whitereflection (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitereflection) wrote2010-11-12 05:59 pm
whitereflection) wrote2010-11-12 05:59 pm
Entry tags:
how very first world of me
The next time my mother suggests going to something like Trader Joe's the day of its grand opening, my answer will be "Nooooooooooooooooo". Cats and dogs, living together. So to speak.
Totally uninspired, did another pointless stand-alone sort of schmoopy J2 scene. Sort of blah, but was forcing words again. Having self-confidence issues, doing the old "why am I trying when other people are so fucking awesome in this fandom" thing. >_< Again. (Seriously, so many goddanged amazing writers for SPN and J2, and so prolific...)
4?-5:44
The ground is wet, the leaves are wet, he's wet, and Jared sort of wants to hate the song "November Rain" just on principle.
It's not that he doesn't want to do the yardwork; he likes their yard and likes that he's responsible for it. It makes him feel like he and Jensen own the place rather than just renting it, leaves him daydreaming about if--make that when--they'll have a home that's theirs. One where they could have dogs since they wouldn't have a landlord saying no, one where they could have the garden Jen's always talked about. One where Jared would do yardwork like mowing and raking and landscaping, not just because it needed doing, but because it would be theirs.
But for now, the grass is soggy and the leaves are sloppy, and trying to rake is proving to be nothing more than a mess. Jared's goosebumped with cold, the legs of his jeans and much of his hooded sweatshirt soaked through, and yeah, he gives up. He'll do the rest tomorrow.
The screen door to the back porch sticks and screeches as usual, and he leaves the rake leaning in the corner for when he goes back out the next day, then toes off his wet and leaf debris-covered sneakers before sliding open the patio door to the kitchen.
Inside, it's warm, almost too much so, from the stove where Jensen's cooking chili and the oven where Jared can smell biscuits-from-a-can baking (yeah, from-a-can--their mothers would weep if they knew, but recent graduates with first jobs did what they could when it came to limited money and time).
Wandering up to where Jensen's wiping down the counter, Jared hooks his chin over his boyfriend's shoulder, wraps his hands around Jensen's hips, standing as close as he can without getting Jensen's clothing wet, too.
"All done out there?"
"Not quite," Jared answers, leaning his chilled face against Jensen's skin. He just wants to borrow a little bit of body heat, just a small, small bit. The temptation to wrap himself like an octopus around the other man was so very hard to resist; giving in just a little, he slides his hands forward, tucking his fingers into Jensen's front pockets.
Jensen makes a complaining noise, but doesn't move away. "Yuck, you're cold."
"Yeah, it's why I quit. Everything's too wet and cold. I'll finish tomorrow."
"I don't go in until evening tomorrow, so I can help."
Jared rubs his cheek against Jensen's, feeling the rasp of Jensen's afternoon stubble against his own. "There's not much left. I'll get it done easy if I don't sleep in too long. You can help me now, though."
Twisting slightly to toss the dishrag in the sink, Jensen peers back at Jared over his shoulder. "Yeah? How so?"
"Warm me up." He breathes the words against Jensen's skin, mouthing at the shell of his ear. Feeling Jensen lean back against him, his hands covering Jared's, he smiles against it.
"Get into some dry clothes and maybe I will."
"Help me get the wet ones off first?" Then he follows as Jensen's gaze shifts to the stove, noticing that the burner under the pot of chili is already off and the oven's temperature is set down to warm. Jared grins, nipping at Jensen's earlobe.
Jensen gives a huff as if put-upon, but twists in Jared's grip and pushes him toward the hallway, already grabbing at the waist of Jared's sweatshirt. "What can I say, you're nothing if not predictable."
"But you like me like that," Jared says, untangling himself from the hooded sweatshirt as it's pulled off, darting forward to steal a kiss as Jensen lets it drop to the hallway floor and reaches for Jared's beltbuckle. The sound of the zipper is loud in the narrow hallway, as is the noise of wet denim sliding to the floor.
Jensen smirks at him, flirty and a bit wicked. His hands are warm as they slide beneath Jared's t-shirt, pushing him back further down the hallway to their bedroom. "Maybe, just a little."
(679)
***
Totally uninspired, did another pointless stand-alone sort of schmoopy J2 scene. Sort of blah, but was forcing words again. Having self-confidence issues, doing the old "why am I trying when other people are so fucking awesome in this fandom" thing. >_< Again. (Seriously, so many goddanged amazing writers for SPN and J2, and so prolific...)
4?-5:44
The ground is wet, the leaves are wet, he's wet, and Jared sort of wants to hate the song "November Rain" just on principle.
It's not that he doesn't want to do the yardwork; he likes their yard and likes that he's responsible for it. It makes him feel like he and Jensen own the place rather than just renting it, leaves him daydreaming about if--make that when--they'll have a home that's theirs. One where they could have dogs since they wouldn't have a landlord saying no, one where they could have the garden Jen's always talked about. One where Jared would do yardwork like mowing and raking and landscaping, not just because it needed doing, but because it would be theirs.
But for now, the grass is soggy and the leaves are sloppy, and trying to rake is proving to be nothing more than a mess. Jared's goosebumped with cold, the legs of his jeans and much of his hooded sweatshirt soaked through, and yeah, he gives up. He'll do the rest tomorrow.
The screen door to the back porch sticks and screeches as usual, and he leaves the rake leaning in the corner for when he goes back out the next day, then toes off his wet and leaf debris-covered sneakers before sliding open the patio door to the kitchen.
Inside, it's warm, almost too much so, from the stove where Jensen's cooking chili and the oven where Jared can smell biscuits-from-a-can baking (yeah, from-a-can--their mothers would weep if they knew, but recent graduates with first jobs did what they could when it came to limited money and time).
Wandering up to where Jensen's wiping down the counter, Jared hooks his chin over his boyfriend's shoulder, wraps his hands around Jensen's hips, standing as close as he can without getting Jensen's clothing wet, too.
"All done out there?"
"Not quite," Jared answers, leaning his chilled face against Jensen's skin. He just wants to borrow a little bit of body heat, just a small, small bit. The temptation to wrap himself like an octopus around the other man was so very hard to resist; giving in just a little, he slides his hands forward, tucking his fingers into Jensen's front pockets.
Jensen makes a complaining noise, but doesn't move away. "Yuck, you're cold."
"Yeah, it's why I quit. Everything's too wet and cold. I'll finish tomorrow."
"I don't go in until evening tomorrow, so I can help."
Jared rubs his cheek against Jensen's, feeling the rasp of Jensen's afternoon stubble against his own. "There's not much left. I'll get it done easy if I don't sleep in too long. You can help me now, though."
Twisting slightly to toss the dishrag in the sink, Jensen peers back at Jared over his shoulder. "Yeah? How so?"
"Warm me up." He breathes the words against Jensen's skin, mouthing at the shell of his ear. Feeling Jensen lean back against him, his hands covering Jared's, he smiles against it.
"Get into some dry clothes and maybe I will."
"Help me get the wet ones off first?" Then he follows as Jensen's gaze shifts to the stove, noticing that the burner under the pot of chili is already off and the oven's temperature is set down to warm. Jared grins, nipping at Jensen's earlobe.
Jensen gives a huff as if put-upon, but twists in Jared's grip and pushes him toward the hallway, already grabbing at the waist of Jared's sweatshirt. "What can I say, you're nothing if not predictable."
"But you like me like that," Jared says, untangling himself from the hooded sweatshirt as it's pulled off, darting forward to steal a kiss as Jensen lets it drop to the hallway floor and reaches for Jared's beltbuckle. The sound of the zipper is loud in the narrow hallway, as is the noise of wet denim sliding to the floor.
Jensen smirks at him, flirty and a bit wicked. His hands are warm as they slide beneath Jared's t-shirt, pushing him back further down the hallway to their bedroom. "Maybe, just a little."
(679)
***