As Long As You Smile, Part 1/2
Mar. 13th, 2008 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
loony_moonyTitle: As Long As You Smile
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loony_moony
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, semi-Tom/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Words: 19,005 (divided into two parts)
Summary: Jensen would not wear bananas on his head, so Jared makes him a gay beauty queen.
Disclaimer: I think they’d all kill me if they found out about this. Of course this is all product of my insane mind, made for no profit whatsoever.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
abouttwoboys for the “Miss Congeniality” prompt. I am so beyond deadline it's not even funny, and for that I'm very sorry. *paws feebly at katjad and setissma*
That said, this is the first fic I’ve ever really written, and certainly my first ever J2. The title is actually taken from the movie, one of Victor Melling’s lines. I’ve made some changes to the plot and characters though, especially since Jensen Ackles does not a Sandra Bullock make, unless I wrote him as a girl and hi, first fic, not ready to make the big leap yet. I also apologize ahead for any tasteless jokes, misuse of gay icons, and unnecessary cruelty towards Chad Michael Murry. I really do love him. Many thanks, hugs and kisses go totitti and lazy_daze for the beta, and katjad for general support and squeeage. :)
Part 1 | Part 2
As Long As You Smile
It’s not the baby oil, all ten million vats of it dumped on him in the last 24 hours. It’s not the skin-tight leather pants either, or the really tiny and slightly sheer underwear he’s currently wearing for the “bikini” part. It’s not even the manscaping, and God knows he barely got through that without going on a killing spree at the FBI HQs. No. It’s the fact that millions and millions of gay men are currently ogling his near-naked, overly primped, annoyed-as-hell self, while he is supposed to be doing his damn job, thank you very much. He’s going to kill Jared when this is over. Slowly.
-
Jensen is one of their best agents, and he knows it too. He's quick, sharp and he never loses his cool. He’s been in situations where 99% of the population would shit their pants, and he didn’t bat an eye. He is good, dedicated, and if he prefers his beer alone at the end of the day, then he damn well deserves it.
Not that Jared Padalecki gives a crap. But then, Jared is a real people person (read: he has no patience for personal space or time). It’s also probably why he ends up being Jensen’s new team head, despite being slightly younger than him. Well, that and his phenomenal crisis decision-making skills, as well as the fact he’s a machine while on a job. The way he’s going, he’s poised to go right to the top in a couple of years. Jensen’s pretty fucking glad to be working with him, but that does not mean Jared’s welcome to violate his personal space whenever he wants a beer by himself. Whenever he tries to get a beer by himself, Jared’s immediately there, like he’s one of Pavlov’s dogs and Jensen’s got a fucking bell around his neck.
Like today, for example. Good bust. Real good bust, if Jensen may say so himself. Scums didn’t stand a chance, the evidence was all around for a serious amount of human trafficking, and none of the agents got hurt. Jared timed it so well, they might have been a S.W.A.T team and not FBI agents on the move. So afterwards they all clapped each other’s backs, had a round of drinks together, and broke off gradually. Jensen’s at his usual joint, on his usual stool having his usual beer, trying to cool down from the high when of course he hears the heavy, ominous thud of footsteps behind his back, which means that – oh, there it is. One damned sweaty Padalecki paw landing between his shoulder blades, and thank god he had the sense to move the bottle away or he would’ve lost a tooth.
“I wouldn’t buy it a ring, you know. It’s only a beer bottle.” Jared never stops thinking that particular joke’s funny. Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Oh, shut up. A man’s allowed to have a wind-down at the end of the day.”
Of course, that's a bad thing to say, because Jared has a one-track mind, heading straight to the gutter like a mudslide. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and of course goes with it. “Now that’s a thought. Seeing anyone worth winding down your forever wound-up self?” He scans the crowd, then smiles when he spots someone he obviously deems good enough. In his demented brain, that is. “What about that trucker with the beer gut? You look like just the type to go for the grim, unshaven ones who wash once a month. You can even swap flannel shops!”
That’s another thing; Jared Padalecki is the only one in the entire team who always tries to hook Jensen up with someone, jokingly or not. He’s also the only one in the team who still gives a damn Jensen’s gay and not looking for anyone at the moment. Jensen still remembers the time when Jared watched “Queer as Folk” and called Brian Kinney a great, forward-thinking man. He then proceeded to talk enviously over a never-ending bottle of beer about all the sex gay men must be getting, despite Jensen’s monosyllabic, horrified answers. Had Jared been any other guy, Jensen would’ve put a lid on any kind of hetero-talking-homo talk faster than you could say loud, obnoxious jerk-off. But Jared really is a nice, decent guy, and most of the time Jensen likes him, and that’s saying a lot. He’s got an infectious smile that gets him almost whatever he wants, including Jensen’s forgiveness for whatever atrocities he’s performing on his personal life. He also has (sometimes) a sense of humor that almost compensates for calling Brian Kinney a great, forward-thinking man, among other unbelievably insane things he enjoys saying. So when Jared’s trying to matchmake him with every beer gut asshole he can find, Jensen just does what he usually does, which is ordering another bottle, and trying to ignore the craziness.
Jared notices this time, though, and sobers up a bit. “Really, now, Jensen, friend to a friend, why don’t you even try? I mean, even I, your average straight man, can see you’ve got something going on there underneath the agent-bot. Maybe you should try and loosen up, you know? Get changed, go to a gay bar, pick someone up. Surely you have no problem with that kind of thing, right? Even for a night, man. Just go get the edge off or something. You know, I’m sure I know someone--”
“--who you will not be introducing to me, Jared. No.” Jared’s arms start flailing around in protest, but Jensen’s had enough with this male bubba Jared is transforming into. “Leave it be. I don’t want to go to a gay bar, and I don’t want to pick up someone. I don’t want to peel off the agent-bot I am apparently wearing. I don’t want to talk about this and I want you to stop poking. I’m serious here.” He looks at Jared straight in the eye, and sees he's a little startled. “I like my job and my life just as they are. I don't see any reason for you to do this, and I don’t find it particularly funny. Go back to your place, hang out with your girlfriend, and let me stay the way I like.”
Jared gives him an unexpectedly quiet look. To any other person it would look like he’s just observing, but Jensen sees through it, sees the sadness and pity, and looks away quickly. He takes another swig from his bottle, and tries to ignore how his stomach knots up at Jared’s obvious disappointment.
“Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Jared’s smiling, but his tone is soft, like he’s admitted defeat. Jensen knows it’s temporary (maybe until the next beer gut shows up), but his hold on his Heineken relaxes anyway, and he smiles back. Conversation flows more freely after that, mostly because Jared seems to have given up on any chance of getting Jensen laid. It’s a couple of beers later when Jared starts raving about his great sexual skills in bed, which is usually Jensen’s stopping point. He shakes his head and laughs at Jared attempting to tell one of his sex stories, but failing at keeping his focus for more than ten seconds.
“Whatever, man. Go home, bang your girl. I’m sure she’s already starting to wonder why you’re spending so much time with me.”
“She totally doesn’t, for I am a sex god.” Jared does meditation fingers and looks at Jensen in a very serious, three sheets to the wind way. “I have patience, poise and precision, which never fail to keep her satisfied.” He knocks over Jensen’s beer bottle at that moment, which doesn’t really help his point, but gets Jensen chuckling anyway and pretty much puts a seal on the evening.
“Sure you do, Li Mu Bai. Now if you can keep your Green Dragon in your pants, we might not even get thrown out of the cab.”
Jared is warm next to him on the ride back, keeps an arm around his back at all times. Jensen’s just about drunk enough to not really care when Jared’s fingers absently rub circles on his left shoulder, but after Jared gets off the cab, he feels the loss of touch, warmth slipping away. Jensen gets in his apartment and goes into his bedroom, strips off his clothes and brushes his teeth. He thinks about maybe jerking off, but in truth, he’s too damn exhausted and drunk to really put any effort into it. His last thought before falling asleep is whether he likes Jared a little bit more than he should.
-
Jensen arrives the following day to an office already buzzing, agents flying around with papers. Something’s happening, and it’s big. He’s got a staff meeting in twenty minutes though, so in the meantime he just puts his briefcase on his table, fires up his computer and goes over his incoming tray when Jared stops by. Jensen looks up and resists the urge to swallow hard, because Jared’s got a smile so wide on his face he almost needs stitches. Jensen knows that kind of smile only means bad things to him. Potentially catastrophic things.
“Morning!” Did Jared just chirrup?
“Morning. How’re you doing?” Jensen is being polite. And cautious.
“I’m doing just fine, but really, I think it’s you who’s going to be smiling.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be anything but smiling? What’s going on?”
Jared shakes his head, hair flying everywhere. “Not telling. You’ll just have to wait till staff meeting for that. No spoilers.”
“Oh no, you’re not planning another office party, right? I’ve told you before. No one likes Carmen Miranda, even if you think you can charm people to walk around with fruit on their heads.” Jensen is particularly afraid of that specific fetish Jared seems to have, mostly because he knows that for him, it would mean walking with a lot of bananas on his head, with Jared chasing him around the office trying to peel and eat them. While they’re still on his head. He’s that subtle. And, well, gigantic.
Jared pouts at him. “But I would’ve had a banana crown made for you! Anyway, this has nothing to do with my awesome office parties.” Jensen snorts. “Shut up, everyone likes them!” Jensen just smirks.
Twenty minutes later, they’re all just settled into their chairs in the team room, when agent Ferris enters briskly, face pinched. Jensen knows that face means they’re about to deal with something she wishes they didn’t have to, but probably has on orders from above and can't avoid.
“Okay. We have a new development on the Anonymous case.” Everyone sits up at that – except for Jared, Jensen notices. Agent Ferris gives them all a very dry look, and continues.
“There’s another letter out, and intelligence already has a theory about it.” She flicks the screener on, and a document appears on the whiteboard behind her. “Now, although in the past we’ve had some serious timing issues with Anonymous-” That's a nice way of saying they’ve been unable to stop the attacks every damn time, Jensen thinks, “- we’ve caught this early enough to try and put a stop to it. According to intelligence decoding, a pageant called ‘Mr. Gay Universe’ is going to get blown up, and it’s going to happen in 72 hours or so. We’re on a deadline here, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Padalecki-” She points at Jared, “this is your show. Make me proud.”
Jared looks at her and nods, but she barely pays attention as she continues, “You have 12 hours to set up a team, get on with a plan and start executing it. Unfortunately, we have not been able to talk the organizers out of canceling the whole thing, since they’ve already sold the rights for it to be nationally broadcasted live. So whatever you decide to do has to happen before the thing starts. Keep me updated regularly.”
And with that she flies out of the room, chairs scraping on the floor as the rest of the agents stand. Jensen gets up slowly, already thinking up reasons why he should absolutely not be on this particular team, or directly participate in this particular project, when Jared yells over the backs of the rest of the agents in the room, who are clapping him on the shoulders: “Ackles, you’re on the team, stop thinking up excuses.”
Fuck it.
-
Jared is already going off a mile a minute when the team he’s chosen sits down in the small conference room, his arms flailing about. “Okay. So basically we have approximately 72 hours to prevent a massacre from happening. Anonymous is not known for small scale stuff.” He indicates to the wall behind him, currently acting as a timeline for a series of extremely violent, well-thought-out attacks of various occasions.
“Whoever they are, they always target events concerning racial, gender or sexually oriented groups. Since this time we have a lead on the when and where, I’m thinking a team located at the premises and another one ready on the dispatch, in case we actually get a shot at catching the bastard.”
“Do you think that’s enough, though?” asks Jensen, unable to stop himself.
Jared turns to him, face completely serious. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, unless they’ve hired extra muscle, this thing looks wide open for inside work to me. Anonymous might be there already and we don’t know.” The atmosphere in the room becomes considerably tenser at his words. Jared frowns.
“Good point. This means, however, that we’ll need an undercover agent, at least for a while, in the pageant.” He stills for a moment, then smiles so widely, Jensen can almost feel the words hovering in the air before Jared actually says them. “Ackles, you’re in. We’ll turn you into a contestant.”
Fuck!
“No, no, no. No way, and if you say it’s because of my sexual preference I will report it to Ferris.”
Jared throws his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s nothing of the sort. You’re it, because you’re the only other person on this team who could pass for a contestant but me, and you know I can’t supervise and go undercover.” Jensen looks around the room, taking in the rest of the team: two women, and another six men, all of them either overweight, too old or just too…male FBI agents who’ve been way too busy doing things other than trying to become attractive in the eyes of gay men. Which is a damn tragedy in Jensen’s opinion, because it leaves only him, exactly as Jared so annoyingly stated, despite the fact Jensen’s really not been trying to make himself look attractive either.
“Okay, then pick someone out of the team. Use the database. Or if you must, make me a crew guy, anything. Just not a damn contestant in a gay pageant!”
“Then I’ll just have to tell Ferris you don’t need any more field work, since you’re so intimidated by it. Feel like doing paperwork for the next three months?”
Jensen grits his teeth so hard at that he’s sure he’ll have none left by the time he’s thirty. “Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll be the gay beauty queen, and you’ll finally see me wearing a crown like you’ve always wanted.” Jensen never plays the gay card, but this time he can’t resist batting his eyelashes just a little, enough to ruffle Jared’s feathers. Jared’s eyes narrow in reply, and the entire room splutters a little. They’re not used to Jensen actually cracking a joke.
-
“Need a spot?”
Jensen is working the free weights in the FBI gym. Everyone knows this is a clear 'stay away from Ackles, for Ackles is so pissed off, it’s a good thing he has free weights instead of your damned head to pound' sign. Anyone who isn’t Jared, that is. Jensen heaves the one fifty pounds back to the metal supports and sighs, stretches his biceps and chest.
“It’s probably a good thing you’re working out. Can’t let the other guys in the pageant steal your thunder.”
Jensen is not going to dignify that with a response. He clamps his mouth shut and sits up on the bench. Every other guy in his vicinity immediately takes two steps back, but Jared isn’t even fazed.
“I mean, those guys have to be pretty packing, right? Flat abs and puffy pecs and all that shit, like in those Dolce & Gabbana ads. Oh, dude. Don’t forget to work on your glutes too, otherwise you’ll never get on the final five.”
Oh, that is just it.
“Do you want me to report you to Ferris, Jared? Seriously? ‘Cause don’t think I won’t.” And now that he gets to think a little about what Jared said - “Also, what are you doing, looking at Dolce & Gabbana ads?”
Jared suddenly blushes a little. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment. “Uh, well, I needed to do some research. For research purposes, you know, for gay things.”
Jensen is tempted to say ‘maybe you should start with your own closet, since I know it used to be full of nothing but flowery pink button downs’, but he is the better man here and he’ll stay that way, damn it. So he just deadpans back. “Gay things?”
“Helps profiling whoever stands out in the environment.” Jared is making his ‘I’m Jared Padalecki and I’m so competent you can bet your ass I’ll save the day’ face and Jensen isn’t buying it for one second.
“Environment? Jared, this isn’t a damn safari! Anonymous isn’t going to walk around with a t-shirt saying ‘Your assfucking makes Baby Jesus cry’! Next thing you’ll tell me my undercover name is ‘Eye Candy McHotass’ so I could blend in, or something equally retarded.”
When Jared winces and scuffs his toes, Jensen jumps up and grabs his towel. “You're officially the last person I want to deal with in this entire goddam planet.”
Jared chooses that moment to grab Jensen’s wrist as he turns away, which is just the last straw. Because if Jensen wants to go, he can at least do that. He seems to have no other choices in his life lately. So Jensen reacts by twisting around, and trying to flip Jared over the mattresses. But yeah, that’s kind of a problem when you don’t have enough leverage, and the guy you’re trying to flip over is six foot five, all fucking muscles. Jensen suddenly finds himself pinned to those muscles, seething.
“Dammit, Jen! Stop it!” Jared is clutching him so hard from behind, Jensen’s sure to have blue marks tomorrow. Not that he cares.
“No…fucking…way!” He finally gets enough leverage and throws Jared to the ground in a painful sounding crash. He pins his arms, using all of his weight. And then Jared pulls his most awful secret weapon: the puppy eyes.
“It’s all in motion already! We have to do this!” And his lower lip wobbles. Jensen loses concentration just for a second, and finds himself pinned to the ground the next one. And everyone in the gym is going to watch how his dignity crashes and burns now, aren’t they.
“Do I have to keep the name?”
Jared’s smirking, and oh, how Jensen would just love wiping that off his face.
“Yeah, you have to keep the name.”
-
When the pageant coach enters the room, Jensen’s fairly sure he’s going to go blind from the gayness. The man is so incredibly campy, he’s like a full pride parade in a suit, radiating “QUEEN” to outer space. Jensen wants to hide somewhere, and even Jared seems slightly dazed. However, at least he has the sense to keep smiling, openly and friendly. Jensen’s facial expression probably borders on blowfish.
Jared ambles forward, holding out a hand. “Mr. Kressley, I presume. Nice to meet you.”
The other man flings himself forward enthusiastically, clasping Jared’s enormous hand with both of his. “Please, please, oh god, please, tell me you’re agent Ackles, because if you are, I must’ve been a really good cockroach in my last life.”
Jared chuckles and blushes slightly. “Sadly, no. Agent Ackles is currently hiding behind my back, probably because you’re the first gay man he’s seen in the last decade and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.” Jensen pokes Jared hard in the back, straightens up and walks around him, holding out his hand as well. “Jensen Ackles, pleased to meet you.”
The other man frowns. “Carson Kressley, but you may call me your lord and savior, because darling, you’re a diamond, but rough much?” He looks Jensen up and down. “Lots of rough. Dear me, it’s a good thing you’re an FBI agent because otherwise the gay police would’ve detained you for crimes against the rainbow nation.” Jared hides a laugh behind his hand, the jerk, and Jensen tries and fails not to turn bright red.
“I’m an FBI agent, Mr. Kressley. I don’t have time to spa and shop,” Jensen informs him, scowling.
“And yet the fine, upstanding specimen of a man standing right next to you, who probably has the same job you do, still manages to look like he could attract the gender of his choice. Hopefully his own gender?” Carson sidles up to Jared, who finally looks embarrassed too and coughs slightly into his hand.
“No, sorry. I’m all about the women. Also, I’m his boss, agent Jared Padalecki.”
Carson gives him a long look and then smirks a little. “Sure you are, hon.” He turns back to Jensen. “So, I have 24 hours to make you look like something other gay men would ogle, right? God, I wish you called me sooner. I’m not sure we’ll make it on time.” He reaches out to pet Jensen’s hair, and Jensen slaps his hand away.
“Now, none of that, pretty boy. You’d better get used to being touched, because I can assure you, there’s no place in your body that isn’t going to get touched very, very soon.”
And with those ominous words, he starts steering Jensen into the warehouse behind him, and for the first time in a very long time since he’s started his job, Jensen is afraid. He looks back at Jared with a clear “HELP ME” expression on his face, but Jared just waves cheerfully and takes out his cellphone, probably informing the rest of the team to start digging for the cameras.
-
When Jensen first got scouted by the FBI, he was still a criminology major, and freshly out of the closet. The offer sounded interesting enough, even if it meant working for the government. But then, Jensen knew he was going to be government-oriented in his field anyway, so why not go straight for the source, so to speak. He went into training: long, tedious hours in a dim classroom, alternating with physical sessions in a gym room, all spent in the company of the same nondescript, bigoted-seeming people. Jensen constantly felt exposed. Felt too gay, too flashy. He knew he wasn’t dressed any differently than the rest of the future agents, for example, but somehow his jeans and buttoned shirt transformed into a sequin suit and a feather boa in front of the other people.
So he toned down everything about himself; he grew a beard which he actually liked, started wearing big overshirts, even literally kept his head down. No one will look at him and think “oooooh, he’s GAY” now. He’s just like everyone else in the agency.
So when the warehouse door slides closed behind his back, and when the lights click on, Jensen has a sudden powerful urge to turn back and break world records in sprint. The place looks like a makeshift surgery room, complete with bright, white lights, a lot of people in white aprons and a dentist chair in the middle surrounded by tables full of shiny, sharp implements. Jensen’s fucking terrified, back fully pressed into the steel wall behind him, but Carson just rolls his eyes and sighs massively, grabbing him and manhandling him towards that scary, scary chair. He calls out two names Jensen doesn’t recognize, and two burly men who look like they could probably tow trucks with their own hands step forward and grab Jensen as well, almost hefting him onto the chair and his doom. Above him, Carson points out to the cluster of white-clad people around.
“Manicure, pedicure, waxing, hair, facial, teeth, make up, tanning, manscaping, piercing?”
Jensen squeaks in terror.
“Just kidding, sugarlips. Or am I?” Carson smirks widely at him, then looks back up, fussing. “Go go go!”
Then, the pain starts. It seems like a perfectly timed cosmetic medieval torture session, because the minute they’re done doing his nails using what feels like a scythe, they move to his legs and his back and his chest with the hot wax. Jensen had seen “40 Year Old Virgin”, and fervently promised himself he’d never ever do that to his own body, even though he’s not half as hairy as Steve Carell. That promise went out of the window along with what seemed to be most of his body hair. When the evil woman with the wax strips nears his crotch, however, he draws the line. Carson just snorts in his face and summons the next inquisitor wannabe who’s in charge of manscaping, a term Jensen’s never known up to that point, and wishes he could forget right this moment.
Then, he’s forced into a tanning bed for what seems like an eternity, and probably comes out looking like a freckled lobster (so he freckles, big deal). After that comes the cruel facial lady who tsks at his skin (oh, the beard is long gone at that point), and the hair guy who sighs heavily at his ‘do, and Jensen suddenly really feels like a teenaged girl who never gets asked to dance at the prom, what with his self esteem down the drain. Then come teeth (oh, god) and make up, and then the last guy, but Jensen really doesn’t want to think about that at the moment.
When he sees the final outcome of this painful process in the mirror, Jensen’s struck dumb for a few moments, highly doubtful it’s actually him staring back. When it sinks in, though, he’s still speechless, doesn’t know what to do with his arms or legs. Carson steps behind him, his reflection joining Jensen’s own in the mirror. His smile borders on smugly satisfied, but still manages to be kind and understanding.
“Not used to seeing yourself looking so good, huh?” Carson smoothes a hand down a small wrinkle on Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen tracks the motion with his eyes. His shirt feels three sizes too tight, but in the mirror it looks like it fits just right. Perfect.
Months after the project ends, Jensen will probably still wake up in cold sweat, remembering vaguely a dream about people in white advancing on him, waving needles and pokers and hot wax strips, and he can’t run away, can’t hide. But when he looks at himself, and touches a hand to the smooth, newly-softened skin of his face, Jensen feels for a moment there like maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.
-
Jared is waiting by the warehouse, 24 hours later. The jet is parked, waiting to start the engines the moment Jensen finally comes out. Jared would’ve come in already and ask what the hell is holding him up, but the Carson guy came out and shooed him away like an angry gay ostrich. So he waits outside, looking at his watch from time to time.
Then, the door finally opens, and Jared looks up from his watch, and whoa. Hold that thought, because after the whole cosmetic army finally files out, this really fucking hot guy is walking and… No. It can’t be. It fucking is Jensen, and there’s definitely some staring going on. Jared’s straight as they come (hey, he’s got a girlfriend and the sex is awesome), but dear lord. If he would ever, ever switch teams, even for one night, this is the guy he’d do it for (Jared had always thought he’d do it for Brad Pitt, but he doesn’t go for hair smelling like children’s vomit, or feels like hiding from Angelina Jolie on a blood vendetta).
Jared’s previous opinion of Jensen was that he was a pretty attractive guy, but also a guy who didn’t give a damn about the way he looked. He wears suits that do nothing to his physique, and jeans so ancient they have no shape. He barely keeps his hair tidy, and he doesn’t shave. And for God’s sake, the flannel he wears in his free time. So again, Jared is totally and completely straight, but he also knows that appearance is half the job when it comes to making a good impression. After a few despairing sessions in various men's stores, and after landing on a good hairstylist, he knows he looks as sharp as they come. He looks capable, charismatic and very corporate. He also knows this goes a long way for him with his bosses and that position he’s going to be offered if he gets this operation done quick and clean. He wants the best for Jensen too, though, which is why he’s pushed him into this. He hopes Jensen might learn a lesson or two about looking groomed from all of this, might step it up instead of going through the motions.
However, there’s stepping it up, and then there’s the way Jensen’s looking right now. It’s not powerful corporate so much as gay porn magazine centerfold (shut up), and it’s…overwhelmingly hot. With the phenomenally well-fitting jeans and the shirt that tightens up exactly where it should (which is everywhere), and Jared looks up from Jensen’s apparently perfect pecs (which he just didn’t know existed) to his face and god, did he really have those lips and those cheekbones all this time?
Jared needs to rethink it all.
And maybe readjust his pants a little, because they’re suddenly…tight.
Jensen walks up to him with his small cosmetic army in tow. He has a murderous glare that is slightly hindered by his perfectly glowing, tanned skin. “Say one word. One word ,and I swear heads will roll. I’m tired, I’m in pain and I want a fucking doughnut.” Mr. Kressley gasps audibly.
“I swear, if you even smell a doughnut until the end of the pageant, I will cut off your fucking balls, FBI agent or not.”
Jared sees Jensen’s fingers tighten around his gun, then relax again, and massages his temples. This is going to be a long, long project.
-
They’ve just arrived at the pageant compound in Miami, when Carson suddenly grabs Jensen’s left shoulder and whispers, “Okay, remember two things: be respectful and above all, be gay.”
Jensen yanks his shoulder out from the death-grip, still very irritated. He can see those two idiots coming his way like two extremely decaffeinated elephants just as well. “Shut up, queen bee. I know who they are, okay?”
‘They’ are the pageant’s main man and his right hand. They both look exactly as they do in their FBI database pictures, just smarmy enough for Jensen to be entirely convinced that a) they’ve only been organizing this stupid competition because they want to ogle the pretty boys they’ll never get to fuck otherwise, and b) he really should’ve slept on the jet in order to have kept his cool, instead of succumbing into Carson’s whining and watching one pageant after another, complete with sound effects provided by His Gay Majesty. Jared sitting on the other end of the jet, smirking at him the whole flight, including when they were going over formations and info updates, really did not help to lift his level of Zen.
The guy in front stops a few feet away from Jensen, looking at him from head to toe. The guy behind mimics him, only his leering is obviously more about assessing Jensen’s dick rather than assessing his entire body and his dick. By the time they both finish raping him with their eyes, Jensen feels a strong urge to shower. In holy water.
In his earpiece, Jared says: “operation buttplug is off”, then laughs hugely, and Jensen grits his teeth to the point of jaw-locking, a habit that’ll probably take months to get rid of. It started when Jared handed him his temporary ID under the name “I.C. McHotass” (in all seriousness too), which made Jensen damn near bite through his tongue.
“So, agent Ackles, I presume?” the front guy asks in a tone so condescending, Jensen immediately wants to kick his ass.
He lays on the charm instead. “Yes. Mr. Curry, right?” He holds out his hand with a nice, friendly smile to match his nice, friendly countenance.
The guy shakes his hand, looking like he swallowed a basket of lemons, wicker included. “Indeed, and the flub behind me is Perez.”
Perez gives Jensen a small wave, and a big ol’ lecherous smile. Great.
“You will join the pageant as Mr. Texas, since the little shit has decided that entering a national gay pageant is just the time to OD on meth. You will join the rest of the contestants in the bus. Five minutes ago. Perez will show you the way.” Perez crooks a finger at Jensen in a way that almost has visible slime dripping off it. Jensen rolls his eyes and follows him, a firm ten feet behind.
-
By the time Jensen arrives at the bus, all the other contestants have already arrived. He climbs up, ignoring the squeeze on his left asscheek (courtesy of Perez, of course), and searches for an empty seat. The guy sitting next to the only one left waves him over enthusiastically, and Jensen awkwardly sits down. The guy, however, doesn’t seem to sense Jensen’s desperate wish to be anywhere but in this one specific bus, and starts talking.
“Hi, you must be our missing Mr. Texas. What’s your name? I know everyone else’s names from the website.”
Jensen boggles a little at that, but the guy just gives him a disarming smile, so he goes with it. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He coughs. “Mr. Texas, that is. Name’s Irwin, but you can call me I.C.”
“Icy? As in Mr. Ice Princess?” chirps a bald guy behind them.
“Shut up, Mike. We’re not drunk enough to start laughing at your jokes.” The guy next to Jensen rolls his eyes impressively. “I’m Tom Welling,” he coughs, “uh, sorry. Tom Wellhung, Mr. Nebraska, and the complete and utter douchebag behind us is Mike Rosielips, Mr. Rhode Island.”
Mike swats Tom on the head in response. “So, Icy, what brings you to the warm shores of Miami? Looking for some beach time, or trying to find your one true love, like Tommy here?”
The guy’s clearly already on something, Jensen is sure of it.
“Um, I’m just here for the competition. Sounds like a sweet deal, you know, the prize…”
Mike puts a hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh, Icy, how you disappoint me. And here I thought I could sway you into a stormy romance full of sucking face and kinky sex.”
The guy next to Mike starts from his sleep. “Did someone say sex?”
“We most certainly did. Chad, meet Mr. Icy. He’s from Texas, so the name’s spot on. Icy my dear, meet Mr. California, Chad Moneyfuck, aka the guy who slept with everyone to get here.”
“Did not,” Chad squints indignantly (or maybe just squints. His eyes are really small). “I’d eat pussy before fucking that walking talking vomitorium, Perez.”
“So you do eat pussy, then. I always suspected,” Mike says over Jensen basically choking on his tongue, Jared laughing in his ears. The bus roars into life, but no one can hear it over the deafening club music that suddenly starts playing inside.
-
They’re all settling down for a luncheon half of the guys don’t touch (and the rest probably puke afterwards), when Mr. Curry saunters onstage. Everyone around Jensen abandons pretending they’re even remotely interested in the food (food? Ha, lettuce salads buffet), and start clapping politely. Curry looks at all of them like they’re deranged and/or stupid. Which is a fair assumption, as far as Jensen can tell.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
Someone wolf-whistles at that. Mr. Curry scowls.
“Seeing as you’re all finally here--” He gives Jensen a (completely redundant, thank you!) look. “We can now start the preparations for the live broadcast. Dance rehearsal starts in half an hour.” And suddenly, Jared apparently can’t hear that (monumentally important, surely) speech, and manually reboots Jensen’s earpiece, which nearly deafens him.
“Oh jeez!”
“Sorry!” Jared yells in his ear, and Jensen finds out he’s in the middle of the reception floor, his hands on his head, and everyone’s staring at him. He coughs nervously.
“I mean, oh please. Like we weren’t born ready, right guys?” He looks around. Tom comes to his aid by pumping his fist up, causing the rest of the room to follow.
Of course Mr. Curry looks as if the idiocy might just finish him off, but Jensen is too relieved to actually care.
-
Jensen finds out fifteen minutes into the first rehearsal for the broadcast that he really, really hates being gay. Not the part where he fucks men; the part where he’s supposed to be able to move to “gay” music, making “gay” moves, while wearing clothes (those are clothes, right?) that will attract the other gays. He really, really hates that part of his sexual orientation. The instructor in front of him is alternating between rolling his hips in a way that almost dislocates Jensen’s pelvis when he tries it, and shimmying so fast Jensen’s neck cricks when he watches it.
No one said anything about dancing. Dear god, wasn’t the manscaping enough? Must he humiliate himself in front of all and sundry, which will inevitably make him fall over, which will inevitably also cause his pants (he’s still not sure they’re pants, so much as leather leggings, and isn’t that a comforting thought) to split, and then he will have to move to another country.
Next to him, Tom moves like his ass has a life of its own, giving him an encouraging smile. Jensen swallows down the self loathing a little, and tries the routine again.
-
Jensen also discovers during afternoon tea (if anyone weren’t sure this was a gay pageant) that the rest of the guys aren’t as bad as he’s previously thought. Tom spends most of his time trying to win the “Nicest Fucking Guy Ever” title, he’s so forthcoming. Mike spends most of his time inventing increasingly insane come-ons to throw at Tom’s head (one of them was literally a chocolate box chucked at Tom’s face, and Jensen had no idea where it came from). Chad tries to sneak off all the time, presumably to snooze somewhere, sleep with someone or snort something. And Chris constantly annoys everyone with an exaggerated Southern twang and renditions of a very gay Johnny Cash. Jensen learns in his first half hour never to ask Chris about Johnny Cash, because that makes him launch into a full rant about how his lonely man songs were all about homosexuality in denial and if only he got a good fuck right up the ass he might not have been quite so depressed. Which in Jensen’s mind qualifies Chris for a strait jacket, in a manner of speaking.
But he likes them. They’re all nice guys, despite being insane and flamboyant. They all get along together pretty great, and though this place has the potential to be a bitchy hell, Jensen sees mostly genuine kindness and support, as if everyone silently agrees this is not an easy place to be in, so they don’t step on any toes, figuratively and literally. That only strengthens his need to protect them from whatever’s coming, but trouble is he has no idea where to start looking.
-
They’ve just finished the check in, just finished the rehearsals, and Jensen feels like he could probably swallow a whole cow like a boa constrictor, and then sleep for three months. He gets to his room and there’s his bed, looking so fluffy and inviting, he can almost feel how his head sinks into the pillow, and—
“Irwin!”
No.
“Not now, Jared. No. I’m going to bed because I haven’t slept in 48 hours. I need my beauty sleep, remember?” Jensen would normally sneer, but somehow it got beaten out of him today, along with what feels like the rest of his masculinity.
Jared smiles at him apologetically. “Sorry man, Carson wants to see you in the main hall.”
“I can’t deal with Carson right now. Doesn’t he need to go to his room too, you know? Hibernate in face cream or something?”
Jared’s smile twitches wider for a second, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“Apparently not until he feels assured that you’re capable of not strangling the judges during interview phase.”
Jensen turns and trudges miserably back in the direction he came from.
-
Jared is in the FBI team’s room, watching through the hidden cameras the eighteen different shades of purple Carson turns when Jensen informs him tiredly that he has no talent bit. He jumps off his chair, nearly upends his steaming cup of coffee on the keyboards and runs towards the main hall, where he’s sure to find one Jensen Ack—sorry, Irwin McHotass on the warpath.
“Jared!” comes the shout in stereo as he enters the big room, and sure enough, there’s Carson in the middle of the stage, right in the spotlight, and there’s Jensen, right by the table where the food used to be. And they’re both livid.
“If I’m continuing this ridiculousness, I demand at least one. Fucking. Doughnut.”
“Oh shut up, you whiny girl.” Carson snarls at him, and one part of Jared thinks huh, kind of pot calling kettle black, but most of him is busy bodily restraining Jensen from inflicting very serious physical harm.
Carson, however, continues unperturbed. “Why haven’t you informed him he has to perform? Wasn’t the term ‘gay pageant’ enough of a warning that he’s required to present a little more than his dick to all and sundry?” Jensen stops fighting in Jared’s arms, but now he looks like he’s about to faint. Jared knows he technically has no reason to continue holding Jensen, seeing as he’s stopped trying to wriggle away from him and rip Carson limb from limb, but his arms seem to have a mind of their own. He forces himself to let go of Jensen all the same, even if Jensen does insist on smelling so good and his warmth is so inviting, which draws Jared into him like a freaking bee to pollen. He stands close, and scratches his head. “We didn’t get to that. Listen, can’t he just wing it? I’m sure there are ways to get around this with a reasonable amount of cheating.”
Carson rolls his eyes expressively. “Sure there are ways, but unless Irwin here knows how to pop ping pong balls from various orifices of his admittedly hot body, I’m at a loss.” There’s a strangled noise from Jared’s side which pretty much ascertains Jensen does not possess that particular talent. Jared turns to him, tries to school a smile without the edge of desperation this conversation is inspiring in him (not to mention Jensen and balls in the same sentence, which Jared’s lower brain seems to like. A lot).
“Can’t you think of any talent you might have? Singing? Dancing? Reading a monologue? Baton twirling?”
Jensen looks at him like he’s sprouted another head. “Jared, I was a criminology major in university. Does that sound to you like an artist prep program?”
“Well then, can you do anything unusual? Anything at all?” Jared thinks he knows the answer, considering the guy wouldn’t even wear bananas on his head on a regular day at the office, but is surprised when Jensen blushes a little, and there’s a bit of staring going on again. It has only partly to do with Jensen being able to provide a solution, although Jared would never admit that.
“Uh, well. There’s this one thing...”
-
The preliminaries have been quiet so far, unless you count the obnoxiously loud music, the cheesy loud host, and oh yeah, the hundreds of wolf-whistles every goddamn minute. Jensen tries not to look in the mirror too much, because whenever he catches a reflection of himself, all he sees is an orange alien dressed in tight white leather chaps. And no shirt.
Leather seems to be the current uniform in the pageant. Mike is onstage at the moment, performing a frankly nightmare-inducing rendition of “I’m Too Sexy”, which includes, but is not limited to, constantly rubbing his shiny, oiled, bald head. Tom is standing right next to him, waiting to do his Laker Boys routine, wearing leather hotpants, and Christian behind him is dressed like Elvis on acid. You know, more than usual.
It feels way too soon when Mike actually finishes scarring the viewers’ retinas, because it’s Jensen’s turn next.
“Please give a warm welcome to our Texas cowboy, I.C. McHotass!”
The mechanical bull isn’t spinning very fast, but Jensen makes what he can out of it anyway. He’s just about undulating for the millionth time when he sees a suspicious looking guy in the vicinity of the stage. Suspicious, as in he is absolutely not dressed like he’s ready for the White Party after the preliminaries. As in, he has a humungous-ass crucifix on his black t-shirt and he wears three watches on his right hand. Jensen stops holding onto his tacky Stetson, and flails one arm toward Jared, trying to emote “danger, Will Robinson, danger!”
But yeah, he’s spinning on a mechanical bull in white chaps and almost nothing more, so it probably looks more like he’s taking it to the next step towards a “Boys Gone Wild” video rather than stopping a bombing from happening. So when he sees Jared is just staring at him for no good reason instead of doing something about it, Jensen takes initiative and leaps off the bull in a move he’s going to really regret in about half an hour or so.
“Everyone back! He’s got a bomb!” There’s a flurry of screams and people running around, and Jensen is jumping onto the suspicious guy, only to find out that those watches? Yeah, there’s one but the rest are actually tacky leather straps with huge stones in the middle, and the crucifix? It’s made of glitter.
Ouch.
-
Jared is unable to hold back his smile by the time he finishes recounting today’s event: “All in all, not your brightest move, man. I thought you said he wasn’t going to wear a shirt talking about Baby Jesus.”
Oh, very funny, seeing as Jensen is currently sitting in a room full of hysterically laughing agents and his ass pretty much dipped in ice. He grunts in response.
“So we’re still going with the original plan. Jensen, you have another coaching with Carson,” Jensen grunts again, this time in real pain. “The rest of us will go back to our stations. Ferris is coming over for an emergency meeting soon, and I, for one, like my privates attached to my body.” Jared helps him get up while the team idly settles back in front of the monitors, puts a hand on his shoulder on the way out.
“Listen, if you need someone to talk to, come by after the coaching. I’ll still be around.” Jared has a sheepish smile, and Jensen wonders what he’s planning now.
“And where are you going?”
“I,” he smiles widely, and it’s like the lights around it fucking dim, “am going for a swim.”
-
Jared watches the beginning of Jensen’s coaching with Carson just to make sure they’re not about to maim each other, then shakes his head and leaves the temporary HQs. He goes to his room and changes into swimming trunks and a bathrobe. This day is pretty much a disaster, and it’ll all fall on his head when Ferris arrives. His promised promotion is pretty much in the trash, he knows it. ADs don’t let their undercover agents break team and threaten innocent civilians, especially on national television. Not to mention the real culprit isn’t even close to being caught, which grates on Jared’s nerves more than he cares to admit. They’ve been around this pageant for more than a day, scoured all the place, leaving no stone unturned, and yet Anonymous is still at large somewhere, probably with enough explosives to fly them all to the moon.
The whole situation also takes a decidedly disturbing turn when Jensen pops into his head. It’s one thing to stare at the guy when he comes out all “Playguy”-ready from that warehouse, but it’s a whole other thing to see him on that mechanic bull and almost get dizzy from how fast his blood was rushing south. But damn, when Jensen started riding that thing like he was born to do it in those chaps, holding to his hat like a rodeo pro or something, his fucking nipple ring glinting in the sunlight, Jared pretty much fell off his chair. He was almost grateful when Jensen decided to lose his mind and go crowd-swimming, because Jared wasn’t sure how much more he could stand sitting around, supposedly doing his job while all the time sporting one of the biggest erections in the history of mankind. Just thinking about now it makes him harden, and though he’d love to have a long, leisurely jerk off, he is still on duty, and in his present screwed-up state, an orgasm just isn’t going to cut it. He desperately wills it down, and hopes the exercise might take his mind off this situation for a while, gather some perspective.
-
“For the last fucking time, ‘to end AIDS’ is the dumbest fucking answer ever created, Carson. Ever!”
Jensen’s ass is in real pain, but not as much as Carson is being with this dumb pageant.
“It doesn’t matter. That’s what they want to hear! Now play along and we’ll all get to not look like zombies tomorrow.” Carson’s eyes are beginning to look so strained, his lines breaking through the botox and collagen.
“Play along? Play alo—I’m a motherfucking FBI agent 24/7, not a performing monkey!”
At which Carson finally explodes. “Oh yeah? Because the way I see it, you might as well be one. Look at you, all about the job. In place of friends and a relationship, you have your sarcasm and a gun. Fabulous trade-off, that one.”
And Jensen suddenly remembers that yeah, he has a gun, and he pulls it out. “I’ve just about had it with all of you guys. I’ve had it with the primping and the trimming and the damn dancing.” Jensen waves the gun in his face, and Carson finally looks afraid. “Now, you will let me go. You will let me get some sleep, and by God, you will let me have a doughnut. Because if you don’t, I swear I’m going to claim temporary insanity based on cruel and inhuman treatment when I shoot you in the face.”
He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he grabs a doughnut anyway, tears off his earpiece and camera, and exits the hall quickly. Jensen knows that if he turns his head back, just for a second, he’ll see Carson wearing the same expression Jared does whenever he gives up even on throttling him into logic.
True to his word, Jared is still in the pool when Jensen storms into the roofed area. He grabs the nearest thing to him, which happens to be one of Jared’s shoes and throws it as hard as he can into the water.
“Motherfucker!” Jared spews water all over, as the shoe almost brains him.
“I fucking quit. I’ve had it with this insanity. I’ve also had it with you guys trying to change me. All I want to do right now is go back to my apartment and never come out.”
Jared shakes his head, wet hair flying around. “Wait a second,” he says as he quickly gets out of the pool.
For a nano-second there Jensen forgets what he was angry about in the first place. Okay, maybe slightly longer than a nano-second. Not his fault Jared has a trance-inducing body, right? Guy is tall as a fucking tree, and he’s so well-built he could probably give most of those Hollywood heartthrobs a run for their money. He’s got a perfect chest, currently dripping water, and those trunks are definitely not hiding the fact he’s packing enough to be a porn star. Jensen is well within his rights to stare a little, he thinks. Then Jared wraps a towel around himself, and Jensen returns to the world of the living. He sits down on one of the lounging chairs, and Jared parks on the nearest one.
“What happened? I know you weren’t a happy camper before, and God knows I’m about to be fucking humiliated in half an hour or so by Ferris because of today’s events,” Jensen buries his head in his hands, at that, but Jared just goes on, voice gentle, “but I know you can do this, man. You’re fucking overqualified to do this. What’s the big deal?”
To be honest, Jensen doesn’t know why it gets to him so much. Sure, it’s been humiliating and impossibly horrible, but so have been other operations before. Even then he was tired and cranky, but this time, it’s different. It’s hitting too close to home, starting with his own image and going through everyone snooping into his private life. This place, and this pageant with all the other guys competing in it, all seems surreal to him, and Jensen would die before admitting it, but it also has to do with him not quite believing he looks like that. That other people think he looks like that. That Jared might have possibly thought he looked like that before Carson dragged him into that warehouse. He still hasn’t answered Jared’s question, but Jared senses what’s on his mind somehow, scooting a little closer and putting a wet hand over his probably hideously expensive shirt.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, aren’t you? Jensen, you’re smart, and you’re funny. You are one of the sharpest guys in the entire office, and that includes our bosses, believe it or not. You’ve got so much to offer, man, and that’s even without me starting about the way you’ve been looking the past couple of days. Whatever’s bothering you about this thing, don’t let it get to you, because there’s absolutely no reason to.”
Jensen finally ventures a look up at Jared’s face. He’s blushing a little, but the look in his eyes is sincere. Confident. Jensen’s breath goes funny for a moment, then relaxes back. He nods at Jared, scratches at the back of his neck, and gets up. “Thanks, man.”
Jared’s smile is easy, and he pushes off the lounge chair, peeling off his towel. Jensen watches him do it, breath suddenly gone faster. Jared hears the slight hitch, turns to look at him curiously, and stills at what he sees. His eyes widen, and he reaches out a hand, looking as if he’s not aware of even doing it. Jensen takes a tiny step forward, and for a moment, he feels something. Jared’s hand stops, his eyes unreadable, but then his smile widens and he starts backing Jensen towards – no.
He says so. “No. Jared. No. My clothes, they probably cost a fortune, and—” Jared grasps his shirt and jumps back into the pool, pulling Jensen right with him, designer jeans and all. He bursts out of the water to see Jared dying of laughter, shaking his head like a dog. “Oh, you’re in so much trouble.” He splutters.
Jared just gives him a devil-may-care smile, and Jensen is absolutely not staring.
“When Carson finds you, you’re a dead man.” He climbs out of the pool, shuddering a little in the cool air.
“Whatever. Wow, wet is definitely a good look on you!”
“Shut up.”
Part 2
Author:
loony_moonyPairing: Jared/Jensen, semi-Tom/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Words: 19,005 (divided into two parts)
Summary: Jensen would not wear bananas on his head, so Jared makes him a gay beauty queen.
Disclaimer: I think they’d all kill me if they found out about this. Of course this is all product of my insane mind, made for no profit whatsoever.
A/N: Written for
abouttwoboys for the “Miss Congeniality” prompt. I am so beyond deadline it's not even funny, and for that I'm very sorry. *paws feebly at katjad and setissma* That said, this is the first fic I’ve ever really written, and certainly my first ever J2. The title is actually taken from the movie, one of Victor Melling’s lines. I’ve made some changes to the plot and characters though, especially since Jensen Ackles does not a Sandra Bullock make, unless I wrote him as a girl and hi, first fic, not ready to make the big leap yet. I also apologize ahead for any tasteless jokes, misuse of gay icons, and unnecessary cruelty towards Chad Michael Murry. I really do love him. Many thanks, hugs and kisses go to
titti and lazy_daze for the beta, and katjad for general support and squeeage. :)Part 1 | Part 2
As Long As You Smile
It’s not the baby oil, all ten million vats of it dumped on him in the last 24 hours. It’s not the skin-tight leather pants either, or the really tiny and slightly sheer underwear he’s currently wearing for the “bikini” part. It’s not even the manscaping, and God knows he barely got through that without going on a killing spree at the FBI HQs. No. It’s the fact that millions and millions of gay men are currently ogling his near-naked, overly primped, annoyed-as-hell self, while he is supposed to be doing his damn job, thank you very much. He’s going to kill Jared when this is over. Slowly.
-
Jensen is one of their best agents, and he knows it too. He's quick, sharp and he never loses his cool. He’s been in situations where 99% of the population would shit their pants, and he didn’t bat an eye. He is good, dedicated, and if he prefers his beer alone at the end of the day, then he damn well deserves it.
Not that Jared Padalecki gives a crap. But then, Jared is a real people person (read: he has no patience for personal space or time). It’s also probably why he ends up being Jensen’s new team head, despite being slightly younger than him. Well, that and his phenomenal crisis decision-making skills, as well as the fact he’s a machine while on a job. The way he’s going, he’s poised to go right to the top in a couple of years. Jensen’s pretty fucking glad to be working with him, but that does not mean Jared’s welcome to violate his personal space whenever he wants a beer by himself. Whenever he tries to get a beer by himself, Jared’s immediately there, like he’s one of Pavlov’s dogs and Jensen’s got a fucking bell around his neck.
Like today, for example. Good bust. Real good bust, if Jensen may say so himself. Scums didn’t stand a chance, the evidence was all around for a serious amount of human trafficking, and none of the agents got hurt. Jared timed it so well, they might have been a S.W.A.T team and not FBI agents on the move. So afterwards they all clapped each other’s backs, had a round of drinks together, and broke off gradually. Jensen’s at his usual joint, on his usual stool having his usual beer, trying to cool down from the high when of course he hears the heavy, ominous thud of footsteps behind his back, which means that – oh, there it is. One damned sweaty Padalecki paw landing between his shoulder blades, and thank god he had the sense to move the bottle away or he would’ve lost a tooth.
“I wouldn’t buy it a ring, you know. It’s only a beer bottle.” Jared never stops thinking that particular joke’s funny. Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Oh, shut up. A man’s allowed to have a wind-down at the end of the day.”
Of course, that's a bad thing to say, because Jared has a one-track mind, heading straight to the gutter like a mudslide. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and of course goes with it. “Now that’s a thought. Seeing anyone worth winding down your forever wound-up self?” He scans the crowd, then smiles when he spots someone he obviously deems good enough. In his demented brain, that is. “What about that trucker with the beer gut? You look like just the type to go for the grim, unshaven ones who wash once a month. You can even swap flannel shops!”
That’s another thing; Jared Padalecki is the only one in the entire team who always tries to hook Jensen up with someone, jokingly or not. He’s also the only one in the team who still gives a damn Jensen’s gay and not looking for anyone at the moment. Jensen still remembers the time when Jared watched “Queer as Folk” and called Brian Kinney a great, forward-thinking man. He then proceeded to talk enviously over a never-ending bottle of beer about all the sex gay men must be getting, despite Jensen’s monosyllabic, horrified answers. Had Jared been any other guy, Jensen would’ve put a lid on any kind of hetero-talking-homo talk faster than you could say loud, obnoxious jerk-off. But Jared really is a nice, decent guy, and most of the time Jensen likes him, and that’s saying a lot. He’s got an infectious smile that gets him almost whatever he wants, including Jensen’s forgiveness for whatever atrocities he’s performing on his personal life. He also has (sometimes) a sense of humor that almost compensates for calling Brian Kinney a great, forward-thinking man, among other unbelievably insane things he enjoys saying. So when Jared’s trying to matchmake him with every beer gut asshole he can find, Jensen just does what he usually does, which is ordering another bottle, and trying to ignore the craziness.
Jared notices this time, though, and sobers up a bit. “Really, now, Jensen, friend to a friend, why don’t you even try? I mean, even I, your average straight man, can see you’ve got something going on there underneath the agent-bot. Maybe you should try and loosen up, you know? Get changed, go to a gay bar, pick someone up. Surely you have no problem with that kind of thing, right? Even for a night, man. Just go get the edge off or something. You know, I’m sure I know someone--”
“--who you will not be introducing to me, Jared. No.” Jared’s arms start flailing around in protest, but Jensen’s had enough with this male bubba Jared is transforming into. “Leave it be. I don’t want to go to a gay bar, and I don’t want to pick up someone. I don’t want to peel off the agent-bot I am apparently wearing. I don’t want to talk about this and I want you to stop poking. I’m serious here.” He looks at Jared straight in the eye, and sees he's a little startled. “I like my job and my life just as they are. I don't see any reason for you to do this, and I don’t find it particularly funny. Go back to your place, hang out with your girlfriend, and let me stay the way I like.”
Jared gives him an unexpectedly quiet look. To any other person it would look like he’s just observing, but Jensen sees through it, sees the sadness and pity, and looks away quickly. He takes another swig from his bottle, and tries to ignore how his stomach knots up at Jared’s obvious disappointment.
“Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Jared’s smiling, but his tone is soft, like he’s admitted defeat. Jensen knows it’s temporary (maybe until the next beer gut shows up), but his hold on his Heineken relaxes anyway, and he smiles back. Conversation flows more freely after that, mostly because Jared seems to have given up on any chance of getting Jensen laid. It’s a couple of beers later when Jared starts raving about his great sexual skills in bed, which is usually Jensen’s stopping point. He shakes his head and laughs at Jared attempting to tell one of his sex stories, but failing at keeping his focus for more than ten seconds.
“Whatever, man. Go home, bang your girl. I’m sure she’s already starting to wonder why you’re spending so much time with me.”
“She totally doesn’t, for I am a sex god.” Jared does meditation fingers and looks at Jensen in a very serious, three sheets to the wind way. “I have patience, poise and precision, which never fail to keep her satisfied.” He knocks over Jensen’s beer bottle at that moment, which doesn’t really help his point, but gets Jensen chuckling anyway and pretty much puts a seal on the evening.
“Sure you do, Li Mu Bai. Now if you can keep your Green Dragon in your pants, we might not even get thrown out of the cab.”
Jared is warm next to him on the ride back, keeps an arm around his back at all times. Jensen’s just about drunk enough to not really care when Jared’s fingers absently rub circles on his left shoulder, but after Jared gets off the cab, he feels the loss of touch, warmth slipping away. Jensen gets in his apartment and goes into his bedroom, strips off his clothes and brushes his teeth. He thinks about maybe jerking off, but in truth, he’s too damn exhausted and drunk to really put any effort into it. His last thought before falling asleep is whether he likes Jared a little bit more than he should.
-
Jensen arrives the following day to an office already buzzing, agents flying around with papers. Something’s happening, and it’s big. He’s got a staff meeting in twenty minutes though, so in the meantime he just puts his briefcase on his table, fires up his computer and goes over his incoming tray when Jared stops by. Jensen looks up and resists the urge to swallow hard, because Jared’s got a smile so wide on his face he almost needs stitches. Jensen knows that kind of smile only means bad things to him. Potentially catastrophic things.
“Morning!” Did Jared just chirrup?
“Morning. How’re you doing?” Jensen is being polite. And cautious.
“I’m doing just fine, but really, I think it’s you who’s going to be smiling.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be anything but smiling? What’s going on?”
Jared shakes his head, hair flying everywhere. “Not telling. You’ll just have to wait till staff meeting for that. No spoilers.”
“Oh no, you’re not planning another office party, right? I’ve told you before. No one likes Carmen Miranda, even if you think you can charm people to walk around with fruit on their heads.” Jensen is particularly afraid of that specific fetish Jared seems to have, mostly because he knows that for him, it would mean walking with a lot of bananas on his head, with Jared chasing him around the office trying to peel and eat them. While they’re still on his head. He’s that subtle. And, well, gigantic.
Jared pouts at him. “But I would’ve had a banana crown made for you! Anyway, this has nothing to do with my awesome office parties.” Jensen snorts. “Shut up, everyone likes them!” Jensen just smirks.
Twenty minutes later, they’re all just settled into their chairs in the team room, when agent Ferris enters briskly, face pinched. Jensen knows that face means they’re about to deal with something she wishes they didn’t have to, but probably has on orders from above and can't avoid.
“Okay. We have a new development on the Anonymous case.” Everyone sits up at that – except for Jared, Jensen notices. Agent Ferris gives them all a very dry look, and continues.
“There’s another letter out, and intelligence already has a theory about it.” She flicks the screener on, and a document appears on the whiteboard behind her. “Now, although in the past we’ve had some serious timing issues with Anonymous-” That's a nice way of saying they’ve been unable to stop the attacks every damn time, Jensen thinks, “- we’ve caught this early enough to try and put a stop to it. According to intelligence decoding, a pageant called ‘Mr. Gay Universe’ is going to get blown up, and it’s going to happen in 72 hours or so. We’re on a deadline here, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Padalecki-” She points at Jared, “this is your show. Make me proud.”
Jared looks at her and nods, but she barely pays attention as she continues, “You have 12 hours to set up a team, get on with a plan and start executing it. Unfortunately, we have not been able to talk the organizers out of canceling the whole thing, since they’ve already sold the rights for it to be nationally broadcasted live. So whatever you decide to do has to happen before the thing starts. Keep me updated regularly.”
And with that she flies out of the room, chairs scraping on the floor as the rest of the agents stand. Jensen gets up slowly, already thinking up reasons why he should absolutely not be on this particular team, or directly participate in this particular project, when Jared yells over the backs of the rest of the agents in the room, who are clapping him on the shoulders: “Ackles, you’re on the team, stop thinking up excuses.”
Fuck it.
-
Jared is already going off a mile a minute when the team he’s chosen sits down in the small conference room, his arms flailing about. “Okay. So basically we have approximately 72 hours to prevent a massacre from happening. Anonymous is not known for small scale stuff.” He indicates to the wall behind him, currently acting as a timeline for a series of extremely violent, well-thought-out attacks of various occasions.
“Whoever they are, they always target events concerning racial, gender or sexually oriented groups. Since this time we have a lead on the when and where, I’m thinking a team located at the premises and another one ready on the dispatch, in case we actually get a shot at catching the bastard.”
“Do you think that’s enough, though?” asks Jensen, unable to stop himself.
Jared turns to him, face completely serious. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, unless they’ve hired extra muscle, this thing looks wide open for inside work to me. Anonymous might be there already and we don’t know.” The atmosphere in the room becomes considerably tenser at his words. Jared frowns.
“Good point. This means, however, that we’ll need an undercover agent, at least for a while, in the pageant.” He stills for a moment, then smiles so widely, Jensen can almost feel the words hovering in the air before Jared actually says them. “Ackles, you’re in. We’ll turn you into a contestant.”
Fuck!
“No, no, no. No way, and if you say it’s because of my sexual preference I will report it to Ferris.”
Jared throws his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s nothing of the sort. You’re it, because you’re the only other person on this team who could pass for a contestant but me, and you know I can’t supervise and go undercover.” Jensen looks around the room, taking in the rest of the team: two women, and another six men, all of them either overweight, too old or just too…male FBI agents who’ve been way too busy doing things other than trying to become attractive in the eyes of gay men. Which is a damn tragedy in Jensen’s opinion, because it leaves only him, exactly as Jared so annoyingly stated, despite the fact Jensen’s really not been trying to make himself look attractive either.
“Okay, then pick someone out of the team. Use the database. Or if you must, make me a crew guy, anything. Just not a damn contestant in a gay pageant!”
“Then I’ll just have to tell Ferris you don’t need any more field work, since you’re so intimidated by it. Feel like doing paperwork for the next three months?”
Jensen grits his teeth so hard at that he’s sure he’ll have none left by the time he’s thirty. “Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll be the gay beauty queen, and you’ll finally see me wearing a crown like you’ve always wanted.” Jensen never plays the gay card, but this time he can’t resist batting his eyelashes just a little, enough to ruffle Jared’s feathers. Jared’s eyes narrow in reply, and the entire room splutters a little. They’re not used to Jensen actually cracking a joke.
-
“Need a spot?”
Jensen is working the free weights in the FBI gym. Everyone knows this is a clear 'stay away from Ackles, for Ackles is so pissed off, it’s a good thing he has free weights instead of your damned head to pound' sign. Anyone who isn’t Jared, that is. Jensen heaves the one fifty pounds back to the metal supports and sighs, stretches his biceps and chest.
“It’s probably a good thing you’re working out. Can’t let the other guys in the pageant steal your thunder.”
Jensen is not going to dignify that with a response. He clamps his mouth shut and sits up on the bench. Every other guy in his vicinity immediately takes two steps back, but Jared isn’t even fazed.
“I mean, those guys have to be pretty packing, right? Flat abs and puffy pecs and all that shit, like in those Dolce & Gabbana ads. Oh, dude. Don’t forget to work on your glutes too, otherwise you’ll never get on the final five.”
Oh, that is just it.
“Do you want me to report you to Ferris, Jared? Seriously? ‘Cause don’t think I won’t.” And now that he gets to think a little about what Jared said - “Also, what are you doing, looking at Dolce & Gabbana ads?”
Jared suddenly blushes a little. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment. “Uh, well, I needed to do some research. For research purposes, you know, for gay things.”
Jensen is tempted to say ‘maybe you should start with your own closet, since I know it used to be full of nothing but flowery pink button downs’, but he is the better man here and he’ll stay that way, damn it. So he just deadpans back. “Gay things?”
“Helps profiling whoever stands out in the environment.” Jared is making his ‘I’m Jared Padalecki and I’m so competent you can bet your ass I’ll save the day’ face and Jensen isn’t buying it for one second.
“Environment? Jared, this isn’t a damn safari! Anonymous isn’t going to walk around with a t-shirt saying ‘Your assfucking makes Baby Jesus cry’! Next thing you’ll tell me my undercover name is ‘Eye Candy McHotass’ so I could blend in, or something equally retarded.”
When Jared winces and scuffs his toes, Jensen jumps up and grabs his towel. “You're officially the last person I want to deal with in this entire goddam planet.”
Jared chooses that moment to grab Jensen’s wrist as he turns away, which is just the last straw. Because if Jensen wants to go, he can at least do that. He seems to have no other choices in his life lately. So Jensen reacts by twisting around, and trying to flip Jared over the mattresses. But yeah, that’s kind of a problem when you don’t have enough leverage, and the guy you’re trying to flip over is six foot five, all fucking muscles. Jensen suddenly finds himself pinned to those muscles, seething.
“Dammit, Jen! Stop it!” Jared is clutching him so hard from behind, Jensen’s sure to have blue marks tomorrow. Not that he cares.
“No…fucking…way!” He finally gets enough leverage and throws Jared to the ground in a painful sounding crash. He pins his arms, using all of his weight. And then Jared pulls his most awful secret weapon: the puppy eyes.
“It’s all in motion already! We have to do this!” And his lower lip wobbles. Jensen loses concentration just for a second, and finds himself pinned to the ground the next one. And everyone in the gym is going to watch how his dignity crashes and burns now, aren’t they.
“Do I have to keep the name?”
Jared’s smirking, and oh, how Jensen would just love wiping that off his face.
“Yeah, you have to keep the name.”
-
When the pageant coach enters the room, Jensen’s fairly sure he’s going to go blind from the gayness. The man is so incredibly campy, he’s like a full pride parade in a suit, radiating “QUEEN” to outer space. Jensen wants to hide somewhere, and even Jared seems slightly dazed. However, at least he has the sense to keep smiling, openly and friendly. Jensen’s facial expression probably borders on blowfish.
Jared ambles forward, holding out a hand. “Mr. Kressley, I presume. Nice to meet you.”
The other man flings himself forward enthusiastically, clasping Jared’s enormous hand with both of his. “Please, please, oh god, please, tell me you’re agent Ackles, because if you are, I must’ve been a really good cockroach in my last life.”
Jared chuckles and blushes slightly. “Sadly, no. Agent Ackles is currently hiding behind my back, probably because you’re the first gay man he’s seen in the last decade and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.” Jensen pokes Jared hard in the back, straightens up and walks around him, holding out his hand as well. “Jensen Ackles, pleased to meet you.”
The other man frowns. “Carson Kressley, but you may call me your lord and savior, because darling, you’re a diamond, but rough much?” He looks Jensen up and down. “Lots of rough. Dear me, it’s a good thing you’re an FBI agent because otherwise the gay police would’ve detained you for crimes against the rainbow nation.” Jared hides a laugh behind his hand, the jerk, and Jensen tries and fails not to turn bright red.
“I’m an FBI agent, Mr. Kressley. I don’t have time to spa and shop,” Jensen informs him, scowling.
“And yet the fine, upstanding specimen of a man standing right next to you, who probably has the same job you do, still manages to look like he could attract the gender of his choice. Hopefully his own gender?” Carson sidles up to Jared, who finally looks embarrassed too and coughs slightly into his hand.
“No, sorry. I’m all about the women. Also, I’m his boss, agent Jared Padalecki.”
Carson gives him a long look and then smirks a little. “Sure you are, hon.” He turns back to Jensen. “So, I have 24 hours to make you look like something other gay men would ogle, right? God, I wish you called me sooner. I’m not sure we’ll make it on time.” He reaches out to pet Jensen’s hair, and Jensen slaps his hand away.
“Now, none of that, pretty boy. You’d better get used to being touched, because I can assure you, there’s no place in your body that isn’t going to get touched very, very soon.”
And with those ominous words, he starts steering Jensen into the warehouse behind him, and for the first time in a very long time since he’s started his job, Jensen is afraid. He looks back at Jared with a clear “HELP ME” expression on his face, but Jared just waves cheerfully and takes out his cellphone, probably informing the rest of the team to start digging for the cameras.
-
When Jensen first got scouted by the FBI, he was still a criminology major, and freshly out of the closet. The offer sounded interesting enough, even if it meant working for the government. But then, Jensen knew he was going to be government-oriented in his field anyway, so why not go straight for the source, so to speak. He went into training: long, tedious hours in a dim classroom, alternating with physical sessions in a gym room, all spent in the company of the same nondescript, bigoted-seeming people. Jensen constantly felt exposed. Felt too gay, too flashy. He knew he wasn’t dressed any differently than the rest of the future agents, for example, but somehow his jeans and buttoned shirt transformed into a sequin suit and a feather boa in front of the other people.
So he toned down everything about himself; he grew a beard which he actually liked, started wearing big overshirts, even literally kept his head down. No one will look at him and think “oooooh, he’s GAY” now. He’s just like everyone else in the agency.
So when the warehouse door slides closed behind his back, and when the lights click on, Jensen has a sudden powerful urge to turn back and break world records in sprint. The place looks like a makeshift surgery room, complete with bright, white lights, a lot of people in white aprons and a dentist chair in the middle surrounded by tables full of shiny, sharp implements. Jensen’s fucking terrified, back fully pressed into the steel wall behind him, but Carson just rolls his eyes and sighs massively, grabbing him and manhandling him towards that scary, scary chair. He calls out two names Jensen doesn’t recognize, and two burly men who look like they could probably tow trucks with their own hands step forward and grab Jensen as well, almost hefting him onto the chair and his doom. Above him, Carson points out to the cluster of white-clad people around.
“Manicure, pedicure, waxing, hair, facial, teeth, make up, tanning, manscaping, piercing?”
Jensen squeaks in terror.
“Just kidding, sugarlips. Or am I?” Carson smirks widely at him, then looks back up, fussing. “Go go go!”
Then, the pain starts. It seems like a perfectly timed cosmetic medieval torture session, because the minute they’re done doing his nails using what feels like a scythe, they move to his legs and his back and his chest with the hot wax. Jensen had seen “40 Year Old Virgin”, and fervently promised himself he’d never ever do that to his own body, even though he’s not half as hairy as Steve Carell. That promise went out of the window along with what seemed to be most of his body hair. When the evil woman with the wax strips nears his crotch, however, he draws the line. Carson just snorts in his face and summons the next inquisitor wannabe who’s in charge of manscaping, a term Jensen’s never known up to that point, and wishes he could forget right this moment.
Then, he’s forced into a tanning bed for what seems like an eternity, and probably comes out looking like a freckled lobster (so he freckles, big deal). After that comes the cruel facial lady who tsks at his skin (oh, the beard is long gone at that point), and the hair guy who sighs heavily at his ‘do, and Jensen suddenly really feels like a teenaged girl who never gets asked to dance at the prom, what with his self esteem down the drain. Then come teeth (oh, god) and make up, and then the last guy, but Jensen really doesn’t want to think about that at the moment.
When he sees the final outcome of this painful process in the mirror, Jensen’s struck dumb for a few moments, highly doubtful it’s actually him staring back. When it sinks in, though, he’s still speechless, doesn’t know what to do with his arms or legs. Carson steps behind him, his reflection joining Jensen’s own in the mirror. His smile borders on smugly satisfied, but still manages to be kind and understanding.
“Not used to seeing yourself looking so good, huh?” Carson smoothes a hand down a small wrinkle on Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen tracks the motion with his eyes. His shirt feels three sizes too tight, but in the mirror it looks like it fits just right. Perfect.
Months after the project ends, Jensen will probably still wake up in cold sweat, remembering vaguely a dream about people in white advancing on him, waving needles and pokers and hot wax strips, and he can’t run away, can’t hide. But when he looks at himself, and touches a hand to the smooth, newly-softened skin of his face, Jensen feels for a moment there like maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.
-
Jared is waiting by the warehouse, 24 hours later. The jet is parked, waiting to start the engines the moment Jensen finally comes out. Jared would’ve come in already and ask what the hell is holding him up, but the Carson guy came out and shooed him away like an angry gay ostrich. So he waits outside, looking at his watch from time to time.
Then, the door finally opens, and Jared looks up from his watch, and whoa. Hold that thought, because after the whole cosmetic army finally files out, this really fucking hot guy is walking and… No. It can’t be. It fucking is Jensen, and there’s definitely some staring going on. Jared’s straight as they come (hey, he’s got a girlfriend and the sex is awesome), but dear lord. If he would ever, ever switch teams, even for one night, this is the guy he’d do it for (Jared had always thought he’d do it for Brad Pitt, but he doesn’t go for hair smelling like children’s vomit, or feels like hiding from Angelina Jolie on a blood vendetta).
Jared’s previous opinion of Jensen was that he was a pretty attractive guy, but also a guy who didn’t give a damn about the way he looked. He wears suits that do nothing to his physique, and jeans so ancient they have no shape. He barely keeps his hair tidy, and he doesn’t shave. And for God’s sake, the flannel he wears in his free time. So again, Jared is totally and completely straight, but he also knows that appearance is half the job when it comes to making a good impression. After a few despairing sessions in various men's stores, and after landing on a good hairstylist, he knows he looks as sharp as they come. He looks capable, charismatic and very corporate. He also knows this goes a long way for him with his bosses and that position he’s going to be offered if he gets this operation done quick and clean. He wants the best for Jensen too, though, which is why he’s pushed him into this. He hopes Jensen might learn a lesson or two about looking groomed from all of this, might step it up instead of going through the motions.
However, there’s stepping it up, and then there’s the way Jensen’s looking right now. It’s not powerful corporate so much as gay porn magazine centerfold (shut up), and it’s…overwhelmingly hot. With the phenomenally well-fitting jeans and the shirt that tightens up exactly where it should (which is everywhere), and Jared looks up from Jensen’s apparently perfect pecs (which he just didn’t know existed) to his face and god, did he really have those lips and those cheekbones all this time?
Jared needs to rethink it all.
And maybe readjust his pants a little, because they’re suddenly…tight.
Jensen walks up to him with his small cosmetic army in tow. He has a murderous glare that is slightly hindered by his perfectly glowing, tanned skin. “Say one word. One word ,and I swear heads will roll. I’m tired, I’m in pain and I want a fucking doughnut.” Mr. Kressley gasps audibly.
“I swear, if you even smell a doughnut until the end of the pageant, I will cut off your fucking balls, FBI agent or not.”
Jared sees Jensen’s fingers tighten around his gun, then relax again, and massages his temples. This is going to be a long, long project.
-
They’ve just arrived at the pageant compound in Miami, when Carson suddenly grabs Jensen’s left shoulder and whispers, “Okay, remember two things: be respectful and above all, be gay.”
Jensen yanks his shoulder out from the death-grip, still very irritated. He can see those two idiots coming his way like two extremely decaffeinated elephants just as well. “Shut up, queen bee. I know who they are, okay?”
‘They’ are the pageant’s main man and his right hand. They both look exactly as they do in their FBI database pictures, just smarmy enough for Jensen to be entirely convinced that a) they’ve only been organizing this stupid competition because they want to ogle the pretty boys they’ll never get to fuck otherwise, and b) he really should’ve slept on the jet in order to have kept his cool, instead of succumbing into Carson’s whining and watching one pageant after another, complete with sound effects provided by His Gay Majesty. Jared sitting on the other end of the jet, smirking at him the whole flight, including when they were going over formations and info updates, really did not help to lift his level of Zen.
The guy in front stops a few feet away from Jensen, looking at him from head to toe. The guy behind mimics him, only his leering is obviously more about assessing Jensen’s dick rather than assessing his entire body and his dick. By the time they both finish raping him with their eyes, Jensen feels a strong urge to shower. In holy water.
In his earpiece, Jared says: “operation buttplug is off”, then laughs hugely, and Jensen grits his teeth to the point of jaw-locking, a habit that’ll probably take months to get rid of. It started when Jared handed him his temporary ID under the name “I.C. McHotass” (in all seriousness too), which made Jensen damn near bite through his tongue.
“So, agent Ackles, I presume?” the front guy asks in a tone so condescending, Jensen immediately wants to kick his ass.
He lays on the charm instead. “Yes. Mr. Curry, right?” He holds out his hand with a nice, friendly smile to match his nice, friendly countenance.
The guy shakes his hand, looking like he swallowed a basket of lemons, wicker included. “Indeed, and the flub behind me is Perez.”
Perez gives Jensen a small wave, and a big ol’ lecherous smile. Great.
“You will join the pageant as Mr. Texas, since the little shit has decided that entering a national gay pageant is just the time to OD on meth. You will join the rest of the contestants in the bus. Five minutes ago. Perez will show you the way.” Perez crooks a finger at Jensen in a way that almost has visible slime dripping off it. Jensen rolls his eyes and follows him, a firm ten feet behind.
-
By the time Jensen arrives at the bus, all the other contestants have already arrived. He climbs up, ignoring the squeeze on his left asscheek (courtesy of Perez, of course), and searches for an empty seat. The guy sitting next to the only one left waves him over enthusiastically, and Jensen awkwardly sits down. The guy, however, doesn’t seem to sense Jensen’s desperate wish to be anywhere but in this one specific bus, and starts talking.
“Hi, you must be our missing Mr. Texas. What’s your name? I know everyone else’s names from the website.”
Jensen boggles a little at that, but the guy just gives him a disarming smile, so he goes with it. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He coughs. “Mr. Texas, that is. Name’s Irwin, but you can call me I.C.”
“Icy? As in Mr. Ice Princess?” chirps a bald guy behind them.
“Shut up, Mike. We’re not drunk enough to start laughing at your jokes.” The guy next to Jensen rolls his eyes impressively. “I’m Tom Welling,” he coughs, “uh, sorry. Tom Wellhung, Mr. Nebraska, and the complete and utter douchebag behind us is Mike Rosielips, Mr. Rhode Island.”
Mike swats Tom on the head in response. “So, Icy, what brings you to the warm shores of Miami? Looking for some beach time, or trying to find your one true love, like Tommy here?”
The guy’s clearly already on something, Jensen is sure of it.
“Um, I’m just here for the competition. Sounds like a sweet deal, you know, the prize…”
Mike puts a hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh, Icy, how you disappoint me. And here I thought I could sway you into a stormy romance full of sucking face and kinky sex.”
The guy next to Mike starts from his sleep. “Did someone say sex?”
“We most certainly did. Chad, meet Mr. Icy. He’s from Texas, so the name’s spot on. Icy my dear, meet Mr. California, Chad Moneyfuck, aka the guy who slept with everyone to get here.”
“Did not,” Chad squints indignantly (or maybe just squints. His eyes are really small). “I’d eat pussy before fucking that walking talking vomitorium, Perez.”
“So you do eat pussy, then. I always suspected,” Mike says over Jensen basically choking on his tongue, Jared laughing in his ears. The bus roars into life, but no one can hear it over the deafening club music that suddenly starts playing inside.
-
They’re all settling down for a luncheon half of the guys don’t touch (and the rest probably puke afterwards), when Mr. Curry saunters onstage. Everyone around Jensen abandons pretending they’re even remotely interested in the food (food? Ha, lettuce salads buffet), and start clapping politely. Curry looks at all of them like they’re deranged and/or stupid. Which is a fair assumption, as far as Jensen can tell.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
Someone wolf-whistles at that. Mr. Curry scowls.
“Seeing as you’re all finally here--” He gives Jensen a (completely redundant, thank you!) look. “We can now start the preparations for the live broadcast. Dance rehearsal starts in half an hour.” And suddenly, Jared apparently can’t hear that (monumentally important, surely) speech, and manually reboots Jensen’s earpiece, which nearly deafens him.
“Oh jeez!”
“Sorry!” Jared yells in his ear, and Jensen finds out he’s in the middle of the reception floor, his hands on his head, and everyone’s staring at him. He coughs nervously.
“I mean, oh please. Like we weren’t born ready, right guys?” He looks around. Tom comes to his aid by pumping his fist up, causing the rest of the room to follow.
Of course Mr. Curry looks as if the idiocy might just finish him off, but Jensen is too relieved to actually care.
-
Jensen finds out fifteen minutes into the first rehearsal for the broadcast that he really, really hates being gay. Not the part where he fucks men; the part where he’s supposed to be able to move to “gay” music, making “gay” moves, while wearing clothes (those are clothes, right?) that will attract the other gays. He really, really hates that part of his sexual orientation. The instructor in front of him is alternating between rolling his hips in a way that almost dislocates Jensen’s pelvis when he tries it, and shimmying so fast Jensen’s neck cricks when he watches it.
No one said anything about dancing. Dear god, wasn’t the manscaping enough? Must he humiliate himself in front of all and sundry, which will inevitably make him fall over, which will inevitably also cause his pants (he’s still not sure they’re pants, so much as leather leggings, and isn’t that a comforting thought) to split, and then he will have to move to another country.
Next to him, Tom moves like his ass has a life of its own, giving him an encouraging smile. Jensen swallows down the self loathing a little, and tries the routine again.
-
Jensen also discovers during afternoon tea (if anyone weren’t sure this was a gay pageant) that the rest of the guys aren’t as bad as he’s previously thought. Tom spends most of his time trying to win the “Nicest Fucking Guy Ever” title, he’s so forthcoming. Mike spends most of his time inventing increasingly insane come-ons to throw at Tom’s head (one of them was literally a chocolate box chucked at Tom’s face, and Jensen had no idea where it came from). Chad tries to sneak off all the time, presumably to snooze somewhere, sleep with someone or snort something. And Chris constantly annoys everyone with an exaggerated Southern twang and renditions of a very gay Johnny Cash. Jensen learns in his first half hour never to ask Chris about Johnny Cash, because that makes him launch into a full rant about how his lonely man songs were all about homosexuality in denial and if only he got a good fuck right up the ass he might not have been quite so depressed. Which in Jensen’s mind qualifies Chris for a strait jacket, in a manner of speaking.
But he likes them. They’re all nice guys, despite being insane and flamboyant. They all get along together pretty great, and though this place has the potential to be a bitchy hell, Jensen sees mostly genuine kindness and support, as if everyone silently agrees this is not an easy place to be in, so they don’t step on any toes, figuratively and literally. That only strengthens his need to protect them from whatever’s coming, but trouble is he has no idea where to start looking.
-
They’ve just finished the check in, just finished the rehearsals, and Jensen feels like he could probably swallow a whole cow like a boa constrictor, and then sleep for three months. He gets to his room and there’s his bed, looking so fluffy and inviting, he can almost feel how his head sinks into the pillow, and—
“Irwin!”
No.
“Not now, Jared. No. I’m going to bed because I haven’t slept in 48 hours. I need my beauty sleep, remember?” Jensen would normally sneer, but somehow it got beaten out of him today, along with what feels like the rest of his masculinity.
Jared smiles at him apologetically. “Sorry man, Carson wants to see you in the main hall.”
“I can’t deal with Carson right now. Doesn’t he need to go to his room too, you know? Hibernate in face cream or something?”
Jared’s smile twitches wider for a second, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“Apparently not until he feels assured that you’re capable of not strangling the judges during interview phase.”
Jensen turns and trudges miserably back in the direction he came from.
-
Jared is in the FBI team’s room, watching through the hidden cameras the eighteen different shades of purple Carson turns when Jensen informs him tiredly that he has no talent bit. He jumps off his chair, nearly upends his steaming cup of coffee on the keyboards and runs towards the main hall, where he’s sure to find one Jensen Ack—sorry, Irwin McHotass on the warpath.
“Jared!” comes the shout in stereo as he enters the big room, and sure enough, there’s Carson in the middle of the stage, right in the spotlight, and there’s Jensen, right by the table where the food used to be. And they’re both livid.
“If I’m continuing this ridiculousness, I demand at least one. Fucking. Doughnut.”
“Oh shut up, you whiny girl.” Carson snarls at him, and one part of Jared thinks huh, kind of pot calling kettle black, but most of him is busy bodily restraining Jensen from inflicting very serious physical harm.
Carson, however, continues unperturbed. “Why haven’t you informed him he has to perform? Wasn’t the term ‘gay pageant’ enough of a warning that he’s required to present a little more than his dick to all and sundry?” Jensen stops fighting in Jared’s arms, but now he looks like he’s about to faint. Jared knows he technically has no reason to continue holding Jensen, seeing as he’s stopped trying to wriggle away from him and rip Carson limb from limb, but his arms seem to have a mind of their own. He forces himself to let go of Jensen all the same, even if Jensen does insist on smelling so good and his warmth is so inviting, which draws Jared into him like a freaking bee to pollen. He stands close, and scratches his head. “We didn’t get to that. Listen, can’t he just wing it? I’m sure there are ways to get around this with a reasonable amount of cheating.”
Carson rolls his eyes expressively. “Sure there are ways, but unless Irwin here knows how to pop ping pong balls from various orifices of his admittedly hot body, I’m at a loss.” There’s a strangled noise from Jared’s side which pretty much ascertains Jensen does not possess that particular talent. Jared turns to him, tries to school a smile without the edge of desperation this conversation is inspiring in him (not to mention Jensen and balls in the same sentence, which Jared’s lower brain seems to like. A lot).
“Can’t you think of any talent you might have? Singing? Dancing? Reading a monologue? Baton twirling?”
Jensen looks at him like he’s sprouted another head. “Jared, I was a criminology major in university. Does that sound to you like an artist prep program?”
“Well then, can you do anything unusual? Anything at all?” Jared thinks he knows the answer, considering the guy wouldn’t even wear bananas on his head on a regular day at the office, but is surprised when Jensen blushes a little, and there’s a bit of staring going on again. It has only partly to do with Jensen being able to provide a solution, although Jared would never admit that.
“Uh, well. There’s this one thing...”
-
The preliminaries have been quiet so far, unless you count the obnoxiously loud music, the cheesy loud host, and oh yeah, the hundreds of wolf-whistles every goddamn minute. Jensen tries not to look in the mirror too much, because whenever he catches a reflection of himself, all he sees is an orange alien dressed in tight white leather chaps. And no shirt.
Leather seems to be the current uniform in the pageant. Mike is onstage at the moment, performing a frankly nightmare-inducing rendition of “I’m Too Sexy”, which includes, but is not limited to, constantly rubbing his shiny, oiled, bald head. Tom is standing right next to him, waiting to do his Laker Boys routine, wearing leather hotpants, and Christian behind him is dressed like Elvis on acid. You know, more than usual.
It feels way too soon when Mike actually finishes scarring the viewers’ retinas, because it’s Jensen’s turn next.
“Please give a warm welcome to our Texas cowboy, I.C. McHotass!”
The mechanical bull isn’t spinning very fast, but Jensen makes what he can out of it anyway. He’s just about undulating for the millionth time when he sees a suspicious looking guy in the vicinity of the stage. Suspicious, as in he is absolutely not dressed like he’s ready for the White Party after the preliminaries. As in, he has a humungous-ass crucifix on his black t-shirt and he wears three watches on his right hand. Jensen stops holding onto his tacky Stetson, and flails one arm toward Jared, trying to emote “danger, Will Robinson, danger!”
But yeah, he’s spinning on a mechanical bull in white chaps and almost nothing more, so it probably looks more like he’s taking it to the next step towards a “Boys Gone Wild” video rather than stopping a bombing from happening. So when he sees Jared is just staring at him for no good reason instead of doing something about it, Jensen takes initiative and leaps off the bull in a move he’s going to really regret in about half an hour or so.
“Everyone back! He’s got a bomb!” There’s a flurry of screams and people running around, and Jensen is jumping onto the suspicious guy, only to find out that those watches? Yeah, there’s one but the rest are actually tacky leather straps with huge stones in the middle, and the crucifix? It’s made of glitter.
Ouch.
-
Jared is unable to hold back his smile by the time he finishes recounting today’s event: “All in all, not your brightest move, man. I thought you said he wasn’t going to wear a shirt talking about Baby Jesus.”
Oh, very funny, seeing as Jensen is currently sitting in a room full of hysterically laughing agents and his ass pretty much dipped in ice. He grunts in response.
“So we’re still going with the original plan. Jensen, you have another coaching with Carson,” Jensen grunts again, this time in real pain. “The rest of us will go back to our stations. Ferris is coming over for an emergency meeting soon, and I, for one, like my privates attached to my body.” Jared helps him get up while the team idly settles back in front of the monitors, puts a hand on his shoulder on the way out.
“Listen, if you need someone to talk to, come by after the coaching. I’ll still be around.” Jared has a sheepish smile, and Jensen wonders what he’s planning now.
“And where are you going?”
“I,” he smiles widely, and it’s like the lights around it fucking dim, “am going for a swim.”
-
Jared watches the beginning of Jensen’s coaching with Carson just to make sure they’re not about to maim each other, then shakes his head and leaves the temporary HQs. He goes to his room and changes into swimming trunks and a bathrobe. This day is pretty much a disaster, and it’ll all fall on his head when Ferris arrives. His promised promotion is pretty much in the trash, he knows it. ADs don’t let their undercover agents break team and threaten innocent civilians, especially on national television. Not to mention the real culprit isn’t even close to being caught, which grates on Jared’s nerves more than he cares to admit. They’ve been around this pageant for more than a day, scoured all the place, leaving no stone unturned, and yet Anonymous is still at large somewhere, probably with enough explosives to fly them all to the moon.
The whole situation also takes a decidedly disturbing turn when Jensen pops into his head. It’s one thing to stare at the guy when he comes out all “Playguy”-ready from that warehouse, but it’s a whole other thing to see him on that mechanic bull and almost get dizzy from how fast his blood was rushing south. But damn, when Jensen started riding that thing like he was born to do it in those chaps, holding to his hat like a rodeo pro or something, his fucking nipple ring glinting in the sunlight, Jared pretty much fell off his chair. He was almost grateful when Jensen decided to lose his mind and go crowd-swimming, because Jared wasn’t sure how much more he could stand sitting around, supposedly doing his job while all the time sporting one of the biggest erections in the history of mankind. Just thinking about now it makes him harden, and though he’d love to have a long, leisurely jerk off, he is still on duty, and in his present screwed-up state, an orgasm just isn’t going to cut it. He desperately wills it down, and hopes the exercise might take his mind off this situation for a while, gather some perspective.
-
“For the last fucking time, ‘to end AIDS’ is the dumbest fucking answer ever created, Carson. Ever!”
Jensen’s ass is in real pain, but not as much as Carson is being with this dumb pageant.
“It doesn’t matter. That’s what they want to hear! Now play along and we’ll all get to not look like zombies tomorrow.” Carson’s eyes are beginning to look so strained, his lines breaking through the botox and collagen.
“Play along? Play alo—I’m a motherfucking FBI agent 24/7, not a performing monkey!”
At which Carson finally explodes. “Oh yeah? Because the way I see it, you might as well be one. Look at you, all about the job. In place of friends and a relationship, you have your sarcasm and a gun. Fabulous trade-off, that one.”
And Jensen suddenly remembers that yeah, he has a gun, and he pulls it out. “I’ve just about had it with all of you guys. I’ve had it with the primping and the trimming and the damn dancing.” Jensen waves the gun in his face, and Carson finally looks afraid. “Now, you will let me go. You will let me get some sleep, and by God, you will let me have a doughnut. Because if you don’t, I swear I’m going to claim temporary insanity based on cruel and inhuman treatment when I shoot you in the face.”
He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he grabs a doughnut anyway, tears off his earpiece and camera, and exits the hall quickly. Jensen knows that if he turns his head back, just for a second, he’ll see Carson wearing the same expression Jared does whenever he gives up even on throttling him into logic.
True to his word, Jared is still in the pool when Jensen storms into the roofed area. He grabs the nearest thing to him, which happens to be one of Jared’s shoes and throws it as hard as he can into the water.
“Motherfucker!” Jared spews water all over, as the shoe almost brains him.
“I fucking quit. I’ve had it with this insanity. I’ve also had it with you guys trying to change me. All I want to do right now is go back to my apartment and never come out.”
Jared shakes his head, wet hair flying around. “Wait a second,” he says as he quickly gets out of the pool.
For a nano-second there Jensen forgets what he was angry about in the first place. Okay, maybe slightly longer than a nano-second. Not his fault Jared has a trance-inducing body, right? Guy is tall as a fucking tree, and he’s so well-built he could probably give most of those Hollywood heartthrobs a run for their money. He’s got a perfect chest, currently dripping water, and those trunks are definitely not hiding the fact he’s packing enough to be a porn star. Jensen is well within his rights to stare a little, he thinks. Then Jared wraps a towel around himself, and Jensen returns to the world of the living. He sits down on one of the lounging chairs, and Jared parks on the nearest one.
“What happened? I know you weren’t a happy camper before, and God knows I’m about to be fucking humiliated in half an hour or so by Ferris because of today’s events,” Jensen buries his head in his hands, at that, but Jared just goes on, voice gentle, “but I know you can do this, man. You’re fucking overqualified to do this. What’s the big deal?”
To be honest, Jensen doesn’t know why it gets to him so much. Sure, it’s been humiliating and impossibly horrible, but so have been other operations before. Even then he was tired and cranky, but this time, it’s different. It’s hitting too close to home, starting with his own image and going through everyone snooping into his private life. This place, and this pageant with all the other guys competing in it, all seems surreal to him, and Jensen would die before admitting it, but it also has to do with him not quite believing he looks like that. That other people think he looks like that. That Jared might have possibly thought he looked like that before Carson dragged him into that warehouse. He still hasn’t answered Jared’s question, but Jared senses what’s on his mind somehow, scooting a little closer and putting a wet hand over his probably hideously expensive shirt.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, aren’t you? Jensen, you’re smart, and you’re funny. You are one of the sharpest guys in the entire office, and that includes our bosses, believe it or not. You’ve got so much to offer, man, and that’s even without me starting about the way you’ve been looking the past couple of days. Whatever’s bothering you about this thing, don’t let it get to you, because there’s absolutely no reason to.”
Jensen finally ventures a look up at Jared’s face. He’s blushing a little, but the look in his eyes is sincere. Confident. Jensen’s breath goes funny for a moment, then relaxes back. He nods at Jared, scratches at the back of his neck, and gets up. “Thanks, man.”
Jared’s smile is easy, and he pushes off the lounge chair, peeling off his towel. Jensen watches him do it, breath suddenly gone faster. Jared hears the slight hitch, turns to look at him curiously, and stills at what he sees. His eyes widen, and he reaches out a hand, looking as if he’s not aware of even doing it. Jensen takes a tiny step forward, and for a moment, he feels something. Jared’s hand stops, his eyes unreadable, but then his smile widens and he starts backing Jensen towards – no.
He says so. “No. Jared. No. My clothes, they probably cost a fortune, and—” Jared grasps his shirt and jumps back into the pool, pulling Jensen right with him, designer jeans and all. He bursts out of the water to see Jared dying of laughter, shaking his head like a dog. “Oh, you’re in so much trouble.” He splutters.
Jared just gives him a devil-may-care smile, and Jensen is absolutely not staring.
“When Carson finds you, you’re a dead man.” He climbs out of the pool, shuddering a little in the cool air.
“Whatever. Wow, wet is definitely a good look on you!”
“Shut up.”
Part 2
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Date: 2008-03-14 02:26 pm (UTC)Onward!
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Date: 2008-03-14 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-07 02:26 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2009-01-12 01:00 am (UTC)This is a fantastic version of Miss Congeniality! I love it! Much much more than the movie!