dragonspell: (Pretty Jen)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2011-05-19 01:20 pm
Entry tags:

Fic: RPS (Jared/Jensen): Really, Really, Ridiculously Good-Looking | NC-17 | 10758

Title: Really, Really, Ridiculously Good-Looking
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Schmoop, hopefully some Zoolander-ish-ness. Ness.
Summary: The world liked to think that if someone was really, really good-looking, then that person wouldn’t have any problems at all but the world was wrong. Really, really wrong. Jensen Ackles, the world's top model, is sick of Jared Padalecki stealing his rightfully earned spotlight. He just wants Jared to take his llama and his cock-a-whatever and go home but, because of sick twist of fate, Jensen is stuck shooting an ad with his rival for the eccentric designer MiSHA.
Word Count: 10758 (in two parts)
Disclaimer: Never happened, no affiliation.
A/N: Written for [livejournal.com profile] spn_cinema on the prompt of Zoolander. Beta credits go to [livejournal.com profile] moragmacpherson and [livejournal.com profile] jaimeykay.



Life could be so unfair. Even to the really, really good-looking. The world liked to think that if someone was really, really good-looking, then that person wouldn’t have any problems at all but the world was wrong. Really, really wrong.

Jensen Ackles sat down his glass of champagne and adjusted his pillow in his plush, first-class seat. If life was fair, Jensen thought, he wouldn’t be in a first class seat on a plane and heading to Hawaii to shoot a nationally-running campaign. No, wait…

That wasn’t quite right.

If life was fair, Jensen wouldn’t be stuck on a plane with Jared Padalecki. Or his llama.

Jensen pulled his black, Versace eye mask down to peek at the animal in question. It sat at the front of the plane, its shaggy head down and fixated on the little checkered board with its meaningless pieces, embroiled in a silly game with one of its midget friends. It raised its eyes and caught Jensen staring. Smiling smugly, it waved. Jensen looked away and shifted his attention to the llama eating from a bucket in the next seat over. He preferred its company to that of Jared. Jared with his artfully mused hair looking like he’d just rolled out of bed to the untrained eye when anyone in the know knew just how long it must have taken him to achieve that look…he was such a, a, a fake.

Jensen liked to pride himself on his honesty in his modeling—his true identity shining through whether he was a hot CEO or a hot merman or just a hot model; it was all still him. Jensen, though, didn’t even know what Jared Padalecki was. Was he a surfer? A bum? An out-of-work actor? What?

“Jared Padalecki, America’s newest fashion sensation, is taking the runways by storm! Stay tuned as E! goes deep beneath the ocean surface surface that is Padalecki’s zen-like attitude to discover the man underneath.” Jensen glared at the wide screen TV at the front of the plane as Jared’s ridiculous face crossed that, too.

“Yeah,” TV Jared said, with a shrug. One of the green gossamer fairy wings that he was wearing on his shoulders fluttered. “I mean, I just don’t know how this all happened. You just never know, you know? Until you know. Then you, like, know...

The screen whoshed back to Giuliana’s radiant face. “It’s deep. Join us as we chronicle Jared’s sudden rise to fame after being discovered by a little known talent contest and rocketing to stardom--” Jensen fumbled for the small remote tucked into his seat and firmly pressed the off button.

“Hey!” Jared said, looking up from his game again. “I was watching that.”

“No you weren’t,” Jensen snapped. “And it wasn’t any good anyway. I can’t even watch the news anymore.” At this rate, Jensen wouldn’t even be able to know who was talking about him because everyone was just talking about Jared. Everywhere he went it was just Jared, Jared, Jared. Frankly, Jensen was getting sick of Jared.

“You know,” Jared’s little midget friend said, coming to Jared’s rescue, “not everything is about you.”

Jared nodded at his little board. “That’s right,” he added, no doubt feeling taller. “Some of us had to actually work to get where we’re at. It wasn’t handed to us.”

Jensen slammed his fist against the arm of his seat. “It wasn’t handed to me, either!” Whatever! Jensen didn’t have to explain himself to the likes of Jared Padalecki. Jensen knew that he deserved everything he’d ever gotten and that was the truth. He’d worked hard to get where he was at, rising up through the doll-drums of fashion obscurity. He’d done the cheap catalog shoots—the boy scout outfits and the brick pants—and the sleazy “casting couches” (they never really casted anything unless you were “casting about” looking for loose change) and he had the photographs to prove it.

Settling back into his seat, Jensen replaced the eye mask and blocked out the rest of the plane—which was filled not only with Jared’s hulking presence, a midget and a llama but was also nearly overstuffed with the rest of Jared’s “traveling companions” (Jared apparently needed to surround himself with people just to keep everyone from noticing his big, swelled head). Those companions included no less than five spiritual advisors, four unemployed musicians, three fitness trainers, two all-natural herbalists, and a partridge in a pear tree. To be fair, Jensen didn’t really think that the last one was actually a partridge. But that’s only because he’d never seen a partridge so he wouldn’t actually know what one would look like. For all he knew, it was a pigeon that Jared was only claiming was a cock-a…cock-a-moo. Cock-a-doodle-doo. Whatever. Jensen just thought that it was Jared trying to get away with saying “cock” in public.

It certainly wasn’t a pear tree it was resting in, either; it was a fake, knock-off palm tree that looked like it had seen better days. Days when the Cock-a-poodle wasn’t eating its fake plastic leaves.

Jensen hoped that the silly bird got indigestion and pooped all over Jared’s head.

It hadn’t been Jensen’s idea to be stuck at 10,000 feet with a men-na-jay-trois. He’d only agreed when his manager, Jim Beaver, had threatened to drop him (“Let’s face it, kid, you aren’t getting any younger. This is a really hot shoot and maybe it will help your sagging career because there’s just no fixing your sagging ass”). Jensen grumpily rubbed his backside. There was nothing wrong with his ass. He worked out every day to keep it in peak, physical condition.

…Didn’t he?

He resisted the urge to run to the bathroom to look.

This was all Jared’s fault anyway. If he hadn’t come along and tried to muscle in on Jensen’s scene, then Jensen wouldn’t have to be facing any nasty rumors about how he just might not “have it” anymore. Jensen knew that he was getting old. He was nearing thirty and that, in model years, meant that he was soon only going to be good for modeling in the geriatric section with a cane and not on the top fashion catwalks that he was used to. He didn’t need a young, fresh upstart like Jared Padalecki to remind him of that horrible reality.

It just went to show how fast the fashion world worked. Six months ago, Jensen had been flying high as the top male model in the fashion industry and now, not only was he being shoved off his mountain, he was being “encouraged” to try and pick up Padalecki crumbs to try and keep himself relevant.

Life was horribly unfair. The Cock-a-ladle shrieked and Jensen buried his head under his pillow, praying that the plane would land soon.




The sun was shining brightly just to spite Jensen, he knew it. He’d deliberately dressed all in black for his arrival in Hawaii—Armani—and he’d really been hoping that it would be raining when they landed. But no. Instead the weather was coordinating with Jared, matching his surfer shorts and print T and blindingly bright smile. Even the weather had turned against Jensen.

Another thing that Jensen had never noticed about Jared, too, was just how tall the man was. Jensen pouted unhappily. Jared seemed to be putting him to shame everywhere. Younger, taller…

Their employer had met them at the small landing strip where their jet had landed, a small, shaking Chihuahua in his hands as he stood proudly in his couture purple spandex. Jensen pasted on a charming smile as he moved to shake the man’s hand but Jared beat him there. Maybe he was faster than Jensen, too. “Hi, Misha!” Jared greeted. “I’m Jared.”

“Not ‘Misha,’” the man corrected severely, sending a small stab of fear into Jensen’s heart along with a little thrill that the ire was directed at Jared instead of Jensen. “MiSHA!”

Jensen nodded in understanding because, yes, there was a lot of difference there, he could hear it. It was also good business to know how to properly pronounce designer’s names. Jared, however, was a complete ‘ninny-come-poop.’ “…It doesn’t sound much different to me,” he said, scratching his head.

“Moron,” Jensen huffed under his breath as Misha—MiSHA—glared. “It’s a pleasure to finally work with you, MiSHA,” Jensen said, stepping in front of Jared and trying to draw attention away from his less than stellar new partner.

“Yes, well,” Misha said, his hand still petting the dog. “I never needed you before.” He ignored Jensen’s outstretched hand and started walking away. “Katinka will show you to your hotel.”

A severe-looking Eastern European woman in a black vinyl catsuit stepped in front of them and Jensen blinked, wondering where she’d come from as he could have sworn that she hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. “Gentlemen,” Katinka said, her accent thick. “If you vould valk this vay.” It wasn’t a request.

She led them in Misha’s direction until Misha slipped into the backseat of a black Lexus—after depositing the dog on the pavement just outside the car. As Jensen walked by, he glanced at the dog and then back at Misha who shrugged. “It’s not my dog,” he said and closed the door, leaving Jensen alone with Katinka and the moron whose hair was looking perfectly ruffled in the slight breeze. Oh, right. And the gifts from the twelve days of Christmas which were just now starting to unload themselves off the plane. There was a jingle of bells from one of the monks and the llama was protesting loudly about having to walk down the provided stairs.

So totally not fair.




Jensen was ridiculously good-looking. He knew that. He was beyond ridiculously good-looking, well into ridiculously, ridiculously good-looking. This had just been a fact that Jensen had known since he was a child—sort of like the sky was blue and grass was green (unless, of course, there was a lot of pollution—remember to reduce, recycle and be kind, rewind!). Everyone had known it which is why his parents had wanted him to go into modeling. It would have been a tragedy if he hadn’t.

He was used to getting stared at in the street, to making heads turn, to making women sigh and flutter, to making men stand up straight and flex. What he wasn’t used to was being ignored. Jensen pouted at his own reflection in the large make-up mirror and watched it sparkle back.

Jared, too, was ridiculously good-looking. He was a male model, after all, and one that almost could rival Jensen (Jensen would give him ‘ridiculously good-looking and a half’). So, yeah, perhaps Jared deserved some attention, too. But did he really need all the hair-dressers? He might have had more hair than Jensen (and not just on his head, Jensen noted smugly) but that didn’t mean that he needed all those people just to manage it.

“Oh, honey,” Genevieve, his make-up artist, said kindly, correctly guessing the reason for Jensen’s funk. “You know hair-dressers. They’re excited by anything they might get the chance to put barrettes in. Now close your eyes…” She ran another smooth coat of the air-brush across Jensen’s cheeks. “Need to get rid of these freckles… You have so many.”

Jensen felt his face go a little red. It was true. The freckles were his greatest imperfection. Sometimes, they worked for him and sometimes they didn’t. Misha had made it quite clear that the freckles were a big no-no—thus why he was sitting shirtless in the make-up chair getting everything covered up. “And you know that they can’t do anything until I finish base-coating anyway.”

Trying to take Genevieve’s advice to heart, Jensen opened his eyes again and took in his own reflection once more. He hit one of his signature poses—his fabled ‘Blue Steel’—which cheered him up a little, especially when Genevieve gasped and stared for awhile. Yeah, he still had it. There was no way that Jared could compete with that. In the next chair over, Jared was quietly pleading with Katie to “Be gentle, please be gentle, oh GOD!” as she ripped away another patch of unsightly chest hair with hot wax strips. Jensen smiled, suddenly very happy. He hoped that Jared showed up on set with barrettes on his chest.

“Excuse me,” a man said and Jensen turned his head slightly to the left in acknowledgement as Genevieve grumbled at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you Jensen Ackles?”

“Why, yes, I am,” Jensen replied, turning in his chair to take in the man who was trying to talk to him. Genevieve dealt with the shift in position by focusing on the freckles on his shoulders and back. Jensen leaned forward helpfully which had the dual effect of making him seem painfully interested in the man in front of him. Score one for him.

The man was short, almost stocky, with his long hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a cheap suit and a shirt that clashed horribly with his tie. It was quite tragic really. Jensen resisted the urge to try and reach out and fix the man’s look. He’d learned a long time ago that not everyone reacted kindly to his sincere desire to help and inform.

“My name’s Christian Kane,” the man said, pasting on a small smile. “I’m a reporter and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“About me?” Jensen asked, perking up. He hadn’t noticed this man around set, so it was obvious that he had come to Jensen before Jared—or even instead of Jared—and so this was, obviously, great and important news.

Christian paused before continuing. “Why, yes. Yes, about you.”

“What magazine are you from?” Jensen asked as Genevieve tilted his head to the side to cover a few prominent freckles off his neck.

“Uh…”

Jensen frowned. This Christian Kane didn’t seem to be a very good reporter if he couldn’t even remember what magazine he was from. Then again, Jensen thought, wanting to give the man a benefit of a doubt, maybe he was just new. Jensen had had a hard time remembering his various employers’ names when he’d first been starting out, too. Jim had been so upset with him, but he’d always just sighed and muttered something about how it was good that Jensen was so pretty which had always cheered Jensen up. “Just a…just a local one,” Christian finally said. “So how long have you been modeling?”

Jensen smiled fondly and waved a hand. “Silly. A model never reveals his age. I can tell you, though, that I have been modeling since I was a very small child.”

“Oh,” Christian said, nodding. “And I see that you’re working with Misha Collins.”

“Yes,” Jensen answered, graciously. “It’s pronounced MiSHA, though.” He held a finger up to his lips as he thought. “I’m unsure how to pronounce the last name.” That was rather troubling. He’d have to find out right away.

“Right.” Christian scribbled a few notes down on a tiny pad of paper and Jensen craned his head trying to look at it. “So have you ever worked with Mi…SHA before?”

“Oh, no. It’s never worked out, before.” Jensen looked away, not wanting to have to confess that he’d never worked with the designer before because the designer had never wanted him before now. His eyes drifted over to Jared where it looked like the yeti had been mostly de-furred. His little midget friend was laughing in the background but Jensen’s eyes caught on Jared’s newly smoothed chest before he realized what he was doing and looked away again.

“Ah, I see. So would you know anything about MiSHA’s business relations?”

“What?” Jensen mumbled, bringing himself back around to face Christian again. “Oh, no. Not really. I do know that he’s quite cutting edge, though. Very highly sought after.”

Christian nodded and looked ready to ask another question before his eyes caught in the mirror and suddenly widened. “Been nice talking to you, Jensen,” he said hurriedly and dashed off. Jensen watched him go curiously, wondering if Christian had suddenly realized what a fashion mistake those classes were with his particular facial structure. Jensen could understand that kind of emergency.

Two big, burly security guys jogged past with Katinka following, her heels click, click, clicking on the tile and Jensen turned back around his chair. “I hope he got what he needed,” Jensen said. Genevieve smiled at him.

“Maybe he just wanted to get close to the Jensen Ackles,” she said and Jensen smiled happily.

“Aww, thanks,” he said shyly, ducking his head. Genevieve smiled back and continued brushing the make-up over his shoulder.

When Jensen looked over at Jared’s chair again—to see if the hair-dressers were ever going to come over and gel his hair or if he was going to have to do it himself—he found Jared staring back at him. Jared stuck his tongue out at Jensen before turning away, joking loudly to Katie and Jensen felt an odd sensation settle in the pit of his stomach.

He chalked it up to indigestion and went back to staring in his own mirror, practicing his different looks. A model, after all, needed a variety in order to be truly successful and Jensen was one of the industry’s best. One day, he hoped to perfect what he knew to be his ultimate look. ‘Magnum’ was a look that Jensen had been working on for most of his modeling career but yet he still had yet to pull it off correctly. He just hadn’t been able to reach inside him to that very depth of his soul where Magnum resided. One day, he was going to perfect it and no one was going to think twice about models like Jared Padalecki.




Jensen should have known better. He should have known better and he should have turned Jim down the minute that he started talking about all this poopy-cock. Him—Jensen Ackles—do a shoot with Jared Padalecki? It was impossible. Their looks were just completely different. Jensen felt like he was standing next to a Clydesdale when he stood beside Jared. Complete with one hoof pawing at the ground because Jared just could not hold still. “What is wrong with you?” Jensen had grumped the first time that Jared had nearly knocked him over. He’d shoved the giant oaf-sickle away and returned to posing. Jensen wondered how anyone had ever gotten a shot of Jared. The photographers must have all invested in those kinds of high-speed cameras that they usually reserve for wildlife specials.

At the moment, too, Jared was zooming around the set like a hummingbird on speed after having just drank a truck of energy drinks and Jensen was dizzy just from watching him. A giant, nearly naked hummingbird because Misha’s current line was called Barely There and that involved long, sheer scarves and tiny string bikinis. Jensen found his eyes naturally drawn southward…

Not that Jensen was interested, of course. It was just a natural reaction because Jared? Was huge all over. Jensen didn’t want Jared to flitter anywhere near him. Jensen had already had enough of Jared because every time the giant got near, he was always trying to touch Jensen—hanging all over Jensen like a monkey, pawing and groping everywhere. Jensen didn’t like to be pawed at—not while he was working. He constantly shoved Jared away, tossing a few choice words at him but Jared had yet to get a mitten and hatch a clue. One time, Jared had nearly smeared Jensen’s make-up—all of Genevieve’s hard work—while commenting on Jensen’s freckles of all things. “Wow. Are they…all over?” Jared had asked, brutally reminding Jensen of his imperfection. Jensen jerked away, stunned, but unable to think of a good comeback.

He opened his mouth, his mind working furiously but there was just nothing. Jared was one to talk! He had moles, like, everywhere! But in the business, those were just called “beauty marks.” Jensen snarled. Life wasn’t fair.

Misha was completely ignoring the both of them, too, stroking a pure white Persian cat that he’d found somewhere as he chatted up one of Jared’s spiritual advisors, a leggy blonde named Janine who swore that she could see your entire future based on reading tea leaves. Jensen bet that she could see something alright, but it was more because of the tea than who she was drinking it with.

“Closer together guys,” the photographer coaxed, waving a hand at them from behind his camera. Jensen reluctantly angled his body closer to Jared’s. The photographer waved harder.

Jensen squeaked as large arms suddenly wrapped around him, dragging him off balance and against a smooth, bare chest. With just a nano-second to spare, he remembered that he was a professional and posed just as the camera flashed. “You’re like a leprechaun,” Jared whispered. Jensen jumped at the feel of Jared’s breath against his cheek and then posed again as he tried to figure out what Jared had just said. He had no idea what a leper-coozy was but he did know that it sounded an awful lot like ‘leper’ and, while he had no idea what that was either, he knew it was nothing good. Jensen scowled at Jared. “You’re…short. Kind of,” Jared finished weakly and Jensen had just about had enough.

The sheer nerve. Just who did he think he was, anyway? Six months ago, no one had ever even HEARD of Jared Padalecki. And the giant better watch out because he could go right back into that obfusion…obfuscasionism…ob…obfucking. Whatever. It was a quick stumble off that narrow catwalk. Jared had gotten his start modeling underwear for Victoria Secret’s new menswear line Victor’s Secret—something he had already reminded Jensen of during their short time together on set—and Jensen just wished that he had used those fake, fluffy wings to fly away somewhere because this was one “angel” that Jensen had no intention of talking to.

Jensen shoved Jared away. He was done. He did not have to put up with this kind of treatment and he was going to call Jim and tell him exactly that. Jensen’s career wasn’t over, it was just under siege! He had to fight back! Like a Marine!

…Those were the ones with the nice uniforms, right? Not that Jensen wouldn’t look good in anything. He could be the new fashion Rambo, kicking polyester butt.

“Jensen!” the photographer said. “Where are you going?” Jensen didn’t bother to respond as he stormed back to his hotel room.

Behind him, he could hear Jared saying “What a diva,” but he ignored that, too. He’d tried. He really had. He’d given it his best shot—he was a professional, after all. But there was only so much he could put up with and hours of posing professionally with an ape just pushed him too far.




Jensen was tired of being ignored. Everyone seemed to want to fawn over Jared. Jared, Jared, Jared. Jared, who was always staring at Jensen with a stupid little smirk, like he was well aware of the jealousy that was eating away at Jensen and he liked it. Jared who always seemed to have a nasty remark just waiting for Jensen if Jensen so much as looked at him. Of course, Jensen didn’t understand most of what popped out of Jared’s mouth, but he was sure that they were insults of some kind. He wasn’t going to forget about the leper comment.

And just where did Jared get off on pointing out all of Jensen’s flaws? Like his freckles or his legs or the fact that Jared was technically taller (by just a little bit!). Jensen certainly didn’t go around commenting on Jared’s dopey smile or his...his...overly muscled body... Jensen snarled.

Well, Jensen wasn’t going to let anyone talk about Jared Padalecki in his presence anymore. He was going to start a boy-cottage. A movement! He’d run for president on the simple statement that the words “Jared” and “Padalecki” never be in the same sentence again.

Jensen threw himself on the white couch and pouted at the fireplace of his room. There had to be other people out there that were just as fed up as him. He didn’t even feel like using his time wisely to try and work on ‘Magnum’ like he should.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

Jensen tumbled off the couch, bumping his elbow against the coffee table and landing hard on his knees. What the Hell was that? He glanced around wildly before finding Jared’s stupid Cockney sitting on the back of a chair, staring at him like it might be considering eating him. Jensen stared back, daring it to go through with the threat. The bird just jerked its head to the side and kept eyeing him. “Creepy Cock-a-many!” Jensen shouted at it, waving his arms. “You come to spy on me?” How had it gotten into the room in the first place? Jensen wondered if it had been planted—like one of those high tech spy bugs except not as high tech and definitely not as buggy.

“Jensen?” a voice asked and Jensen stared at the bird.

“You talk?” he whispered, his eyes getting big. So this was Jared’s evil plan!

“What are you talking about? Of course I talk!” That was when Jensen realized that the voice was not coming from the bird at all—not unless it was skilled in the talent of ven-tril-o-gy. Jensen spun around and stared in shock—and a little bit of fear—at the combination of black, horn-rimmed glasses, badly thought-out hair, and plaid. He shuddered. It was horrifying. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Christian Kane. We talked earlier.”

Jensen nodded sharply and swallowed back the urge to help Kane once again. “Of course,” he said graciously. “You were writing an article on me.”

“Um…” Kane glanced down at the floor. “Actually, Jensen, I…wasn’t.”

Jensen frowned and rubbed at his head. “You weren’t?”

“No.” With the admission, Genevieve’s voice came back to haunt Jensen and Jensen suddenly had an e-pip-hany. It was all true, then. Jensen stared at the sincere, plaid-clad man in front of him and considered getting one of the designer shirts from his closet—no, focus! He considered the man’s true intentions. Then he thought about all the problems he was having what with Jared and the stupid Cock-bird and the incredibly uncomfortable wedgie Misha’s bikini briefs were giving him.

He had to find a way to let poor Christian down easy. Honesty was always the best policy. “Listen,” he said. “I’m flattered and all, but I’m not in the mood to have sex.”

Christian’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Alright, fine!” Jensen conceded. He really didn’t want to fight about this and, maybe after Jensen got the glasses and the plaid off of him—not to mention restyled his hair—Christian wouldn’t be all that bad... “Maybe we can just fool around a little but—”

“I don’t want to have sex with you!” Christian shouted, retreating a few steps.

“You don’t?” Jensen asked, confused.

“No, I wanted to see you!”

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep a headache in check. This was really turning out to be a bad day. “Listen, you short little man,” he said, trying to be as patient as possible. “You can’t keep coming into people’s rooms and wanting to have sex, then not wanting to have sex, then wanting to have sex.”

Christian threw up his hands. “Christ,” he swore. Then he reached out and grabbed Jensen. Christian, Jensen decided, really needed to work on the mixed signals he was giving. “Would you just listen to me?” Christian snapped. Jensen glared at him but shut his mouth. “I’ve been investigating Misha Collins and the shady corporations who fund him.” Jensen wanted to remind Christian that it was pronounced MiSHA but from the look in Christian’s eyes, he thought better of it. “I’m here to warn you, Jensen, that something fishy is going on!”

Jensen sniffed at the air but he didn’t smell any fish. He wondered what Christian was talking about. “Fishy,” Christian repeated, looking exasperated, “as in ‘not good.’” Oh. Well, he should have just said that in the first place. “And I have reason to believe that your life is in danger.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jensen said. Misha’s security was some of the best that he’d ever seen. Matter-of-fact, there they were right now, checking up on Jensen.

Christian squeaked, looking wide-eyed at the three big, burly men who had suddenly filled the doorway of Jensen’s hotel room and then roughly shook Jensen. “Just remember what I told you!” he said and then ran for the open balcony doors and jumped over the railing. Jared’s Cock-a-poo followed after him, squawking loudly.

“So that’s how it got in,” Jensen muttered, watching the bird fly off. The security personnel filed past him, all diving off the exact same balcony as Katinka stalked into the room.

“Jensen,” she purred. “Perhaps it is time you took a nice long break. I vill arrange for massage, yes?”

Well. Now that Jensen thought about it, he was in sore need of a massage. Life was just so stressful lately.



- Part 2 -

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