word, not one more word."

Thunder grumbles its disagreement. Jared stares. There's a crackle in the air, an electric snap, and Jensen licks his lips, the wet freshness of them like an oasis in the desert of the bone-dry night.

"Right," he says. "Not one more word."

He raises his palm, runs the heel of it over Jensen's jaw. Jensen swallows, his throat bobbing.

A flash in the skies, quick, searing heat lighting like tinder, and Jensen's body is molded against Jared's, arching, taking. Their lips have met, their bodies have found each other's. They're indistinguishable, two silhouettes in the flashes of brilliance that illuminate the dark sky, and when one moans, the other finishes the sound and they meet in the middle, the bridge where their mouths have joined. Jensen's fingertips trail down Jared's shirt, sliding between buttons. Jared's hand go straight for Jensen's belt buckle.

There's a loop of rope there, sliding coarse against his fingers. A thrill of lust goes through Jared. "God damn," he breathes brokenly, "wanna use that the wrong way."

Jensen gasps, his body tightens, and he pushes himself against Jared. "Such a big talker," he says, then grabs Jared's lower lip between his and sucks on it, tongue dancing across the underside.

"Right." Jared undoes the buckle, pulls out the rope, then the belt itself. "Forgot. no more talking."

"Don't know where in the hell you get your energy," Jensen complains, shuddering and pressing himself further into Jared's embrace as wind picks up and clouds start to gather.

"Think that about you every day," Jared retorts, kissing the hollow of his throat. Jensen moans and clutches the back of his head, grabbing a scruff of hair.

Jared figures maybe it's the same energy, maybe they've been sharing it all along. Jensen gets it in the daytime, Jared at night. And when they're together like this, they can share it.

Because, when Jensen opens up beneath him and the heavens open up above, they both have enough energy to ignore the rain and just keep moving.