scribblinlenore | WB RPS: You Break It, You Bought It, And Other Rules to Live By

Title: You Break It, You Bought It, And Other Rules to Live By
Fandom: WB RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rules were meant to be broken.
Warnings: Special hell, excessive Southerness, abuse of italics, and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting.

Notes: Thanks to all the dirty!wrong RPS poll-takers who encouraged me to write this. What can I say? I can't resist you. Also, you should probably know that I've made Mrs. Padalecki sound like my grandmother (with apologies to them both!), just so you're prepared for it.

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure delusion. That's how seriously you should take it. No offense intended to any actual people.

You Break It, You Bought It, and Other Rules to Live By
by Lenore

#1: Look, but don't touch

Late May, and the sun finally has something to say for itself, poking out from behind friendly white clouds. Jared stands at the window, looking out. Even twenty-five stories up, the spring green of grass growing in the park is eye-popping. He lets the curtains fall closed, an ironic tilt at the corner of his mouth. It figures that the weather would finally edge this side of sucks-shit just when it's time for them to go home. Freakin' Canada.

Morning light spills across the floor of Jensen's bedroom, fastens on listing piles of clothes, heaps of abandoned scripts, drawers haphazardly hanging open, giving the place that day-after-a-natural-disaster ambience.

Jensen has his suitcases open on the bed, contemplating it like a math problem.

"You're fucked in the head if you think all that's going to fit," Jared tells him for what must be the fortieth time.

"Dude, hand me that underwear over there." Jen waves in the vague direction of the dresser.

"Dude, getting my hands on your Calvins is not the thrill you seem to think it is."

Jen grins. "Nah, man. I know it's what's inside that counts." He pumps his hips, going for obscene, getting Michael Jackson circa 1985 instead, and Jared rolls his eyes, just to keep from laughing. It's never a real good idea to encourage Jen.

Jared hands over the underwear. "Leopard print," he says. "Interesting choice."

Jensen snorts. "Says the man who's still wearing the same tighty whities he did in junior high."

Jared's face goes a little hot as he considers how Jen might know this. He has a vague recollection from that night they closed down The Palomino, him and Jen and Mike and Tom, the last time Jared ever thought doing Jagermeister shots was a good idea. There's a hole in his memory, from the time Mike declared "Let the table dancing begin!" to when he woke up in his own bed the next day. Nothing there, except a brief, fuzzy flash, standing in front of the john, needing to piss so bad but too shit-faced to do anything about it, a warm body behind him, hand at his fly, pulling his cock free, Jen's voice in his ear, "I'll aim, you shoot."

Yeah, not too many boundaries left between them after an entire season of filming, with its fourteen hour days and them in each other's face about twelve hours of that, even their off hours mostly spent together. By now, there's really only one rule left, the only one that matters: No fucking the co-star.

Jared glances over, and Jen is watching him, little half smile, like he knows exactly what Jared is thinking. "Dude, you can still come with me. A house in Cancun, right on the beach for Chrissakes, all the beer you can possibly drink, I don't know how you're saying no to that."

"I told you Jen, I gotta go home." Jared lets the hair fall into his eyes, a needed distraction. "I guess Mike and Tom will be there. Chris, too."

Jensen tilts his head, kind of non-committal. "They said they might come down for a few weeks. You sure you won't reconsider?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Lots of college girls on vacation. College girls who love those shows on the WB."

Jared breaks into a grin. "Anybody ever mention you're a dog?"

"Well, I am a guy. Sooooo, yeah. What do you say? Mexico? Tequila? Horny sorority girls? You in?"

"Thanks, man." Jared meets Jen's eye. "But I already promised my folks. There's stuff I gotta take care of down there."

The last word comes out with extra vowels and a slight twang. Just thinking about home brings Texas rushing back to his accent.

Jen nods. "That's cool, dude. Have fun with your family."

Each syllable pure California, like if you shook Jensen really hard sand and surfboards would come tumbling out of him, and sometimes Jared fucking envies that. Jensen never slips, never comes over all downhome unless he wants to, unless he's laying on the boy-next-door charm to get into some girl's thong. Sometimes Jared worries about Jen a little, like maybe he's forgotten where the job ends and he begins. For all that they bonded over being a couple of shitkickers from bumfuck, Jared sometimes wonders if there's any honest-to-God Texas left in Jensen.

Jared looks away, but Jensen doesn't notice. He's focused once more on the Chinese puzzle of his suitcase.

"Hey, Jared, do me a favor, huh? Go make sure shit's turned off in the kitchen?"

Every word with palm trees waving in it, except the one, and Jared sticks to the floor, like he doesn't even know how to move.

Jensen looks up, says more impatiently, "Jared?"

And there it is again. Jared doesn't know how he never noticed it before. Maybe it just seemed too natural to make anything of it, that one word that always comes out of Jensen's mouth all deep-slurred and molasses, his name.

Jen puts his hands on his hips, a look on his face that says don't fuck with me when I have a plane to catch.

"Yeah, yeah," Jared says, unfreezing himself, heading for the door. "I'm going. Fuckin' slave driver."

"And take the trash out while you're in there!" Jen yells after him. "You could stand to get those pretty hands of yours dirty."

"Bite me," Jared tosses over his shoulder, because Jen would expect nothing less.

He carries the garbage bag out to the hall and dumps it down the bin. It's good to have an excuse, some space to get his equilibrium. He goes back to the kitchen and unplugs all the appliances on the counter, checks twice that there's nothing left in the refrigerator to rot. Part of him--a big part--has been damned sorry he's not going with Jen, but truth be told, it's probably best for both of them. Their one rule wouldn't likely survive three months in the land of perpetual tequila.

Jared goes to check on Jen, and by some miracle he's finished packing. They haul his stuff into the elevator, and Jen leans back against the wall, glancing over at Jared, a smile that says, See, bitch, I told you I could get all this shit into these suitcases.

In the lobby, Jensen loses his smugness in a last-minute fit of what am I forgetting?

"Did you turn off the heat?" he quizzes Jared. "Unplug the coffee pot?"

Jared rolls his eyes. "You already asked me that. Three times."

"So?" Jen says, perfectly seriously.

Happily, the cab pulls up outside, cutting short the good housekeeping inquisition. Jared takes one of Jen's bags and pushes him by the shoulder. "Come on, dickwad. Don't you have a plane to catch or something?"

The driver gets out, takes care of the luggage--courteous, these Canadians--and then there's nothing left but to say goodbye and put Jen in the car and watch him drive off into a metaphorical sunset of margaritas and eager-to-please fangirls. Their gazes catch, and for a moment, they just stand there awkwardly. It's the space that would surely be filled with a kiss if there weren't a rule against such things, or maybe a back-slapping hug, if they didn't need a rule in the first place.

Finally, Jen breaks into a smile. "Don't come back sounding all hick on me."

"Don't go gettin' yourself in no trouble with the law down in Meh-hee-co," Jared counters, in his laziest drawl. "I hear they got some ways a dealin' with gringos that don't behave theirselves."

Jen whacks him on the shoulder, laughing. "Jackass."

"Dickwad," Jared says affectionately.

Jensen's smile fades a little. "So...I guess I'll see you in the fall."

Jared opens the door for him. "You know, they do have phones in Mexico."

"Smartass," Jen says, as he slides into the back seat.

"Have a good summer," Jared tells him.

"You, too."

Jared closes the door, and the driver starts the car.

Dickwad, Jared mouths, big and exaggerated so Jen will get it.

Which he certainly seems to, since he flips Jared off.

Jared laughs and waves and watches, until the car turns the corner and there's nothing left to see.

***

#2: Never forget where you come from

A month later, and Jared lies crumpled on the bed in his room at his parents' house, listening to a playlist he calls Back from the Brink on his I-pod, fresh from the shower, but still in some danger of sun stroke, even with the air conditioner pounding cold into the room. Last year, there was bad storm after bad storm that hit San Antonio, and he's been helping his parents set things right since he's been home. This morning, he and his daddy finally got around to fixing the fence around their yard. Out there with their hammers by five a.m., much to their neighbor's delight he's sure, trying to beat the heat, although in Texas in July that's pretty much a fool's game. For the moment at least, Jared kind of misses that Vancouver chill.

Being home has been good, maybe a little weird too, a mix of old and familiar but then the odd moments when he feels out of kilter, caught between past and present. His room is still exactly the way he left it, down to the last detail, high school yearbook on his desk, Gameboy with the buttons broken off in the nightstand drawer, as if time stopped here when he turned eighteen, and that's sweet, and also kind of a pain. Jared hasn't fit comfortably in this twin bed since he was in junior high. By the time he left home, he was hanging off the end of it, and he's pretty sure he's grown a couple more inches since then. If Jen is to be believed, he's gotten taller just since they started shooting the show, but of course, Jen is full of shit on the subject of height.

Jared shakes off that thought, reminds himself of his rule for the summer, Don't think about Jensen. He turns up the volume on the I-pod, and music pours into his ears, slides down his spine. His eyes flutter, start to feel heavy. He could sleep if he'd let himself.

When he happens to look up, he finds his mama framed in the open door. Her hair is a frizzy riot, sticking out in all directions, and Jared knows two things: she's been out in her garden and he comes by his cowlick honestly. His mother has a soft expression on her face, my baby, and Jared wonders how long she's been standing there watching him. She knows she's busted when she catches his eye, and she rearranges her expression, lifts an eyebrow, shows him the limp, damp towel in her hand. The towel he left on the bathroom floor, and he's busted, too.

Jared smiles innocently. "I have no idea how it got there, mama."

She narrows her eyes, and he laughs, and she does her best to hold back the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's just as easy not to make a mess."

He nods. "I know." She's been saying that ever since he can remember, probably since her first kid was born. "So what were you doing out in the garden in the middle of the day?"

"Just picking some beans. I want to get them washed up and on the stove, so we can have them for supper. I'm making your favorites."

Jared grins. She's made his favorites every night for the last month. His mama doesn't think they feed him enough up in Canada.

"Now, I can make you a nice meal when you come home if I want to," she insists.

He gets up, goes over, stoops to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I'd be hurt if you didn't."

She nods, as if that's that, and goes off to fix the beans. Jared wanders out to the garage looking for his daddy. It's just a low-grade swelter here, nothing a Texan born and bred can't handle, and Jared's daddy's got the hood popped on the '63 Corvette, rescued from the junkyard the year before Jared was born and lovingly restored, his daddy's pride and joy.

"You need some help?" Jared asks.

His daddy looks kind of pensive. "Acts like she wants to stall when I start her up. You want to give it a look?"

Jared ducks under the hood and peruses the engine, checking all the likely suspects.

"I think I see what's doing it."

He points, and his daddy leans in, squints. "Yep. That looks like it." He claps Jared on the back. "You always did know your way around a carburetor."

Meaning, You can't take Texas out of the boy.

Jared smiles.

Not your boy, daddy.

By the time they come back in, the savory smells from the kitchen have unfolded all through the house. Jared breathes in, and his stomach growls, and his daddy laughs. Jared being a bottomless pit is a family joke.

His mama calls out from the kitchen, "I could use some help setting this table."

Jared cleans up at the sink and gets out the plates. He's just folding the napkins into triangles the way his mama likes it when somebody knocks at the door. He expects his daddy to get it, but when the knocking starts up again, his mama says, "Your daddy probably went out to his workshop. Go answer that for me, baby."

Jared goes, opens the door, and just stands there, blinking in the strong slant of late-day sun.

Jensen flashes a smile that's just as bright. "You gonna ask me in or does you mamma let you leave guests stranded out on the front porch?"

Summer rules, no thinking about missing co-stars, so it really hits Jared now. He pulls Jen inside, into a hug, and he doesn't even care that Jensen will probably tease him the rest of his natural life about acting like a girl.

"I thought you were in Mexico," he says when he lets go at last.

Jen shrugs. "Paradise. How much of it can a person really stand?"

They smile at each other like a couple of dorks, except that Jensen has to be the slickest looking dork ever, newly tanned from his month in Cancun, wearing a T-shirt with some abstract design on it that just smacks of LA, ridiculously expensive sunglasses dangling from his hand. And the thing is, they're standing in the foyer of the house where Jared grew up, where he threw his books down every day after school and his mama yelled at him that they were going to be late for church and his daddy took pictures of him and Peggy Newlly in her big poofy pink dress before they headed off to the prom. Worlds colliding, and just for a second Jared's not too sure what to do about it.

Jensen leans in then. "Relax. Parents love me." He breaks into an easy grin, the one that says, trust me, you know you want to. Jen puts that grin to good use, a lot.

Jared rolls his eyes, jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Come on. Meet my family."

His mama is surprised to see Jensen for just about a second, then her expression goes up in a blaze of being tickled pink. "Well, look-y here." She steps up and gives Jensen a hug like they've known each other forever. "Finally."

Jensen is all Sunday school smiles, and Jared can see now that you really can't take Texas out of the man.

"It's awful nice to meet you, Mrs. Padalecki," Jen says.

Jared's mama beams up at him. She's heard a lot about Jensen--Jared's resolution not to think about him hasn't been completely successful--not that Jensen needs to know this, of course.

"Now don't try to tell me you're not staying to supper," his mama declares. "'Cause we've got plenty, and I won't hear to it."

Jensen dips his head, that sheepish charm that gets the ladies every time. "I'd be pleased to. Thank you, ma'am."

"Now, I've got this chicken to fry up, so, JT, you go show your friend around, give him the tour of the place."

"Yes, mama."

She turns back to her cooking, and Jensen breaks out a cocky grin, as if to say, See? I told you parents love me. On anyone else, it would be pretty damned insufferable, but Jensen…well, he makes it work.

Jared trails through the rooms, pointing out the obvious, things like this is the living room. Jen stops in front of the mantel and picks up a framed photo, Jared in the sixth grade, and asks, "Is that a rat tail?"

Jared snatches it out of his hand and puts it back and gives him a menacing look that means, Don't think there aren't embarrassing pictures of you out there in the world, and I do know how to use the Internet. Jen just laughs.

Last stop is Jared's room, and he feels weird about all the kid stuff. Jen picks up his ancient stuffed alligator and smiles, goes to stand by the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders poster, lifts an eyebrow.

"I was twelve!" Jared defends himself.

Jen smirks. "Whatever, dude."

They have a glare-off that lasts about two seconds before Jen cracks a smile and loses, and Jared makes his expression just smug enough that Jen will know he's gloating on the inside. They've ended up on opposite sides of the bed somehow, and once Jared notices, that gets all weirdly tangled up his head.

Jen sees and smiles. "Looks like maybe half of you could fit in there."

A rush of heat to Jared's face, pictures in his head, Jensen naked, stretched out, all the dirty, dirty things Jared could do him on those childhood sheets.

Jen doesn't look away, and Jared can't, and if someone doesn't soon, there's going to be an incident.

Jensen takes pity eventually. "Maybe your mother needs some help?"

"Uh, yeah," Jared says, letting out a pent-up breath. "We should check."

It's clear when they go back out to the kitchen, though, that Jared's mama doesn't want them under her feet.

"Take Jensen outside, let him see the back yard."

"It's a hundred degrees out there," Jared points out, rather sensibly he feels.

"Then show him all your baseball trophies."

Jared shifts his weight uneasily. "They're down in the basement."

His mama puts a hand on her hip. "Where it's not a hundred degrees." She waves him off. "Go on now. Nobody'll bother you down there. Give you some time to catch up."

Mischief sparks in Jen's eyes. "Baseball is the national pastime. We shouldn't neglect it."

***

#3: Don't start what you can't finish

Their basement looks like pretty much every other basement in America, Jared feels sure, like a place where old furniture goes to die. He and Jensen tramp down the stairs. Dust swirls in the air. There's a bar at one end of the room that nobody has ever used, rust-colored shag carpet the length of the place, a battered sofa that went to college with all the kids and has now gone into retirement done here.

At the other end of the room is a huge baker's rack filled with stacks of old report cards and framed photographs and little league trophies, a veritable shrine to the Padalecki kids' achievements. Jensen drifts that way, scanning the shelves, no doubt looking for Jared artifacts.

He picks something up, bends his head over it, and shoots a grin Jared's direction. "Only a B- in World History. You're going to have to start taking your studies more seriously, son."

Jared's brain has slipped a gear, and he can't manage to say anything back. Because the thing is, it's Jensen, and he's here, and Jared's got an entire year's worth of longing backing up on him right about now. There are questions he could ask, probably even should, why did you come back from Mexico and why are you here and are you sure? But Texans tend to act first, talk about it later.

He strides over, grabs Jen by the shirt and presses their mouths together, finally.

For a moment, Jen does nothing, and Jared's heart stutters, all panicky, like he might have misjudged the situation completely, like he might have just made the world's biggest jackass out of himself. But then Jen grabs at him and kisses back and mutters against his mouth, "Mexico sucked without you."

It all just follows so naturally from there. Jensen sinks his fingers into Jared's hair, and Jared pushes impatiently at his T-shirt, trying to get under it, get to skin. They've been tangled up in each for so long, and now their bodies are finally playing catch up. Jared isn't thinking in practicalities, isn't thinking period, so when a floorboard squeaks up above them, he flies back from Jensen so fast he almost stumbles over a stack of worn-out board games on the floor.

"Shit!" he curses under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. "We shouldn't do this. And we sure as hell can't do it here."

Jen gives him an innocent look. "Why?"

Not funny, and Jared hisses at him, "That's my mama up there."

Jensen takes him by the belt loops, pulls him close. "So? We're down here." He undoes Jared's belt buckle with a quick flick of his wrist.

That's it for reason, and once it's gone, it's a short trip to the sofa, Jared with his pants down around his ankles, both of them with their hands on each other's cocks. They stroke and explore and swallow one another's moans with kisses. Urgent, blinding, and Jared's heart pounds away under his skin, every nerve in his body screaming alternately "oh, shit" and "fuck, please!"

He gropes blindly for the box of tissues that's always sitting on the end table, grabs what he can. He can't last, they can't--how can anything so fucking, fucking hot possibly last?--and he clenches the tissues in hand, ready. Jensen eyes him, sweat beading above his lip, that insufferable grin back again, and, hell, he's right. Jared has had some practice keeping the evidence from showing, and Jensen's going to be damned glad for it in just about another minute. Jen's body jerks hard right before he comes, and Jared manages to salvage their clothes for the most part, kind of a feat considering his brain is not exactly where the action is right now.

Jen takes a moment, eyes squeezed shut, chest rippling beneath his T-shirt. Jared would like that off, would like to feel it tear in his hands, but he'll have to wait for that some other time. Finally, Jensen gathers himself, slips off the sofa, onto his knees, pushing Jared's legs apart as far as they'll go, making a place for himself between his thighs. He licks his lips, and Jared reaches for him just as he bends down. Jared has thought about this, kind of a lot really, impossible not to when Jen has a mouth like that. It's just as hot and wet, so much better than he even imagined. He rubs his hands lightly over Jen's head, lets his fingers slide into his hair, holds on while Jen performs miracles with his tongue.

Upstairs, the door creaks open, and Jared tightens his fingers in Jen's hair, like he could mean stop, only it's really more "oh, god, oh please, oh god."

"JT," his mama calls down to him, "what do you boys want to drink?"

"Uh," Jared stammers, and Jen looks up at him, all dark-eyed mischief and no intention of stopping, "…sweet tea? I guess?"

The door groans closed again, and Jared pulls at Jen's shoulders, thrusts into his mouth. "Finish it," he slurs out, watching as his cock slips past Jensen's lips.

Jen slips a finger into his mouth, stroking Jared's cock as he slicks it with spit. Jared knows what's coming, but that doesn't keep him from bucking up, sharp crack of vertebrae, as Jensen pushes his finger in hard, up to the knuckle. Jensen clamps his hand over Jared's mouth to muffle him, and swallows down his come, and the door opens once more.

"You boys come on. Dinner's ready."

Jared presses his arm over his eyes, gulping down air, a wreck, so Jen answers, "Be right there, Mrs. Padalecki."

Jen hauls him up from the sofa, and they hitch up their pants. Jared roots around in the candy dish and pulls out an ancient candy cane leftover from some Christmas long past.

Jensen takes it, a big smile as he pops it into his mouth. "You taste better."

He winks and turns, and his boots are already thudding up the steps before Jared can grab him for one last kiss.

***

#4: Rules were made to be broken

If they're a little too bright-eyed and kind of breathless when they come back upstairs, Jared's mama doesn't seem to notice. The table is piled full with dishes of fried okra, mashed potatoes, green beans simmered with pork, baked apples, biscuits, gravy, fried chicken from the recipe handed down from Jared's great grandmother. Dork that he is, Jared has actual dreams about it when he's up in Canada. Southerners have never learned to fear cholesterol the way other people do, and in Jared's opinion, you can't get decent fried anything anywhere else.

His daddy comes in, and Jensen meets him with a handshake, calls him "sir." They sit down to eat, and Jared's mama keeps up a steady stream of "have some more mashed potatoes, Jensen" and "can't I get you another biscuit?" Jared concentrates on his plate to hide his grin. He's going to have good reason to call Jensen lardass after this, and that's always a hell of a good time.

"Now, Jensen, how long are you going to be in town?"

Jen pauses, fork mid-air. "Well, ma'am, I'm not too sure." His eyes slide over to Jared. "I guess it all depends on how soon your son gets sick of me."

Jared elbows him, and his daddy laughs, and his mama waves her hand in the air.

"If ya'll aren't sick of each other by now, I'd say it's not likely to happen." She pats Jensen on the hand. "We'd be happy to have you stay with us."

Jared half chokes on his biscuit. He thinks of Jen down the hall in the guest room, all look, no touch, and just the idea makes him breathless with desperation.

Jensen smiles sweetly. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Padalecki, but I've got a cousin that's putting me up."

"Well, you're always welcome," Jared's daddy tells him.

After dessert, they take their glasses of sweet tea and go sit out in the back yard on the glider. The sun has gone down, but the world is still on a slow simmer. If there weren't the need to be alone, they'd be inside with Jared's folks watching Jeopardy, soaking up the air conditioning like reasonable people. Jared sets his glass down on the ground. Jen holds on to his, the sides of it sweating, wetness on his fingers. Perspiration trickles down Jared's back, and even through the lingering blaze of the day, he can feel Jen's heat, his nearness like something magnetic, irresistible, his sweet, clean scent almost overwhelming in the humid stew of air.

They can't stop looking at each other, undercurrents in every glance, and Jensen's lips twist into a soft, sly smile.

"You really staying with a cousin?" Jared asks him.

He shakes his head. "The DoubleTree. Just didn't want to be rude when your mama was being so nice."

"You ever been to San Antonio before?"

"Can't say as I have."

"I could show you around."

The corner of Jen's mouth quirks up. "Could you, now?"

Jared leans in. "My own personal tour."

"Sounds promising. What's on it?"

"All the places I used to go."

"To party?"

Jared nods. "And other things."

"Where would the tour start?"

"Little spot out past the limits. Kind of private. Good place to look at the stars."

Jen's mouth slides into a deep smile. "Stars, huh? Now, why do I get the feeling that's where you lost your cherry, JT?"

Jared grins. "Seems fitting, doesn't it? That's where I fuck you for the first time."

Jensen gives him a meaningful look. "Don't go startin' stuff you don't mean."

Jared takes Jensen's sweet tea of his hand and drains it. "You ready?"

Jensen laughs, gets to his feet. "I've been ready for a good year at least."

On the way back inside, Jared lets his hand rest on Jensen's back, feeling the ridge of muscle beneath the soft fabric, leaning close, his breath on Jen's neck.

"You keep doin' stuff like that," Jen warns him, "and we're going to have some 'splaining to do to your mama."

Alex Trebek's voice wafts out of the living room, and Jared calls to his parents, "I'm going to take Jen out and show him the town."

His mama calls back, "You boys have fun."

They have to avoid each other's eyes to keep from laughing. Outside Jared leans in close again, hand on the small of Jen's back, and then he's thinks, Oh, hell. And lets it slide down to rest on the curve of his ass.

They stop beside Jen's car, and Jen says, "You break it, you bought it. That goes for both of us, you know that, right?"

"I think I can afford you," Jared jokes.

But Jensen's expression means business.

Jared sighs. He knows too well what Jen's doing, one last disaster check, because there's always been a hell of a good reason why "don't fuck the co-star" was the rule. If they do this and mess up, they're still stuck with each other, all the seasons they can hope for, all those fourteen-hour days.

"It's just as easy not to make a mess," Jared says at last. "That's what my mama says, anyway."

Jen considers this. "Well," he says thoughtfully, "your mother is a wise woman."

They grin at each other across the hood of the car, question finally answered. They get in, buckle up and Jen looks over at him.

"So...stars?"

Jared smiles, all certainty, "Stars."

Page 1 of 3 << [1] [2] [3] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

quietdiscerning.livejournal.com

Loved the well known rules and how they fit around the two of them.

Mmm sneaky sex in the basement, veryvery nice :)

Jsquared makes me jump for joy.

From:

Not a homecoming queen

WB RPS: You Break It, You Bought It, And Other Rules to Live By

Navigation

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags