fanfiction - supernatural : untitled french mistake - dean/misha
title: untitled french mistake
pairing(s): dean/meta!misha, established meta!jensen/misha, implied dean/castiel
rating: NC-17
warnings: (maybe) dub-con, barebacking
word count: 1,716
disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.
author's note: for my sake, a cleaned up and slight edited version of what was originally posted here. I need to stop writing random porn at random early hours.
summary: 6x15 French Mistake AR PWP for the prompt at deancaskink: "Misha can tell this isn't his boyfriend. But does it stop him from fucking him? Of course not."
Misha knows it's not Jensen after that very first meeting, but he lets it slide just to see what they do. He plays along because it is funny and he gets to tweet his amigos about the silly.
Later, it's still amusing but Misha is getting increasingly irritated as Fake Jared and Fake Jensen flail their way through the scene at Bobby's house. Fake Jensen is stiff and awkward, everything Jensen is not (even under his occasional blush when Misha is feeling a little bit merciless). Jensen has an ease and confidence to his acting, and is almost feline when it's just Misha and him, between the sheets or against a wall or over a table.
But Fake Jensen is something else, something different - looks like his Jenny, but with another kind of fire in his eyes that Misha just has to figure out.
Fake Jensen disappears into Jensen's trailer while Fake Jared is caught up in another scene. Misha gives it half an hour before he follows with his own copy of the trailer's key and lube in his pocket.
Fake Jensen is asleep on top of the blankets, knees bent with feet flat on the floor. His jacket is folded next to him and his boots are still on, arms relaxed at his sides and head turned just slightly away from Misha.
He looks so much like Jen and it's wonderful, thrilling, and so interesting; he's creeping as quiet as he can until he can see Fake Jensen's face. There are a few more worry lines than Jensen, but then all Misha can focus on is the same sweet lips parted in breath, the shadow of lashes on his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest.
Misha stoops to unlace his boots and Fake Jensen is suddenly jerking upright, half-awake with a fist in Misha's shirt, other cocked back and ready to swing.
Misha shouts, "Jensen! Whoa, Jen, babe!"
Fake Jensen blinks hard, expression clearing as he remembers and recognizes where he is. "Oh, uh. Misha, right?"
"Yes," Misha says, adding a bit of worry and confusion into his tone. He tilts his head to the side and Fake Jensen almost melts right there before eying Misha dubiously. Misha continues, "Sweetie, you're exhausted. Lie back down, let me take care of you."
Fake Jensen's eyes go round, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a moment as Misha finishes pulling off his boots. His hands smooth up Fake Jensen's legs, curling fingers under his knees and pushing them apart enough for Misha to fit when he leans up.
"Okay, hey! Hey!" and then his words are lost in Misha's mouth when he kisses him.
He doesn't taste like Jensen, he tastes like salt and alcohol and something unique all his own. Misha licks into his mouth and Fake Jensen's surprised moan gets lost, too.
Misha keeps pushing against Fake Jensen's chest and tongue, until his mouth is open and pliant to the conquest of a kiss, until he's flat on the bed with Misha lying flush on him. Fake Jensen is hot and hard, rolling his hips up into Misha's, and maybe he hears a "Cas," whispered against his lips.
His hands slip under Fake Jensen's shirt, touching the little more planes and cut of muscle, dancing across hard stomach that wavers just slightly under his touch, along sensitive ribs that make Fake Jensen twitch (they're ticklish in the same spots, aww).
Fake Jensen's hands are groping at his chest and back while Misha sucks kisses along his jaw and pulse and down his throat. Fake Jensen's hands come to grip his shoulders and just hold on as Misha traces back down to unbuckle his belt.
Misha sits up, pulling on the buckle until Fake Jensen is sitting up with him. Misha yanks his shirt up and over his head. His hands don't stop, but his mind does as he sees the perfect, real kind of burn on Fake Jensen's right shoulder with an, Oh.
Fake Jensen, Dean, whatever is looking up at him, apprehensive but heated with arousal. Misha cups his face in his hands, kisses that mouth again and tips them back on the bed.
Dean is hissing in a breath as Misha wiggles down his body. He takes Dean's pants with him, maneuvering the jeans past his hips and down thighs. When Misha drops them into a heap on the floor, Dean is reaching for him with grabby hands again. He pulls at Misha's clothing, but Misha only gives up his hoodie and Castiel's costume shirt before he's pushing Dean back.
"Stay right there, Jen," Misha tells him. "Let me take care of you, remember?"
Dean gives a shaky gasp as Misha pushes his face right into Dean's crotch. Misha rubs his cheek against the soft black fabric of his boxer-briefs, deeply inhaling Fake Jensen's scent. He peels Dean's underwear down with a slow slide, mouth exploring as Misha uncovers more and more.
It's the same glorious cock that springs free and Misha wants to find out if they taste here the same, if that sweet curve of ass feels the same. It's interesting and oh, overwhelming -
Misha dips a hand underneath one of Dean's thighs, tilting it up to edge over his shoulder. He looms over Dean's lap and licks up the length of hard cock. Misha takes Dean in hand and sucks him down.
Dean lets out a shout, tangling his fingers in Misha's hair and clenching for a moment before easing into (an almost) pet across Misha's head and down his cheek. Misha pulls off to come back further and further, working Dean into his mouth and throat as he kneads the thigh in his hand.
Dean's fingers keep flexing, hesitating against just grabbing like he seems to enjoy doing. He's letting out the most delicious moans and curses, sounding like his Jensen at one point when Misha's nose buries in his pubic hair.
Misha gets to the point where he himself can't take it and he squeezes his hold on Dean's thigh and uses it to flip him over. Dean starts to protest until Misha is yanking his hips up and licking a stripe up the cleft of his ass.
"What the fuck," Dean rasps, a conflicting stutter to his hips on the bed away from Misha and back against Misha's mouth.
"Stay right there, Jenny,” Misha reminds him. He drops the little bottle of lube between Dean's knees and removes the rest of his clothing.
Dean peeks back at him over his shoulder, those round green eyes still looking a bit surprised and dazed. His gaze drops to Misha's cock and Misha sees a hand sneaking to touch himself.
"Jen," Misha says, coming to plaster against Dean's back, leaning in for an awkward kiss. "Baby, I got you."
Misha drops to lick down Dean's spine and over each bump of vertebrate. He sucks at a spot at the top curve of Dean's ass, spreading Dean's cheeks and brushing his fingers over his hole.
"Oh fuck," Dean says. More to himself than anything, he continues, "Oh what the fuck."
Misha reaches for the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers and slicking them up. Misha presses one into Dean as he bites down on the flesh of his ass. Dean is hot and tight around Misha, clenching as Misha licks over the offended spot.
"Relax, Jen," Misha says into his skin as he adds another finger. Dean makes a delicious noise and he jerks back against Misha, bearing down on those fingers and oh.
Misha adds a third before Dean is ready, fucking them into the other man. He changes the angle just slightly until Dean lets out another shout and, he's found the right spot.
"Oh, Jesus," Dean hisses. "Fuck!"
Misha keeps brushing and pressing against Dean's prostate, nibbling on the same spot over and over on Dean's ass under he can see it will blossom in a brilliant bruise.
Dean lashes out at one point, scratching at Misha's forearms, grabbing for his hair. "Fuck me already would you!"
Misha pulls his fingers from Dean, slicking his cock with more lube and shoving Dean into place. Fake Jensen with his front against the bed, ass in the air and legs spread with the barest shake to his thighs as he waits.
And then Misha can't wait anymore, lining up and pressing the head of his cock into Dean. Dean shouts and moans as he's filled up, fists in the sheets and taking it just as beautifully as Jensen does. Misha bottoms out, holding there with hands like brands on Dean's hips, oh.
Dean tries to fuck back on him, wiggling and grabbing and getting impatient, showing that fire Misha was caught up by.
Misha pulls almost all the way out, thrusting in hard and setting up an almost cruel pace. Dean is moaning against the sheets, and maybe again Misha hears a Cas hidden incoherently in there somewhere, and maybe Misha is thinking about his Jensen, too.
Misha puts a hand on Dean's back, leaning with his weight and causing Dean to flatten against the bed. Misha keeps fucking, wedging his knees under Dean and pressing harder with each thrust.
When Misha sneaks a hand between the bed and Dean, curling his fingers around his leaking cock, it only takes a few strokes before Dean is tightening and clenching and convulsing around Misha through his orgasm.
Dean goes boneless as he struggles to regain his breath and Misha wipes the mess across one of his ass cheeks. He grips the flesh in his hands and Dean moans weakly, hiding his face.
Misha can feel his orgasm approaching fast after that and as badly as he wants to fill this Fake Jensen, to leave him sloppy and wet during his nap - Misha is pulling out and stroking himself fast and hard over Dean's ass.
Misha shuts his eyes when he comes, rubbing the head of his cock between Dean's cheeks. When he opens them again, Dean is collapsed on the bed and looking at him warily.
"Feeling better?" Misha asks Dean, who nods slowly and lets Misha steal a kiss. "Love you, Jen."
"Love you too?" Dean tries as a response.
pairing(s): dean/meta!misha, established meta!jensen/misha, implied dean/castiel
rating: NC-17
warnings: (maybe) dub-con, barebacking
word count: 1,716
disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.
author's note: for my sake, a cleaned up and slight edited version of what was originally posted here. I need to stop writing random porn at random early hours.
summary: 6x15 French Mistake AR PWP for the prompt at deancaskink: "Misha can tell this isn't his boyfriend. But does it stop him from fucking him? Of course not."
Misha knows it's not Jensen after that very first meeting, but he lets it slide just to see what they do. He plays along because it is funny and he gets to tweet his amigos about the silly.
Later, it's still amusing but Misha is getting increasingly irritated as Fake Jared and Fake Jensen flail their way through the scene at Bobby's house. Fake Jensen is stiff and awkward, everything Jensen is not (even under his occasional blush when Misha is feeling a little bit merciless). Jensen has an ease and confidence to his acting, and is almost feline when it's just Misha and him, between the sheets or against a wall or over a table.
But Fake Jensen is something else, something different - looks like his Jenny, but with another kind of fire in his eyes that Misha just has to figure out.
Fake Jensen disappears into Jensen's trailer while Fake Jared is caught up in another scene. Misha gives it half an hour before he follows with his own copy of the trailer's key and lube in his pocket.
Fake Jensen is asleep on top of the blankets, knees bent with feet flat on the floor. His jacket is folded next to him and his boots are still on, arms relaxed at his sides and head turned just slightly away from Misha.
He looks so much like Jen and it's wonderful, thrilling, and so interesting; he's creeping as quiet as he can until he can see Fake Jensen's face. There are a few more worry lines than Jensen, but then all Misha can focus on is the same sweet lips parted in breath, the shadow of lashes on his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest.
Misha stoops to unlace his boots and Fake Jensen is suddenly jerking upright, half-awake with a fist in Misha's shirt, other cocked back and ready to swing.
Misha shouts, "Jensen! Whoa, Jen, babe!"
Fake Jensen blinks hard, expression clearing as he remembers and recognizes where he is. "Oh, uh. Misha, right?"
"Yes," Misha says, adding a bit of worry and confusion into his tone. He tilts his head to the side and Fake Jensen almost melts right there before eying Misha dubiously. Misha continues, "Sweetie, you're exhausted. Lie back down, let me take care of you."
Fake Jensen's eyes go round, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a moment as Misha finishes pulling off his boots. His hands smooth up Fake Jensen's legs, curling fingers under his knees and pushing them apart enough for Misha to fit when he leans up.
"Okay, hey! Hey!" and then his words are lost in Misha's mouth when he kisses him.
He doesn't taste like Jensen, he tastes like salt and alcohol and something unique all his own. Misha licks into his mouth and Fake Jensen's surprised moan gets lost, too.
Misha keeps pushing against Fake Jensen's chest and tongue, until his mouth is open and pliant to the conquest of a kiss, until he's flat on the bed with Misha lying flush on him. Fake Jensen is hot and hard, rolling his hips up into Misha's, and maybe he hears a "Cas," whispered against his lips.
His hands slip under Fake Jensen's shirt, touching the little more planes and cut of muscle, dancing across hard stomach that wavers just slightly under his touch, along sensitive ribs that make Fake Jensen twitch (they're ticklish in the same spots, aww).
Fake Jensen's hands are groping at his chest and back while Misha sucks kisses along his jaw and pulse and down his throat. Fake Jensen's hands come to grip his shoulders and just hold on as Misha traces back down to unbuckle his belt.
Misha sits up, pulling on the buckle until Fake Jensen is sitting up with him. Misha yanks his shirt up and over his head. His hands don't stop, but his mind does as he sees the perfect, real kind of burn on Fake Jensen's right shoulder with an, Oh.
Fake Jensen, Dean, whatever is looking up at him, apprehensive but heated with arousal. Misha cups his face in his hands, kisses that mouth again and tips them back on the bed.
Dean is hissing in a breath as Misha wiggles down his body. He takes Dean's pants with him, maneuvering the jeans past his hips and down thighs. When Misha drops them into a heap on the floor, Dean is reaching for him with grabby hands again. He pulls at Misha's clothing, but Misha only gives up his hoodie and Castiel's costume shirt before he's pushing Dean back.
"Stay right there, Jen," Misha tells him. "Let me take care of you, remember?"
Dean gives a shaky gasp as Misha pushes his face right into Dean's crotch. Misha rubs his cheek against the soft black fabric of his boxer-briefs, deeply inhaling Fake Jensen's scent. He peels Dean's underwear down with a slow slide, mouth exploring as Misha uncovers more and more.
It's the same glorious cock that springs free and Misha wants to find out if they taste here the same, if that sweet curve of ass feels the same. It's interesting and oh, overwhelming -
Misha dips a hand underneath one of Dean's thighs, tilting it up to edge over his shoulder. He looms over Dean's lap and licks up the length of hard cock. Misha takes Dean in hand and sucks him down.
Dean lets out a shout, tangling his fingers in Misha's hair and clenching for a moment before easing into (an almost) pet across Misha's head and down his cheek. Misha pulls off to come back further and further, working Dean into his mouth and throat as he kneads the thigh in his hand.
Dean's fingers keep flexing, hesitating against just grabbing like he seems to enjoy doing. He's letting out the most delicious moans and curses, sounding like his Jensen at one point when Misha's nose buries in his pubic hair.
Misha gets to the point where he himself can't take it and he squeezes his hold on Dean's thigh and uses it to flip him over. Dean starts to protest until Misha is yanking his hips up and licking a stripe up the cleft of his ass.
"What the fuck," Dean rasps, a conflicting stutter to his hips on the bed away from Misha and back against Misha's mouth.
"Stay right there, Jenny,” Misha reminds him. He drops the little bottle of lube between Dean's knees and removes the rest of his clothing.
Dean peeks back at him over his shoulder, those round green eyes still looking a bit surprised and dazed. His gaze drops to Misha's cock and Misha sees a hand sneaking to touch himself.
"Jen," Misha says, coming to plaster against Dean's back, leaning in for an awkward kiss. "Baby, I got you."
Misha drops to lick down Dean's spine and over each bump of vertebrate. He sucks at a spot at the top curve of Dean's ass, spreading Dean's cheeks and brushing his fingers over his hole.
"Oh fuck," Dean says. More to himself than anything, he continues, "Oh what the fuck."
Misha reaches for the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers and slicking them up. Misha presses one into Dean as he bites down on the flesh of his ass. Dean is hot and tight around Misha, clenching as Misha licks over the offended spot.
"Relax, Jen," Misha says into his skin as he adds another finger. Dean makes a delicious noise and he jerks back against Misha, bearing down on those fingers and oh.
Misha adds a third before Dean is ready, fucking them into the other man. He changes the angle just slightly until Dean lets out another shout and, he's found the right spot.
"Oh, Jesus," Dean hisses. "Fuck!"
Misha keeps brushing and pressing against Dean's prostate, nibbling on the same spot over and over on Dean's ass under he can see it will blossom in a brilliant bruise.
Dean lashes out at one point, scratching at Misha's forearms, grabbing for his hair. "Fuck me already would you!"
Misha pulls his fingers from Dean, slicking his cock with more lube and shoving Dean into place. Fake Jensen with his front against the bed, ass in the air and legs spread with the barest shake to his thighs as he waits.
And then Misha can't wait anymore, lining up and pressing the head of his cock into Dean. Dean shouts and moans as he's filled up, fists in the sheets and taking it just as beautifully as Jensen does. Misha bottoms out, holding there with hands like brands on Dean's hips, oh.
Dean tries to fuck back on him, wiggling and grabbing and getting impatient, showing that fire Misha was caught up by.
Misha pulls almost all the way out, thrusting in hard and setting up an almost cruel pace. Dean is moaning against the sheets, and maybe again Misha hears a Cas hidden incoherently in there somewhere, and maybe Misha is thinking about his Jensen, too.
Misha puts a hand on Dean's back, leaning with his weight and causing Dean to flatten against the bed. Misha keeps fucking, wedging his knees under Dean and pressing harder with each thrust.
When Misha sneaks a hand between the bed and Dean, curling his fingers around his leaking cock, it only takes a few strokes before Dean is tightening and clenching and convulsing around Misha through his orgasm.
Dean goes boneless as he struggles to regain his breath and Misha wipes the mess across one of his ass cheeks. He grips the flesh in his hands and Dean moans weakly, hiding his face.
Misha can feel his orgasm approaching fast after that and as badly as he wants to fill this Fake Jensen, to leave him sloppy and wet during his nap - Misha is pulling out and stroking himself fast and hard over Dean's ass.
Misha shuts his eyes when he comes, rubbing the head of his cock between Dean's cheeks. When he opens them again, Dean is collapsed on the bed and looking at him warily.
"Feeling better?" Misha asks Dean, who nods slowly and lets Misha steal a kiss. "Love you, Jen."
"Love you too?" Dean tries as a response.