posted by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rivers_bend at 02:38pm on 30/05/2008 under anderson, fan fiction, jensen, rps, slash, verse: fucking is fun
rivers_bend at 02:38pm on 30/05/2008 under anderson, fan fiction, jensen, rps, slash, verse: fucking is funTitle: Wrong Right Floor
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Anderson Cooper (mentions of Jared/Sandy and Jensen/Jared UST)
Rating: Adult
Words: 4,600
The Obvious: I do not know Anderson Cooper or Jensen Ackles or anyone else mentioned in this story, and neither imagine nor mean to imply this happened.
Summary: Walking like someone who knew where he was going, Jensen rounded the corner and crashed chest to chest into someone making the turn into the elevator vestibule.
A/N: This is more than the usual AU, taking place in an alternate New York where MTV and Comedy Central share office and studio space. Shush.
Promoting movies officially sucked. Jensen was about to go do his fourth talk show since two pm. The first three were back to back, and then he had an hour, which was enough time to have a bite to eat but not sit down and enjoy a meal, and not enough time to make it worth going back to the hotel, so he'd just grabbed a sandwich and now he was early. He was supposed to be meeting someone called Janine or Janie—he couldn't read the rep's writing—in the lobby, but she wasn’t expecting him for another twenty minutes, and no one was there except the security guard. Jensen's driver had taken himself off to wherever it was he went while he was waiting, so Jensen figured he might as well go upstairs.
The rent-a-cop at the desk—who looked like James Earl Jones but sounded like he'd been sucking helium, and dude, how unfortunate was that?—signed Jensen in and told him what floor he wanted. Trouble was, Jensen was too busy listening in amused shock to the guy's voice, and by the time he got in the elevator, he'd forgotten what actual words he'd said. There were a lot of buttons to choose from. Twenty-fifth floor, he decided. Or was it twenty-ninth? One of those. Curse five and nine for sounding so much alike. Jensen pushed both buttons, hoping there would be some sort of clue when he got there. Or someone to ask.
On the twenty-fifth floor, the doors opened onto a small sort of foyer with gray walls and gray carpet. There wasn't a soul in sight. Off to the left was a hallway. Jensen had no idea which way to go, but decided decisive looked better and he was going to turn right. If he was wrong, he could turn around. Walking like someone who knew where he was going, Jensen rounded the corner and crashed chest to chest into someone making the turn into the elevator vestibule.
"Sorry!" Jensen said and put up a hand to steady himself. It landed on the shoulder of a sharply tailored suit, eliciting a chuckle (giggle? sort of a laugh thing) from the suit's owner. Who, when Jensen raised his eyes to look at him, seemed to be Anderson Cooper.
"Sorry," Jensen said again. He sent a message to his hand that totally said, remove yourself from Anderson Cooper's shoulder now, except for how there was obviously some sort of translation problem going on, because instead, the hand curled, knuckles out, and brushed down until its fingers could pinch Anderson's designer lapel, tugging it straight.
"No, my fault." Anderson was obviously trying to keep his eyes on Jensen's face, but they flicked down to look at where Jensen was mauling his suit.
As though it had been waiting for that acknowledgement, the hand finally got the message and Jensen snatched it back. "Um," his mouth said, so totally not helpfully.
"Anderson Cooper," Anderson Cooper said, and somehow Jensen didn't say "I know."
"Jensen Ackles," he replied instead.
"I thought so. Will I be shunned if I admit I liked you on Days of our Lives?"
Jensen grinned, relaxing a little for the first time since stepping on the elevator and realizing he didn't know where he was going. "Depends on who you tell, I guess."
Anderson laughed again and agreed.
Just as Jensen started thinking he was probably definitely in the wrong place, because Anderson was a news guy, and this film he was promoting was totally not news-worthy, Anderson said, "So, you on Jon's show too?"
Jensen couldn't actually remember the name of the guy whose show he was doing, but MTVs latest twink was not called anything so basic as John, he was sure. "John?"
"He keeps asking me back, god knows why."
Jensen made the connection. "Jon," he said. "I wish." He'd love to be on The Daily Show, but that wasn't on his itinerary. "I think it's called 'What's With your Weekend?' or, no, that was this afternoon. It's an MTV thing, anyway." How embarrassing.
"Flip Stinson's Box Office?" Anderson tried not to smirk when he said it, Jensen could totally tell.
"That's it. I knew he wasn't a Jon."
"A John, maybe, but no Jon Stewart, for sure. Met him at a party a couple weeks ago. Keep away from his hands. Unless you're in the mood to get groped."
Was it Jensen's imagination, or did Anderson's voice go up at the end there, like maybe he was genuinely asking if Jensen was up for some groping. Probably not. "By a guy named Flip?" Jensen said. "Not likely." And he so totally didn't make it sound like if it were Anderson asking, the answer would be different, because Jensen Ackles was not flirting with CNN news-guys in the hallways of The Daily Show.
"So. You want the twenty-ninth floor if it's Flip you're after." Anderson held out an arm towards the elevators, inviting Jensen to go first.
"You going up or down?" Jensen asked as he reached out to hit the call button.
"Down," Anderson replied. And this time there was definitely a look. Probably.
Not blushing at all, Jensen hit the down button.
After several seconds, Anderson leaned around him, brushing against Jensen's shoulder, and hit the up button. "But you're going up." His smile was amused but not patronizing.
"Yeah," Jensen said. "It's just hard to imagine Flip is up from anyone, much less Jon Stewart."
The down elevator arrived. "You're right about that," Anderson said as he got on.
They both ended up waving as the doors slid shut.
Jensen pulled out his phone.
"You on TV yet, dude?" Jared answered.
"Not yet. I just made a dick out of myself in front of Anderson Cooper."
"Anderson Cooper like the 360 guy?"
"Yep."
"You gonna be on CNN?"
"No, I ran into him in the hall. Literally."
"Is he as hot in person as he is on TV?" Jared was waggling his eyebrows, Jensen could just tell.
"Fuck off, Jared, we're not going there."
"I'm just saying, Jen." There was a voice in the background and Jensen heard Jared say, "Anderson Cooper."
"Jay?"
"Sandy says you should definitely have sex with him."
Jensen wasn't touching that with a barge pole. "I bet," he said. Okay, so maybe he was touching it a little.
Jared, fortunately, ignored him.
"So why does he think you're a dick, exactly?"
"I mauled his suit."
"Why?"
"Well, I straightened his lapel after I bumped into him."
"So he thinks you're polite. I'm sure it's all good." Now Jared was doing that thing where his voice got all sexy. Damn him.
"My elevator's here, man, better go. Say hi to Sandy for me."
"She says come back soon, cause we miss you."
"I miss you guys too," Jensen said, and now his elevator really was here. "Later."
On the way up to the interview, Jensen turned his meeting with Anderson into a sound-byte-worthy anecdote. Which had the advantage of giving him something to say to Flip on the air and allowed him to avoid thinking that Sandy wasn't the only one who thought he should be having sex with Anderson Cooper, sexy news guy.
The next morning, Jensen was expecting a call from Antonia, the studio's PR woman, about the possibility of more interviews. When he answered the phone, still wrapped in a towel after his shower, he was not expecting her to say that a CNN intern had called to make a dinner appointment for that night.
"CNN?" There was water in his ear, maybe he hadn't heard right.
"It's not an interview. It's a thank-you dinner. Mr. Cooper appreciates you plugging his show in your interview last night." She sounded like this was totally normal behavior in PR circles.
"I see." He didn't really, but no need to advertise ignorance.
"They'll send a car for you at eight thirty."
"Eight thirty."
"I may have a magazine interview for you this afternoon, keep your phone on."
"Of course," Jensen answered, wondering what one wore to have dinner with Anderson Cooper in New York.
"Ciao, darling."
"Yeah, uh, bye." Jensen hit disconnect. Scrolled down his contacts list. Then went back to his home screen. It was only six am in LA. If Jared and Sandy were up, they were probably out running or something. He would get dressed, have more coffee, and then call for sartorial advice.
He lasted until 9:45 New York time.
"Dude," Jared answered the phone. "What are you doing calling my wife?"
"What are you doing answering her phone?"
"She's getting bagels. But you didn't answer my question. You know she only does the phone sex between nine and five, and it's not even seven yet."
"Yeah, well, it's after nine here, and a guy's got needs, Jay."
Jared laughed, the sound quickly followed by a volley of barking. "Enough," Jared said. "It's a Chihuahua. Barely even a snack." Sadie and Harley desisted and Jared returned his attention to the phone. "Anything I can do?"
Jensen thought of Jared's wardrobe and cringed. "No. I need your wife for this one."
"Well here she is now. You know she tells me everything though, so this better not be some secret you're trying to keep from me."
"No secret. I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Just need to ask Sandy a question."
With a harrumph, Jared handed the phone over.
"Jen? What's up?" Sandy sounded worried.
"Nothing. Just…" Jensen realized he wasn't really sure what he wanted.
"Honey?"
"Ok. So. YouknowhowIbumpedintoAndersonCooperyesterday?"
"How you what? Slow down."
"Anderson Cooper."
"God, that man is sex on legs. Did you get close enough to smell him? What does he smell like?" There was a grumble in the background and Sandy said, "Oh honey, you know I love you. No getting jealous of the pretty news man."
"Um, he, I don't know," Jensen said. "But I'm going out to dinner with him tonight."
The squeal that came through the phone nearly ruptured his ear drum.
The dogs started up again, and Jensen could hear Jared asking what Sandy was so excited about, mixed in with orders for everyone to calm down.
"Hello?" he said. "Hello, Sandy!"
"That's great, sweetie!"
"Yeah. But, I don't know what to wear."
"You don't know what to wear? Jensen, you've been dressing yourself for dates for almost twenty years. You always look gorgeous. What do you mean you don't know what to wear?"
"I have no idea. I know. I mean, you're right. Just—Sandy, it's Anderson Cooper. He's a Vanderbilt. He's met like, I don't know, kings and stuff, right?"
"Jensen, I love you, but you're insane."
She was right. He was insane. He'd hardly ever given the man five minutes conscious thought before, beyond thinking he wouldn't mind tapping his ass, in that general sort of way you do with someone you see on your TV from time to time. And not a someone you're likely to run into at a Hollywood party and get a hummer from in the guest bathroom. Like, the kind you think you're never gonna meet.
"He makes me nervous. I don’t have an explanation. I just need to know what to wear."
"Well, where are you going?"
"I have no idea."
"Okay, well that would help, you know."
"His intern called the studio rep who called me and passed on a message. I didn't really have a chance to ask."
"Romantic," Sandy said, in her very best ironic voice, which had taken Jensen about three years of knowing her to recognize for what it was.
"Yeah, but I didn't exactly slip my phone number in his pocket or anything. Anyway. Not the point."
"Well, what do you have with you? Do you have that black silk shirt Megan got you for Christmas?"
Jensen walked over to the closet. "I have a black shirt. I can't remember if it's the one Megan got me. Maybe?"
"What color are the buttons?"
"Kind of gray? Dark gray."
"That's the one. Wear that. And your black pants. The Versace ones, though; you better not have brought those crappy pants you got with Mike that time you two had to go to that actor's grandmother's funeral when you were doing that movie."
"I don’t even know where those pants are. I think you burned them last time I had a barbecue." As Jensen was saying that, he heard Jared in the background saying almost the same thing.
"Shut up, both of you," Sandy said. "I would never burn polyester where people were eating."
"Whatever." Jensen wanted her back on track. "Silk shirt, black pants. No tie?"
"Can't imagine he's gonna take you someplace that needs a tie and jacket in July."
"Good point."
"So you good?" Her voice softened. "You really are being ridiculous, Jen. And not like you. You're gorgeous, rich, famous, and a really nice guy. Anyone would be lucky to have your company for dinner. Even Anderson Cooper."
"If you say so."
"I do. And I will want every juicy detail."
"Just of dinner," yelled Jared in the background. "No tempting my wife with graphic details of the hot man sex."
Jensen sighed and rubbed his eyes. Everything was good between him and Jared and Sandy. And him and Jared. And him and Sandy. Just… sometimes it was a little exhausting not letting old feelings surface. But he wasn't going to think about that now. He had a date with the sexiest very probably gay man in TV news. At least he hoped it was a date.
Antonia called back forty-five minutes later to tell him the interview was on. It turned out to be a photo shoot too, nothing fancy, but enough to keep Jensen occupied until he needed to rush to get ready. Shower, shave, hair, clothes, hair again, and by then it was 8:25 and time to go downstairs. The car arrived at 8:30 exactly. A town car with a driver in a cheap black suit and an Elvis 'do.
"Mr. Ackles?" he said, and held the door open when Jensen nodded.
Deciding against asking where they were going, Jensen took out his phone and checked his email. A filthy joke and two thumbs up from Jared, a reminder from his agent to call if he was having any trouble with the studio people, and a request from Mackenzie to please call her friend at Columbia if he had a chance. That took all of five minutes. He wasted another ten checking YouTube for anything new and interesting. There was a baby goat being chased by a turkey that was funny enough to forward to Jared, and then the car pulled up in front of a Sushi place on Madison Avenue. Anderson was standing in front in a jewel-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark pants. Jensen blessed Sandy for her clothing advice.
"You like sushi, I hope?" Anderson said in greeting.
"Sure," Jensen said. He felt much more relaxed now that he was here. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"
That got a wide and genuine smile. "I always have a contingency plan."
The restaurant was crowded, but the hostess greeted Anderson warmly and led them right away to a relatively quiet corner.
"Is this okay?" Anderson asked before they sat down.
"Great."
There was a moment's confusion when Jensen thought Anderson was going to pull his chair out for him, but he was just gesturing for Jensen to choose a seat. He picked the one with a view out onto the street and the passers-by. There wasn't even time to worry about awkward small talk before a waitress arrived to offer them drinks.
"Beer okay with you?" Anderson asked. "Or do you prefer something stronger? Or do you not—"
"Beer's great," Jensen said, and Anderson ordered.
"I'm glad you could make it."
Jensen smiled. "Me too. Dinner with Anderson Cooper wasn't one of the appointments I was expecting on my agenda today."
"I don’t usually make dates through my intern, but I didn't know how to get a hold of you, and today was kind of crazy."
"Date? So this isn't a thank-you for pimping 360 out to Flip's fan base?"
Suddenly it was Anderson's turn to look nervous. "Well," he said. "That is—"
"It's okay." Jensen let him off the hook. "I figured that was PR speak. I mean, I hoped it was."
"I shouldn't assume. Obviously. But I wanted a chance to see you again anyway."
"Why?" Jensen asked and immediately wanted to take the question back.
"You do have a mirror, right?" Anderson held up a hand. "That makes me sound really shallow. I'm not. You made me laugh, and I wasn't lying about being an Eric Brady fan back in the day."
Jensen resisted the urge to laugh himself and said a gracious thank you instead.
"So what do you like?" Anderson picked up his menu.
"Everything except octopus."
"Should we just get the chef's choices then?"
The waitress came back with their drinks and took their order, and they slipped into easy conversation while they waited for their food. When it came it looked delicious, and enough to feed six people for a week. The silences while they mixed wasabi and soy sauce and made a dent in the selections were comfortable, and Jensen realized it had been a long time since he'd been out on an actual date.
"You've got to try this one," Anderson said, and before Jensen could reach out with his own chopsticks to pick up one of the balls of rice and salmon, Anderson was holding his own chopsticks up with a morsel for Jensen to take. Cliché as it was, the gesture made heat spread low in Jensen's belly and gave him definite ideas about how he wanted the evening to end.
His flirt mode switched on, and Jensen took the proffered bite between his teeth and hummed in appreciation as he chewed, keeping eye contact with Anderson, who, if the heat in his eyes was anything to go by, wasn't going to disappoint on the after-dinner plans.
They managed to clear about a third of the platter before Anderson asked for the check and a to-go box.
When they got out to the street, Anderson said, "Did you want to get a drink somewhere?"
"Somewhere private?" Jensen hoped his look made his meaning clear.
"I know just the place," Anderson said, and hailed a taxi.
Anderson's apartment was cool after the muggy heat of the night outside, and tastefully decorated. After beckoning for Jensen to follow him into the kitchen and putting the leftovers in the fridge, Anderson offered him the drink they were supposedly here for. Jensen leaned up against the counter with his bottle, but Anderson said, "Living room's more comfortable," and led the way across the hall. They ended up half facing each other on the sofa, mirror images with one knee up and frosty cold beers in their hands.
Anderson reached for the remote on the coffee table. "I think the Dodgers are playing tonight, if you wanted to—"
"Yeah," Jensen interrupted. "Or we could just…" He leaned over and ran a finger over the back of the hand Anderson had curled around his bottle.
"Or that." Anderson didn't bother with a coaster on the glass table, so Jensen didn't either. Just put down his beer and turned towards the other man's gaze.
It seemed like minutes but was probably no more than a few seconds that they looked at each other before Anderson laid a bottle-chilled hand on Jensen's thigh and Jensen curled his around Anderson's waist. They both smiled at the other's shiver and then they were kissing, and Anderson's knee was jabbing at Jensen's hip, and his arm was sliding around Jensen's back, and Jensen shivered again, nothing at all to do with cold hands.
It was a good kiss. Really good. Sure, not one of those kisses that made you want to rip all your clothes off and fuck right there, but the kind that you wanted to lean into, that made you want to grin, and cling a little, and go on kissing for hours. So Jensen leaned, and grinned, and that made Anderson pull away just far enough to smile back and nip the end of Jensen's nose, and then he did this thing with pushing here and tugging there that ended up with Jensen lying on the sofa, Anderson on top of him, and yeah, okay, fuck good, the kiss was pretty much totally fantastic.
Unlike his taste in women, where "petite" featured prominently, Jensen's taste in men tended towards large. None of that tiny emo-boy-band stuff; he was all about football stars and action heroes and, yeah, okay, he'd admit it, guys that could be mistaken for the Sam Winchester type with the lights out. Anderson did not fit into those categories. He was shorter than Jensen by an inch or two, and slim too, but with enough muscle that Jensen felt like they'd be pretty evenly matched if it came down to it. Not that he had any plans to try and get Anderson to give up his hold, which right now consisted of a hand cupping the side of Jensen's head and another moving down his ribs towards where the hem of his shirt was riding up. When Anderson's fingers reached bare skin, it stirred heat low in Jensen's belly and made him spread his legs to get better contact with the cut of Anderson's hip.
"You okay there?" Anderson asked.
Jensen slid his hands down to grip his ass and pull him closer. "Mmmm, yes."
"Good." The whisper in his ear was followed by a tongue tracing the muscle at his neck, dipping under his shirt collar where Anderson bit gently, then harder when Jensen moaned.
Jensen's hips bucked up hard in response, nearly tipping Anderson to the floor, making them both grab more tightly to the other. "Sorry," Jensen said, but Anderson was laughing and settling himself more securely between Jensen's thighs, rocking his hips and kissing Jensen's jaw until Jensen forgot all about being embarrassed.
He was thrusting into Anderson's hand, trying to fit his own down between them, when Anderson said, "You want to slip into something less dry-clean only?"
"What—" a stutter as a thumb pressed just right—"What'd you have in mind?"
"Well, my sheets are 100% machine washable."
A laugh burst from Jensen's chest. "That line actually ever work?"
"Pretty much every time." Anderson hadn't stopped rubbing, on the contrary, he was applying enough attention to the task in hand that Jensen wondered if he was going to be too late to save his pants.
"I'd hate—oh fuck—hate to be the one to lower your average." Jensen tried to think about something other than heat and friction and the ache in his balls, but it all felt too good. Who the hell cared about a little dry cleaning anyway?
Suddenly Anderson stopped. Lifted himself off Jensen and stood up. "Come on, then," he said. "I want to taste your dick, and this floor is hell on the knees."
It was a struggle to get his legs to obey enough for Jensen to follow Anderson down the hall.
~||~
Jensen had never intended to spend the night, but by the time they'd made enough of a mess of the sheets they were going to need to be washed twice, he was too tired to move. Besides which the arm across his waist had been pinning him down. He woke up to the smell of coffee coming from a mug on the bedside table and the sound of a shower coming from behind a mostly-shut door. When he sat up, he noticed a towel folded at the foot of the bed next to his clothes, which Anderson had picked up off the floor where he'd dropped them the night before. Bemused, he sipped the coffee.
He was just getting up when the shower shut off. "Thanks for the coffee," he called towards the bathroom.
"You're welcome. I'll be done in here in a minute, or there's shampoo and stuff in the bathroom down the hall if you don't want to wait." Anderson stuck his head out the crack in the door. "Do you have time for breakfast?"
"I, um…" Being so fucked out you spent the night was one thing, but breakfast was something else. Jensen wasn't sure what to say.
"I've got to be at work in an hour, but I'm a dab hand with scrambled eggs if you want. Or there's leftover sushi."
It didn’t sound like Anderson was asking him to move in or anything. Just playing host. And eggs sounded good. Leftover sushi not so much. "If you're making eggs anyway," Jensen said. "I'll just go shower." He scooped up his clothes and the towel and found his way to the other bathroom.
When he was dressed and looking less like he'd spent the night writhing around on Egyptian cotton sheets (though his clothes did still look like they'd spent the night on someone's floor), Jensen followed his nose to the kitchen.
"Bagel or toast?" Anderson offered.
"Isn't it some sort of sacrilege to turn down a New York bagel?"
"Probably." Anderson smiled and pointed him towards the coffee pot. Minutes later, he was handing Jensen a plate laden with eggs and a freshly-toasted bagel. They ate in companionable silence, Anderson excusing himself at one point to answer the call of his BlackBerry's message alert, giving Jensen the excuse to dig out his own phone and check his messages. A call from Jared last night, and one from Antonia while he was in the shower. He could listen to them on the way back to the hotel.
"So I had fun last night," Anderson said, putting his phone down.
"Me too." More fun than he'd been expecting, actually.
"How long are you in town?"
"Back to LA this evening. I'm hoping I don't have anything planned for today, I wanted to fit some shopping in so my sister doesn't kill me for not buying her anything."
"I don’t make it to LA very often, but if you're ever back in New York, you could give me a call."
The warm flip-flop low in his belly confirmed Jensen's first instinct that he'd like that. "Sure."
They exchanged numbers, and then Anderson put the dishes in the dishwasher. "You need a ride back to the hotel?"
"Taxi's good," Jensen said.
"Taxi we can do. First though—" Anderson hooked an arm around Jensen's waist and pulled him close. Jensen remembered to take a deep breath so he could tell Sandy what Anderson smelled like. Soap, coffee, something spicy and sexy. Not as sexy as his kiss though, which if he didn't stop soon, was going to have Jensen begging him to skip work.
"Wow." Anderson pulled away and patted his pockets like he was checking he had everything. "I was serious about calling me if you're back in town."
Jensen patted his own pockets, keeping his hand from pressing his dick with some effort. "I definitely will." For once, Jensen wasn't lying.
"Ready?" Anderson had the door open.
Jensen reached up and planted one last kiss on his lips before preceding him out the door, thinking press junkets weren't as bad as he'd always thought.
~fin~
And now there's more
____________________________________________________________
So![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snarkyrainbow and erin2326 somehow talked me into writing a Jensen/Anderson PWP. It was going to be short and sweet with clothes swapping and sex. but, um, yeah. none of that really happened. So you get this instead. *draws hearts* maybe more than just those two and insaneboingo want to read it?
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Anderson Cooper (mentions of Jared/Sandy and Jensen/Jared UST)
Rating: Adult
Words: 4,600
The Obvious: I do not know Anderson Cooper or Jensen Ackles or anyone else mentioned in this story, and neither imagine nor mean to imply this happened.
Summary: Walking like someone who knew where he was going, Jensen rounded the corner and crashed chest to chest into someone making the turn into the elevator vestibule.
A/N: This is more than the usual AU, taking place in an alternate New York where MTV and Comedy Central share office and studio space. Shush.
Promoting movies officially sucked. Jensen was about to go do his fourth talk show since two pm. The first three were back to back, and then he had an hour, which was enough time to have a bite to eat but not sit down and enjoy a meal, and not enough time to make it worth going back to the hotel, so he'd just grabbed a sandwich and now he was early. He was supposed to be meeting someone called Janine or Janie—he couldn't read the rep's writing—in the lobby, but she wasn’t expecting him for another twenty minutes, and no one was there except the security guard. Jensen's driver had taken himself off to wherever it was he went while he was waiting, so Jensen figured he might as well go upstairs.
The rent-a-cop at the desk—who looked like James Earl Jones but sounded like he'd been sucking helium, and dude, how unfortunate was that?—signed Jensen in and told him what floor he wanted. Trouble was, Jensen was too busy listening in amused shock to the guy's voice, and by the time he got in the elevator, he'd forgotten what actual words he'd said. There were a lot of buttons to choose from. Twenty-fifth floor, he decided. Or was it twenty-ninth? One of those. Curse five and nine for sounding so much alike. Jensen pushed both buttons, hoping there would be some sort of clue when he got there. Or someone to ask.
On the twenty-fifth floor, the doors opened onto a small sort of foyer with gray walls and gray carpet. There wasn't a soul in sight. Off to the left was a hallway. Jensen had no idea which way to go, but decided decisive looked better and he was going to turn right. If he was wrong, he could turn around. Walking like someone who knew where he was going, Jensen rounded the corner and crashed chest to chest into someone making the turn into the elevator vestibule.
"Sorry!" Jensen said and put up a hand to steady himself. It landed on the shoulder of a sharply tailored suit, eliciting a chuckle (giggle? sort of a laugh thing) from the suit's owner. Who, when Jensen raised his eyes to look at him, seemed to be Anderson Cooper.
"Sorry," Jensen said again. He sent a message to his hand that totally said, remove yourself from Anderson Cooper's shoulder now, except for how there was obviously some sort of translation problem going on, because instead, the hand curled, knuckles out, and brushed down until its fingers could pinch Anderson's designer lapel, tugging it straight.
"No, my fault." Anderson was obviously trying to keep his eyes on Jensen's face, but they flicked down to look at where Jensen was mauling his suit.
As though it had been waiting for that acknowledgement, the hand finally got the message and Jensen snatched it back. "Um," his mouth said, so totally not helpfully.
"Anderson Cooper," Anderson Cooper said, and somehow Jensen didn't say "I know."
"Jensen Ackles," he replied instead.
"I thought so. Will I be shunned if I admit I liked you on Days of our Lives?"
Jensen grinned, relaxing a little for the first time since stepping on the elevator and realizing he didn't know where he was going. "Depends on who you tell, I guess."
Anderson laughed again and agreed.
Just as Jensen started thinking he was probably definitely in the wrong place, because Anderson was a news guy, and this film he was promoting was totally not news-worthy, Anderson said, "So, you on Jon's show too?"
Jensen couldn't actually remember the name of the guy whose show he was doing, but MTVs latest twink was not called anything so basic as John, he was sure. "John?"
"He keeps asking me back, god knows why."
Jensen made the connection. "Jon," he said. "I wish." He'd love to be on The Daily Show, but that wasn't on his itinerary. "I think it's called 'What's With your Weekend?' or, no, that was this afternoon. It's an MTV thing, anyway." How embarrassing.
"Flip Stinson's Box Office?" Anderson tried not to smirk when he said it, Jensen could totally tell.
"That's it. I knew he wasn't a Jon."
"A John, maybe, but no Jon Stewart, for sure. Met him at a party a couple weeks ago. Keep away from his hands. Unless you're in the mood to get groped."
Was it Jensen's imagination, or did Anderson's voice go up at the end there, like maybe he was genuinely asking if Jensen was up for some groping. Probably not. "By a guy named Flip?" Jensen said. "Not likely." And he so totally didn't make it sound like if it were Anderson asking, the answer would be different, because Jensen Ackles was not flirting with CNN news-guys in the hallways of The Daily Show.
"So. You want the twenty-ninth floor if it's Flip you're after." Anderson held out an arm towards the elevators, inviting Jensen to go first.
"You going up or down?" Jensen asked as he reached out to hit the call button.
"Down," Anderson replied. And this time there was definitely a look. Probably.
Not blushing at all, Jensen hit the down button.
After several seconds, Anderson leaned around him, brushing against Jensen's shoulder, and hit the up button. "But you're going up." His smile was amused but not patronizing.
"Yeah," Jensen said. "It's just hard to imagine Flip is up from anyone, much less Jon Stewart."
The down elevator arrived. "You're right about that," Anderson said as he got on.
They both ended up waving as the doors slid shut.
Jensen pulled out his phone.
"You on TV yet, dude?" Jared answered.
"Not yet. I just made a dick out of myself in front of Anderson Cooper."
"Anderson Cooper like the 360 guy?"
"Yep."
"You gonna be on CNN?"
"No, I ran into him in the hall. Literally."
"Is he as hot in person as he is on TV?" Jared was waggling his eyebrows, Jensen could just tell.
"Fuck off, Jared, we're not going there."
"I'm just saying, Jen." There was a voice in the background and Jensen heard Jared say, "Anderson Cooper."
"Jay?"
"Sandy says you should definitely have sex with him."
Jensen wasn't touching that with a barge pole. "I bet," he said. Okay, so maybe he was touching it a little.
Jared, fortunately, ignored him.
"So why does he think you're a dick, exactly?"
"I mauled his suit."
"Why?"
"Well, I straightened his lapel after I bumped into him."
"So he thinks you're polite. I'm sure it's all good." Now Jared was doing that thing where his voice got all sexy. Damn him.
"My elevator's here, man, better go. Say hi to Sandy for me."
"She says come back soon, cause we miss you."
"I miss you guys too," Jensen said, and now his elevator really was here. "Later."
On the way up to the interview, Jensen turned his meeting with Anderson into a sound-byte-worthy anecdote. Which had the advantage of giving him something to say to Flip on the air and allowed him to avoid thinking that Sandy wasn't the only one who thought he should be having sex with Anderson Cooper, sexy news guy.
The next morning, Jensen was expecting a call from Antonia, the studio's PR woman, about the possibility of more interviews. When he answered the phone, still wrapped in a towel after his shower, he was not expecting her to say that a CNN intern had called to make a dinner appointment for that night.
"CNN?" There was water in his ear, maybe he hadn't heard right.
"It's not an interview. It's a thank-you dinner. Mr. Cooper appreciates you plugging his show in your interview last night." She sounded like this was totally normal behavior in PR circles.
"I see." He didn't really, but no need to advertise ignorance.
"They'll send a car for you at eight thirty."
"Eight thirty."
"I may have a magazine interview for you this afternoon, keep your phone on."
"Of course," Jensen answered, wondering what one wore to have dinner with Anderson Cooper in New York.
"Ciao, darling."
"Yeah, uh, bye." Jensen hit disconnect. Scrolled down his contacts list. Then went back to his home screen. It was only six am in LA. If Jared and Sandy were up, they were probably out running or something. He would get dressed, have more coffee, and then call for sartorial advice.
He lasted until 9:45 New York time.
"Dude," Jared answered the phone. "What are you doing calling my wife?"
"What are you doing answering her phone?"
"She's getting bagels. But you didn't answer my question. You know she only does the phone sex between nine and five, and it's not even seven yet."
"Yeah, well, it's after nine here, and a guy's got needs, Jay."
Jared laughed, the sound quickly followed by a volley of barking. "Enough," Jared said. "It's a Chihuahua. Barely even a snack." Sadie and Harley desisted and Jared returned his attention to the phone. "Anything I can do?"
Jensen thought of Jared's wardrobe and cringed. "No. I need your wife for this one."
"Well here she is now. You know she tells me everything though, so this better not be some secret you're trying to keep from me."
"No secret. I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Just need to ask Sandy a question."
With a harrumph, Jared handed the phone over.
"Jen? What's up?" Sandy sounded worried.
"Nothing. Just…" Jensen realized he wasn't really sure what he wanted.
"Honey?"
"Ok. So. YouknowhowIbumpedintoAndersonCooperyesterday?"
"How you what? Slow down."
"Anderson Cooper."
"God, that man is sex on legs. Did you get close enough to smell him? What does he smell like?" There was a grumble in the background and Sandy said, "Oh honey, you know I love you. No getting jealous of the pretty news man."
"Um, he, I don't know," Jensen said. "But I'm going out to dinner with him tonight."
The squeal that came through the phone nearly ruptured his ear drum.
The dogs started up again, and Jensen could hear Jared asking what Sandy was so excited about, mixed in with orders for everyone to calm down.
"Hello?" he said. "Hello, Sandy!"
"That's great, sweetie!"
"Yeah. But, I don't know what to wear."
"You don't know what to wear? Jensen, you've been dressing yourself for dates for almost twenty years. You always look gorgeous. What do you mean you don't know what to wear?"
"I have no idea. I know. I mean, you're right. Just—Sandy, it's Anderson Cooper. He's a Vanderbilt. He's met like, I don't know, kings and stuff, right?"
"Jensen, I love you, but you're insane."
She was right. He was insane. He'd hardly ever given the man five minutes conscious thought before, beyond thinking he wouldn't mind tapping his ass, in that general sort of way you do with someone you see on your TV from time to time. And not a someone you're likely to run into at a Hollywood party and get a hummer from in the guest bathroom. Like, the kind you think you're never gonna meet.
"He makes me nervous. I don’t have an explanation. I just need to know what to wear."
"Well, where are you going?"
"I have no idea."
"Okay, well that would help, you know."
"His intern called the studio rep who called me and passed on a message. I didn't really have a chance to ask."
"Romantic," Sandy said, in her very best ironic voice, which had taken Jensen about three years of knowing her to recognize for what it was.
"Yeah, but I didn't exactly slip my phone number in his pocket or anything. Anyway. Not the point."
"Well, what do you have with you? Do you have that black silk shirt Megan got you for Christmas?"
Jensen walked over to the closet. "I have a black shirt. I can't remember if it's the one Megan got me. Maybe?"
"What color are the buttons?"
"Kind of gray? Dark gray."
"That's the one. Wear that. And your black pants. The Versace ones, though; you better not have brought those crappy pants you got with Mike that time you two had to go to that actor's grandmother's funeral when you were doing that movie."
"I don’t even know where those pants are. I think you burned them last time I had a barbecue." As Jensen was saying that, he heard Jared in the background saying almost the same thing.
"Shut up, both of you," Sandy said. "I would never burn polyester where people were eating."
"Whatever." Jensen wanted her back on track. "Silk shirt, black pants. No tie?"
"Can't imagine he's gonna take you someplace that needs a tie and jacket in July."
"Good point."
"So you good?" Her voice softened. "You really are being ridiculous, Jen. And not like you. You're gorgeous, rich, famous, and a really nice guy. Anyone would be lucky to have your company for dinner. Even Anderson Cooper."
"If you say so."
"I do. And I will want every juicy detail."
"Just of dinner," yelled Jared in the background. "No tempting my wife with graphic details of the hot man sex."
Jensen sighed and rubbed his eyes. Everything was good between him and Jared and Sandy. And him and Jared. And him and Sandy. Just… sometimes it was a little exhausting not letting old feelings surface. But he wasn't going to think about that now. He had a date with the sexiest very probably gay man in TV news. At least he hoped it was a date.
Antonia called back forty-five minutes later to tell him the interview was on. It turned out to be a photo shoot too, nothing fancy, but enough to keep Jensen occupied until he needed to rush to get ready. Shower, shave, hair, clothes, hair again, and by then it was 8:25 and time to go downstairs. The car arrived at 8:30 exactly. A town car with a driver in a cheap black suit and an Elvis 'do.
"Mr. Ackles?" he said, and held the door open when Jensen nodded.
Deciding against asking where they were going, Jensen took out his phone and checked his email. A filthy joke and two thumbs up from Jared, a reminder from his agent to call if he was having any trouble with the studio people, and a request from Mackenzie to please call her friend at Columbia if he had a chance. That took all of five minutes. He wasted another ten checking YouTube for anything new and interesting. There was a baby goat being chased by a turkey that was funny enough to forward to Jared, and then the car pulled up in front of a Sushi place on Madison Avenue. Anderson was standing in front in a jewel-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark pants. Jensen blessed Sandy for her clothing advice.
"You like sushi, I hope?" Anderson said in greeting.
"Sure," Jensen said. He felt much more relaxed now that he was here. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"
That got a wide and genuine smile. "I always have a contingency plan."
The restaurant was crowded, but the hostess greeted Anderson warmly and led them right away to a relatively quiet corner.
"Is this okay?" Anderson asked before they sat down.
"Great."
There was a moment's confusion when Jensen thought Anderson was going to pull his chair out for him, but he was just gesturing for Jensen to choose a seat. He picked the one with a view out onto the street and the passers-by. There wasn't even time to worry about awkward small talk before a waitress arrived to offer them drinks.
"Beer okay with you?" Anderson asked. "Or do you prefer something stronger? Or do you not—"
"Beer's great," Jensen said, and Anderson ordered.
"I'm glad you could make it."
Jensen smiled. "Me too. Dinner with Anderson Cooper wasn't one of the appointments I was expecting on my agenda today."
"I don’t usually make dates through my intern, but I didn't know how to get a hold of you, and today was kind of crazy."
"Date? So this isn't a thank-you for pimping 360 out to Flip's fan base?"
Suddenly it was Anderson's turn to look nervous. "Well," he said. "That is—"
"It's okay." Jensen let him off the hook. "I figured that was PR speak. I mean, I hoped it was."
"I shouldn't assume. Obviously. But I wanted a chance to see you again anyway."
"Why?" Jensen asked and immediately wanted to take the question back.
"You do have a mirror, right?" Anderson held up a hand. "That makes me sound really shallow. I'm not. You made me laugh, and I wasn't lying about being an Eric Brady fan back in the day."
Jensen resisted the urge to laugh himself and said a gracious thank you instead.
"So what do you like?" Anderson picked up his menu.
"Everything except octopus."
"Should we just get the chef's choices then?"
The waitress came back with their drinks and took their order, and they slipped into easy conversation while they waited for their food. When it came it looked delicious, and enough to feed six people for a week. The silences while they mixed wasabi and soy sauce and made a dent in the selections were comfortable, and Jensen realized it had been a long time since he'd been out on an actual date.
"You've got to try this one," Anderson said, and before Jensen could reach out with his own chopsticks to pick up one of the balls of rice and salmon, Anderson was holding his own chopsticks up with a morsel for Jensen to take. Cliché as it was, the gesture made heat spread low in Jensen's belly and gave him definite ideas about how he wanted the evening to end.
His flirt mode switched on, and Jensen took the proffered bite between his teeth and hummed in appreciation as he chewed, keeping eye contact with Anderson, who, if the heat in his eyes was anything to go by, wasn't going to disappoint on the after-dinner plans.
They managed to clear about a third of the platter before Anderson asked for the check and a to-go box.
When they got out to the street, Anderson said, "Did you want to get a drink somewhere?"
"Somewhere private?" Jensen hoped his look made his meaning clear.
"I know just the place," Anderson said, and hailed a taxi.
Anderson's apartment was cool after the muggy heat of the night outside, and tastefully decorated. After beckoning for Jensen to follow him into the kitchen and putting the leftovers in the fridge, Anderson offered him the drink they were supposedly here for. Jensen leaned up against the counter with his bottle, but Anderson said, "Living room's more comfortable," and led the way across the hall. They ended up half facing each other on the sofa, mirror images with one knee up and frosty cold beers in their hands.
Anderson reached for the remote on the coffee table. "I think the Dodgers are playing tonight, if you wanted to—"
"Yeah," Jensen interrupted. "Or we could just…" He leaned over and ran a finger over the back of the hand Anderson had curled around his bottle.
"Or that." Anderson didn't bother with a coaster on the glass table, so Jensen didn't either. Just put down his beer and turned towards the other man's gaze.
It seemed like minutes but was probably no more than a few seconds that they looked at each other before Anderson laid a bottle-chilled hand on Jensen's thigh and Jensen curled his around Anderson's waist. They both smiled at the other's shiver and then they were kissing, and Anderson's knee was jabbing at Jensen's hip, and his arm was sliding around Jensen's back, and Jensen shivered again, nothing at all to do with cold hands.
It was a good kiss. Really good. Sure, not one of those kisses that made you want to rip all your clothes off and fuck right there, but the kind that you wanted to lean into, that made you want to grin, and cling a little, and go on kissing for hours. So Jensen leaned, and grinned, and that made Anderson pull away just far enough to smile back and nip the end of Jensen's nose, and then he did this thing with pushing here and tugging there that ended up with Jensen lying on the sofa, Anderson on top of him, and yeah, okay, fuck good, the kiss was pretty much totally fantastic.
Unlike his taste in women, where "petite" featured prominently, Jensen's taste in men tended towards large. None of that tiny emo-boy-band stuff; he was all about football stars and action heroes and, yeah, okay, he'd admit it, guys that could be mistaken for the Sam Winchester type with the lights out. Anderson did not fit into those categories. He was shorter than Jensen by an inch or two, and slim too, but with enough muscle that Jensen felt like they'd be pretty evenly matched if it came down to it. Not that he had any plans to try and get Anderson to give up his hold, which right now consisted of a hand cupping the side of Jensen's head and another moving down his ribs towards where the hem of his shirt was riding up. When Anderson's fingers reached bare skin, it stirred heat low in Jensen's belly and made him spread his legs to get better contact with the cut of Anderson's hip.
"You okay there?" Anderson asked.
Jensen slid his hands down to grip his ass and pull him closer. "Mmmm, yes."
"Good." The whisper in his ear was followed by a tongue tracing the muscle at his neck, dipping under his shirt collar where Anderson bit gently, then harder when Jensen moaned.
Jensen's hips bucked up hard in response, nearly tipping Anderson to the floor, making them both grab more tightly to the other. "Sorry," Jensen said, but Anderson was laughing and settling himself more securely between Jensen's thighs, rocking his hips and kissing Jensen's jaw until Jensen forgot all about being embarrassed.
He was thrusting into Anderson's hand, trying to fit his own down between them, when Anderson said, "You want to slip into something less dry-clean only?"
"What—" a stutter as a thumb pressed just right—"What'd you have in mind?"
"Well, my sheets are 100% machine washable."
A laugh burst from Jensen's chest. "That line actually ever work?"
"Pretty much every time." Anderson hadn't stopped rubbing, on the contrary, he was applying enough attention to the task in hand that Jensen wondered if he was going to be too late to save his pants.
"I'd hate—oh fuck—hate to be the one to lower your average." Jensen tried to think about something other than heat and friction and the ache in his balls, but it all felt too good. Who the hell cared about a little dry cleaning anyway?
Suddenly Anderson stopped. Lifted himself off Jensen and stood up. "Come on, then," he said. "I want to taste your dick, and this floor is hell on the knees."
It was a struggle to get his legs to obey enough for Jensen to follow Anderson down the hall.
Jensen had never intended to spend the night, but by the time they'd made enough of a mess of the sheets they were going to need to be washed twice, he was too tired to move. Besides which the arm across his waist had been pinning him down. He woke up to the smell of coffee coming from a mug on the bedside table and the sound of a shower coming from behind a mostly-shut door. When he sat up, he noticed a towel folded at the foot of the bed next to his clothes, which Anderson had picked up off the floor where he'd dropped them the night before. Bemused, he sipped the coffee.
He was just getting up when the shower shut off. "Thanks for the coffee," he called towards the bathroom.
"You're welcome. I'll be done in here in a minute, or there's shampoo and stuff in the bathroom down the hall if you don't want to wait." Anderson stuck his head out the crack in the door. "Do you have time for breakfast?"
"I, um…" Being so fucked out you spent the night was one thing, but breakfast was something else. Jensen wasn't sure what to say.
"I've got to be at work in an hour, but I'm a dab hand with scrambled eggs if you want. Or there's leftover sushi."
It didn’t sound like Anderson was asking him to move in or anything. Just playing host. And eggs sounded good. Leftover sushi not so much. "If you're making eggs anyway," Jensen said. "I'll just go shower." He scooped up his clothes and the towel and found his way to the other bathroom.
When he was dressed and looking less like he'd spent the night writhing around on Egyptian cotton sheets (though his clothes did still look like they'd spent the night on someone's floor), Jensen followed his nose to the kitchen.
"Bagel or toast?" Anderson offered.
"Isn't it some sort of sacrilege to turn down a New York bagel?"
"Probably." Anderson smiled and pointed him towards the coffee pot. Minutes later, he was handing Jensen a plate laden with eggs and a freshly-toasted bagel. They ate in companionable silence, Anderson excusing himself at one point to answer the call of his BlackBerry's message alert, giving Jensen the excuse to dig out his own phone and check his messages. A call from Jared last night, and one from Antonia while he was in the shower. He could listen to them on the way back to the hotel.
"So I had fun last night," Anderson said, putting his phone down.
"Me too." More fun than he'd been expecting, actually.
"How long are you in town?"
"Back to LA this evening. I'm hoping I don't have anything planned for today, I wanted to fit some shopping in so my sister doesn't kill me for not buying her anything."
"I don’t make it to LA very often, but if you're ever back in New York, you could give me a call."
The warm flip-flop low in his belly confirmed Jensen's first instinct that he'd like that. "Sure."
They exchanged numbers, and then Anderson put the dishes in the dishwasher. "You need a ride back to the hotel?"
"Taxi's good," Jensen said.
"Taxi we can do. First though—" Anderson hooked an arm around Jensen's waist and pulled him close. Jensen remembered to take a deep breath so he could tell Sandy what Anderson smelled like. Soap, coffee, something spicy and sexy. Not as sexy as his kiss though, which if he didn't stop soon, was going to have Jensen begging him to skip work.
"Wow." Anderson pulled away and patted his pockets like he was checking he had everything. "I was serious about calling me if you're back in town."
Jensen patted his own pockets, keeping his hand from pressing his dick with some effort. "I definitely will." For once, Jensen wasn't lying.
"Ready?" Anderson had the door open.
Jensen reached up and planted one last kiss on his lips before preceding him out the door, thinking press junkets weren't as bad as he'd always thought.
~fin~
And now there's more
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So
snarkyrainbow and erin2326 somehow talked me into writing a Jensen/Anderson PWP. It was going to be short and sweet with clothes swapping and sex. but, um, yeah. none of that really happened. So you get this instead. *draws hearts* maybe more than just those two and insaneboingo want to read it?
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