It all kicked off on a Saturday. Really fucking early on a Saturday. Which was probably why Jensen had agreed to it.

Consent given when half asleep was like a confession made under torture, right? It couldn't be legally upheld in court.

Right? No? Fuck.

Worth a try.

Really though, if you had Jared bouncing on the bed at ten past eight on a Saturday screeching "Soapbox, Jen, Soapbox, Jen, Soapbox, Jen, Jen, Jen, Soapbox…" like an old record stuck in a groove, you have agreed to anything just for some goddamn peace.

Three quarter of an hour's lie in and a post shower blowjob was worth any pain.

Right?

________________________________________

He'd actually liked Soapbox racing as a kid. Been pretty good at it, too, so it wasn't really that he had a problem with the whole racing thing, it was more the whole race thing plus Jared.

Jared didn't mix well with speeding objects.

And he really didn't mix well with homemade speeding objects.

Especially not ones sponsored by RedBull.

________________________________________

"So according to Wikipedia 'Soapbox cars weigh an average of 150 pounds and reach top speeds of 60 to 80 rpm.'" Jared announced, the Monday after the dreaded Saturday, halfway between Downtown and their Middle Of Fuck Knows Where set location.

For starts, that would never work. Jared weighed -on average- a hell of a lot more than 150 pounds. Jensen weighed more than 150 pounds, and Jared was -again, on average- a hell of a lot bigger.

"You're taking instructions from Wikipedia?" Christ, they were going to die

Jared grunted, nose pressed to the page. "Let it go, Jen. Our speed machine is gonna be the bestest ever."

Speed machine?

Honestly, it was like working with children.

Really dense children.

________________________________________

They worked on the damn thing between takes. Jared hooked up a trailer to the back of his jeep and they dragged the thing from pillar to post like left over birthday cake. Bobby hadn't really known what to make of it, Eric put in his own two cents of advise every time he was on set, and Kim only really freaked out when Jared welded himself to the left wheel arch and was late to his marker.

The rest of the crew…well they liked to help.

The Grip: You want to use a double handed barrel on the breaks, man. It'll save your ass.

The Best Boy: Doesn't look very aerodynamic. Try shaving the nose down.

Wardrobe: You get oil on another shirt and I'mma kick your sorry ass from here to the West Bank.

Director: Forgive me for interrupting, but you do still work here, right?

Stunts: That thing is never going to steer. You're using the Heizenbad technique to shape the axle, right?

Guest star #32: I wouldn't put that there if I were you...

Until one day, when Fred, their stunt director was walking over with an ice pack for Jensen's shoulder, Jared rounded on him and screeched, "I KNOW HOW TO BUILD A FUCKING SOAPBOX!"

Which was about the time Jensen realized that maybe Jared was getting a little stressed over the whole thing. "He's havin' a bad day, ignore him." He nodded sagely, patting Fred on the shoulder and gently guiding him on his way. When he got back Jared was sitting in a circle of nuts and bolts, hands fluttering over them as if he was trying to read some obscure form of braile.

"You think maybe you're getting just a little too involved in all this?" Jensen asked hesitantly. Jared glared and he held up his hands in defeat. "Okay, fine, I'll go get coffee. And Xanax."

________________________________________

"So I think I should drive." Jensen said, three Tuesdays after The Saturday.

Their little project was moving along nicely. It even looked like it might go in a somewhat straight line when pushed.

Which was more than Jensen expected, to tell the truth.

Jared grunted and hauled the steel frame up off the ground. Jensen watched, happy to appreciate the spectacle that was Jared' Padalecki's forearms, before kicking back his chair and creating space for Jared to dump the damn thing. "I mean it."

"I heard you." Jared said, rubbing sweat from his brow with Sam's hoddie. "I'm just choosing not to answer."

"Okay." Jensen nodded. "And why's that?"

Eventually Jared sighed, threw down his welder (yes, Jensen had been stupid enough to give him access to the power tools. Jared looked hot all sweaty…sue him) and sat down by Jensen's feet. "So every boy makes a Soapbox racer at some point in their lives, right?"

"Well not every….yes. Every single one." He changed direction faster than their little vehicle ever could and nodded zealously when Jared glared.

"Well I never did."

And just like that, Jensen got it. "So that's what this is about? Embracing your inner ten year old?"

Or maybe he didn't.

Jared's eyes narrowed.

Sometimes he needed to learn to just keep his damn mouth shut.

________________________________________

The Friday after the third Tuesday, Jared held out a peace offering coffee, then fucked Jensen through the mattress just to get his apology across. "You can drive."

Jensen slumped down into his pillow, half asleep and struck by the odd sense of déjà vu. "Nah. S'okay."

Jared frowned. "I thought you wanted to."

A loud, jaw popping yawn. "Only cos I've seen you behind the wheel, dude."

"So you don't want to?"

"Nope."

"And you don't really care…"

"Nope."

"Then why did you even say yes?"

Jensen flopped on his back and gave Jared his best 'listen up, junior' stare. "I like doin' stuff with you."

"Oh." Jared said.

Yeah. Oh.

"Fuck off and let me sleep."

Jared patted him on the ass and snuck out, quiet as a dormouse with size fifteen feet.

________________________________________

"Just for the record, if you die, I get your guitar." Jensen announced, several Saturdays after The Saturday, and one Saturday before the race. "And your car." He added as an afterthought.

Jared nodded very seriously, stupid ass helmet fucking up his hair. Jensen personally liked the goggles. There were….cute. Very Sixth grader.

"Jensen?" Jared took him by his hand and held him close. "I love you."

Christ, you'd have thought he was going off to fight in Troy.

"Just aim for the soft part of the wall."

"Right." Jared nodded.

Jensen slapped his ass. "Go get em, tiger."

________________________________________

Miracle of miracles, Jared didn't die when testing out the damn thing.

Awesome.

________________________________________

Of course his success only convinced Jared that he was in fact Ayrton Senna in another body.

Obviously, not a good thing.

________________________________________

The Saturday before the race, Jared bounded home from walking the dogs, threw Jensen over his shoulder and charged up to the bedroom. "We gotta have sex." He announced breathlessly, tugging Jensen's jeans to his knees and rolling him face down onto the bed.

Jensen let out a great 'umph' of air and braced himself on his elbows as Jared fiddled around with lube. "Should I even ask?"

"It's tradition or something. Calming before the race. So says Wiki." Pop. The lid snapped off the tub of lube and there was a finger in Jensen's ass before you could say pole position. "You complaining?" Another finger, another, and then Jensen had problems forming whole words, let alone arranging them into eloquent sentences.

Jensen came first, messy on the bed and the tops of his jeans, and Jared left a trail of come all over Jensen's thighs. He rolled Jensen over, kissed him short and sweet, then threw his things in a night bag whilst Jensen was still losing double vision. "Gotta go. Bad luck to see your partner the night before a big race. It-"

"Says so in Wiki." Jensen finished. "I'm burning that damn computer when you are done."

"Yeah. Sure. Love you. Bye." And Jared was out the house before Jensen's head stopped spinning.

Sometimes he missed being twenty six.

________________________________________

That Sunday, Jensen wore a hole through his kitchen floor. 4th Avenue was fucking steep, and Jared was directionally challenged. He'd crash into a wall/tourist/ice cream truck and explode in a brightly colored ball of fire and Red Bull.

That shit was flammable.

He hitched a ride to the racetrack, smiled at the girls waiting with their cameras, and headed on into the team area. There were hundreds of damn racers all sorting out their kit. Some had teams of five, six, seven, and Team Ackles Padalecki (of two) seemed a little… amateur?

But there was Jared, helmet swinging from his arm, jacket in place, and he beamed at Jensen as they silently ran through all the checks.

Jensen waited until Jared was talking to another team before checking a second and third time. He'd super glued the nuts and bolts in place, because every damn movie about Soapbox racing there was had the nuts unscrew halfway down the Hill of Doom.

At eleven they rolled their beauty out. She wasn't quiet the impala, but Jared had stencilled KAZ2Y5 on her sleek black nose.

At eleven fifteen, when they'd done the introductions and it was time to line up and strap in, Jensen had sweaty palms and a nervous twitch he blamed on the free Red Bull.

"Wish me luck." Jared winked, leaning in on the pretence of snatching his goggles from the back of the cart, his cheek brushing Jensen's.

Jensen swallowed. "Good luck. Don't you know, crash and die."

Jared smiled, sunshine and puppies on a hot spring morning. "Just push me in a straight line."

Down went the flag, off shot Jared.

In a very straight, safe line.

Jensen didn't need the POV cam to see Jared cackling as he hurtled down the track, shoulders hunched in the small craft, knees by his ears.

And though the camera didn't have a mic, he could practically hear Jared going, "Wheeeeeeeeeeee!" as he rattled onwards, taking the small speed bump like a pro.

"Mr Ackles?" Jensen tore his eyes from the back of Jared's bobbing head. One of the race reps was waiting for him with a helmet. Jensen grinned. Sometimes, just sometimes, being the 'celebrity guest' had its perks. He'd arranged this little extra with the Red Bull Management when Jared was in the middle of his Soapbox themed breakdown. Someone needed to keep an eye on the giant nutcase.

________________________________________

So Jensen hadn't been lying when he said that he'd raced as a kid.

And he really was pretty good. Or had been.

Better than Jared though, who aimed for the cones, rather than avoided them, and seemed more interested in waving his arms in the air than crossing the finish line. He picked up speed quickly, the end of the track looming into view, with Jared sitting in their cart like a giant, floppy haired bulls eye.

Jensen grinned and took aim.

________________________________________

Cash prize for a win : $1000. Two cans of Red Bull: $5. Matching Canucks jerseys: $250.

The look on Jared's face when Jensen zipped across the finish line.

Absolutely fucking priceless.

________________________________________

"Dude!" Jared flailed, hopping out of the cart and bounding over to Jensen. "Just…dude!"

Jensen snorted. That was his boy. Always so eloquent.

"Man, you drive like chipmunk on crack." Jensen teased, popping gum and unfastening his helmet as cameras flashed all around them.

Jared laughed gleefully, hands clapped together, head thrown back. "Grandma."

Jensen sniffed and refrained from sticking out his tongue. He wasn't slow. He was good. The presenter ran over and wrapped an arm around Jared's back. Jensen was glad he was wearing sunglasses because that back? His.

"Man, you look like you enjoyed that." He laughed, talking to Jared and thrusting his mic forward. Jared scratched the back of his head and grinned.

"Yeah, that was awesome! Can I go again?"

The presenter laughed. Another one lost to the Padalecki charm. Jensen sympathized, he did. Five seconds with Jared and you either wanted to jump his bones or take him home and feed him milk and cookies. Jensen's own mom fussed over Jared far more than any of her own children, much to his brother's amusement. "How about you Jensen? We weren't expecting you to race against your own cart."

"Yeah, traitor." Jared said, eyes narrowing, but by no means masking the childlike excitement buzzing through his body.

Jensen stuffed his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses protecting his eyes from the hundreds of flashes. "Just showing Junior here how it's done."

Which was akin to bending over and painting a target on his ass.

Jared grinned wolfishly and laughed along with the remainder of their interview before heading over to the end line, and the bin full of ice and Red Bull.

Someone called his name, and Jensen waved, victory arms in the air.

"You ain't gonna walk straight for a week." Jared said though a wide smile, his lips barely moving for fear that one of the fans could lip read. He'd not put anything past them.

"Bring it on, tough guy." Jensen smiled back. Then, louder, "So, you enjoy your first race?"

Jared laughed, a full on belly chuckle that would surely be on Youtube before the day was done. "Hell yes. Even if I was abandoned by my co-pilot."

Jensen smiled innocently and stole Jared's Red Bull.

________________________________________

They hung around whilst the carts were strapped to the official buggy.

"Is that Noah's Ark?" Jensen asked, head cocked to one side.

Jared leaned forward. "Yep."

"Oh. Cool."

________________________________________

Noah crashed. Jensen figured there might have been some epic biblical message about the evils of Soapbox racing but was too busy looking at Jared's ass.

Anyone who had been as close to Jared's ass as he had would surely understand.

________________________________________

"Nope. We ain't going anywhere until we see if the giant cock is faster than the half naked dudes in the shower." Jared looked at his little program and frowned. "Ooh, they have penguins."

Jensen's eyebrow twitched.

________________________________________

They ate in Hell's Kitchen, and by the time Jared was through, Jensen had no doubt the establishment might have regretted opening their doors to the event.

"Is Is eay ood." Jared said, his mouth full of steak and mashed potato. He swallowed the mouthful down with cold -blissfully sugar free- water, and beamed at Jensen, who was slowly chewing his way through his Pizza From Hell. "We should totally come back here."

"Sure." Jensen agreed, watching the race on the televisions set up close by. Jared had said nothing about following through on his promise, and Jensen was twitchy.

"Oh my god, Jen!" Jared exclaimed, staring open mouthed at the special's board on display over Jensen's shoulder. "They do Ice Cream Sundae. We are sooo staying for dessert."

Asshole was doing it on purpose.

________________________________________

"Off, off, off!" Jared grunted, backing Jensen up though the front door and tugging at his red t-shirt. It was fucking hot outside, really fucking hot, and Jensen breathed a sigh of relief as the A/C hit his naked skin.

"About fucking time." He growled, wrestling with Jared's belt. "Thought you were gonna eat the place out of business."

Jared shucked his shirt and jeans, tossing them on the side table with his car keys. "Well you wouldn't want me to run out of energy mid sex, would you?"

"I don't think that is scientifically possible."

Jared shrugged and added his hands to the battle with Jensen's jeans.

Finally naked, Jensen stepped back to admire the view. Jared smirked and turned back to the clothes he had dumped.

He fished out his Canuck's jersey and let it dangle from his finger.

Jensen's eyebrow shot up. "Oh no. no fucking way." He exclaimed, horror dawning as he realised what Jared had in mind. "No. Just no."

________________________________________

He was weak.

So fucking weak.

________________________________________

"I hate you." Jensen panted, Jared's jersey sticky against his skin, pushed up under his elbows. Jared grinned up at him from above.

"Nah, you don't" He smirked, flopping down between Jensen's legs, his cheek on Jensen's belly. "You loooove me."

"I so do not."

"Do too."

Jensen lifted his hip and dumped Jared on his own side of the bed. Beat that!

________________________________________

He woke up sometime later, and Jared was on the laptop.

Jensen let his eyes close and slumped back into the sheets. "If you're on Wiki, I swear to god you ain't getting' a piece of my ass till Thanksgiving."

"No." Jared shook his head. "Not Wiki."

Jensen cracked open one eye suspiciously. Jared had sounded far too innocent for his liking.

"Better not be a fan sight." He muttered suspiciously.

"Nah man, I'm looking at models for next year."

Jensen shot out of bed, a rocket shaped bolt of panic up his ass. "Oh fuck no!" He couldn't take another two months of twitchy Jared. He was the neurotic one, damnit.

"Think we could make a giant Superman and get Tom to drive it?"

Jensen wondered if it was too late to leave the country.