rivers_bend

Title: They Got Rivers of Gold
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Anderson Cooper (implied Jensen/Jared UST)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5300
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.
A/N: This follows Right Floor, though this stands alone if your reading time is short. It's set in an utterly fictional alternate future in which Jared and Sandy are married and Jensen and Danneel are not.
Summary: Jensen needs classier booty calls. Anderson Cooper fits the bill.



Jensen was sick of LA. He was also sick of Vancouver—thank god that pilot he'd signed on to never got picked up, because three years wasn't enough distance and the place just wasn't ever gonna be the same as when they'd been doing Supernatural. He thought briefly about going to see his parents, but he was even sick of Dallas, though it was nine, maybe ten months since he'd been back. He picked up his phone.

"What R U doin?" he texted to Jared. Belatedly he looked at his watch. Not quite eleven in the morning. Eight at night in Prague. Jared was probably on set; they'd been doing a lot of night shooting lately.

"In makeup. Have werewolf cuts on face. Look awesome," came back. While Jensen was reading, he got another text. A picture this time. Jared was grinning, which looked ridiculous with the deep gouges in his cheek. A tiny woman with short, blood-red fingernails and an alarming amount of mascara was half in the frame, looking irritated at the camera from behind Jared's shoulder.

"Don’t get the m-up girls mad, dude. Did U learn nothing?"

Tired of Jared's hyperactive behavior making it take twice as long to do their jobs, the makeup team on Supernatural had been prone to hiding his candy, putting lipstick inside the fly of his boxers, spilling salt in his lunch, and generally trying to make his day as hard as he made theirs. The trouble was that Jared was so damn adorable it was hard to stay mad at him for very long. And he always forgave them with a laugh and never changed.

"They love me," Jared shot back. Then, "time 4 the blood. Gotta go."

Jensen threw his phone onto the sofa cushion next to him.

He was sick of LA.

Before he could decide whether he would shower now or do a few putts with his new indoor putting green first, his phone rang. It was Vance, one of the sound guys on Jensen's last movie. Jensen debated about whether to answer. The guy was great while they were working together, fun, a hard worker, interested in a lot of the same things Jensen was interested in, including exchanging no-strings-attached blowjobs. But when Vance wasn't working, he was kind of a party animal, and Jensen just wasn't really into that. Eleven AM though, not really party time. Maybe the guy wanted a nooner. Jensen picked up.

"Jensen! Wha'cha doin'?" Vance didn't exactly sound sober.

"Not much, Vance. How about you?" There was a hell of a lot of background noise on Vance's end. Jensen was rethinking the whole not-party-hour thing.

"I'm in Vegas!" Vance was shouting to be heard over what Jensen now recognized as a million-and-one slot machines. "And I got married!"

"You—" Jensen wasn't sure what to say about that. Vance had been pretty scornful when Jensen admitted to swinging both ways, and Jensen was pretty sure he'd have heard if you could get gay married in Nevada. "You got married?" he tried, hoping for gently inquisitive rather than incredulous.

"I know! Crazy, huh? Love at first sight. She's in fucking Cirque du Soleil, man!"

Of course. "Well, congratulations. That's great." He figured Vance wouldn't catch it if he sounded less than enthusiastic.

"I'm just calling to say we probably shouldn't do these booty calls anymore for a while."

At least until the annulment goes through, Jensen managed not to say. However, he didn't quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice completely when he said, "You think?" Not that Vance noticed.

"We'll totally hit a bar though, when I get back into town." Vance didn't say when that would be before he hung up.

Jensen wasn't gonna hold his breath. He really needed to find some classier booty calls anyway. And he needed to get his ass in gear if he was going to meet Sandy for lunch at twelve.


"How you holding up?" Sandy asked him as he pulled out a chair at the patio table where she was waiting.

"I'm fine. How are you?" She was the one whose husband was six thousand miles away shooting a werewolf movie.

"Good." She looked good. "I've got a teaching gig from next week until the middle of December which will keep me busy until Jay's back even if they shoot ten weeks instead of eight."

Jensen had a job lined up, too, but it didn't start for another month. He'd told his agent he wanted the time until then off, but he was starting to regret it.

While they waited for someone to come take their orders, Sandy asked Jensen about his house and the new floors he'd had put in the living room, and about the role he'd turned down because they'd totally re-written the script between the audition and giving him the part, so now it had an asshole ending where everything tied up in a neat and totally implausible bow.

The waiter finally arrived, looking bored out of his mind, or maybe like he'd taken a Xanax before his shift. Jensen asked for Greek salad, and Sandy ordered the seared Ahi.

Anderson, Jensen thought, remembering their sushi date, He's classy.

Only he must have said it out loud because Sandy said, "Oooh, yes. Jared isn't here, you can tell me all the details now."

Jensen really had to stop talking to himself when he was home alone if it was starting to bleed into his time with others, too. "Forget it," he answered. "I'm classy too."

Sandy laughed like that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

"I hate you," Jensen muttered into his glass of wine.

Sandy just patted his hand and said, "Oh, sweetie, I know."

After lunch, Sandy went off to her dance class and Jensen went shopping. He bought a new pair of boots, a new bathmat for the guest bathroom, and pink wrapping paper with pink ponies and hearts to use for Jared's Christmas present—last year Jared wrapped Jensen's present in Disney Princess paper, which was a pretty weak effort, Jensen thought. That stuff was everywhere. Then he went home and tried to jerk off, but he got bored half-way through, so he ended up scrolling through his contacts lists for someone to call.

He kept going back to Anderson Cooper.

It had been almost three months since they'd hooked up, but the guy had asked Jensen to call the next time he was in New York, knowing that wasn't often, so it's not like he'd been sitting by the phone. Not that he would have been sitting by the phone anyway. Jesus. He was Anderson Cooper. But that wasn't the point. The point was that Jensen hadn't been back in New York, so he hadn't called. Not that he was in New York now. But he was sick of LA. He needed a vacation. New York was as good a place to go as any. Great city for Christmas shopping. It's not like he would be flying three thousand miles for a booty call. Well. Not just for a booty call.

Before he could change his mind, Jensen hit the dial button.

"Jensen Ackles," Anderson answered. "How are you?" He sounded friendly. Not like Jensen was his long lost love or anything, but not like he was wishing Jensen hadn't bothered calling.

"I'm good." And Jensen was. He was good. "Are you in New York this week?" he asked. Might as well get the question out there. Less awkward than making small talk.

"I am. Are you?"

Jensen debated whether he should say he was there already, make it sound like he was just looking up a friend while he was in the neighborhood, but he decided to go for honesty. Or at least a version of it. "I'm flying in tomorrow. I'll be in town for a few days, was just wondering if you wanted to get together."

A clattering bang came through the phone and then a Jesus. Watch where you're going, in the background.

"You okay?" Jensen asked.

"Yeah. Fine. I'm at the studio and a guy just knocked over a light rig."

"Hate when that happens."

"I'd love to get together. I've got a business meeting tomorrow night, but then I'm free Wednesday and Thursday if either of those days fit into your schedule."

Since Jensen's schedule was 1) see Anderson, 2) have as much sex as possible, he was pretty sure that would fit in just fine. "That would fit in perfectly," he said.

"Great! Let's say Wednesday and we'll take it from there." Anderson let just the right amount of intent color his voice: enough that Jensen could pick up on it if he was calling for a date date, but not so much that Jensen couldn't have ignored it if his circumstances had changed and he just wanted to meet a guy he'd had a nice evening with once for a beer.

Playing fair, Jensen let his own intent leak into his reply when he said, "I'm looking forward to it."

As soon as he hung up, he got on the internet and booked flights and a hotel room.

New York was cold and crisp when Jensen landed, and he was glad he'd remembered to bring his Vancouver coat instead of the sad excuse for winter gear he kept on his coat hook in Los Angeles. It was the first time in several years he'd come to New York on his own rather than with a job, and he found himself scanning the crowd at arrivals for a sign with his name on it before he remembered there was no studio or PR intern to send a car for him, so he'd have to get a cab.

The journey to Manhattan was uneventful, the cab driver friendly but not chatty, the taxi clean and smelling of nothing more offensive than mild detergent. At half past ten on a Tuesday evening, there wasn't even all that much traffic, relatively speaking. At the hotel, the desk clerk was pleasant, the room was nice, and the bed was comfortable. Jensen ordered room service, turned on the TV, and decided getting out of LA for a few days was the best idea ever.

Still on California time and with no interviews or appearances to get him up, Jensen slept until eleven the next morning. He had a nice, long, steamy shower during which he let off some steam of his own. He thought about getting room service again, but the sun was shining outside, so he decided he'd find a diner and do some shopping while he waited for Anderson to get done with work. When his phone buzzed in his pocket while he was checking his wallet for his key card, he figured it was Jared.

Instead, it was a text from Anderson. "Have the whole day off today, free for lunch? Or do I have to wait til dinner?"

Jensen smiled to himself, and felt like he was doing something decadent and exciting. "Free now," he replied. "Starving."

The return text just had an address and a smile face. Jensen hadn't pegged Anderson as a smile-face man, but he'd learned that people's texting habits were not always predictable. The address wasn't familiar, but Jensen resisted the temptation to googlemap it. He liked to know where he was going, but he'd also enjoyed their date last time and that had been a total mystery. This was an adventure. He could go with the flow. He just hoped the taxi driver would know where it was.

The driver did know, nodded curtly when Jensen gave him the address, and zipped a little alarmingly into the flow of traffic. But it wasn't a restaurant or a diner. As they pulled to a stop, Jensen recognized Anderson's apartment building from last time.

"Well, okay then," Jensen murmured, trying not to let an I'm so getting laid look plaster itself across his face as he paid the driver.

A doorman let him in and, after announcing him, pointed him towards the elevators. Jensen didn't even try to resist the urge to fiddle with his hair in the mirrored doors. He hadn't been planning on seeing anyone important when he got dressed this morning. Still. He looked good. Pretty good. His hair looked good, and probably casual clothes were most appropriate for lunch anyway. His jeans were new-ish and he had on his new boots and his favorite soft long-sleeved tee with a gray shirt over it. It wasn't exactly ironed or anything, but it didn't look too bad considering it had come out of a suitcase. It would be fine.

"I hope this is okay," Anderson said when he answered Jensen's knock wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt. Jensen could smell coffee, bacon, and some kind of baked something. It was awesome.

"It's awesome," he said, letting loose some of the grin he hadn't wanted to inflict on the cabbie.

"I figured you were still on west coast time, so I did brunch. Quiche and spinach salad and muffins." He was ushering Jensen inside as he spoke, hand warm on the small of Jensen's back.

It should feel weird—they'd only met once, after all, and Jensen did have that whole thing where the idea of Anderson Cooper was intimidating for some reason—but it didn't. It felt like… Jensen didn't know what. Comfortable.

"Smells amazing." He let Anderson guide him all the way to the kitchen and took the offered seat at the breakfast bar, where a cup of coffee was already waiting for him. "You know the way to a man's heart," Jensen said.

Anderson just smiled and started piling food onto a plate while Jensen took an appreciative sip from his mug.

"So," Anderson said once they both had full plates in front of them and he was sitting at the stool around the corner of the bar from Jensen. "What is new in the glamorous and exciting life of Jensen Ackles, Hollywood star?"

Jensen laughed and was glad to hear it came out more amused than self-deprecating, because there wasn't a whole lot that was less sexy than someone who was always putting himself down. "At the moment, neither glamorous nor exciting. I'm going to start filming in a month and I'm sure I'll have stories then, but since Jagged, which is the film I was promoting last time I was here, I've just helped a friend get an independent project off the ground and shot a pilot, which was awful, and unsurprisingly did not get picked up."

"How awful?" Anderson looked genuinely interested as he speared a piece of quiche blind, eyes on Jensen's face.

"It was about the California gold rush, and I was thinking Deadwood when they sent me the script, but it was more like Two and a Half Men with a saloon and no indoor plumbing."

"That does sound awful."

"It was awful."

"And the independent project?"

Jensen suddenly remembered how skillful Anderson was at making conversation be all about the other person instead of about him, and he decided he'd see if today he could get Anderson to talk. But for now, he'd play along. He explained the project—a docu-drama sort of thing about the history of the Los Angeles music scene—and how he'd gotten involved with finding funding and hooking Farley up with useful people, and how he'd even spent a few days helping shoot some of the location footage. By the time he was done, they had cleared their plates and were on their second cups of coffee. Anderson was really good at keeping people talking.

Before Jensen could steer the conversation to what Anderson had been up to, Anderson asked if he wanted to go walk off their food.

"Um, sure," Jensen said. It was not exactly part two of his two-part plan, but he had eaten a lot, and it was a gorgeous day.

Without even trying, they ended up getting more than half of Jensen's Christmas shopping done.

Once Jensen got Anderson talking about the city, he was quite willing to answer questions instead of asking them, and Jensen learned a lot about New York, and enough about his host that he didn't feel bad about talking his ear off earlier. Anderson convinced Jensen to have most of the presents he bought shipped back to his house in LA so he didn't have to figure out how to get them on the plane, so they were remarkably unburdened when Anderson asked if Jensen wanted to return to his place or if he wanted to get back to the hotel.

Jensen saw no reason to be coy. "Unless you have a kink for hotel rooms or your bed is out of service, I'm happy to go back to your place."

"I actually do have a kink for hotel rooms, but I have food in the kitchen, and better coffee. I even washed the sheets." He said this last with a smile that asked if Jensen remembered the "less dry-clean-only" line Anderson had used to get him into bed last time.

Jensen totally remembered. "Wearing jeans today. They're washable. But if I recall correctly, your sheets are much more comfortable."

"That's how I remember it, too."

They'd been headed in this direction since Jensen picked up the phone on Monday, and both of them knew it, but now they were headed there directly, it seemed like they couldn't get there fast enough. Years of practice avoiding public displays of affection kept their hands off each other, but Jensen could see the heat in Anderson's eyes and the twitching of his fingers and inferred it was taking as much of the other man's concentration to stick to that rule as it took of Jensen's. It was the longest seven blocks of Jensen's life, and for the first time that day, he cursed New York for being a walking city. Though if he'd had Anderson next to him on the bench seat of a cab, keeping his hands off would have gone from difficult to impossible, so it was probably better they were out in the fresh air.

With both of them concentrating on keeping his hands to himself, neither of them said another word until the elevator doors closed behind them, shutting out the view of the doorman in the lobby. Then, "God, you're sexy with your cheeks all pink from exercise," Anderson said.

"Not just exercise."

"No?" Anderson's eyebrow said he expected a cheeky response.

"Also the cold air," Jensen said. "My delicate Hollywood skin isn't used to it."

Anderson laughed out loud at that, an almost ridiculous giggling chortle that Jensen remembered from the day he crashed into him outside the Daily Show offices. "Nothing to do with how much you want to push me up against this wall here and stick your tongue in my mouth, then."

Jensen felt the cold flush on his cheeks turn hot. "Nothing at all."

He would have put lie to his words and done it, but the elevator came to a stop and the door dinged open before he got the chance. "You'll just have to pin me to the bed, instead," said Anderson as they stepped out of the elevator. He spoke right in Jensen's ear so that the woman patting her pockets outside her door down the hall couldn't hear.

"That I can do," Jensen replied.

This time there was no stopping at the sofa or pretending they were doing anything other than dirtying Anderson's sheets. They hung their coats inside the door and then Anderson hooked two fingers in Jensen's belt and backed down the hall, pulling him along with a smile on his face. Not that Jensen needed pulling.

Once he was over the bedroom's threshold, Anderson's fingers moved from Jensen's belt to his shirt where he started undoing buttons. Jensen slid his own hands under Anderson's tee, appreciating the soft heat of his skin, exploring, but waiting until the man's button task was done before sliding his hands up to lift the shirt over Anderson's head. Then Jensen let his own shirt slide down his arms, and pulled his tee off too.

They each took a moment to appreciate the view and then, seemingly by some unspoken agreement, both started undoing jeans and kicking out of shoes at the same time. The apartment was high enough up that sun shone in the windows, illuminating the bed and the patch of floor Jensen stood on, though Anderson was in shadow. Jensen wanted to see him laid out on the sheets, so took him up on the suggestion that Jensen pin him to the bed.

Anderson was pale—he obviously hadn't been on assignment in sunny climes recently—and Jensen liked the contrast to his own autumn-in-LA-tanned skin when he put a hand on Anderson's chest. "I'm going to kiss you, now," Jensen said, because he felt like he should say something, though given they were naked, it was maybe a little late for that.

Anderson said, "I approve."

They kissed for a surprisingly long time, considering their state of undress, which kind of made Jensen feel like he was back in high school, but in a really good way. He hadn't known there was a good way to feel like he was back in high school, so that was nice, too. It wasn't like they weren't getting hard—Jensen could feel Anderson's cock hot and stiff against his thigh, and his own was quite happy with what they were doing, thank you—but somehow it felt like that could wait. Like, yeah, coming would be good now, but even better after they'd kissed some more. It made a nice change from hurried hand jobs and blow jobs in trailers and bathrooms.

Jensen wasn't sure he'd ever realized his mouth was such an erogenous zone. He was just starting to wonder if this was some kind of tantric kissing thing when Anderson pulled away and said, "What are your thoughts on 69?"

Which was—not what Jensen was expecting, so he laughed. Just a little.

"My thoughts are that I love giving head and I love getting my dick sucked."

"Remarkably similar to my thoughts."

The one time Jensen had tried this before with a guy, they'd both been really drunk and Jensen had gotten bitten and the other guy couldn't get it up and it had been a disaster from start to finish. This time was going to be better, Jensen was sure.

Anderson was busy kissing a trail down Jensen's chest, so Jensen pulled himself away from his trip down memory lane and back to the much more pleasant present. Kissing and fondling and moving towards their goal, they ended up twisting sideways across the bed, shuffling to get in the right place to reach the other's cock.

"In porn," Anderson said from somewhere near Jensen's belly button, "they always seem to do this with one person crouching over the other one, but I prefer lying on my side."

"I—" The disastrous time, Jensen had been crouching. He was definitely game for something new. "Sounds good," he said.

It wasn't the angle Jensen was used to—which was on his knees, mostly, the other guy standing, maybe sitting on a sofa—and it took a minute for him to figure out how to compensate for the limited movement, but having Anderson's hands sure and confident on his hips guiding Jensen's dick into his mouth helped, and pretty soon Jensen was just lost in the sensation of slick, wet heat on his cock and the feel of dick stretching his lips, heavy on his tongue, responsive to his sucking and licking.

Jensen hadn't been kidding when he said he loved giving head. He knew some guys only did it because they liked getting it done, and hey, fair is fair, but not just a few times he'd gotten off on the act of sucking itself, with only a hand pressed to his dick to tip him over when he was about to shoot. The noises the other guy made, the power it gave him, were part of it, a lot of it even, but Jensen liked the taste, the way the skin on a guy's dick was smoother and hotter and better than the skin anywhere else. He liked the feeling of his jaw stretching, of almost choking but not quite as he got just the right angle to swallow that little bit more than the guy thought he was gonna be able to. He liked working his tongue, finding this ridge or that sensitive spot, working a guy's hood just right. He liked wet and messy, he liked slow and teasing, he liked licking just the tip while he jacked the shaft with his fist. Pretty much, sucking cock was A++ in Jensen's books.

It was actually a little distracting having his own dick sucked while he did it.

Not, he would have hastened to add if actually asked, in a way that made him wish it wasn't happening. Because giving head and getting it—at least from someone who seriously knew what he was doing the way Anderson clearly did—were neck and neck on Jensen's lists of favorite pastimes. But he found himself having to separate the two sensations in his brain, half his concentration on enjoying what was happening to his dick and half on what his mouth was doing. Once he got used to it, he wasn't sure that didn't make at least the getting part even better. He was lasting longer, anyway.

Then Anderson upped his game, slid two fingers in his mouth alongside Jensen's dick, and even the anticipation of where those fingers were going next almost made Jensen lose it. He put all his concentration into getting Anderson as deep as he could and came with two fingers in his ass and his throat stuffed with cock.

There was a minute of rather undignified coughing, when Jensen tried to breathe without pulling off enough first, and Anderson tried to stop him, moved like he was gonna get himself off with his hand, but Jensen got his breath back and finished the job he'd started.

They lay side by side, head to hip with feet dangling off the edges of the bed, afterward. Jensen was feeling rather pleased with himself, and when he made the effort to lift his head and look at his host, Anderson had a look on his face that Jensen took to mean he was pretty happy, too.

"So, that was fun," Anderson said when he saw Jensen looking at him.

Jensen just grinned.

"Do you have dinner plans?"

"There's this really hot news guy I was supposed to meet when he got off work." Jensen let his head flop back down onto the bed.

"Oh, really." Anderson was good. He only had the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

"He said something about dinner, but honestly? I was kind of hoping we'd go back to his place and have world-ending amounts of sex."

"World-ending, huh?" This time Jensen could hear a grin.

"Okay. Maybe not world-ending. Because then there couldn't be more sex. Later. At a future mutually-agreeable date. If maybe the guy might be into that." Jensen was glad that he was looking at the ceiling, because then he didn't have to see Anderson's expression.

"I've heard a rumor about hot news guys."

Jensen could hear and feel Anderson propping himself on his elbows, so he felt obligated to lift his own head again. "You have?"

"They are all about skipping dinner for world-ending sex, and would more than likely be agreeable to future bouts of more, if they happened to be in the same city as certain ex-soap stars."

"I see," said Jensen.

"Although." Anderson ran a hand up Jensen's chest and stopped, cupping Jensen's jaw, fingertips flirting with his hairline. "Skipping dinner isn't entirely vital to the lots of sex plan. I've also been known to order out for pizza if I work up too much of an appetite."

"Good to know," Jensen said, sitting up so he could put a hand on Anderson's cheek and pull him closer. They were both smiling when their lips met again.


Night had fallen and the room was lit only by the glow of city evening by the time they decided food was important. They couldn't be bothered to wait for pizza, so they raided Anderson's fridge and stood naked (except for boxer shorts—Jensen—and a t-shirt—Anderson) in the kitchen, eating occasionally mysterious food out of take-out boxes and Tupperware with chopsticks. Until Jensen unearthed something that looked like lasagna, at which point he insisted on a fork. Anderson got out two, and they put the box on the breakfast bar and stood on either side of it, forking cold pasta into their mouths and talking about their favorite places in the world to eat steak.

Jensen did make noises about going back to his hotel at one point, but he didn't really mean it, and ended up staying until Friday morning. It turned out not to be all that much of a problem that he didn't have a change of clothes with him.

Friday afternoon Anderson had to be on a plane to Dubai, so after a shower that took them three or four times longer than either of them had intended, Jensen left him to get packed.

"I'm in San Francisco in February," Anderson said as Jensen was putting his coat on at the door. "Not exactly LA, I know, but maybe if you're free?"

"If I'm not filming, I'll definitely come up." His next movie was scheduled to shoot until February eleventh, but his was not the starring role, so he might be done long before then. Or, they could be weeks behind schedule. One never knew. Especially with a first-time director. Jensen was significantly curious to discover if Anderson had been serious about his hotel kink, however, and would do what he could to make it.

Anderson lost another twenty minutes of packing time kissing Jensen goodbye at the door.

In the taxi on the way back to his hotel, Jensen discovered he had seven missed texts. Six from Jared, and one from Sandy telling him that Jared was worried and asking if he was alright. He didn't tell either of them about the two days in bed with Anderson Cooper. He figured if he was going to get classier booty calls, he was going to have to be a classier booty call, and that meant no kissing and telling. He texted back to both of them that he was Christmas shopping in New York, and that he'd forgotten to charge his phone.

Jared called bullshit right away; Jensen shouldn’t have been surprised, the guy lived in his pocket for five years, he knew how addicted Jensen was to his phone. "fucker," Jared texted back. "U got laid. No telling Sandy about it til I get back. Lie if you have to."

"nice," Jensen replied. "telling me to lie to your wife."

"fine. Don't lie. call you when I'm done here. bout an hour. okay?"

The last thing Jensen wanted to do was tell his totally hot, totally married best friend in the whole universe about his sexploits with Anderson Cooper. But he said, "call me, asswipe." Because it was Jared, and he hadn't heard the guy's voice in almost three weeks. Jared didn't really want details anyway, Jensen was sure. Pretty sure. Besides, even if he did, he was easy to derail. Jensen could hear all about the werewolf movie, drop a few sentences about the shopping, maybe tell Jared what Anderson made for lunch, and then they could go back to texting inane details and insults at each other until Jared finally came home.

In the mean time, Jensen had Christmas shopping to finish.

___________________________________________________


This is specifically for jelloh0530 (who jokingly said this pairing could be called Cookles and thus made me realize that they could also be called Cockles, which made me laugh until I had a coughing fit), snarkyrainbow, insaneboingo, and delicatelight, but is also for anyone else on my flist who reads RPS and finds either Jensen Ackles or Anderson Cooper sexy. Random pairing is random, but even though it totally breaks my OTP, I have to admit I kind of like it.

Oh. and the title is from Fairytale of New York by the Pogues.