tiptoe39 | Weird tippy is weird

Jared is an archaeologist, Jensen works in a museum.

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!

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.

UNF I LOVE IT!

Jared and Jensen as angels.

0:)

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

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

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.

*FLAILS AT YOU*

♥ ♥ ♥

omg! can i just marry this fic and love it forever and ever! i so love you right now. there is a reason why i worship you epic lady you!

OH GOD. *heart explodes into glitter and confetti. and glittery confetti*

SO PERFECT.

*kowtows at your shrine*

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.)

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 ;)

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.

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

wing!embrace j2! d'aww!

*melts, oozes and dribbles all over the carpet* yuck, look at the mess you've made of me, you evil, wonderful wench.

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

Oh... Oh!! BB, this was PERFECT!

*GLOMPS YOU FOREVER*

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!).

EMT Jensen saves Jared's life

Hee! J2 Wingfic XD LOVE!!!

"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.

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.

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.

Weird tippy is weird

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

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