Author: Regala Electra
Fandom: (Not RPS, Obviously. I don’t write that.)
Pairing: Chad/Misha, Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Sex, Language, Drug Use, Chad Michael Murray
Word Count: 7,466
Author’s Notes: Written for memphis86 for some reason I can no longer remember. Many things in this story are not factual. I don’t believe Jensen watches Beaches to make himself cry or that Chad Michael Murray’s acting skills are up to par for a Syfy (lolz) miniseries. I doubt Jägerbombs are the key to Jared’s deepest secrets. Clif is not paid to bake for Jared and Jensen. Misha Collins is not a real person. He’s a space alien sent from the future to break our brains. Many, many thanks to ignited for supporting me during my mental breakdown and to memphis86 for the final beta.
Again, please note I did warn for Chad Michael Murray.
Contrary to popular belief, Misha Collins is not actually a cane toad.
That being said if you’re looking to get high, Misha is your guy.
No really, dude’s all you need; no little blue pills from some spray-tanned scene kid looking to make a little extra money that mommy and daddy aren’t supplying. No strung out burnout handing over a baggie of white powder that might be cut with the kind of shit that’ll have you pulling a Heather (not that Heather, it's the other one, the blonde one who isn’t Shannon Doherty) only it’ll be your nose you’re vomiting up. That shit’s nasty but what the hell, you only live once right?
Drugs are a hell of thing.
But Chad’s getting ahead of himself.
It’s not like Chad’s always getting high and stoned and drunk off his ass. It's just how he rolls most of the time. Now that he’s stuck up in Vancouver filming a fucking TV miniseries how the hell else is he going to waste his time?
He’s playing the second lead biker gang member in a doomsday post-apocalyptic world and they’re fighting space invaders who are actually humans...from the future.
Whatever, he gets to wear a giant mohawk and watch shit get blown up. It's money and he’ll always take that over not having money.
Or that's what he tells Jared because hey, why the fuck not visit Jared?
You can only screw around with so many girls before one of them sticks around too long in the morning, asking about what you’re doing later that day and she doesn’t want to hear whoever is hotter than you.
There are freebies to abuse at Jared’s place since he’s settled into his house and has a sweet setup with these regular timed groceries deliveries. Once a week there’s all this free food waiting for Chad to steal.
Chad can’t stress that enough.
Like clockwork he shows up at the house as soon as the groceries are in desperate need of him rifling through them. Chad ignores Jensen glaring at him when he rips open an industrial-sized bag of Cheetos and pretends not to hear him pleading "Please don’t stain the new white leather couch."
Ten bucks says Chad’ll make him cry one of these days. Ignoring Jensen, he says to Jared, “You ready, bitch?”
Sometimes they’ll marathon awesome chick flicks. It's mostly to fuck with Jensen because if Jared’s all hung up on his jock, Chad’s gotta make sure Jensen is worthy of Jared. It’s a friendship rule or something or so Jared’s convinced him, and wow don’t ever make a friendship pact with Jared after doing tequila shots because he fucking remembers.
Shit like Heathers and Mean Girls and if Jensen hangs out with them, then Chad has to list all the possibly illegal sex acts he’d totally do to Lindsay when she was jailbait, or he’ll say that he’s got a package that Winona is free to shoplift any time.
He and Jared have a bet going on how long Jensen can stand Chad and so far, Jared’s making bank; but whatever, one day Chad will break the Jensen Code. Chad figures it must be the gay ESP giving Jared the advantage.
“There’s no such thing as gay ESP,” Jared says, exasperated after Jensen’s out of earshot.
Jensen had made some lame excuse about needing to check his email and backed out of the room, a mournful look at the couch that Chad’s sprawled over. Yeah, there might be a stain or two, but no fucking big deal, the cleaning crew’ll take care of it. Not like either of them have any idea how to fucking clean for all the super-queer neatfreak vibes Jensen gives off.
Bitch is probably too busy making sure no one’s saying mean shit about him on the Internet.
But Chad can’t say that around Jared or he’ll get all huffy and puffy and there’s no fucking way he’s dealing with Jared getting lame and moping about poor little Jenny and how he struggles loving that asshole.
So instead he says, “Dude, you two better watch out or you’ll both synch up and get your periods together.”
“Fucking asshole,” Jared says, which is pretty much Chad’s nickname, meaning that they’re all good.
The pillow to the head is easy to duck, and even better when Chad knocks it to the ground Harley decides to start humping the pillow. It's pretty fucking hilarious, watching Jared try to separate dog-and-pillow.
“Hey, man, you can’t stop true love. Isn’t that how you got Jensen to stop playing and give up his ass virginity?”
“We haven’t—” Jared huffs as he frees the pillow from Harley’s total player ways, “Shut up, Chad.”
Oh so it’s like that.
Damn, it explains why Jared’s been working out so much. Bitch must be pretty goddamn frustrated. Doesn’t even matter if he’s getting sex elsewhere when Jensen’s pussying out on him; and still in denial about how he wants to adopt Angelina Jolie’s extra kids and get gay-married and buy a farm where he and Jared will live happily ever after or some shit.
There’s two ways this goes: Chad tries to be totally gay and say some supportive shit, or he will avoid being Jared's personal Oprah at all costs.
So he says, after Christian Slater blows himself up (because that scene is totally badass and maybe he’d even blow someone for the chance to play the J.D. role in a remake), “You want to pick the game this time?”
Because check it, here’s the deal: There’s one major advantage to coming over to Jared’s that doesn’t involve the free food and booze: a pants-wetting enormous flat screen TV; surround-sound that could make God deaf; and a chance to make Jared take it like the bitch he is and get his ass handed to him.
Fuck you if you bitch that he listed three other things because rolled into one, it’s the taste of sweet victory and there’s nothing else that can make shitty-ass Vancouver any more awesome than owning your friend’s ass hard.
Maybe that’s kind of a gay way of putting it but he is hanging out at Jared and Jensen’s Queer Cottage of Big Gay Undeclared Love. It’s a miracle he hasn’t started lactating yet.
Still, Chad’s life is pretty fucking sweet right now if you ask him.
The next week during Grocery/Forage for Free Food Day, he meets Misha Collins.
He was wrong. Things get a fuck lot more awesome, but that part that comes later.
First, there’s the weird.
Chad’s hangover is still raging so he’s got his darkest sunglasses on as his driver takes him to Jared’s house. And because the stupid girl he banged last night had started singing The Future’s So Bright (I Gotta Wear Shades) right in the middle of Chad getting his freak on he’s got that stuck in his head. Plus, he’s pretty sure he’s still wearing her panties so that’s not so awesome.
Whatever, he’ll leave the panties in Jensen’s room so he’ll freak out and maybe think Jared’s bringing home some strange and fucking her in Jensen's secret sanctuary. Maybe that’ll get the gay fucker to man up and finally put out for Jay.
Now, it’s time to make his entrance. First he heads towards the backyard, all incognito because hey, sunglasses. Perfect excuse to go all spy and shit.
Sure, Chad could do the boring thing and wait to be let in at the front door but it’s fucking funnier sneaking through the back entrance with the set of keys he copied off of Jared’s.
(Here’s a little secret Chad picked up from Girls Gone Wild: Jägerbombs make awesome things happen. Jared can’t handle his Jäger past a certain point and man, if Jensen figured that the fuck out, they’d be gobbling each other’s cocks in no time. Chad’s gotten away with some amazing stuff getting Jared smashed on Jäger. Such as a memorable little visit to a 24-hour locksmith.)
Normally Jensen’s in the kitchen trying to hide his favorite foods. Chad enjoys tossing it into the freezer when Jensen’s not looking as punishment for him being an über-bitch and leaving Jay all high and dry. But he’s not there at the door to scowl at him which is disappointing because Chad had a few backdoor jokes to make at his expense.
The kitchen kind of smells absolutely fucking delicious, actually. And hey, there is someone standing in front of the oven.
Clif’s baking cupcakes.
Chad really needs to get himself a manservant/bodyguard one of these days. Although he’s going to require that his manservant doesn’t wear a frilly apron. Damn it’s a good thing Chad’s there to up the hetero quota.
Although, cupcakes. He could be down for some of those. “You got any Bloody Mary mix?” he asks.
Clif doesn’t answer him at first, frowning when he side-eyes Chad with his usual glare. There's no doubt that he's heard horror stories from Jensen about his eating habits but hey, food is meant to be eaten wherever or on whoever Chad sees fit. After Clif pulls out a tray of cupcakes (chocolate, fuck yeah), he finally says, “Sorry we’re out. There’s orange juice—”
“Awesome.” As he pulls the carton of juice out of the fridge, he asks, casual as the coolest cucumber chilling in a frosty tundra (man Jared’s fridge feels all cold and shit), “So where are the boys? Jensen too busy working on his crying technique?”
“They’re not rehearsing,” Clif answers gruffly and it sounds like he totally thinks they’re fooling around. What do they call it on Page Six? Canoodling? Yeah canoodling with their noodles.
If only. It would be a lot more awesome torturing Jensen. Bitch can blush like a teenage girl, and there’s nothing better than making him hot and bothered about Jay and unable to do anything ‘cause Chad’s still there, the unwanted guest and friend to Jared. The one thing Jensen really can’t do is make his Jay-bird bummed out. Man, Chad is looking forward to the day when he can really irritate the hell out of Jensen.
He’s kind of pre-drunk on the power. Or maybe he's still hungover. Whatever.
“I told them they can’t be in the kitchen while I’m baking. Jared picks and Jensen stares at the cupcakes inappropriately. Sometimes I’ll hear this whining noise and it's not coming from the dogs.”
Chad nods, waiting for Clif to turn around to put the next batch in the oven before stealing a couple of cupcakes off the wire rack. It’s not frosted but he’ll deal. “You can’t trust those two. They’re pretty tricky. Especially Jensen.”
“I saw that, Chad.”
Chad wisely decides to shut up. And skedaddle right the hell out of the kitchen, carton of orange juice in one hand and cupcakes in the other.
Dammit, he forgot the Cheetos.
He doesn’t have to worry about Clif following him and taking the cupcakes (one of which is now stuffed in his mouth) back because apparently once Chad crosses the threshold to the media room the vibe seriously changes. Everything, at all once, feels kind of goddamn copasetic; and Chad hates the word copasetic unless it’s some chick saying that she gives copasetic blowjobs that’ll leave him in a copasetic coma for a week.
That was one of the best weeks of Chad’s life so far. Too bad he can’t remember it.
There’s someone else on cupcake timeout in the tricked-out media room, some dude Chad doesn’t recognize at first because he’s wearing a scarf so hideous Chad at first can’t believe it’s not on Jared’s. Once he unwraps it off of his face (and why he’s wearing it, Chad will never know), he realizes it’s that other dude on Supernatural.
“Chad,” Jared says, a fistful of Cheetos frozen midway to his mouth, “Have you met Misha yet?”
He hasn’t and Chad wonders what kind of douche Misha is: boring like Jensen or awesome like Jared. (No way he’s cool like Chad.) Roughly swallowing the delicious, crumbly sweet bits of the cupcake down, he says thickly, “Teen Choice Awards, right?”
“Unfortunately despite my attempts to skew towards that demographic, I can’t say I’ve had the opportunity to attend,” Misha says and it takes Chad a minute to figure out he’s saying no.
That’s a hell of a lot of words to say no.
“Is that a cupcake?” Jensen says, and hey, he’s not saying it in that annoyed Why are you here, oh God why are you ruining my life please go away now I want to sort through my sweater-shirt collection voice. It’s more like, well, it sounds like Jensen’s kind of stoned. Which is fucking hilarious for such an uptight guy who actually stands by the damn window when he smokes. Can't let the smell of cigarettes coat his precious baseball hat collection.
“It’s my cupcake. Clif gave it to me.”
Jensen moans. “Clif’s holding out on us, Jared,” he whines, actually fucking whines, head lolling over to make direct contact with Jared's puppy dog face, “I need a cupcake. With chocolate frosting. And chocolate sprinkles. And chocolate whipped cream. With chocolate sauce.”
“You like chocolate whipped cream?” Jared asks, almost giggles, and he nervously swipes his hair off his forehead. Which was retarded since he gets streaks of Cheetos dust all over. Yeah that’ll get him a ticket to Bone City.
“Oooh you like getting real freaky with whipped cream? Get a chick to wear nothing but a skimpy bikini fresh from the can?” Chad pauses to reflect on that tasty image. Next time he orders room service, he’s getting a can of whipped cream. “Damn, you better be careful man. If that gets leaked you’ll become the freaky dessert topping celeb.”
This is where Jensen is supposed to scowl at him or give out some lame excuse for why he’s got to go (weep in his room, that is) but he doesn’t do that. No, what he does is smile at Chad.
Let that be repeated in case anyone missed it: Jensen fucking smiles.
A happy one, that super-gay one that Jared’s always going on about when he’s really fucking wasted and how it makes him feel all these really gay things inside. Mostly Jared goes into explicit detail about how much he wants to touch his dick (there is a downside to Jäger-bombed Jared) and then Chad has to steer the conversation to safer topics; like how he’d love to be a guard at a lesbian prison.
There’s some stuff Chad really don’t need to know, pretty much ever. One of those things is how little it takes to get his buddy from zero to cockslut.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“We’re having a good time,” Jared says, spraying flecks of Cheetos dust all over the couch and shouldn’t Jensen be having a seizure right now and whipping out paper towels or a Swiffer and bitching about the mess?
“Better time if we had cupcakes. But..." and then Jensen pauses to stare at Jay and really, why the hell are they not fucking now? Other than to spare Chad the horror of their pale whiteboy naked asses. "S’all good.”
Those words sound real wrong coming out of Jensen’s mouth.
“I’m just happy to be here,” Misha says, simply. That’s when Chad makes his fatal move.
And by move, all Chad does is sit next to Misha, open up the orange juice and start drinking it straight of the container. Jensen doesn’t even wince.
“I’ve heard intriguing things about you, Chad,” Misha says so fucking sincere it makes Chad’s balls itch. Fuck, that’s the damn panties. He really needs to take the damn things off.
Then it happens. Misha keeps staring at him like he's waiting to make his move. He just...it’s so fucking weird, on top of all the weirdness, like Chad doesn’t give a fuck and he’s not like, noticing it on purpose. Because there are some mad steamy gay stares Jensen’s shooting at Jared while that stupid motherfucker’s chewing Cheetos open-mouthed, and it’s the crunchy kind so it’s mad noisy, and that’s when Misha offers Chad a handshake. Fuck it, Chad’s finished his other cupcake and when this weirdass weirdo’s the least weird in the room, why the hell not?
So he goes to give Misha a pound, for shits and giggles.
But the joke’s on him. Misha holds his fist.
Just holds it. Like a freak.
And suddenly, Chad’s hangover? Completely fucking gone.
There's another kind of pounding in his body, one that normally he'd like to explore in the vicinity of chicks. He's also starving.
Now he really needs some Cheetos. And cupcakes. And pizza. Damn, pizza would be good. “Anyone down for ordering some pizza?”
“Already ordered,” Jensen says, slowly walking across the room to where Jared’s seated. He thrusts his hand deep into Jared’s bag of Cheetos, pausing longer than necessary, crook of his arm rubbing against Jared’s face.
“Sorry,” Jensen says, super-soft only it’s a stage whisper so Chad totally hears it.
“No problem,” Jared says, panting. Nothing's sexier than flop sweat. And sticking out a cheeto-orange tongue as he licks his lips.
They are so fucking gay Chad gags a little.
“You aren’t choking, are you?” Misha asks, an awesome warm hand firm on Chad’s shoulder, steadying him. “I’m a certified EMT.”
“No shit, huh? You look good for a lady-dude.”
“Emergency Medical Technician,” Jared says, voice tight and funny, his eyes glued to Jensen’s ass as he walks back over to his seat like he’s the largest steak in the world and Jared’s in desperate need for someone to carve off a piece of that. Which is kind of true. “Not Female-to-Male transsexual.”
“I’ve heard it both ways,” Chad argues.
“Where?” Jensen asks giggling, and that is one sound Chad could have lived without ever having to hear because holy crap, that’s disturbing.
“Hey,” Chad says, turning to apparently most sane person in the room. “You’re not mad I called you a chick, right?”
Misha shrugs calmly. “Why should I find it an insult for someone to remark that I might have qualities that break with masculine stereotypes of hetero-normality?”
Chad has no idea what that means so he nods, fakes a smile.
Man, he’s wasting his acting skills, gotta save it for the mini-series. Tomorrow he’s got do a bonding scene with his character’s future great-great-great grandson who'll then die horribly when a motorcycle becomes sentient and starts killing off all the humans from the future.
It's going to be very moving.
When the homoerotic vibes start pinging so bad that Chad can see them in cascading waves of gay in the freakin’ air (man, Jared and Jensen need to be fucking last year), he says, “I gotta hit the can.”
Then, as an evil plan is forming in his mind, he adds, “Yo Jensen, can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course, Chad. You’re our guest,” Jensen says, standing back up, swaying slightly as he comes over, clapping his hands on Chad’s shoulders, rubbing them in small circles. Chad shudders when he bends down to get closer to his face. Jensen's breath smells like cigarettes and Cheetos. “And you’re my friend. You know that, right? Any friend of Jared is a friend of mine. I love you, man.”
“Awesome. Hey, can I borrow some money?”
“Worth a try.”
Chad might feel fucking awesome right now, like his head feels all light but his bones are heavy but that’s to keep him glued to the Earth or he’ll start spinning off and every step is like walking in a bouncy castle but he makes it to his goal, Jensen’s rooms, a little messy, so he’s not a complete neatfreak bitch, just a bitchy freak.
In a few minutes, he’s stuck the panties under Jensen’s bed (under a worn copy of a Beaches DVD, so that’s how Jensen gets his tears on), done unspeakable things to Jensen’s toilet, and mixed up Jensen’s painstakingly organized socks.
What he doesn’t expect is to find Misha waiting in the hallway.
“The cupcakes are frosted.”
“It’s not here yet.” Misha cants his head at Chad, a calm smile on his face. “None of your matchmaking attempts have worked, have they?”
“I don’t what you’re talking about, dude.”
“I’m sorry but I noticed from the way you were walking earlier that your natural stride was off. As though you were constricted. Naturally wearing female lingerie has that effect.” Misha pauses, a knowing look on his face. Maybe a little of a smirk but Chad ignores that. “I’ve seen it before.”
“So I like how feels." Chad tries and reaches for a good insult. "You have stupid hair.”
Misha shrugs. “I’d believe that if you didn’t look so relaxed right now.”
He tries to walk around Misha but he isn’t budging and when Chad lays a hand on Misha, he gets these weird tingly vibrations all over. It makes him feel kind of giddy.
Misha shakes his head and says regretfully, “Leaving a pair of panties in Jensen’s room doesn’t seem like the best plan for helping Jared win Jensen’s heart.”
Okay, Chad has no idea what the fuck this dude is all about. “You got a better idea?”
Chad blinks. “What?”
“Let's eat them. We should also play Wii. How are you at tennis?”
“I’m gonna beat your ass,” Chad swears, not noticing that Misha’s leading him by the hand back to the media room. No, the only thing he’s noticing is that he’s feeling groovy all of a sudden and Chad? Is not one to feel fucking groovy without good reason. And by reason, he means drugs.
“We’ll see,” Misha says, all polite, a weird smile on his face like he knows something Chad doesn't know and Chad knows tons of stuff, so that can't be right.
"Spanked raw, dude. Count on it."
Misha responds, “I take pleasure in the game itself. Not the final outcome.”
Misha kicks all of their asses. Even Jensen, who uses Wii Tennis as his goddamn workout routine and yes, Chad does give him shit about that. If Jared can pimp out a whole trailer just for his insane workout program, then Jensen could at least do something manly like basketball. But no, Jensen plays Wii Tennis. And bitches about stained couches.
He’d swear Jensen’s packing a man-vag under the old-man sweaters and jeans but Jared can get real descriptive after a night of pizza and margarita shooters about Jensen’s alleged elephant trunk smuggled in his jeans.
But it doesn’t matter that Chad's ass was thoroughly pounded by Misha because even after the first time he loses, he’s happy to thrown down again and again. Sure, he keeps on losing but Chad feels good each and every time.
He doesn’t even mind Misha’s lack of personal boundaries when he pinches Chad’s nipple.
Come to think of it, Chad was thinking about giving Misha the old titty-twister in punishment for the thorough whumpage. Only Misha got there first.
And he really doesn’t mind. At all.
The day after when Chad’s fucking around on the set waiting for them to finish airbrushing the extras the perfect shade of sun-bruised purple (there’s some geeky sci-fi reason why it has to be that exact color purple), Chad calls Jared to make a bet about the real origins of Misha.
His guess? A government experiment back when they were working on mind expansion drugs that went really right.
There’s a long pause over the phone. Jared’s probably thinking about how the evening ended with Jensen passed out on the floor, sandwiched between Harley and Sadie. For almost a half-hour, Harley was sitting on Jensen’s head and he didn’t notice a damn thing. Harley only moved off of him once Jensen started snoring. That bitch cannot hold his tequila, no matter what he might claim.
Finally he says, "Misha’s just really happy to be here. I don’t know, man, he’s a good guy. Sometimes he’s a ball-buster but he’s good people."
Good people don’t make warm fuzzies spark all over Chad’s skin. This bet has to happen. It’s a good reason for Chad to snoop around.
“No, man, it’s like, my skin gets all weird around him.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything,” Jared says, like a bitch, meaning he’s been waiting for the opportunity. Chad can hear his nipples tightening in excitement over the phone. “But I thought you were blushing when Misha tackled you.”
“He did not tackle me, Assmaster Flash,” Chad protests, shrugging off a makeup artist attempting to retouch the guyliner slathered on to make him extra badass-looking. “I was on the ground ‘cause it’s like, gravity feels better there and Misha fell on me. That’s all.”
“Maybe I should try that with Jensen,” Jared says, thoughtfully.
“Dude, I prefer the ladies,” Chad says, winking to one of the production assistants walking past him. She ignore him...for now. Nobody can resist Chad forever. He’s good at that. “Misha might be man-pretty but he’s not chick-pretty.”
“You do realize you’re calling him pretty, right?”
“I meant like, for a guy, he’s got...real nice...uh,” Chad shuts his mouth before he blurts out his eyes are soulful because no, that is not something Chad is ever going to say out loud. Ever. “Look, there’s something weird about him. Really weird.”
He can hear the faint laughter of Jared’s disbelief. “You seriously want to make a bet about this?”
“I don’t know. I feel bad taking your money, man. But since you have been stealing my food, I guess it evens out.”
5K to the winner. Chad’s got this in the bag.
When Chad gets back to his hotel room he’s actually alone; or free-balling it, as he likes to say. It’s a change from his normal routine of bringing home a nice slice of ass to enjoy a lá mode. Strangely, he’s not bothered about being alone tonight.
That should have been the first sign.
The day’s shoot had dragged on because the total hack they hired to play his great-great-great grandson kept sneezing, some kind of stupid allergy to the purple makeup. And ruined all of Chad’s best emotional takes. Damn it, there’s only so many times the glycerin tears can perfectly roll down his cheeks before it looks dumb as shit.
He’s barely taken off his shoes before he face-plants into the bed and he’s sound asleep.
Chad does not dream.
He doesn’t and he really doesn’t appreciate the suggestion that he would because dreaming is for losers who don’t have awesome lives. Chad’s living a pretty sweet one because he wants to focus on smaller projects right now, and fuck the CW for letting a talent like him go.
So like, all that happens is some time after he takes his 3 a.m. piss, he’s tossing and turning in his bed. It’s a rare night that he’s stone cold sober, and this night he sure as hell isn’t, but that doesn’t excuse it.
But this is how he excuses it: he drifts off and sees stuff happening in his head that hasn’t happened yet.
In the not-dream, he’s wearing a pimped out tuxedo with tails and his hair is back to that haircut he had for Freaky Friday and when he glances down at his torso he notices underneath the tux jacket he’s wearing a tube top—neon pink. What other fucking color are there for tube tops?
Also he’s in Manhattan. Central Park, to be exact.
Maybe he’s in a gilded horse-drawn carriage too. It’s difficult to tell seeing as there’s no driver guiding the horse. Which actually looks more like a pony. A pony of a different color. Every time he tries to figure out if it’s a some kind of midget horse or if it is indeed Mr. Sparkles, the pony he might have wanted when he was an eight year old kid and his balls hadn’t dropped yet, but he can’t tell.
Mostly he's focused on the gorgeous princess sitting beside him, her kokoshnik gleaming in the moonlight.
Odd. It was sunny a minute ago.
“Kiss me, you fool,” she says, her bosom (yeah that’s definitely a bosom, perfumed and creamy-sweet) heaving with emotion, “For I am trapped in these clothes until my true love kisses me.”
The orchestral score rises as Chad leans toward his fair maiden. Time slows down and just like in every sweeping romantic comedy, it's the most perfect kiss ever. He can hear freaking angels openly weeping in ecstasy as finally true love’s kiss has been laid (and later the princess will be a whole other kind of laid) and that's when a tender rain comes down, covering them in a gentle, dewy mist.
He even cops a feel off his lady love, finding a smooth-muscled torso beneath his hand.
Chad opens his eyes.
Misha stares back at him, naked as the day he was born.
“Oh, Chad,” he sighs, wiping the tract of saliva clinging to his bottom lip, “We are going to be so happy.”
Chad wakes immediately after that, squinting at the morning light.
There is one burning question on his mind: what the hell is a kokoshnik?
Google answers the question of the kokoshnik, which should be a dirty word. Like hey stop putting your kokoshnik in my ass, I’m not gay, no matter if a dream or an incredibly painful boner says otherwise.
Nah, the kokoshnik isn’t like that at all. It’s like a freaking tiara.
He had a fucking dream that shook him and left him shaking and panting in bed. A dirty dream.
Now fantasies, he’s had his share.
Hallucinations? Oh you better be-fucking-bitch-lieve he has his share of hallucinations and then some.
But this is different. Chad woke up dick-stiff after having a freaky fairytale fantasy about Misha Collins. This is unacceptable.
When he gets on set, he fucks up a scene because he was trying to remember what other stuff Jared had said in passing about Misha, all the rare, random tiddly bits of chatter that aren’t about Jensen and Jared’s big gay suffering love.
There isn’t much to go on.
Like any other person annoyed by someone invading his thoughts, there’s only one course of action for Chad to take. Stalk the motherfucker to find out their sicko habits. People are sick, sick bastards and finding out what kind of nasty Misha is will stop Chad from wondering how gay it would be to yank one off thinking about him.
If he finds out Misha enjoys eating old KFC chicken wings out of dumpsters or wearing pudding-pop bras for a good time that’ll stop the creeping queery thoughts stone cold.
(One day when he needs to ruin a couple of reputations, he has a helluva a story to sell to The National Enquirer)
Then he finds out Misha has a Twitter.
Chad does not twitter. Twittering is what panting-for-jock gay dudes do and Chad’s too busy to twitter, and plus he doesn’t kiss and tell about his private life. Unless Us Magazine is offering him a nice payout.
Especially since he’s a free agent now ‘cause that whole being engaged thing didn’t pan out.
He sets up his alias twitter on the fly, between scene changes. It’s super-secret too; nobody will think it’s him.
The bio says it all: im out.
GayJensen's picture is one Jared had texted to Chad last year, a girly very young Jensen proudly modeling a Boy Scout outfit. There is nothing about the photo that could pass for heterosexuality.
Chad has just realized that Jared may have once jacked off to that photo. Sick fucker.
Whatever, being queer isn’t like cooties so it doesn’t matter that he knows how much Jared’s screaming for some hot man-sausage. What matters is that he’s fucking stalking Misha Collins and he has no problem with it.
Yeah this is going to end well.
In the next two weeks, Chad winds up spending extra non-grocery raiding time at Jared’s house. Or should he call it the lovebirds’ nest? They’ve been getting extra touchy-gropey lately and considering their regular amounts of touching, that’s a hell of a lot of unwanted dudely PDA.
Misha’s taken to showing up fashionably late and unannounced at Chad’s impromptu drop-ins.
It doesn’t really bother Chad. Misha is kinda awesome when it comes to just like, shooting the shit. There’s a fuckton of tall tales that he’s always going on about, and he takes requests too. Jensen will prompt him, saying "Tell us about building your house," and Jared nods eagerly because his knee knocks up against Jensen’s and could Jay be more gay? Like, how has it taken him so long to seal the deal?
Chad doesn’t think any of the stuff Misha says is true, who the hell would kayak the L.A. river? But he kind of is what Jared claims he is: plain old good people.
There’s also this thing where Chad is certain he’s getting a fucking contact high from Misha and if there’s anything Chad loves more in this world besides himself it’s drugs, especially ones that come fast and cheap.
Also, he loves Clueless but that’s a completely difference kind of love, pure and uncomplicated. You don’t get fucked up over Clueless. Unless you’re Jared and you make a lame pass (footsie? Man if it doesn’t work in Cluelesss, it won’t work in the real world) that Jensen ignores.
Watching the end of the movie gets a little awkward, what with everyone getting their crazy happy endings and Jared about to throw a tantrum because he’s still being denied his happy ending, of the awesome massage variety.
Chad and Jared go into the kitchen to refuel the snacks while Jensen and Misha kick off an epic Wii Tennis championship tournament where the loser has to speak in his Batman voice for the rest of the night.
Chad thinks they’ll all be losers no matter who wins.
Jared's already drunk as a skunk (normally Chad wouldn’t complain but he’s still unlocking the Misha Code) and Chad is pretty tired of Jared bitching.
Then, lightbulb moment. He has an idea.
He’s going for scorched earth tactics.
"That's it. I'm telling."
"No! You can't. What if—what if he says no? What if he moves out and never speaks to me again? Do you know what hard that'll make it seeing him every day on set? I can't lose everything if he doesn't—"
"Stop being a bitch."
Storming back into the media room, he sees Jensen curled in a ball on the floor, fending off a dog pile-up. Okay it might have been mean to put snausages in Jensen’s jeans, but Chad did get bored for five minutes. Misha is trying to entice the dogs away with the promise of Cheetos crumbs.
Chad says, “Jared is in fucking mega-gay love for you, dude.”
Jared’s sputtering nonsense words behind Chad, mumbling something about protein shakes messing with his head and finally he shakes his head, saying, “No. I’m... It’s true. I’m sorry.”
“Well this is awkward,” Misha says to no one in particular.
Before Jensen can protest or say that they’re friends and not like that or the biggest lie of all that all Jensen cares about is some hot sloppy pussy, Chad storms out.
Shockingly enough, Misha follows him.
“Sometimes a direct approach is the best approach.”
“Whatever,” Chad says dismissively as he shuts the door closed and then presses his ear against it to listen. “They better be up in Bone City,” Chad mutters.
There’s a faint muffled noise, maybe a laugh.
Misha’s also eavesdropping, his face inches away from Chad. Naturally that means they’re kind of staring into each other’s eyes which is totally fine and that’s all it is, listening and waiting.
For a good, let’s say, five minutes.
Or a minute, Chad doesn’t have a stopwatch.
Misha pushes the door open a crack, the view isn’t one that’ll scar Chad for life. Nah, Jay and Jenny are still standing pretty damn far apart, just staring at each other. It’s pretty creepy and a whole lot sad but Chad’s sure it’s supposed to be meaningful since they’re always staring at each other like that. Except how Jensen’s breathing deeply and Jared’s biting his lip and for the love of Salma Hayek’s tits, Chad is done pussyfooting around.
"Screw it," Chad says, pushing past Misha as he enters the room. "Okay, Jensen? Jared wants to toss your salad with your choice of dressing. Be fruitful and screw-ify. My work here is done."
He leaves the room for good this time. At least for today because he DVR’d a marathon of Lipstick Jungle and there’s no way he’s missing out on the cougar hotness of Brooke Shields.
"Do you want to know something weird?" Misha asks him, still doing the stalkery following thing. Which, Chad admits, is unfair since he is secretly stalking Misha like the slick covert spy he is.
“Is it freaky weird?”
“You might think so.”
Then Misha kisses him.
It's not weird.
There are loud, gay noises coming out of the media room.
“Ugh,” Chad says as Misha’s hands start doing some awesome, awesome things south of the border, “I can’t listen to Jared busting a nut.”
“You want to defile Jared’s sanctuary?”
“I’m not doing it on his Soloflex.”
Misha rolls his eyes. “His bedroom.”
“Oh.” Chad considers this for a split-second, the exact time it takes to learn that Jared might be a screamer. Unless that’s Jensen.
He kind of wants it to be Jensen.
Words do happen, yeah, let’s do it, come on that repeat later on in bed in a very different context.
Later, much later (and no, there’s no debriefing, what goes on between two dudes is nobody’s business when one of those dudes is Chad and he’s not going to bask in the afterglow like a fucking pussy), Chad’s sneaking out of the house. He’s never been more stealthy and it’s wasted since Jared and Jensen are probably passed out.
Oh and Misha heads out with him but Chad making it out of the house without getting Sadie or Harley running after him is pretty impressive.
Also because Chad is partially covered in strawberry jam. Showering might be needed once he gets back to his hotel room.
“Hey,” Chad says when Misha’s standing next to his car, “I’ll call you. Right?”
Misha smirks. “You could do that. Or use another medium. I’ve been disappointed that there aren’t any twits from 'GayJensen'. See you around, Chad.”
Chad’s just been gay ESP’d. Damn it.
Next time the delivery day for groceries rolls around, Chad’s running late. A long, hard night had him rolling out of a hot tub (drained some time after passing out in it). He might have made it on time, but he didn’t and no, he’s not dishing out dirt.
There were bubbles and showering, duh, so Chad is squeaky clean at the moment.
He's wearing underwear that doesn’t belong to him again, but guy underwear is a lot more comfortable than wearing a teeny string bikini briefs.
The front door opens before he’s given the opportunity to bang obnoxiously on it. The hallway’s dark and he has to take off his aviator sunglasses to peer into the dark, smoky space.
Jensen is standing partially obscured behind the door. He’s wearing what looks to be smoking jacket. And he’s smoking, the tip of his cigarette glowing orange for a moment.
“Hello, Chad.” He probably thinks he’s being badass or something, poor bastard. The silky dark pajamas bottoms are overkill.
“Why are you dressed like Hugh Hefner?”
Jensen flicks on the light, faint snort of disgust. “I do not look like Hugh Hefner.” He takes in Chad, who may or may not also be wearing one of Misha’s shirts, Chad only vaguely recalls dressing himself this morning. “Why do you have hickeys on your neck?”
Jensen nods. “Me too.”
“I—what?” Chad’s completely thrown. He expected, after the big gay confrontation that Jensen would be awkward and even more of a delicious target to constantly annoy. But Jensen, here, is kind of, and Chad can’t believe he’s going to say this word about freaking Jensen Everyone-Knew-I-Was-Flaming-For-Some-Pad
“You heard me,” Jensen says. He turns to walk off to his bedroom, pausing for a moment to add, “Oh, and Chad? I don’t think you should go in the media room.”
“Right, Ackles. Like you can boss me around.”
At first all Chad notices is the smell, that familiar reek of sex. Then he makes the mistake of looking down and oh! That is...something he is never going to be able to burn out of his head.
Jared’s all arms and legs akimbo across that stupid precious white couch. Or formerly white because now it’s stained. Really stained.
Like, if the couch could talk, it would file for sexual harassment.
Also Jared’s naked as the day he was born, except when he was born he probably wasn’t sporting a dick the size of a baby’s arm, seeing as he was probably baby-sized when he was born. It’s easier to think about that than to think if he’s a grower, not a shower...well that’s too much too process.
“Misha’s not here,” Jared says, picking something up off the floor and mercifully it’s not a peek into which sex toys have been put to use (yes of course Chad knows what kind of sex toys his friend has, that’s a friendship rule, you gotta make sure your friends have good taste). He squirts soap into his hands and starts rubbing it all over his chest which is really super-gay, even if it’s Good Bye Smell and not lube or something.
“Why would you think I’d come over to see Misha? What, are you trying to get everyone to move in with you?”
Jared finally straightens up which is worse because there are bitemarks along his hip trailing around his ass and wow. So much gay. “You sound a little jealous.”
“No I sound like if you don’t cover up your dick I’m going to go blind.”
“Chad,” Jared sighs, pleased, stretching like a cat who has been well and thoroughly fucked out. “I’m sorry I haven’t called since, well, you almost ruined my life.”
“I am not drunk at all,” Chad warns. “I don’t want to hear about your feelings.”
“You know,” Jared says, carefully. “Whenever we get wasted, you’re the one who starts off asking the questions.”
Chad looks down at his shoes, one of the few places where he is not assaulted with his friend’s Godzilla dick. There’s a funny, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It might be called a feeling. “I have to go.”
“You’re not raiding my groceries anymore.”
Jared’s smiling, toothy and wide. A little too The Man Who Knew Too Much. Bastard.
“You and Jensen already did unspeakable things to my Cheetos, didn’t you?”
“Well,” Jared says, reflecting fondly on things Chad is happy not to know about, “There’s no chocolate frosting left.”
“Gross. You finally going to stop moping about Jensen, right?”
“Nah, man, now I’ll drunk call you about all our relationship problems and if Jensen really loves me, or if he just loves living in my house. Y’know.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re gay.”
“So’re you, fucking asshole,” Jared drawls, lazily.
“I am not gay.”
Except how Chad is having gay thoughts about what he’d like to do to Misha when he sees him next.
“Tell Misha I said hi,” Jared says, waving Chad off.
Okay drunk-texting is never a good idea.
“He’s controlling me with the gay ESP. I’m powerless to resist.”
“Right. Don’t have sex in my room ever again and I’ll pretend that’s true. See you around, Chad.”
“Next week, we’re watching While You Were Sleeping.”
“We can make it a date night if you bring Misha!”
Tackling Jared while naked has never been a better idea.
Kidding, The End is for Bitches
If you’re wondering, Chad is still with Misha to this very day. He’s also the CEO of Pony Productions Unlimited Rocket Dogs.
(Actually he’s only the receptionist but Misha still lets him keep the fancy nameplate on his desk.)
Jared and Jensen have methodically fucked in every room of Jared’s house, although it did take several high-powered cleaning agents to make Jared’s room an acceptable location for sexy times after Chad and Misha had abused the poor bedroom.
Misha Collins is actually part-unicorn but he doesn’t like to talk about it.