the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist
fourfreedoms

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Part Two, I hate the word limit, it was only three paragraphs too long

Title: Like a Glass Half Empty
Disclaimer: Never happened, of that I can be downright sure. People who don't graduate college don't get to work at McSweeney's.
Summary: Jensen is the bitchy lead-guitarist in a successful rock band. When their bassist pulled a Richey Edwards, they needed to recruit a new one. In walked Jared. Jensen is determined to have nothing to do with him. But sometimes the best laid plans...
Pairing: J2
Chapters: 2/2
Rating: NC-17
Notes: This harkens back to the poll I gave in January of which movie adaptation to do. None of you said no to this idea of Rocky My World, which clearly means yes. Thanks to memphis86, cerberos, and notthequiettype for brainstorming help along the way. Extra special thanks to Misha for the beta at 2 AM. If anybody is a fan of The Unicorns, I apologize in advance.

Part One


They went out on the bikes again the next day, lay down under a tree while the wind ran against their faces. Jensen thought about coming out to places like this when he was younger, fiddling with his shitty acoustic guitar. The wood had warped after Chris dumped a beer on it at a party, and the sound was…interesting. Jensen had considered doing something with it.

But then he’d met Hayden, whose grandfather’s ancient guitar made a sound that vibrated in his chest, and he realized interesting wasn’t going to cut it.

Jared hummed under his breath as he looked at the sky, it tickled at Jensen’s brain, but he couldn’t parse it out.

“Gimme Shelter,” Jared said, turning to look at him when he asked. His hair curled on his temple, spilling over in front of his eyes, Jensen wanted to brush it back and press his mouth to skin. There was moisture in the air like it was going to rain, that slightly acrid smell of dry earth. Jared’s hand was just barely brushing his on the ground. If he moved just a little, pushed just a little, they’d be touching.

“First time I heard that song was in class, in a documentary about Vietnam,” Jensen said. “My parents were big country listeners.”

“How do your parents feel about your music?” Jared turned onto his side.

Jensen shrugged. He didn’t want to say they hated it, that his Grandma sent him sappy religious cards like it would make him remember what the nylon strings of a guitar had allowed him to forget. He didn’t want to say that he couldn’t go back there, because his family could smell the sex and drugs on him like they had a six sense for that kind of thing.

And they never wondered that maybe Jensen hadn’t been corrupted, but that they’d made him that way. Jared looked like he knew.

Jensen felt the crunch of leaves under him as he rolled into Jared’s space, pressed his mouth to Jared’s parted lips, allowed himself to fuse into Jared. Jared made a noise in the back of his throat, but his hand was sliding up to grip Jensen’s bicep and pull them more firmly together.

He was surprised that Jared wasn’t surprised—that he sucked on Jensen’s lower lip and stroked his back, slotted their hips together so that every part of them was touching. He kissed Jensen like he knew him, and just then the first rain drops hit.

*

Jared was waiting for him to freak out, to spin out in practice and shout things that would leave everybody feeling empty and awkward. Jensen didn’t. He remembered Jared’s lips on his, the rise and fall of his chest under the pressure of Jensen’s weight, and these were things he could have again.

But only after he downloaded about eight different pornos—mad sluts 5, horny school teachers 2 and a half, Throbbin’ Wood and his Merry Harem—and made sure he still liked tits, and the dip in a girl’s spine, and the sweet (clearly fake) sounds they made when they lowered themselves onto some totally irrational veiny dick. It was definitely not the dick he liked.

In fact it was totally gross.

But Jared had a dick. And long legs that he splayed every which way that Jensen could imagine wrapped around his hips, pulling him tight. And he didn’t make high-pitched moans of pleasure, but hummed, and it was somehow better than the greatest porn goddess.

So Jensen could freak out—he could impale himself on Mike’s drumsticks, or hurl himself out one of the dormer windows, but he was okay. He was writing pages and pages of lyrics. It was all rushing out of him, so fast he didn’t want to get up and find a better pen that didn’t leak ink everywhere.

Tom laughed when he caught sight of him—ink smudged over the apple of his cheek, along his hairline, and thumbed into the dip of his lip whenever he nervously touched his mouth.

Jared followed a dark smear over Jensen’s skin with his fingertip, his eyes warm. “You going to show any of it to Hayden?”

Jensen though about the piles of paper covered in illegible verse and smiled. “Maybe.”

*

What were they doing? They fell back on the on the bed, eiderdown molding around their tangle of limbs. Jensen angled his head back and tried to get Jared’s tongue deeper into his mouth. Ah, everything was out of control, but Jared’s weight draped over him, and one of those large capable hands spread out over his cheek was shredding through the steel cable Jensen kept himself cordoned off with. He dragged his hands down Jared’s back and gripped his buttocks, grinding Jared into his erection.

Jared tore his mouth away to breathe, but descended again to the strong muscle at the left side of his neck. Jensen hissed and arched against him, widening his thighs to take more of Jared—getting more of his weight centered down over his cock.

“I need you,” he cried and joined their mouths again.

“Shh, shh,” Jared whispered when they parted, callused fingers slipping under the hem of his dress shirt, shoving it up around his armpits.

He felt disconnected, in pieces. Jared’s hands were gathering him up again, and sewing him back together. If he had any sense of pride left, he’d be embarrassed for the way he was rutting and cursing against Jared, sliding his tongue against Jared’s like it’d kill him not to kiss him.

Jensen had his hand up Jared’s wife-beater, nails scoring lines down Jared’s back. He needed to have an effect on him, the unshakeable one, who’d written his name into Jensen’s pericardium, letting him feel the mark of it every time the muscle of his heart pumped.

He was zooming out of control, thoughts fraying like he’d stolen Mike’s good shit, but Jared hadn’t let him get high. He wanted to be enough for Jensen. And his mouth was on Jensen’s nipple, tongue jabbing at it fiercely while Jensen's body tried to rewrite the curve of his spine as it came off the bed.

“You are so—beautiful,” Jared said when he pulled back.

Jensen could feel his cheeks burning. “God, you are so fucking lame.”

“Jensen.” Jared slid his hand into Jensen’s jeans with the quick efficiency of someone who’d done it before, his elegant fingers curling around Jensen’s dick. “I’m really not.”

He started to jack him, slow, burning hot grip. He knew every trick in the book, pressure over the crown, and that barest swipe of fingernail under the head. He had Jensen rocking his hips up and moaning, “I know.”

He made Jared pull off his wife-beater, that same one that always drove him crazy when it rode up during rehearsal, revealing the line of his hips and that little depression at the small of his back. Jensen wanted to learn the contours with his tongue, but Jared was nibbling at his neck, and stroking him, long fingers brushing over his balls. He’d been rendered completely useless.

Jared blinked hazel cat eyes at him as he kissed down his chest, tongue coming out to swirl in Jensen’s navel. He did it repeatedly, flicking in and out, eyes on Jensen the entire time, who had to prop himself up on his elbows to watch in open-mouthed fascination. It was so good, and he was twisting against the sheets, trying to gain purchase, trying to make it last as long as possible. Jared squeezed his dick just a little harder and drew his tongue down Jensen’s happy trail. It pushed him over the edge and his muscles locked up.

He came with a shout, thighs trembling. It was like the first time he picked up the Gretsch and played it—he’d finally found the sound to make his mind quiet. In that moment he wanted the heat of Jared’s erection that he could feel against his leg inside him. He wanted to spread himself over Jared’s strong thighs.

He wanted to stop feeling like raggedy fallen leaves blowing on a hard west wind.

*

He found Jared listening to The Cardigans in the solarium later. He was spread out on the window seat, eyes closed and head tipped back, lips parted like he could feel the music.

“The Cardigans?” Jensen asked, shoving Jared’s feet aside on the bench so he could lean back against the window.

“Hell yeah,” Jared replied, eyes sliding open. “I used to jerk off to Nina Persson.”

“Yeah, and Shirley Manson too?”

Jared laughed. “Yup, but I drew the line at Courtney Love.”

“Ugh! Thank god for that!”

Jared looked at him pointedly and drew his foot up Jensen’s thigh. “So?”

Jensen coughed, but he didn’t stop Jared. “I didn’t get you off.”

“Not important.” Jared put his hands behind his head, and shifted his hips. “I took care of it.” Jensen colored at the idea of Jared jerking off to him. Jared sat up without using his arms, muscles in his abs flexing and clenching, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Jensen’s. “You saying you want to try?”

“This is so—” Jensen broke off. “Just promise me if this goes bad you won’t write the post-punk version of ‘You’re So Vain’ and then give it to VH1’s Pop-up Video.”

“Or you’ll what? Kill yourself?” Jared said and kissed him again.

*

They drove two hours to see the coast: rocky unforgiving windswept beaches. Mike and Tommy shouted and ran in with their pants on. Hayden had brought Ewan, and they walked away down the sand, figures blurring into one as they got farther away. Jensen pulled his coat tighter around him and took pictures of the watery sun disappearing behind the clouds.

Jared skipped along the huge wooden moorings stuck into the beach, getting progressively taller as the beach dropped down into the water. Jensen waited until he wasn’t looking to take a picture.

He realized he was humming when he stuck the camera back in his pocket.

They went back after lunch, Mike complaining so hard about a clean pair of jeans that they had no choice but to turn around. They crackled up the gravel driveway, Paige teaching them traditional bawdhouse songs, and there was a man standing by the doorway.

It was too far away and Jensen needed to get a stronger prescription on his contacts, because he just thought it was some guy from the label. He felt the way Tom stiffened up beside him, and how Kripke looked guiltily away from Jared, but it didn’t clue him in.

Not until he jumped out of the van and Chris stepped out of the shade. Jensen’s heart stopped.

“My brothers, how have you been?” Chris asked them as they approached the steps up to the front door, like he was some kind of priest preaching down to the sinners.

Mike scowled and stomped up the stairs, Tom following after at a slower pace. Hayden held his arms out askance, Ewan standing at his shoulder. “Where the fuck you been?”

“Around?” Chris wrapped his leather jacket tighter around him. “Look it’s fucking cold, I want to go inside.”

“Did you get cancer?” Hayden asked. Jensen wondered where he was going with this.

“No.” Chris looked back over his shoulder into the warmth of the house.

“You running from the mob?”

Chris shook his head.

“Did you get abducted and taken to Tibet where there weren’t any fucking phones?”

Jensen had spent the first two weeks after Chris’s disappearance thinking he’d do anything to see him again, anything to ask him why he did it, anything at all. He just wanted one last second with his best friend. But as Chris shook his head again, he realized he didn’t want that at all anymore.

*

They played Hayden’s new song for Chris that evening. Penny and Paige and Kripke sat down with him to listen. Jensen smiled as he played, going over to sing in Jared’s microphone, leaning into his space.

Jared smiled back, shoving at him with his shoulder. The song wasn’t perfect, but it felt good to play it, like they weren’t trying to force themselves on this one. Kripke was grinning so big his face was gonna crack open.

Chris looked utterly unaffected. He started doing the slow clap, but it seemed oddly affected in the silence after the song. “That was cool, guys, sounds a little different.”

Hayden nodded, smiling wide. “Yeah, it’s because of Jared.”

Chris looked at Jared like he was seeing him for the first time. “Cool, make sure you get credit for it from the label.”

Jensen had never seen Jared’s face like that. Not even when Jensen was shouting at him or punching people. Not even when Mike chased him around the house with Beck playing on his headphones and Jared ran away screaming.

*

Jensen woke up the next morning to find Penny ferrying stuff back and forth between Jared’s room.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, still mellow and confused with sleep.

“Jared’s packing up so that Eric can take him to the airport,” she told him, carefully averting her eyes from his pajamas.

Jensen fell back against the doorway. “Who’s Eric?”

She shot him a look. “Eric Kripke.”

Jensen nodded like he'd known all along, but he was struck dumb, beyond the earthly happenings of the world. It had never even occurred to him that Jared would leave—that everything he’d been threatening Jared with had finally come to pass.

*

“How could you do it?” Mike questioned, apparently unable to keep from asking, and Hayden scoffed and kept his back turned to Chris, looking out the window.

Chris swallowed down a Guinness in one pull. Jensen used to think it was hilarious, but he averted his eyes this time, gagged a little. “Bandmates do it all the time, act a little crazy. Forgive me alright, but don’t think I’m the outlier.”

Mike ran his hands over his bald head. “We weren’t just your band, we were your family.”

“Look, it’s all over now, you won’t have to play with that guy anymore—”

Jensen’s gut twisted at everything Jared was being reduced to that guy.

“You think the reason we’re upset is because we had to play with Jared?” Tom fell back down against the couch. “Who are you?” he whispered.

Chris furrowed his brow. “Listen, you guys will be stoked, I’ve been talking to the label about a Japan tour.” Jensen rolled his eyes. That was Chris, always trying to deflect. Jensen looked past him and saw the flat electric guitar case leaning up against the baby grand piano. He hadn’t touched it since the guys from the label had helped bring their equipment in on the first day.

“You were talking to the label without us?” Hayden finally turned around. Jensen just wanted the argument to go away, he wanted to be past this point, but Chris wasn’t going to let them. Jensen walked past and popped the metal latches on the case open. He remembered sliding his credit card through for this thing, the little approved sign, and the way Chris had clapped him on the back and told him ‘Now you’re a rock star.”

But he hadn’t wanted it so that he could be a rock star.

“Holy! Are you for real? Surely you can’t be this unbelievable?” Tom was shaking his head. Jensen blinked at him.

“Jensen, will you tell them to lay off me?”

Mike made an exasperated sound.

“I think you have to face this one on your own.” Jensen shrugged. “You fucked up.”

“I fucked up?” Chris replied, incredulous. “I made this band, I am the soul of it—so I needed a break, we all need those.”

Jensen picked up the Gretsch, plucked out C. “You are not the good parts of me. I thought for the longest time you were—” He watched Chris’s face morph into something ugly. “And you—you knew it, and you let me believe it.”

“You crapped out on us, like this was our hobby, not our lives,” Tom said.

“Call Jared back,” Mike interrupted. Jensen nearly dropped the guitar. That hadn’t even occurred to him as an option. But they could—

“What?” Chris shouted.

Hayden came to stand behind Mike’s chair. “You know, Mike, that idea was way better than I thought you were capable of.”

“Shut up,” Mike said affectionately.

“You can’t!” Chris looked at Jensen, waited for him to say something. But Jensen shrugged again. He didn’t want him around anymore. With Chris, he didn’t have a soul, he was only trying to stretch Chris’s to fit inside him too.

*

“This is like that Veronica’s song, she's all ‘oh please stop killing my spirit’ to the guy,” Mike said as he attacked a Cadbury’s violet crumble that Chris had left behind. “And then she like kicks him in the face and tells him to get lost.”

Hayden was on the phone calling Kripke back. Jensen was pretending not to hang on to every word. “You know, you can’t bitch about Fall Out Boy if you’re going to listen to The Veronicas,” he pointed out.

“I can so, The Veronicas are hot, and they’re twins.”

“Tegan and Sara are twins, and they’d give you way more street cred.” Tommy snatched the last of the crumble away. “And they’re lesbians.”

“Hey, I don’t discriminate,” Mike said.

Jensen shook his head and stared up the drive. Nothing else mattered. Jared was coming back. Hayden plopped down next to him on the poofy couch. “We could do an ironic rock cover of The Veronicas.”

Jensen dropped his head in his hands. “I swear to god you’re an alien.”

“We’re here in England, why not go on Radio 1?”

“Because our luck, we’d get M.I.A, and then what the fuck would we do?”

Tom and Mike laughed and started singing, “'I bongo with my lingo and beat it like a wing yo.'”

Hayden covered his mouth. “I think they’d let us choose.”

Jensen pursed his lips. “Well, fine, I think we should cover Eiffel 65! 'I'm blue dabba dee dabba die!'”

"I thought it was 'and if I was green I would die,'" Tom said thoughtfully.

Mike shook his head. "No, no, 'and I'm in need of a guy.'"

"Fucking christ, man."

*

They couldn’t steal a moment alone. First everybody wanted to talk with Jared, then there were pages and pages of things Kripke needed Jared to sign now that he was officially part of the band. It was so hard to look at him when all he wanted was to press against him, wrap himself up in Jared, push against the strength of him. Finally Jared found him in the library, fighting his way through An Aberration in Starlight when all he could think about was Jared’s palms running over his skin.

Fingertips curled at the side of his neck, thumb stroking across the skin just behind his ear, and Jensen had been imagining it for so long he almost couldn’t tell if it was real.

“Whatcha reading?” Jared asked when Jensen leaned back into his hand.

“Sorrentino,” Jensen told him and shoved the slim paperback aside. He got up so quickly that the chair clattered against the desk and Jared’s lips curled, the barest hint of his white teeth showing through the smile. Jensen thrust him back against a heavy bookcase, hand behind his head to keep it from thumping against the wood. Jensen tilted his face up, fit his lips to the candy pink swell of Jared’s.

Jared hummed, opened his mouth, fingers hooking in the belt loop of Jensen’s favorite Cheap Monday jeans. They spun. Jensen braced himself against the shelves as a shower of books rained down around them. He kept kissing him, mouths sliding together and apart, his tongue against teeth and the sensitive hidden flesh just inside Jared’s mouth. Jared hummed again, forced his hand between the book case and Jensen to press against the small of his back and draw them closer together. It was raw and desperate, but there was something soothing about being here, this way, with Jared.

Jensen fisted his hand in the collar of Jared’s shirt, clumsy with want. He couldn't handle himself anymore. If he'd had the presence of mind to be embarrassed, he would've. He'd been good at this shit once.

Jared moved away from his mouth. “My room,” he breathed, voice breaking on a moan as Jensen laved his tongue over the steady beat of his pulse. Jared tasted like sweat and the astringent edge of cologne.

Jensen rubbed against the unyielding wall of Jared’s body, lips parted, heaving with every exhalation of breath. The way Jared smelled, the wicked curve of his mouth, and his broad strong hands made Jensen crazy. They stumbled again, crashing into the opposite bookcase, Jared’s thigh pushing between Jensen’s.

“Room, Jensen,” Jared reiterated, reaching around to cup Jensen’s ass. He pulled more of Jensen’s weight onto his thigh.

“Oh God,” Jensen moaned, bracing himself with one hand on the shelves. He kissed Jared again, sloppy, slick heat and teeth. “You were sneaking Ewan’s Dutch peppermints.” He dragged a hand down Jared’s front, trying to find the pounding of his heart.

“You—Jensen—so help me god, I will hoist you over my shoulder and carry you to my room.”

Jensen coughed and slowly stepped back, letting his lips linger. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the fire underneath his skin. He let Jared tug him to his room, twining their fingers together, Jensen’s pale skin woven against Jared’s warm gold.

Jensen started to tear his clothes off the moment they were through the door—t-shirt and pants blending into the explosion of Jared’s clothing around the room. Jared took longer, pausing to watch Jensen shove his D&G boxers down his thighs.

Jensen went to help Jared, pulling his belt out of his pants, and tugging his shirt up over Jared’s head, taking a minute to feel the ridges and crests of Jared’s abdomen when his arms got stuck in the pull of the fabric. Jared struggled out of it, growling, and kissed him.

Jensen was naked, but Jared was still standing in his black jeans and Chuck Taylors. The fly gaped wide, and he looked debauched, eyes wide with want and skin covered in the red impressions of Jensen’s fingertips. He stilled, letting Jensen drink him in.

“Off, take it off,” Jensen finally said. Jared bent down and fought with the laces on his high tops. Jensen swallowed. “I never got to see—” He stopped when Jared stepped out of his pants, cock half hard between his thighs, rosy with blood. Jared ducked his head.

“I want to do this gay sex thing,” Jensen told him, stepping in closer. “But I don’t know how.”

Jared nodded, backed himself up onto the bed, until he was leaning against the headboard. He got lube and a condom out of the dresser. Jensen followed him with his eyes, watching the shift and play of Jared’s muscles under his skin. “It’s like the first time you drive a car, a lot to think about, but you do it long enough, and instinct takes over.”

Jensen inhaled quickly and got on the bed, leaning over Jared. Jared pulled him down and they rolled, pillows skittering off the bed. Jensen hissed as his dick slid against the groove of Jared’s hip.

Jared found his nipple, and swiped across it with his thumb. “That’s never really done anything for me.” Jensen carded his fingers through Jared’s messy hair.

“Oh really?” Jared replied, smile in his voice. He dropped his head to Jensen’s nipple, sucking the abraded nub into his mouth, until Jensen strained against Jared’s thigh, cock sliding just so next to Jared’s.

Jensen held Jared’s head to his chest, fingers tight on his skull. He barely even noticed as the first slick finger slid into him. It was just the slightest pressure, and he needed more, more, more.

“Jared—so close,” he managed at last, cheek pressed into the pillow and eyes blinking sightlessly. Another finger slid into him. Jensen felt the stretch this time, and his hips twisted on the bed. “It feels—I don’t—”

“It’ll be good,” Jared soothed, lips to his eyelids, free hand rubbing slowly up and down the inside of Jensen’s arm. He curved his fingers, found the place he sought, and shoved against it. Jensen vibrated, back bowing. Jared held himself still. “God, could come from watching you.”

A high pitched note came out of Jensen’s mouth. He couldn’t believe it, he felt like his whole body was lighting up, and all he needed was a little bit more of it. He reached between their bodies, trying to wrap his fist around his cock. Jared caught his hand, pinned it back to the covers. “Just wait, Jensen, just a little longer.”

Jensen leaned up and sank his teeth into Jared’s collarbone until he cried out, messy hair hiding his eyes and teeth digging into his lip. Jared trembled, eyes fluttering closed, and it was with concerted effort that he pushed a third slippery finger into Jensen’s body. Jensen spread his thighs, trying to draw him deeper in, accommodate Jared’s body. He felt the sharp bones of Jared’s hips slide across the inside of his thighs, and the muscles in his stomach tightened. Jensen felt like he could absorb him.

Sweat was starting to bead at Jensen’s temples, running down his upturned face, and rolling over the thin skin of his neck. Jared bent and lapped it up, at the same time thrusting his fingers against Jensen’s prostate.

Jensen choked, trying to form words but failing. He struggled, hips rising and falling against Jared’s hand. He wanted to come, he needed to come, but he didn’t want to until Jared was in him, molding them together. Jensen finally snuck a hand between them, reaching down to grasp Jared’s erection. Jared froze and had to take several steadying breaths. “Stop playing,” Jensen whispered against the skin of his jaw. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jared moaned, dropped his head to Jensen’s shoulder, and nodded. He fiddled with the condom, nearly tearing it in his hurry. Finally he had it rolled on and reached down to fit himself against Jensen’s hole, slowly forcing his way past the tight ring of muscle. Jensen’s mouth opened on a wordless scream. He felt like he would burst, but the burn was part of it, part of the pleasure, and Jared began to jack him off in counterpoint with his thrusts into Jensen’s body.

The cast iron headboard slammed against the wall, and Jensen reached up to grip the twisted rungs, needing something to stabilize himself. He could feel every push inside him, every stroke knocking into his prostate. There was barely any air, all of it saturated with Jared. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he had his legs so tight around Jared’s middle there were sure to be bruises the next morning. Jensen would think about it for days, the blood brought right up under the skin, so fragile.

Jared kept shoving him higher and higher, taking him to the edge, and Jensen’s voice had gone hoarse from groaning and begging for more. Jared cursed, thumbed across his lip, making them tingle and burn. He could just see Jared imagining them wrapped around his dick. Jensen groaned and shut his eyes, twisted his hips so that every stroke was lining up just right, so that Jared was crying out from the pressure and the angle, trying to hold out for Jensen.

Jared slammed against his prostate one last time and the first wave of Jensen’s orgasm hit him, rippling under his skin. He wrapped his arm around Jared’s waist, holding Jared inside him with all his strength, and bearing down with his muscles as heat raced through him.

“Oh God,” Jared mumbled against his ear, teeth scraping over the lobe. His hips juddered, and then he was coming too, dick getting harder inside him, before softening. Jensen sucked in breath, not letting Jared pull out quite yet, but enjoying the space where they were still joined.

*

“It’s okay, I’m here!” Jared called, bursting through the double doors to the dining room.

“Everybody is turning abso-fucking-crazy gay!” Mike decried over his runny eggs when Jensen walked in with him. “It’s madness.”

“Maybe you’ll start fucking Tom next,” Ewan replied, voice sharp. He was clearly never going to get over the whole screaming by the river thing.

Mike looked at Tom. “Ah, God, I need a hooker just to cleanse my mind of the idea.”

“What the fuck?” Tom tossed his bread roll at him, but it sailed harmlessly over Mike’s shoulder.

“Maybe you need the hooker more than I do!”

*

March 1, 2008
natural_law's STS news:

Tour pictures just leaked for STS! Jared and Jensen are so hot. There’s a bunch of new pictures of Jensen in glasses. Also, Hayden was really attached to the newsboy cap that notesonfire gave to him at the Manchester signing. He’s wearing it in three different pictures. Anybody figure out the identity of that guy he’s always with? Enquiring minds want to know.

March 5, 2008
ifancybassist’s concert report:

Oh, I’m so buzzed, guys. It’s been three hours since the end of the show, and I’m still going. The Raveonette’s opened, and it was, to be diplomatic, sub par. They were noisy and weird and futzing around. I’ve heard some of their stuff, and it wasn’t like that, so I don’t know what was happening there. Me and my friends Amy and Edward were already sitting down, and we had to get up. It was just too much. We came back though, because we didn’t want to miss STS taking the stage.

Jensen and Hayden were feeling it tonight. It was crisp, economical, beautiful. They had some great anecdotes. Hayden was telling us that The Mountain Goats and Modest Mouse had really good tour stories, so now it was their turn. Apparently he really wanted to do a live cover of Hanson (yeah, I don’t know, either) when they were doing their show in Denver, and he got to the chorus line and realized he didn’t know the words.

Also, when they were doing their Japan tour, people kept stopping Jared and asking him for pictures, and all the other guys felt left out, until they realized they were only doing it because he’s so tall. Poor Jared.

During “Dirty Blue Sheets” Hayden chucked his guitar aside, and he did an awesome mike stand trick. I think I read somewhere he took fencing back in the day, and I don’t know if that prepares you for mike twirling, but it might explain a few things.

Also Jared snapped a string in the middle of “Price For Flight” and restrung it and continued playing. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. It took him two seconds tops. Amy nearly swallowed her tongue. She also freaked out because Tommy sang his solo song during the encore. His voice is so gritty compared to Jensen and Hayden, who both sound so sweet and melodic—maybe a little pretty.

They played some new stuff, I didn’t catch the names of most of it, but there was this one song, “First Time You Drive” where I just went zen and it was amazing. I think Jensen wrote it. There’s some talk that they’re going to be at Coachella in the future, how razzed am I? Louis XIV and Jarvis Cocker and Rachael Yamagata are all slated to be there, and I have to go to Memphis, Tennessee to watch my retarded cousin get married. She’s been telling us for years that she’s going to have a Celine Dion only playlist for the reception. I’m going to vomit up wedding cake if she actually does it. </i>

March 11, 2008
Blogthings – A Never Ending Carnival:
I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but all of you music heads out there, how many of you guys know Nevermind The Buzzcocks? I’ve been pretty religious ever since John Barrowman was on it. It’s pee your pants funny, and Simon is this awesomely out-and-proud host, so if you get the chance, most definitely watch.

I was watching today, and I was excited, because Dave Chapelle agreed to be on it, but holy Christ, the drummer for that band Second Treatise of Sound, Mike Something-or-other, was on Bill Bailey’s team, and he was hilarious. I kinda want to marry him now. He kept hitting on Simon, and comparing his own band to the Backstreet Boys, and then there was this really weird thing with metal detectors. I swear, I got a stitch in my side.

Point to this is, I’m really kind of curious now, does anybody have STS’s second album? I’ve got a couple tracks off the first, but I keep hearing that the second one is better, because that’s when Christian Kane left the band.


*

'tis finished
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