Guitar Hero
Nov. 25th, 2008 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timehasa_wayTitle: Guitar Hero
Characters: Jared and Jensen. And the dogs.
Rating: PG-13 for F-bombs? I dunno. It's pretty innocent. :P
Word Count: 2,092
Warnings: Cuteness? Dunno if it counts as a spoiler, but includes the mention of a prank Jared said was played on him and Jensen during the filming of a S4 episode.
Disclaimer: I'm just a silly fan who writes fiction. Don't know or own them.
Synopsis: Jensen is Jared's guitar hero. And basically just his hero in general. Trust me, it's pretty much pure cheese.
Notes: Forgot I wrote this bit when![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sucuri and I were discussing how cute it is that Jared and Jensen play guitar together at their house. Anyways, I wrote it, and sucuri read it and didn't think it sucked, so I'm posting it. The songs? Random as all hell. I couldn't think of what to put in there, and so I just grabbed whatever first came to mind. Why Dan Fogelberg first came to mind? Because my dad plays guitar, and for pretty much all my life, I've heard him playing/singing songs like that late at night when he's just overtired and not ready for bed, the way Jensen and Jared are in this fic.
Jared’s learned a lot from Jensen. People who don’t really know Jensen might find that hard to believe. They see Jensen as this reserved, shy guy who’s far too private and hard to get close to. They see Jensen’s guarded behavior in front of fans and the press as a barrier to any kind of real personal life. Jared knows that isn’t true. From the moment he and Jensen met and clicked, Jensen had been his greatest friend and mentor outside of his family. Everything was easy with Jensen. They drove together, worked together, ate together, and now they even lived together. They’d only ever had one real argument in three and a half years, and even that was extremely short-lived. Beyond that, Jensen was the only other man Jared knew that he could read like a book. So much for barriers.
It was Jensen who taught him how to work with network execs without ending up proverbially bent over a desk with your pants down. It was Jensen who taught him how to really stand up for himself and his characters, taking them seriously and fighting for their integrity, even if it meant arguing a point with someone who had the power to fire him. It was Jensen who taught him how he’d have to handle his shots if he was going to keep on claiming he was a tried and true Texan. It was Jensen who taught him how to handle himself in the bars around Vancouver. It was Jensen who, after Jared would mentally kick himself for blabbing too much to the press, taught him how to be open while still maintaining a decent sense of privacy. It was Jensen who taught him how to properly throw darts, play golf, and keep his head in the game after spending eighteen hours on set. And, while he’d certainly entertained himself every now and then by plucking a few strings in his spare time, it was Jensen who taught him how to really play the guitar, which was far different from Guitar Hero.
There wasn’t much that Jared was embarrassed to do around Jensen. But, shortly after he’d finally persuaded Jensen to just move the hell in, he squirmed a bit when Jensen entered the living room while he fooled around with his guitar. He’d expected some kind of ribbing to occur. After all, they each lived to bust the other’s chops as often as possible. This was a prime opportunity for Jensen.
It was a Saturday morning, and Jensen had slept late, as usual. Jared was up early, plucking away, when Jensen groggily sauntered into the room, soft sleep pants clinging to his hips, hair mussed, and a hand rubbing tiredly over his face. Jared looked up and smiled shyly, just barely stopping himself from stilling his fingers and stashing his guitar behind the couch, where it probably belonged. Instead, he looked down at his fingers and kept playing, heat rising to his cheeks, aware that Jensen had stopped and was standing there listening. When Jared looked back up, Jensen was a little less groggy and a little more awake, his eyes suddenly wider and a little hopeful.
“Hey,” Jensen rasped, his voice still thick with sleep. Before he continued, he turned and walked back to his room, a bit livelier and quicker than his initial walk out to where Jared was sitting.
Jared stopped playing then, watching Jensen’s retreating back with confusion. He saw Jensen disappear into his room, heard him rummaging around, various items being tossed aside, before he reappeared and strolled back out to Jared, guitar in hand.
“Mind if I play with you?”
Jared grinned as Jensen lifted the guitar up in front of him, asking almost shyly for permission. He wasn’t sure what Jensen was so shy about, since Jensen was the one who knew how to play better. Then again, Jensen was still getting used to this whole, “Mi casa es su casa!” thing that Jared had just recently introduced him to. It had taken him forever to convince Jensen that he was more than just a guest, and that this was his house, too. He had to laugh that, even now, when Jensen was already paying to live there (a point he’d argued strongly with Jared on), he was still so cautious about invading Jared’s territory.
“Did you even brush your teeth yet?” Jared asked, screwing his face up in mock disgust.
“Fuck you,” Jensen huffed, taking Jared’s answer as his cue to sit down next to him on the couch, guitar resting comfortably in his lap.
And that was how it started, Jensen waiting for Jared to continue before strumming along with him. Jared would grimace and apologize whenever he played the wrong chords, and Jensen would laugh lightly and tell him it was alright, that he’d get it right eventually. And just like that, Jared’s own barrier, possibly the only one he had left when it came to Jensen, crumbled. He played without shame then, because it was okay to make a few mistakes and be more of a novice at this then Jensen was. At times, Jensen would stop him, kindly let him know what he was doing wrong, and play things out for Jared himself. Jared would watch as Jensen slowed the motion of his fingers so that he could see better, and when he still couldn’t get it, Jensen would reach out and grasp his fingers, helping him find the right placement. With a few more tries, Jared was playing better, his fingers moving easier on the strings.
“There you go, man,” Jensen would say whenever Jared would correct himself as they played, looking over at him with a nod and a smile, “You’re gettin’ it.”
From then on, they played together on a regular basis, something Jared never would have expected. He knew that Jensen played with some of his other friends, but hell, they were professionals. Jared was anything but. There were times when he felt a little bad, like he was probably enjoying their jam sessions way more than Jensen was, always looking to Jensen for guidance and lessons. More often than not, those times were late at night, practically morning again, after a long day at work. They’d stumble into the house, dogs leaping up to greet them, and they’d be more overtired then tired, unable to go straight to bed. This was one of those nights.
“I’ll let them out,” Jensen mumbled tiredly, hand on Jared’s shoulder, before moving towards the back door.
Jared nodded and patted Jensen’s back as he walked away, grateful for the gesture. He collapsed on the couch, eyes closing, remembering only after he’d sat down that he still had to feed the dogs, too. A quiet groan pushed past his lips until he heard the distinct sound of dog bowls being filled, claws tapping excitedly on the floor, Jensen’s hushed, “Okay, I know…I know you’re hungry,” drifting through the house. He smiled, eyes still closed, hearing an affectionate, “There you go, guys,” and picturing the pats on the head he knew Jensen was giving the dogs before walking back towards the living room.
He felt the couch dip, heard the TV come on at a low volume, Jensen’s shoes being kicked off, feet being propped up on the coffee table. He settled into the couch more, sure that he’d automatically drift off to sleep. Instead, his brain kept whirring, kept reliving the energy that Sam had experienced earlier that day. He found it hard to believe, but some liveliness was still pumping through his veins, and he snorted when the memory of the prank that had been played on him and Jensen came back to him, the image of Jensen with raccoon eyes suddenly imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
“Somethin’ funny, Sasquatch?”
Jared opened his eyes and turned to look at Jensen, laughter bubbling up in his chest.
“Fuckin’ binoculars, man,” he said, already chuckling before the last word left his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jensen drawled, a lazy grin spreading over his face. “Those sneaky bastards. We’ll have to get them back one of these days.”
Jared fidgeted on the couch cushions, trying to decide whether or not to ask the question. He glanced at Jensen, who looked relaxed and content, winding down as he watched the latest late night talk show possible.
“Hey,” he blurted out, before the debate in his head had even really ended. Jensen turned to look at him. “Uh…You wanna play guitar?”
“Yeah,” Jensen switched the TV off and stood, the only light in the room coming from a lamp in the corner, the bulb quite obviously on its last legs. “I’ll grab the guitars, you grab the beers?”
“You got it,” Jared said, unable to keep the childish grin off his face.
That was how Jared ended up cross-legged on the floor across from Jensen, guitars in their laps and beers at their sides. The dogs, still chomping on the rawhides Jensen had thrown to them, happily curled up on the floor with them. They ran through songs they knew well, rock and country, songs Jensen’s friends had written. Some nights, Jensen would bring up something different, a song he knew that they’d never played before, and Jared was pretty sure he’d light up like a Christmas tree every time. And chances were, if Jared didn’t know this particular song, Jensen would sing along as he taught him the chords. This was one of those nights.
“So you heard I got laid and betrayed by a maid in a one night stand…”
Jared faltered, screwed up the chords, and Jensen paused and grinned, a contrast to Jared’s apologetic grimace.
“S’good,” Jensen assured him leaning over and reaching for Jared’s hands, his accent becoming more prominent in his tired state. “Took ya longer ‘n usual.”
It was true. Jared usually screwed up and got lost well before the second verse of a new song. Just like always, Jensen got him back on track. And just like always, Jared would sort of feel bad, want to apologize for interrupting and being a pain in the ass. But, just like always, Jensen would smile, eyes twinkling, once Jared was back in the game and they started up again, almost as if he enjoyed teaching Jared as much as Jared enjoyed learning. And Jared finally realized that maybe he did.
“Someone’s been telling you stories…”
Sometimes, on somewhat rare occasions, Jared would start to conk out before Jensen, practically asleep with the guitar in his lap. Jensen would wait a bit before removing the instrument and gently prodding Jared to get in bed and get some rest. He’d continue playing and singing songs he hadn’t taught Jared yet, and Jared would listen as he faded in and out, always making a mental note to tell Jensen later about how, with a voice like his, he should really be more open about singing in public. They were softer, slower songs, appropriate for the time of night and the lack of sleep plaguing both of them. And to Jared, they were almost like lullabies, the strum of the guitar and Jensen’s voice soothing him to the point where he’d almost be convinced that his limbs were completely incapable of any further movement. This was one of those nights.
“Changing horses in the middle of stream
Gets you wet and sometimes cold
Changing faces in the middle of a dream…”
Suddenly, Jensen was gently lifting his fingers and pulling his guitar away.
“Jared?” Jensen spoke softly, giving a slight shake to Jared’s shoulders. “Hey, man, why don’t you go on up to bed?” He chuckled when Jared groaned and simply fell forward into him. “Come on, man, you’re gonna get all cramped sleepin’ like that.”
Some nights, Jensen would give him a few minutes, getting up and putting the guitars away, cleaning up the beer bottles, and turning off the light. Jared would finally lift his head and reach up for the helping hand Jensen would extend down to him, reluctantly getting to his feet, legs almost numb from sitting in the same position for too long. Jensen would pat him on the shoulder and say goodnight, scratching both dogs behind the ears one last time before going to bed. Jared would climb the stairs with much effort, feeling drugged, and shuffle off to his room. And when he finally climbed into bed, Jared would sleep better than he ever had before. This was one of those nights.
Guitar Hero II
Characters: Jared and Jensen. And the dogs.
Rating: PG-13 for F-bombs? I dunno. It's pretty innocent. :P
Word Count: 2,092
Warnings: Cuteness? Dunno if it counts as a spoiler, but includes the mention of a prank Jared said was played on him and Jensen during the filming of a S4 episode.
Disclaimer: I'm just a silly fan who writes fiction. Don't know or own them.
Synopsis: Jensen is Jared's guitar hero. And basically just his hero in general. Trust me, it's pretty much pure cheese.
Notes: Forgot I wrote this bit when
sucuri and I were discussing how cute it is that Jared and Jensen play guitar together at their house. Anyways, I wrote it, and sucuri read it and didn't think it sucked, so I'm posting it. The songs? Random as all hell. I couldn't think of what to put in there, and so I just grabbed whatever first came to mind. Why Dan Fogelberg first came to mind? Because my dad plays guitar, and for pretty much all my life, I've heard him playing/singing songs like that late at night when he's just overtired and not ready for bed, the way Jensen and Jared are in this fic.Jared’s learned a lot from Jensen. People who don’t really know Jensen might find that hard to believe. They see Jensen as this reserved, shy guy who’s far too private and hard to get close to. They see Jensen’s guarded behavior in front of fans and the press as a barrier to any kind of real personal life. Jared knows that isn’t true. From the moment he and Jensen met and clicked, Jensen had been his greatest friend and mentor outside of his family. Everything was easy with Jensen. They drove together, worked together, ate together, and now they even lived together. They’d only ever had one real argument in three and a half years, and even that was extremely short-lived. Beyond that, Jensen was the only other man Jared knew that he could read like a book. So much for barriers.
It was Jensen who taught him how to work with network execs without ending up proverbially bent over a desk with your pants down. It was Jensen who taught him how to really stand up for himself and his characters, taking them seriously and fighting for their integrity, even if it meant arguing a point with someone who had the power to fire him. It was Jensen who taught him how he’d have to handle his shots if he was going to keep on claiming he was a tried and true Texan. It was Jensen who taught him how to handle himself in the bars around Vancouver. It was Jensen who, after Jared would mentally kick himself for blabbing too much to the press, taught him how to be open while still maintaining a decent sense of privacy. It was Jensen who taught him how to properly throw darts, play golf, and keep his head in the game after spending eighteen hours on set. And, while he’d certainly entertained himself every now and then by plucking a few strings in his spare time, it was Jensen who taught him how to really play the guitar, which was far different from Guitar Hero.
There wasn’t much that Jared was embarrassed to do around Jensen. But, shortly after he’d finally persuaded Jensen to just move the hell in, he squirmed a bit when Jensen entered the living room while he fooled around with his guitar. He’d expected some kind of ribbing to occur. After all, they each lived to bust the other’s chops as often as possible. This was a prime opportunity for Jensen.
It was a Saturday morning, and Jensen had slept late, as usual. Jared was up early, plucking away, when Jensen groggily sauntered into the room, soft sleep pants clinging to his hips, hair mussed, and a hand rubbing tiredly over his face. Jared looked up and smiled shyly, just barely stopping himself from stilling his fingers and stashing his guitar behind the couch, where it probably belonged. Instead, he looked down at his fingers and kept playing, heat rising to his cheeks, aware that Jensen had stopped and was standing there listening. When Jared looked back up, Jensen was a little less groggy and a little more awake, his eyes suddenly wider and a little hopeful.
“Hey,” Jensen rasped, his voice still thick with sleep. Before he continued, he turned and walked back to his room, a bit livelier and quicker than his initial walk out to where Jared was sitting.
Jared stopped playing then, watching Jensen’s retreating back with confusion. He saw Jensen disappear into his room, heard him rummaging around, various items being tossed aside, before he reappeared and strolled back out to Jared, guitar in hand.
“Mind if I play with you?”
Jared grinned as Jensen lifted the guitar up in front of him, asking almost shyly for permission. He wasn’t sure what Jensen was so shy about, since Jensen was the one who knew how to play better. Then again, Jensen was still getting used to this whole, “Mi casa es su casa!” thing that Jared had just recently introduced him to. It had taken him forever to convince Jensen that he was more than just a guest, and that this was his house, too. He had to laugh that, even now, when Jensen was already paying to live there (a point he’d argued strongly with Jared on), he was still so cautious about invading Jared’s territory.
“Did you even brush your teeth yet?” Jared asked, screwing his face up in mock disgust.
“Fuck you,” Jensen huffed, taking Jared’s answer as his cue to sit down next to him on the couch, guitar resting comfortably in his lap.
And that was how it started, Jensen waiting for Jared to continue before strumming along with him. Jared would grimace and apologize whenever he played the wrong chords, and Jensen would laugh lightly and tell him it was alright, that he’d get it right eventually. And just like that, Jared’s own barrier, possibly the only one he had left when it came to Jensen, crumbled. He played without shame then, because it was okay to make a few mistakes and be more of a novice at this then Jensen was. At times, Jensen would stop him, kindly let him know what he was doing wrong, and play things out for Jared himself. Jared would watch as Jensen slowed the motion of his fingers so that he could see better, and when he still couldn’t get it, Jensen would reach out and grasp his fingers, helping him find the right placement. With a few more tries, Jared was playing better, his fingers moving easier on the strings.
“There you go, man,” Jensen would say whenever Jared would correct himself as they played, looking over at him with a nod and a smile, “You’re gettin’ it.”
From then on, they played together on a regular basis, something Jared never would have expected. He knew that Jensen played with some of his other friends, but hell, they were professionals. Jared was anything but. There were times when he felt a little bad, like he was probably enjoying their jam sessions way more than Jensen was, always looking to Jensen for guidance and lessons. More often than not, those times were late at night, practically morning again, after a long day at work. They’d stumble into the house, dogs leaping up to greet them, and they’d be more overtired then tired, unable to go straight to bed. This was one of those nights.
“I’ll let them out,” Jensen mumbled tiredly, hand on Jared’s shoulder, before moving towards the back door.
Jared nodded and patted Jensen’s back as he walked away, grateful for the gesture. He collapsed on the couch, eyes closing, remembering only after he’d sat down that he still had to feed the dogs, too. A quiet groan pushed past his lips until he heard the distinct sound of dog bowls being filled, claws tapping excitedly on the floor, Jensen’s hushed, “Okay, I know…I know you’re hungry,” drifting through the house. He smiled, eyes still closed, hearing an affectionate, “There you go, guys,” and picturing the pats on the head he knew Jensen was giving the dogs before walking back towards the living room.
He felt the couch dip, heard the TV come on at a low volume, Jensen’s shoes being kicked off, feet being propped up on the coffee table. He settled into the couch more, sure that he’d automatically drift off to sleep. Instead, his brain kept whirring, kept reliving the energy that Sam had experienced earlier that day. He found it hard to believe, but some liveliness was still pumping through his veins, and he snorted when the memory of the prank that had been played on him and Jensen came back to him, the image of Jensen with raccoon eyes suddenly imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
“Somethin’ funny, Sasquatch?”
Jared opened his eyes and turned to look at Jensen, laughter bubbling up in his chest.
“Fuckin’ binoculars, man,” he said, already chuckling before the last word left his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jensen drawled, a lazy grin spreading over his face. “Those sneaky bastards. We’ll have to get them back one of these days.”
Jared fidgeted on the couch cushions, trying to decide whether or not to ask the question. He glanced at Jensen, who looked relaxed and content, winding down as he watched the latest late night talk show possible.
“Hey,” he blurted out, before the debate in his head had even really ended. Jensen turned to look at him. “Uh…You wanna play guitar?”
“Yeah,” Jensen switched the TV off and stood, the only light in the room coming from a lamp in the corner, the bulb quite obviously on its last legs. “I’ll grab the guitars, you grab the beers?”
“You got it,” Jared said, unable to keep the childish grin off his face.
That was how Jared ended up cross-legged on the floor across from Jensen, guitars in their laps and beers at their sides. The dogs, still chomping on the rawhides Jensen had thrown to them, happily curled up on the floor with them. They ran through songs they knew well, rock and country, songs Jensen’s friends had written. Some nights, Jensen would bring up something different, a song he knew that they’d never played before, and Jared was pretty sure he’d light up like a Christmas tree every time. And chances were, if Jared didn’t know this particular song, Jensen would sing along as he taught him the chords. This was one of those nights.
“So you heard I got laid and betrayed by a maid in a one night stand…”
Jared faltered, screwed up the chords, and Jensen paused and grinned, a contrast to Jared’s apologetic grimace.
“S’good,” Jensen assured him leaning over and reaching for Jared’s hands, his accent becoming more prominent in his tired state. “Took ya longer ‘n usual.”
It was true. Jared usually screwed up and got lost well before the second verse of a new song. Just like always, Jensen got him back on track. And just like always, Jared would sort of feel bad, want to apologize for interrupting and being a pain in the ass. But, just like always, Jensen would smile, eyes twinkling, once Jared was back in the game and they started up again, almost as if he enjoyed teaching Jared as much as Jared enjoyed learning. And Jared finally realized that maybe he did.
“Someone’s been telling you stories…”
Sometimes, on somewhat rare occasions, Jared would start to conk out before Jensen, practically asleep with the guitar in his lap. Jensen would wait a bit before removing the instrument and gently prodding Jared to get in bed and get some rest. He’d continue playing and singing songs he hadn’t taught Jared yet, and Jared would listen as he faded in and out, always making a mental note to tell Jensen later about how, with a voice like his, he should really be more open about singing in public. They were softer, slower songs, appropriate for the time of night and the lack of sleep plaguing both of them. And to Jared, they were almost like lullabies, the strum of the guitar and Jensen’s voice soothing him to the point where he’d almost be convinced that his limbs were completely incapable of any further movement. This was one of those nights.
“Changing horses in the middle of stream
Gets you wet and sometimes cold
Changing faces in the middle of a dream…”
Suddenly, Jensen was gently lifting his fingers and pulling his guitar away.
“Jared?” Jensen spoke softly, giving a slight shake to Jared’s shoulders. “Hey, man, why don’t you go on up to bed?” He chuckled when Jared groaned and simply fell forward into him. “Come on, man, you’re gonna get all cramped sleepin’ like that.”
Some nights, Jensen would give him a few minutes, getting up and putting the guitars away, cleaning up the beer bottles, and turning off the light. Jared would finally lift his head and reach up for the helping hand Jensen would extend down to him, reluctantly getting to his feet, legs almost numb from sitting in the same position for too long. Jensen would pat him on the shoulder and say goodnight, scratching both dogs behind the ears one last time before going to bed. Jared would climb the stairs with much effort, feeling drugged, and shuffle off to his room. And when he finally climbed into bed, Jared would sleep better than he ever had before. This was one of those nights.
Guitar Hero II
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Date: 2008-11-25 07:45 pm (UTC)