Despicable Misha - Chapter 2
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The level of awkwardness practically hits the roof the following morning.
It's a Sunday and Misha has chosen to get up early. Yesterday seems like a million years away - or at least Misha tries to shove it back as far as he can - and he refuses to even think about Jensen in any way. Which is kind of hard when he's sitting in the control room in his lab, where the button bug still sends pictures of Jensen. Misha has reached the point where even if he technically didn't have to watch Jensen all the time, he still wouldn't be able to not do it anyway.
The fact that he also knows that is kind of frightening. Misha hasn’t been faced with any problem like this in quite a while. In years, to be exact.
Currently, Jensen is standing in his kitchen, in his damn distracting sleepwear of a cotton t-shirt and boxers. His hair is messy and still uncombed and a ridiculous fantasy nestles itself into Misha's head - of standing there beside him at the stove, making breakfast, running his hand through that unruly mop of hair. Jensen's lips show a small smile, and Misha almost feels like that one is for him, even though he knows it isn't. It feels weird.
Then again, yesterday. Jensen laying sprawled out on the couch, half-naked - or at least exposed in the section that was essential - with his lips parted softly and moaning out his release. Holy shit, those lips.
Misha sighs and cradles his head in his hands, trying desperately to get his head in gear. Someone apparently had missed sending that particular memo to his brain, though.
So, he did a little more research on Jensen yesterday night. It wasn't difficult, in fact. Jensen is just another regular citizen with not much to hide. As far as Misha has found out, Jensen told him the truth about his parents and siblings and about him living in a small flat downtown before. The guy is really stupidly honest. Misha had no idea why he felt so relieved when he found Jensen's statements to be true.
Misha leans forward in his chair and rests his head against the desk. Oh, he has an idea just fine. If he would just admit it to himself.
Okay, so Jensen is an honest guy, lives next door, has a secure job and college education, and he's also pretty damn hot. Why no one put a ring on him just yet, Misha really has no idea. Really, really no idea this time.
He kind of hopes it's because gay marriage isn't legal in this state. And that thought is scary.
Luckily, the phone pulls him out of his musings. Misha picks up the cordless phone from its charging station beside himself, already rolling his eyes when he sees the caller ID.
“Hey, Mom,” he says flatly.
“Misha! How's it going?”
It's when she sounds that chipper Misha knows she's hiding something. “Great, really great. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you and your plan to take over the world,” she says smugly.
And Misha just had about enough of it. “Mom, listen, you know I don't really have a plan right now. If you keep on asking about it, that won't really solve the problem.”
“I'm just saying, you know,” she quips up. “I think I raised you better than that.”
“I don't really have time for this, you know,” Misha sighs, looking up at his monitors again. To his horror, he can't see Jensen on the surveillance camera anymore. He lost track of him. Well, shit, and thanks Mom.
“I see,” she sighs as well, overly dramatically, “well, I expect to hear from you as soon as you got something.”
With that, she hangs up on him. “Sure, Mom, no pressure at all,” Misha groans and all but slams the phone back onto the charger.
Right then, the doorbell rings.
With another sigh, Misha gets to his feet and hops upstairs from his lab, securing the secret passage and telling the minions to keep quiet - two of them are currently busy throwing a tennis ball back and forth in the kitchen and laughing manically until Misha catches it mid-air and stores it away on top of the kitchen cabinet.
It's Jensen. Of course. Why does it always have to be Jensen? And why does he have to wear an old, worn pair of jeans that rides low on his hips and a threadbare, a bit too washed-out and tight blue t-shirt?
Apparently Misha had his head on that desk for quite some time, or Jensen was just really quick at changing into decent clothes. Jensen also wears glasses today, fashionable horn-rimmed glasses that are a bit smaller than what would be considered nerdy. Which makes him look even more drop-dead gorgeous, as if that is even possible.
Misha can't help it. He smiles at Jensen. “Good morning, neighbor-eeno. What can I do for you today?”
Jensen grins right back, and Misha might as well blink into the sun it's that bright. “Well, good morning to you, too, Flanders. You see, it's a beautiful Sunday morning, and I just wanted to make some Eggs Benedict - until I noticed that without eggs, that is a pretty stupid idea. So, I thought maybe you would be able to help me out with some?”
Jensen tilts his head, and oh, that is just not fair. Not that Misha ever considered telling him to fuck off during this conversation, but damn, those lips, and those deep green eyes are really, really distracting. And now he even notices that Jensen has freckles. Freckles, for crying out loud. Could the guy be any more perfect?
“Yeah, sure,” Misha finds himself nodding absently and heading for the kitchen. And only realizes halfway there that he didn't tell Jensen to wait at the door.
He never, ever, lets people into his house that are not Jared or tiny, yellow minions. A sudden rush of adrenaline makes him stop in the middle of the kitchen and listen for footsteps behind him.
Everything is quiet. Jensen is waiting at the door.
It hits Misha like a brick to the head that he actually wouldn't mind that much if Jensen came in. Still, that would seem weird, offering him to come in now. Misha sighs, opens the fridge to grab two eggs and walks back to the front door.
Jensen is leaning with his shoulder against the frame, hips tilted sideways, which makes his worn t-shirt ride up and show off some pretty delicious hip bone and the distinctive shape of trained abs. Misha has to swallow. Twice.
“There you go,” he says and notices the heavy, rough undercurrent in his voice. He offers his hand with the two eggs to Jensen, who reaches out and carefully takes them from Misha's palm. Their eyes lock, and Jensen has that flirty lopsided smirk on his lips that makes Misha's toes curl.
“Thanks,” Jensen says, his voice a bit raspy, too. Huh. “I'll replace them later, okay?”
Misha shakes his head and smiles. “You made me breakfast yesterday. I'd have to give you a few boxes of eggs in exchange so we would be even.”
This is rewarded with another wide grin and a chuckle from Jensen. Grinning right back and breaking the eye contact, Misha finds himself yet again studying the other man's face, noticing the laugh lines around his eyes and the fact that he has stubble today.
Dammit, he doesn't have the time to go and jerk off again. Not that he didn't already catch up on that particular need in the shower this morning, just to get through a day of watching Jensen via his button bug. That'd make three times in barely 24 hours. Feeling strangely ashamed, Misha looks down at the floor and nods.
“Uhm, so...” Jensen begins, which makes Misha look up and meet his eyes again. “I was wondering-”
“Oh, please don't tell me I need to cut back the apple tree, so it doesn't put your precious petunias into the shade,” Misha grins, and it more or less slipped out. He has a hard time not slapping his hand over his mouth.
Jensen's jaw drops. It takes him a moment of two, in which Misha carefully watches him, already forming an apology in his head - but eventually, Jensen responds with a smile and starts to laugh. A laugh that is so open and warm that it makes Misha's stomach flip. He definitely could get used to hearing Jensen's laughter.
“Look at you making jokes,” Jensen says, eyeing him from head to toe.
This time, the look to the floor is more for emphasis and conversational reasons. “Seriously? Well, believe it or not, but I have indeed got a sense of humor,” he answers. Misha feels quite out of his comfort zone. Then again, this could just be because of Jensen. The guy has that effect on him.
When their eyes meet again, Jensen's expression is barely readable. Misha can see interest sparking up in those green eyes, maybe a sense of mischief, but there's also self-effacement and apprehension. Like Jensen tries to hold himself back, is reluctant to let something shine through.
Misha almost jumps when Jensen clears his throat. “So, as I said... I was thinking you could come over tomorrow? Watch the game?” he asks, almost sounding a bit shy.
“Uhm, I- tomorrow is Monday, right? I mean... yes, football,” Misha stutters. What the hell? He mentally slaps himself and pulls himself back together before continuing. “Yeah, I'd like to,” he says quickly before he gets second thoughts about it. They will come around sooner or later anyway.
Jensen smiles brightly. “Alright, then I'll see you tomorrow at seven?”
“Sure,” is all Misha can manage at this point. He stares wordlessly as Jensen waves as a matter of saying goodbye and jumps down the few stairs of his patio. Jensen's ass in that very becoming pair of jeans is pretty distracting.
Misha swallows and quickly steps inside, closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Unfortunately for him, he completely forgot that Jared is in today. His lab assistant and best friend is leaning in the doorway to the kitchen and watching him with an amused smirk on his lips.
“Care to elaborate there, Misha?” he asks innocently.
“That was Jensen.”
“The Jensen? The new neighbor?”
Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Obviously.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Now it was Jared's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You just got invited to another human being's house - and yes, I'm emphasizing that because when was the last time that happened? - and you're practically blushing.”
“So?” Misha pipes up.
“Plus, you talked about nothing but Jensen yesterday. And the day before yesterday,” Jared reasons. “And this morning.”
Misha shrugs and tries to slip past Jared, but the guy is just too damn tall and manages to step in Misha's way far too easily.
“Spill,” Jared says, a grin tugging at his lips, but he couldn't sound more serious.
Sighing, Misha leans sideways against the wall of the hallway. “I don't know what you expect me to tell you.”
“What is going on here?” Jared replies in a worried tone. “Because I've known you for years, Misha, and I haven't ever seen you like that with another person. You're like... friendly, and nice, and joking and smiling. You're not even like that to me most of the time! Don't get me wrong, I'm your best friend, and god knows I don't want to flirt with you-”
“I wasn't flirting!” Misha is quick to defend himself, interrupting Jared's word vomit.
Jared's eyebrow raises again in disbelief. He takes a deep breath before he flails his arms into the air and looks awkwardly at everywhere around himself, just not into Misha's eyes as he answers. “'Uhm... no... Jensen, I mean... well... I would be... no, I would love to come over tomorrow!'” he mocks Misha's stuttering and finishes off with his hand entangled in a strand of his floppy brown hair, twirling it around his finger like a girl playing coy and staring at the floor with mock bashfulness.
In spite of himself, Misha begins to laugh loudly at that pretty overacted impersonation.
Jared, on the other hand, drops his hand and the charade in a split second. “Seriously, how is that not flirting?” he asks in his normal voice again, unfazed by Misha's laughter.
“It's not like I stuttered on purpose. I was surprised?” Misha offers with a grin.
Jared just smiles a bit sadly and turns around to head for the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“But don't think I'd give up on the Jensen subject just yet,” Jared says, pointing his index finger at Misha without even looking fully at him.
Misha sighs.
“No, don't-” Jared mock-sighs as well, “It's not like you couldn't use a bit of social contact, Misha. The only person you really talk to is me anyway.”
A barely audible whine interrupts them. Misha and Jared both look down to find one of the minions standing there, tugging at Jared's jeans. “Yeah, you guys count, too,” Jared says placably and reaches down to pat the minion's head. The little guy smiles and cheers instantly and hugs Jared's leg before he runs off with a delighted giggle.
“How did he escape from the lab? I locked the door,” Misha ponders out loud.
“He was upstairs, in the bathroom,” Jared says, a grin spreading on his lips.
Oh, no, Misha thinks. That grin. “What did he...?”
“Oh, nothing much. You might just wanna clean the bathroom and lock up your lube a little better next time,” Jared smirks. “That is, as soon as you buy a new bottle, because the last one is now empty.”
So he forgot the lube in the observation room. Great. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'll take care of that later. Can we do some planning in the lab now?”
“Yeah, why not. Speaking of planning: what are you going to wear tomorrow?” Jared asks and laughs, mischief lighting up his eyes as he ducks out of Misha's range of fire and jumps down the stairs to the lab.
“You are unbelievable, Jared!” Misha yells after him. “I'm talking about my big ass plan to take over world leadership and you-” he shakes his head and jumps after him.
Jared sits down on their small table and kicks a chair out for Misha. Then he even has the nerve to blink up innocently at him. “So, what were we talking about?”
Misha rolls his eyes. “I need a plan, a good one. To make Mystic J realize that I'm still alive and serious competition.”
“Right, okay,” says Jared. “Your midnight-blue button-down would be perfect. Brings out your eyes.”
“I could paint the White House pink or something like that,” Misha muses, having decided to ignore Jared until he gives up.
“-and dark jeans, definitely dark jeans. The pair that makes even me want to slap your ass.”
“Which would also be a great message for LGBT rights and all that, but then again-”
“And we should definitely work on your dating skills, you're rusty.”
“-I'd had to do it in all colors of the rainbow. That could be quite hard to manage.”
“Of course I'd have to take care your hair-”
“It would be hard to separate the colors in the dark. I'd have to work out a system so I don't mess the order up-”
“Can't let you stand there in front of Mr. Perfect stuttering and with your trademark bed head. How could you get laid like that?”
“For crying out loud! We. Are. Just. Watching. Football!” Misha finally snaps, his patience drained.
“Exactly!” Jared yells back and looks at him as if Misha just had the most obvious epiphany. “It's perfect to get to know him!”
“Jared, you know exactly that I can't! This-” Misha throws his arms in the air, gesturing at the lab around them and almost smacks a minion over that stands beside him. He quickly pats him on the head in silent apology. “- I can't let anyone in my life. You know how it ended last time.”
“Yeah, I know. And who says Jensen is like her?” Jared questions and Misha's posture falls. He knows that Jared is right, and that's the sad part.
When Misha is busy staring into space instead of answering, lost in his memories, Jared clears his throat, adding in a much softer and conciliatory voice, “Look, I'm just saying. Jensen seems like a decent guy. Why don't you give it a try? I mean, how long has it been for you?”
Misha responds with a snort and deliberately doesn't answer the question. “I don't even know if he's gay.”
“Only one way to find out,” Jared replies.
Misha still doesn't like that grin on his face. Because it makes his stomach tingle with something like hope. And no, he doesn't want to feel like that. It can only end in heartbreak and pain and that is the last thing Misha needs right now.
"And that would be?" he asks, trying to dub his conflicted feelings.
"You go on your date tomorrow-"
"It's football," Misha groans again, frustrated this time. He will refuse to concede that two men meeting to watch football is a date until the end of his days.
"Fine," Jared rolls his eyes. "You go over there to 'watch football'-", air quotation marks, "- tomorrow and you're gonna be as charming as ever. You already got him to tell you that he's single. There's not much of a stretch from that, right?"
"If you think so," Misha covers his eyes with one hand and rubs circles onto his temple.
Jared sighs and Misha can see from the corners of his eyes how his shoulders slump down. "You won't even consider giving it a try."
"Why would I?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
Misha drops his hand and their eyes lock over the table. The epic staring contest that ensues ends up with no real winner on one side or the other. It's interrupted by a minion - not the one Misha almost whacked across his head before, but actually one with two eyes - who tugs at his sleeve. "Mee-ma?" he asks, his mouth drawn down in an unhappy expression.
Misha eyes him confused. "I'm not your grandma," he teases with a lopsided smile, although he knows that it is the minions' manner to call him by his name. They can't pronounce it any better.
"Mee-ma?" the minion says again, more urgently as he pokes Misha's thigh with his other hand before turning around and pointing at the lab. At the test area of the lab, to be exact.
Misha rises instantly, knowing that there is something going on. His minion guides him to a table where a bunch of other minions are busy shuffling around, bouncing on and off the chairs around it.
"What's going on here, guys?" Misha asks, and a look over his shoulder tells him Jared is following him.
The minions giggle and scatter away from the table to hide in the depths of the lab as Misha approaches. When they're gone, Misha sees what they have been 'working' on before he interrupted them.
It's a bomb.
One of his newly developed bombs. The ones that have the impact of a smoke grenade, but the smoke they leave is pink and smells of fresh flowers and spreads a psychic drug in the system of the people inhaling it. It messes with their brain, just for a little while. And in the most hilarious way, to say the least. If there is one chemical out there that can turn people gay for a few hours, it's this one. Misha squirms a bit at the memory of two minions going at it in the test chamber. Even though they can't reproduce in the regular way, it's not really a pleasant thought.
The bomb is also painted.
In bright pink letters that still shine wetly, there's "J <3 M" written across it.
Misha facepalms.
"Wait until I get you!" he shouts in the direction of where the minions have vanished seconds ago, but there's not much venom in his voice.
Jared takes one look at the bomb and cracks up instantly, doubling over and laughing like crazy. He has tears in his eyes by the time he manages to cough, “Even the guys know it! Oh this is priceless!” and has to hold on to the table because he's shaking so much with laughter.
Misha grumbles, but in the end, there's a smirk on his face, too. Because the minions are hiding around the corner, carefully eyeing him and Jared and seemingly discussing the matter in their own babbling language. When they sense that he gives up and smiles gently at them, they cheer and make kissy faces at him, pointing sideways. In the direction of Jensen's house.
They're rooting for Misha.
It's just utterly endearing.
Misha sighs and looks at Jared, who stands beside him. His laughter has changed to a soft chuckle. “Well, then. I'll do it. But I have dibs on the 'I told you so' when it doesn't work.”
“If it doesn't work,” Jared says, before he breaks into another big grin, leaps forward and hugs Misha. “I don't have the feeling you'll regret this. Doesn't matter how it turns out. Trust me.”
Patting Jared's back awkwardly as his face is mushed against Jared's shoulder, Misha nods. And sighs again.
And smiles, eventually. He really hasn't been out for a long time. He's kind of looking forward to it.
Jared's friendly embrace feels good, but Misha can't help but think of green eyes and a freckled nose and spiky blonde hair instead of the brown floppy strands tickling his nose.
“So, can we get back to planning now?” Misha asks quietly as he leans backwards.
“Sure. Which plan first?” Jared nods as he lets go of Misha and subsequently returns to the table.
Misha follows him and flops down on his previous chair. “Let's get back to painting the White House pink.”
“That's barely a prank and you know it,” Jared eyes him carefully, his eyebrows raised.
Misha moans. “It's hard to come up with a good plan these days. Have you got a better idea?”
“Should it be a political statement?”
“I don't know. Anything without a political statement is a prank. So, yes.”
They sit there, both resting their chin in their hands and thinking for a few minutes. The room is eerily silent except for a few minions fighting over a banana in the back.
“Yeah, I got nothing,” Jared says after a while.
“Me neither,” Misha replies and rubs both hands over his face. It's not much of a surprise that they can't think of any plan. It's more like what they have to deal with on a daily basis, especially lately.
Misha feels like he's standing beside himself anyway. All he can think about is Jensen and the laugh lines around his green eyes and the freckles on his nose and that he has a date with him tomorrow. What he doesn't know is what to expect. Or what to hope, for that matter. If he should hope at all.
“I've got a name for our new bombs, though,” Jared grins.
“Yes?” Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Spill it, Padalecki.”
“The J&Ms.”
Misha throws a ball of wadded paper at his head.
Monday turns out to be one crazy day, even without having to watch Jensen all day. Because as opposed to Misha, he has a job.
Which means that Misha sees him leaving the house at 7 a.m. in a suit and tie. Sometimes, life is just not fair. And watching Jensen in a suit and not being able to touch is definitely not fair. The guy is just too good looking. Especially in a suit.
Misha tries to waste the day away with cleaning the house - well, mainly cleaning the bathroom, where everything is slick and covered in lube - putting a bit of the stuff that belongs to the lab back in the lab while keeping the minions at bay. Jared will come in at about lunchtime, and Misha sincerely hopes that he is done then. He also dusts off the morning star and sword in his living room, and vacuums the place. It's strange how much dirt the minions drag in on a daily basis, even though they're not even allowed outside the lab. They still manage to get into the house too often.
By the time Jared arrives, Misha is busy cooking stew.
The afternoon is spent on developing a new sub-basement rocket launcher - for the J&Ms, and yes, Misha decided to keep the name - and Jared even has the decency to not mention Misha's date every two seconds.
God knows it's all Misha can think about anyway.
Around five o'clock, a minion runs up to Misha and tugs at his hand. “Jen!” the little guy says urgently.
As it turns out, Jensen just returned from work, looking a little exhausted. Misha watches him through his button bug yet again, but the battery is already dangerously low. He might have to take another one of the bugs over to Jensen's that evening.
Jensen goes out for an after-work run then, clad in shorts and a white wifebeater, and Misha is back to his train of thought where life is not fair. When he returns half an hour later, sweaty and his short hair sticking to his forehead, Misha watches him from the kitchen window while leaning against the counter. He sighs deeply.
“Six o'clock,” Jared says from behind him. Misha didn't even hear him come in.
“Yes,” he replies absent-mindedly and watches Jensen jump up to his own patio.
“So, your - appointment - is in an hour-”
“Yes, Jared, you are finally allowed to make a fuss about it,” Misha agrees, unable to suppress a small smile. He can't exactly say that he didn't look forward to this point.
“Great!” Jared claps his hands together. “Then off you go. Take a shower!”
“I showered this morning,” Misha objects while tilting his head to the side.
“Sure, but you're going on a date, so get your ass into the bathroom,” Jared says pointedly but patiently, and adds, “Oh, and I need full access to your bedroom.”
Reluctantly, Misha hands him the key to his bedroom. Ever since the Great Lube Misuse Incident of 2012, he keeps it locked.
“Good,” Jared nods and shoos Misha upstairs and into the bathroom.
The short shower feels good and helps Misha relax a bit, which is more than necessary.
When he returns to his bedroom, he finds Jared with an outfit laid out for him on his bed.
“I think it'll fit perfectly,” he explains, “C'mon, try it on.”
With an incredulous look, Misha drops the towel he was using to cover himself and slips into his favorite orange boxer-briefs. The pants Jared selected are a pair of dark blue jeans that sit pretty tight. It's his neatest pair, and Misha knows how good he looks in them. The outfit is completed by an ocean blue button-down that, again, fits really tight. Misha could go out dressed like this, yet it still looks casual enough to pass as appropriate for watching football.
Misha feels good dressed like this.
“Now, we need to do something about your hair. Bathroom, now,” Jared orders and Misha gladly obeys. He doesn't care a lot about his hair styling these days, but Jared being the straight but long-haired guy here clearly does. Misha blow-dries his hair and watches in the mirror as Jared covers his hands in hair wax and runs them through his dark strands. When he is finished, Misha has to admit that his hair looks artfully mussed without seeming so intentionally.
“Thanks, Jared,” Misha says truly gratefully as they walk down the stairs and towards the main entrance. He exhales deeply.
“No problem. You ready?” Jared asks, patting his shoulder.
“No, not really, but - alrighty then," Misha huffs nervously and turns towards the door. "Almost seven o'clock, I think I can go over without seeming... I don't know."
Jared says nothing in return.
Misha suddenly turns back to Jared and frowns. "I can't go over there," he whines and feels pathetic and insecure and basically everything he doesn't want to feel like, because he's a supervillain, and supervillains don't get buck fever. Not from having a date anyway. Or watching football, whatever.
"Misha, don't make me give you another lecture."
Misha uses his puppy eyes. They have no effect on Jared. There is a reason why Jared is his best friend, in the end, because he could always call Misha's bullshit. Sighing, he drops his head to his chest in defeat and is speechless for a moment while Jared's arms wrap around his shoulders.
"C'mon, Mish, have some confidence. We've talked about this."
"It's just... I don't want to throw myself out there. It's like begging to get ripped to shreds. There are so many variables in this plan, it is doomed to fail from the beginning," Misha says quietly. “I don't know what to hope any more, you know.”
Jared just holds him close, his voice a deep, soft rumble that never fails to calm Misha down. "It will only fail if you don't give it a chance. And I still don't think it will. I mean, I saw you in the kitchen earlier. Don't think I didn't notice how you look at him and don't even try to bullshit me about it, okay?"
Misha rests his head at Jared's shoulder while carefully trying not to ruin his hair. He doesn't reply anything, and he knows that's answer enough for Jared.
"And don't think I didn't notice the way he looks at you," Jared adds silently, running his hand soothingly up and down Misha's back.
"What?" Misha snaps up, taken by surprise.
"Remember the camera you installed at the front door?"
"Yes...?"
"Remember that observation room you've got in the lab?"
"Did you-"
"Yup."
"I hate you, Jared."
"I know. Now go get him, tiger," and with that and a laugh, Jared grabs Misha's shoulders firmly and shoves him out of the door.
"If only," Misha mutters under his breath. He carefully straightens his shirt and saunters over to Jensen's house to push the button of the door bell.
"Misha!" he suddenly hears Jared shout from behind him. "You forgot something!" and he holds up a six-pack of beer.
After checking that Jensen isn't already standing behind the door, Misha quickly jumps back into his own garden, where Jared meets him half-way and hands over the six-pack. “Thanks, Jare. Again.”
"Don't mention it and have fun," says Jared with a wink and returns to the house.
Smiling slightly, Misha walks to Jensen's front door, where the other man already waits for him. "Hey," Jensen greets him with a wide grin before he nods towards Jared disappearing into Misha's house. "Who's Mr. Beer-Supplier over there?"
"That's Jared, my best friend. And occasionally my living memory mechanism," Misha chuckles. "And good afternoon to you too, Sir."
"Come on in," Jensen just says, still grinning, and steps aside to let Misha in.
Only then Misha realizes that not only had Jensen obviously had a shower as well - which might have been kind of necessary after the run anyway - but he also has done his hair. Not the usual, product-free or messed-up state that Misha is used to, and not the slicked-back style he had this morning when he went to work. Just actually groomed and spiky and hands-down incredibly hot. Jensen wears a Led Zeppelin bandshirt that is clearly well-worn and comfy and jeans, and pads bare-footed through the house. Misha refuses to think that he actually dressed up for the occasion, but there's this nagging voice in his head that constantly reminds him of Jensen's hair. Jensen's really nice, really tempting-to-run-your-hand-through-it hair.
Misha is doomed and he knows it, but he still manages to hand over the beer. Jensen is quick to place the bottles in the fridge.
"Is the game already on? Not that we missed the kick-off," Misha asks, just to have said something and not just stand there staring stupidly at Jensen. Which is a tempting activity for the evening, he has to admit. Pretty hard to resist.
"Nah. Game starts in about half an hour," Jensen replies reassuringly and hands a bottle of beer, an already cooled and opened one, to Misha.
"Which is your favorite team, by the way?" Misha asks innocently.
"I got two... the Mavericks and the Cowboys," Jensen grins.
"Well, then here's to the Mavericks winning tonight," Misha toasts and raises his bottle.
"That's basketball, dude," Jensen just grins some more.
"Oh," Misha swallows and tries hard not to curse.
Jensen still clinks his bottle against Misha's before he takes a swig of it. Misha quickly mirrors it, but his nerves get the better of him. "Listen, I don't really watch sports that much, so I'm sorry if-"
"Relax, it's fine," Jensen pats him on the back. “I still like to watch whatever game is on TV, doesn't need to be a game of my favorite team. I just tend to be a little louder when one of them is on.”
An awkward smile returns to Misha's face, but he still feels way off his game here. He can't really think of something to say in reply to that and is quite glad when Jensen is the one who breaks the silence.
"It's just a nice way to kick back after work, you know," he explains. "You up for some pizza?"
"Yes, of course," Misha nods. "Whatever you like. I eat pretty much anything, just FYI."
"Even anchovies and garlic and pepperoni?" Jensen shoots him a challenging look.
"Sure, why not," Misha shrugs, grinning.
"You have no idea what you got yourself into." And with that, Jensen turns to the living room, waves at Misha to wait in the kitchen. He can't make out what Jensen is ordering, but at least he can be sure it'll be interesting. When Jensen returns, there's a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Should I give you the tour?" he asks, gesturing around the house.
It's not like Misha hasn't seen the whole house through his button bug already, but he nods.
The house is clean, even now that he sees it with his own eyes. Jensen's stuff is neatly stacked away in tasteful, classy furniture that manages to be both handy and still lets the house seem lived-in. It feels warm and like a real home. There's a spacious, modern bathroom, which Jensen explains was renovated before he moved in. They make small talk, about the house, when it was built, what Jensen renovated in here and why he wanted to move here. Turns out, it's not only the neighborhood but mostly the cut of the house. Misha can't help but stare at Jensen's lips, the sinuous curve of them as they move, full and plush and so kissable that it almost hurts to hold himself back. He listens to the smooth rumble of Jensen's deep voice, loves the tone of it, the way he talks, the way just a barely noticeable smile alters his voice to something that feels rather like warm, golden honey.
Misha could do this all day. If Jensen's green eyes weren't watching him so intently all the time, that is. With that damn amused sparkle in them that makes Misha shudder pleasantly to his bones.
He has to take a deep breath when they reach the master bedroom, which sports a king-sized bed and a built-in wardrobe that covers the whole wall opposite the balcony. A balcony with a set of chairs and a table to sit outside, and the sudden picture of having breakfast out there at sunrise settles uncomfortably in Misha's brain.
He knows he can't have it, and yet he still yearns for it like he didn't for anything in a long time.
They say when you look at houses or flats, you have to imagine and ponder if your stuff would fit in there. Not just fit by having enough space to put it in there, but if you can see yourself there, living there, your furniture standing around there, your pictures covering the walls. And Misha can definitely see himself here - standing in the kitchen, making breakfast like Jensen did the day before yesterday, or sharing the shower with him in the morning - and that thought is just utterly scary.
The living room isn't equipped with a decorative morning star over the couch and Misha feels like his own would look great hanging there.
Not that he doesn't like his own place. He loves his own place, for that matter. But here, everything seems so normal and regular, mostly because of the lack of any minions TP-ing the couch table. Misha does miss the craziness a bit, though. He finds himself wondering what Jensen's personal bit of craziness in life might be.
If Jensen notices his glances and the frown on his face, he doesn't say anything. He just smiles that constant, warm smile at Misha that makes his stomach flutter.
Luckily, the living room is the last room of the tour, and Jensen flops down on the cushions with his beer in hand right when the game starts. Misha sits down beside him, tries to sit not too close and invade Jensen's personal space, but not too far away to seem awkward.
"I think you might have to explain a bit to me about football, because I seriously have no clue what the hell they're doing there," Misha smiles at him, emptying the beer bottle because the tour has cost him quite frankly a couple nerves and demanded plenty of alcohol.
"Okay," Jensen says, serious as can be, and points at the TV, "That right there was the kick-off."
Misha can still see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips and grins. "No shit, Sherlock."
Jensen chuckles. The sound still doesn't fail to amaze Misha with how soft and warm it is. Calmly, Jensen starts to explain the rules of the game and though Misha listens mostly, he ends up yet again focused on Jensen's lips.
Until the doorbell rings.
“Must be the pizza,” Jensen says and jumps to his feet. “Don't even dare to offer me money, I invited you,” he adds firmly on his way out of the room, apparently not having missed that Misha reached for the wallet in his pocket.
Misha sighs and gives in.
When Jensen returns and presents the pizza box to Misha, he screws his face up reflexively. “What the fuck did you make them put on that poor pizza?”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow at him, obviously surprised by Misha's choice of words. “Well, you said that you'd eat anything. Anything being anchovies, olives, onions, capers and pepperoni here.”
“I take this is your way of testing if I'm friend material?” Misha looks up questioningly and Jensen laughs at him. “Bring it.”
“You want another beer to wash that down?” Jensen asks after placing the box on the coffee table.
“Yes, please.”
Still smiling, Jensen leaves the room and gives Misha plenty of time to watch him stroll down the few feet to the kitchen, watch the languid sway of his hips - and damn, if the curve of Jensen's lips is sensuous, then the curve of his ass is downright dirty. Somehow Misha manages to keep a straight face during all of this and thanks Jensen when he returns with two fresh bottles of beer and two plates for their pizza.
The pizza smells far from delicious, but after the first bite of it, Misha moans appreciatively.
“Truth be told, it's better than I thought,” he admits and takes another large bite of it.
Jensen looks over, studies him for a moment, then slowly begins to grin. “Congrats, you passed.”
“The friend-material test?” Misha asks, locking eyes with Jensen and raising his eyebrow.
“Obviously. Because this is my favorite combination of pizza topping ever. And I've only ever got it in one single pizzeria in this town.”
Misha chuckles amused and resumes chewing. “I get that other people have failed before me, then?” he asks after a short beat.
Jensen nods absent-mindedly. “More like pretended that it was edible when they rather wanted to spit it out again instantly. You didn't look like that at all, and I noticed that usually people's acting skills leave them at the first bite into this pizza.”
“I like it, I do,” Misha says with a grin and helps himself to a second slice, which earns him an amused smile from Jensen.
They eat in silence, occasionally taking a sip from their beer, and the comfortable atmosphere remains thoroughly unbroken. Jensen throws in bits and pieces to explain some more football rules, and they clink their bottles to celebrate each touchdown.
It's not really the game that makes Misha relax so much, it's just the way they both lounge on the sofa, stretched out, Jensen's feet propped up on the coffee table, so comfortable in each other's presence. It's the way Jensen is with him right now, like a friend, nudging his shoulder every now and then to get Misha's attention and tell him something about the game. Misha feels ten kinds of weird because of it and tries desperately not to over-think this. Smirking at him, green eyes sparkling, Jensen sits beside Misha, arm lazily placed on top of the back rest.
If Misha over-thought this, he might as well wonder if Jensen is deliberately flirting or not.
He really tries not to think about it. When the football game goes into half-time, Jensen shoots Misha a short look. “Would you mind if I changed to the news?”
“Not at all,” Misha smiles. “I'd usually watch it myself at this time.”
Jensen nods in understanding and pushes the button on the remote. NBC has just begun with broadcasting the news.
The anchorman looks directly into the camera before he resumes reading the current message. “The state of New York has signed the law to legalize gay marriage this day. Subsequently, a group of opponents to the new legislation has gathered in front of the White House. Here is the live update from our reporter on location -”
Misha can't help but snort as the camera shows off a group of at least forty people standing at the gates of the White House, carefully watched by the Secret Service and some DC Metro policemen. They bear signs with messages like 'God hates fags' and 'Homosexuality is a crime', and those are just the milder examples, waving them through the air as they shout in unison at the White House.
“Ignorant assholes,” Jensen mutters into his non-existent beard.
“Yeah, seconded,” Misha adds, “Where the hell is the oh-so-great Kapt'n Kripke at events like this, huh? Just a damn homophobe like those guys there.”
“Word,” Jensen just says and holds his fist towards Misha.
Without hesitating for a single second, he curls his own fingers into a fist and bumps it.
The meaning of it all falls into place right then. “So you support gay marriage?” Misha asks tentatively, hope settling in the pit of his stomach, letting tingles run up his spine.
“'Course I do,” Jensen shrugs, “Doesn't mean I'd want to marry a woman or a man, but I'm all for treating everyone equally.”
Misha eyes him carefully, trying to find the words and the courage to ask. “It would be awesome to legalize it just to troll these guys,” he says instead and nods at the TV.
“Isn't trolling something different?” Jensen asks, one eyebrow rising towards his hairline. The sparks in his eyes are mesmerizing, suggesting something more behind the words.
“Well. Yes, I guess trolling would rather be stand up to them and kiss another man in front of them,” Misha admits, holding Jensen's gaze despite how intense his eyes shine by now.
“Would you?” Jensen replies quietly, daringly, after a short moment or two. His tone is careful, and Misha's heart jumps at the thought that he's testing the waters here as well.
“Kiss another guy? Sure,” Misha smiles lopsided and looks down into his lap. He can't stand Jensen's eyes right now. “In front of those people? Yes, if he agreed.”
“So you're saying...”
“- that I'm bi,” Misha finishes Jensen's sentence.
“Huh.”
“What 'huh'?”
“Me too,” Jensen replies nonchalantly. This time, Misha can no longer look away from him, his eyes drawn like a magnet to Jensen. The other man sits there and fidgets with a piece of fluff on his jeans-clad leg, and damn, a grown man shouldn't be allowed to look so fucking cute.
Misha doesn't answer. Any answer of any kind right then would seem weird and awkward and pathetic. Or worse - needy. So all he does is hold his fist towards Jensen like Jensen had done before.
When Jensen doesn't respond immediately, Misha wiggles it invitingly. “Bump it, you know you want to,” he almost sing-songs.
“Dunno, is there any code of gay-fistbumping involved that I don't know of?” Jensen teases, grinning. He looks almost smug.
“You could always hook your pinky into mine when we're done, but that's too gay even for me. Also, you might wanna rephrase that sentence,” Misha deadpans.
Jensen laughs, his voice again so smooth and pleasant to just listen to. Disturbingly enough, Misha could quickly get used to hearing that sound, even finds himself craving to hear it more often. When their fists connect and both of them subsequently spread their fingers to an exploding fistbump, they both begin to laugh again.
Jensen even hooks his pinky into Misha's then. Not without a daring smirk, though. No matter how hard it gets, Misha holds his gaze and doesn't let go. He waits for the moment to go by, but has no such luck.
Eventually, Jensen sighs while he lets go. “So, how was high school?” he asks and raises an eyebrow.
“Don't get me started on that,” Misha rolls his eyes. “They found out about it when I was a sophomore. Caught me in the closet with another guy. Literally. And the rest is history,” he shrugs and breaks the eye contact. Those are not really memories he likes to dig up. “And for you?”
“I was 'straight' back then,” Jensen says, complete with the air quotation marks, “No one questioned me when I went to the supply closet with some guy while I was openly dating the head cheerleader. It was her who outed me in my senior year, though, because she thought she could get some kind of revenge on me. Please, as if.”
“What did you do?”
“Let's just say, I made her regret it. I'm a bit of a prankster, to be honest. And I wouldn't let her ruin my prom, so I went there with the guy I was sleeping with at the time and believe me when I say I had more fun there than her,” Jensen grins.
“A prankster, huh?” Misha reciprocates the grin.
“Yeah, so?”
Misha sighs, his lips torn to a melancholy smile, “I could have used someone like you back then. Instead I just took all the insults. I even signed up for Appalachian clogging during PE so they wouldn’t have to go out of their way.”
“Appalachian clogging?” Jensen asks back, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “What even is that?”
“Promise, you don't wanna know,” Misha winks. “What can I say, it was high school and I was desperate.”
At that, Jensen throws his head back and bursts into laughter and all Misha can think about - between his own shaking fits - is the way his neck looks, so kissable with light stubble, and the way his lips are parted and the warm, soft rumble of his laughter floods the room.
Damn, Misha wants to kiss him senseless, and if it wasn't already abundantly clear how gone he was for this guy at this point, it is now. He has to take a deep breath before he can look into Jensen's moss-green eyes again.
They go on chatting and laughing throughout the rest of the game and only when the late night news gets broadcast with the same news as before, about the protests, Jensen pipes up. “Someone really should play a good prank on those guys. I mean seriously.”
“I've been waiting for someone to paint the White House pink for years,” Misha grins.
“Or in rainbow colors. Or paint something else in rainbow colors,” Jensen laughs, slapping his thigh.
“And then make out in front of it. With a same-sex partner, obviously.”
They fist-bump again before catching each other's eye and laughing. Misha can't remember the last time he had so much fun. But it feels weird, somehow. Just the day before yesterday, Misha watched the man he's currently hanging out and kicking back with masturbating and fingering himself on this very sofa. And jerked off to it, multiple times, because the picture was so damn hot. And Jensen, now that he has all the time to look at him, really look at him, is incredibly handsome. The fact that he's also incredibly nice and friendly makes Misha almost flush from embarrassment, because he's watched that private, intimate moment. Misha quickly drowns the uprising blush and his messed-up feelings with a few good gulps of his beer.
Later that night, after one more beer, Jensen walks Misha to the door.
And Misha all but trips over the words already laying on the tip of his tongue. 'I had so much fun tonight, wanna go on a second date?' But then again, he wasn't a girl and this wasn't a date and all of this was seriously messed up.
“So, you wanna see a real Mavericks game?” Jensen asks tentatively standing in the door frame, while Misha is busy slipping on his shoes in the hallway.
“Why not? When is the next one?” he returns the question.
“This Friday.”
Deciding to just go with his gut, Misha smiles and steps towards Jensen, looking him squarely in the eye. “Okay, then Friday it is. My place this time.”
“Thanks, I'll be there,” Jensen accepts with an enthusiastic nod. “Eight o'clock.”
“It's a date,” Misha grins, and suddenly the air between them is vibrating. It slipped out, it wasn't meant to be said - not like this, it's just a figure of speech. He didn't mean a date, of course he didn't. Still, there's Jensen, standing right in front of Misha, merely inches separating them. A blush is rising on Misha's cheeks and he feels like being in high school all over again.
It takes quite some self-restraint to not squeal or jump back when Jensen smiles even wider and reaches out to hug Misha. The feeling settling in his stomach is weird. Sudden affection hits Misha like a brick to the head, and he carefully angles his crotch away from Jensen, because damn - he can feel each muscle of Jensen's broad chest rippling under the fabric of his shirt, his trained biceps bulging the sleeve, Jensen's skin soft where he brushes Misha's. Without making a conscious decision, Misha wraps his arms around Jensen's neck, holds him close. It's a reflex, that's all. Or so Misha tells himself.
“Good night, Misha,” Jensen says quietly, and his voice is strangely low and raspy. He clears his throat immediately after finishing the sentence.
“Sleep tight,” Misha answers, squeezing Jensen one more time before letting go of his neck and leaning back from the hug.
With that ever-present warm smile, Jensen watches Misha hop down the stairs and leave for his own house. They share one last look and a quick wave before Misha slips through the doorway. His heart thunders in his chest at what feels like twice its usual rate and he feels completely off his game. Pleasantly aroused, yes, but totally thrown off balance.
He is greeted by a bunch of minions behind the door. They whisper to themselves, gesturing around and babbling. When Misha closes the door behind himself, they all turn to him, start to babble and make questioning noises.
“It was a nice date, and I didn't mess up,” Misha says, a bit proud.
The minions cheer and whistle loudly, some showing off a little victory dance. One of them in the front row raises his eyebrows and makes kissy noises.
“No, I didn't kiss him, Joe.”
“Awww,” Joe announces and lets his head drop onto his chest.
Misha sighs quite contently before ushering the minions back into the lab and heading upstairs. He needs a shower. And jerking off. Now.
"Mind if I join you?"
It's Tuesday afternoon. Jensen has just returned from work and is heading for a run. That is, until Misha jumped in his way and is now watching him with his head tilted sideways and a smile on his lips. He wears shorts, running shoes and a gray, worn AC/DC shirt that is hanging wide around his frame, but not failing to show off his slender figure. Jensen tries hard not to check him out that blatantly and probably fails miserably.
"No, not at all. But just to warn you, I usually run for at least half an hour, so-" Jensen manages, but is quickly interrupted.
"I may be out of shape, but half an hour I can do," Misha grins at him. Then he turns around to run down the sidewalk. "I used to run marathons, you know."
"You did?" Jensen finds himself gaping and falling into step beside his neighbor.
"Yes, I love running. I just... stopped, some time ago, I guess. It's hard to get your ass off the couch when you've got no motivation to."
Jensen shoots him a short glance, noticing the tense look on Misha's face. Yes, he thinks he can relate to what it's like. Being 'unemployed', or speaking in supervillain-manner, not finding anything to do, no prank to play, no epic heist, nothing of that ilk at all. Huffing out a short
chuckle, Jensen punches Misha's upper arm good-naturedly and not really hard. "Well, then it's time to get back to it, I'd say," he says lightly.
A smile returns to Misha's lips and he waves Jensen off to the side. "C'mon, I'll show you my favorite route."
While Jensen only had time to explore and scout around the neighborhood, running his laps around the block, Misha has lived here for years already and knows his way around. They make it through a beautiful park, even into a picturesque small forest area. The weather is perfectly sunny with a mild summer breeze and everything around him makes Jensen relax and breathe in the fresh, clean air. He is also very aware of the fact that a goofy grin seems to be glued to his face, but he's just unable to not smile. Truth of the matter is, he hasn't felt so free and well in some time, almost feels the tension physically ooze out of him, even if the image is quite gross. Also, there's Misha. Misha with his stupidly blue eyes, his plush lips hanging open and gasping for air as he runs beside Jensen, their elbows touching occasionally. Sweat is running down Misha's forehead, making his dark, short hair curl where it sticks to his skin.
Jensen's heart almost does that not-literal skip of a beat that has nothing to do with the exertion of running.
"Stretching break," Misha announces when they made it through the piece of forest and reach a small bench.
Misha hauls his foot up the back rest of the bench and begins his exercises, Jensen following suit. They help each other stretch the front of their thighs, holding onto each other's shoulder to keep the balance in mutual understanding. And if Jensen lets his hand rest on
Misha's shoulder a bit longer than is strictly necessary, well, then that's that. After a few minutes, they're done and return home to their peaceful suburb.
When they run back into their street, Jensen wonders for the first time in ages. Scratch that, he wishes. Wishes that this would be normal, that there wouldn't be a difficult and corrupted world out there that needed to be taught its lesson by a bunch of heroes and villains, that this was all they were... living a normal, quiet life in the suburbs and going for a run after work, Misha and him.
They walk the remaining couple hundred feet, calming their breathing and gulping in as much air as possible. When Jensen looks at the watch on his wrist, it turns out they were away for almost an hour. On some kind of silent agreement, they stop in front of Misha's place, and he obviously has a hard time finding the right words.
"'s that motivation enough for you?" Jensen offers to put him out of his misery.
"What do you- I mean, uhm..." Misha sucks in another deep breath, still not completely calm.
"Motivation to get your pretty little ass off the sofa," Jensen winks.
Misha gapes at him and tries to disguise it with still-catching-his-breath. Jensen almost believes it.
"Tomorrow, same time, same place. I'd be very disappointed if you don't show up," Jensen adds before he turns towards his house. "See you, Misha!"
He is only able to hear a muffled "Yeah, see you" from behind and grins quietly to himself. One might have called it smug, but - he just did get Misha to A.) come out of his shell a bit B.) make him stutter adorably and C.) manage to get him completely flustered. And damn if that isn't a good thing.
On Wednesday, they explore a different course that includes a bit more forest. Conversation flows nice and easy, about the world and their moms and everything in between. Turns out they aren't that different. Jensen had a weird day at work, and Misha laughs his ass off at his impersonation of arguing co-workers.
“I don't know if I can be there tomorrow,” Misha says once they returned to their houses. “I've got an important appointment in the afternoon and no idea how long it'll take.”
“Job interview?” Jensen asks back.
“Kinda,” Misha shrugs. “I don't wanna jinx it.”
“Sure,” Jensen nods and slaps Misha's shoulder encouragingly. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
<< Chapter 1 | Masterpost | Chapter 3 >>
The level of awkwardness practically hits the roof the following morning.
It's a Sunday and Misha has chosen to get up early. Yesterday seems like a million years away - or at least Misha tries to shove it back as far as he can - and he refuses to even think about Jensen in any way. Which is kind of hard when he's sitting in the control room in his lab, where the button bug still sends pictures of Jensen. Misha has reached the point where even if he technically didn't have to watch Jensen all the time, he still wouldn't be able to not do it anyway.
The fact that he also knows that is kind of frightening. Misha hasn’t been faced with any problem like this in quite a while. In years, to be exact.
Currently, Jensen is standing in his kitchen, in his damn distracting sleepwear of a cotton t-shirt and boxers. His hair is messy and still uncombed and a ridiculous fantasy nestles itself into Misha's head - of standing there beside him at the stove, making breakfast, running his hand through that unruly mop of hair. Jensen's lips show a small smile, and Misha almost feels like that one is for him, even though he knows it isn't. It feels weird.
Then again, yesterday. Jensen laying sprawled out on the couch, half-naked - or at least exposed in the section that was essential - with his lips parted softly and moaning out his release. Holy shit, those lips.
Misha sighs and cradles his head in his hands, trying desperately to get his head in gear. Someone apparently had missed sending that particular memo to his brain, though.
So, he did a little more research on Jensen yesterday night. It wasn't difficult, in fact. Jensen is just another regular citizen with not much to hide. As far as Misha has found out, Jensen told him the truth about his parents and siblings and about him living in a small flat downtown before. The guy is really stupidly honest. Misha had no idea why he felt so relieved when he found Jensen's statements to be true.
Misha leans forward in his chair and rests his head against the desk. Oh, he has an idea just fine. If he would just admit it to himself.
Okay, so Jensen is an honest guy, lives next door, has a secure job and college education, and he's also pretty damn hot. Why no one put a ring on him just yet, Misha really has no idea. Really, really no idea this time.
He kind of hopes it's because gay marriage isn't legal in this state. And that thought is scary.
Luckily, the phone pulls him out of his musings. Misha picks up the cordless phone from its charging station beside himself, already rolling his eyes when he sees the caller ID.
“Hey, Mom,” he says flatly.
“Misha! How's it going?”
It's when she sounds that chipper Misha knows she's hiding something. “Great, really great. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you and your plan to take over the world,” she says smugly.
And Misha just had about enough of it. “Mom, listen, you know I don't really have a plan right now. If you keep on asking about it, that won't really solve the problem.”
“I'm just saying, you know,” she quips up. “I think I raised you better than that.”
“I don't really have time for this, you know,” Misha sighs, looking up at his monitors again. To his horror, he can't see Jensen on the surveillance camera anymore. He lost track of him. Well, shit, and thanks Mom.
“I see,” she sighs as well, overly dramatically, “well, I expect to hear from you as soon as you got something.”
With that, she hangs up on him. “Sure, Mom, no pressure at all,” Misha groans and all but slams the phone back onto the charger.
Right then, the doorbell rings.
With another sigh, Misha gets to his feet and hops upstairs from his lab, securing the secret passage and telling the minions to keep quiet - two of them are currently busy throwing a tennis ball back and forth in the kitchen and laughing manically until Misha catches it mid-air and stores it away on top of the kitchen cabinet.
It's Jensen. Of course. Why does it always have to be Jensen? And why does he have to wear an old, worn pair of jeans that rides low on his hips and a threadbare, a bit too washed-out and tight blue t-shirt?
Apparently Misha had his head on that desk for quite some time, or Jensen was just really quick at changing into decent clothes. Jensen also wears glasses today, fashionable horn-rimmed glasses that are a bit smaller than what would be considered nerdy. Which makes him look even more drop-dead gorgeous, as if that is even possible.
Misha can't help it. He smiles at Jensen. “Good morning, neighbor-eeno. What can I do for you today?”
Jensen grins right back, and Misha might as well blink into the sun it's that bright. “Well, good morning to you, too, Flanders. You see, it's a beautiful Sunday morning, and I just wanted to make some Eggs Benedict - until I noticed that without eggs, that is a pretty stupid idea. So, I thought maybe you would be able to help me out with some?”
Jensen tilts his head, and oh, that is just not fair. Not that Misha ever considered telling him to fuck off during this conversation, but damn, those lips, and those deep green eyes are really, really distracting. And now he even notices that Jensen has freckles. Freckles, for crying out loud. Could the guy be any more perfect?
“Yeah, sure,” Misha finds himself nodding absently and heading for the kitchen. And only realizes halfway there that he didn't tell Jensen to wait at the door.
He never, ever, lets people into his house that are not Jared or tiny, yellow minions. A sudden rush of adrenaline makes him stop in the middle of the kitchen and listen for footsteps behind him.
Everything is quiet. Jensen is waiting at the door.
It hits Misha like a brick to the head that he actually wouldn't mind that much if Jensen came in. Still, that would seem weird, offering him to come in now. Misha sighs, opens the fridge to grab two eggs and walks back to the front door.
Jensen is leaning with his shoulder against the frame, hips tilted sideways, which makes his worn t-shirt ride up and show off some pretty delicious hip bone and the distinctive shape of trained abs. Misha has to swallow. Twice.
“There you go,” he says and notices the heavy, rough undercurrent in his voice. He offers his hand with the two eggs to Jensen, who reaches out and carefully takes them from Misha's palm. Their eyes lock, and Jensen has that flirty lopsided smirk on his lips that makes Misha's toes curl.
“Thanks,” Jensen says, his voice a bit raspy, too. Huh. “I'll replace them later, okay?”
Misha shakes his head and smiles. “You made me breakfast yesterday. I'd have to give you a few boxes of eggs in exchange so we would be even.”
This is rewarded with another wide grin and a chuckle from Jensen. Grinning right back and breaking the eye contact, Misha finds himself yet again studying the other man's face, noticing the laugh lines around his eyes and the fact that he has stubble today.
Dammit, he doesn't have the time to go and jerk off again. Not that he didn't already catch up on that particular need in the shower this morning, just to get through a day of watching Jensen via his button bug. That'd make three times in barely 24 hours. Feeling strangely ashamed, Misha looks down at the floor and nods.
“Uhm, so...” Jensen begins, which makes Misha look up and meet his eyes again. “I was wondering-”
“Oh, please don't tell me I need to cut back the apple tree, so it doesn't put your precious petunias into the shade,” Misha grins, and it more or less slipped out. He has a hard time not slapping his hand over his mouth.
Jensen's jaw drops. It takes him a moment of two, in which Misha carefully watches him, already forming an apology in his head - but eventually, Jensen responds with a smile and starts to laugh. A laugh that is so open and warm that it makes Misha's stomach flip. He definitely could get used to hearing Jensen's laughter.
“Look at you making jokes,” Jensen says, eyeing him from head to toe.
This time, the look to the floor is more for emphasis and conversational reasons. “Seriously? Well, believe it or not, but I have indeed got a sense of humor,” he answers. Misha feels quite out of his comfort zone. Then again, this could just be because of Jensen. The guy has that effect on him.
When their eyes meet again, Jensen's expression is barely readable. Misha can see interest sparking up in those green eyes, maybe a sense of mischief, but there's also self-effacement and apprehension. Like Jensen tries to hold himself back, is reluctant to let something shine through.
Misha almost jumps when Jensen clears his throat. “So, as I said... I was thinking you could come over tomorrow? Watch the game?” he asks, almost sounding a bit shy.
“Uhm, I- tomorrow is Monday, right? I mean... yes, football,” Misha stutters. What the hell? He mentally slaps himself and pulls himself back together before continuing. “Yeah, I'd like to,” he says quickly before he gets second thoughts about it. They will come around sooner or later anyway.
Jensen smiles brightly. “Alright, then I'll see you tomorrow at seven?”
“Sure,” is all Misha can manage at this point. He stares wordlessly as Jensen waves as a matter of saying goodbye and jumps down the few stairs of his patio. Jensen's ass in that very becoming pair of jeans is pretty distracting.
Misha swallows and quickly steps inside, closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Unfortunately for him, he completely forgot that Jared is in today. His lab assistant and best friend is leaning in the doorway to the kitchen and watching him with an amused smirk on his lips.
“Care to elaborate there, Misha?” he asks innocently.
“That was Jensen.”
“The Jensen? The new neighbor?”
Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Obviously.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Now it was Jared's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You just got invited to another human being's house - and yes, I'm emphasizing that because when was the last time that happened? - and you're practically blushing.”
“So?” Misha pipes up.
“Plus, you talked about nothing but Jensen yesterday. And the day before yesterday,” Jared reasons. “And this morning.”
Misha shrugs and tries to slip past Jared, but the guy is just too damn tall and manages to step in Misha's way far too easily.
“Spill,” Jared says, a grin tugging at his lips, but he couldn't sound more serious.
Sighing, Misha leans sideways against the wall of the hallway. “I don't know what you expect me to tell you.”
“What is going on here?” Jared replies in a worried tone. “Because I've known you for years, Misha, and I haven't ever seen you like that with another person. You're like... friendly, and nice, and joking and smiling. You're not even like that to me most of the time! Don't get me wrong, I'm your best friend, and god knows I don't want to flirt with you-”
“I wasn't flirting!” Misha is quick to defend himself, interrupting Jared's word vomit.
Jared's eyebrow raises again in disbelief. He takes a deep breath before he flails his arms into the air and looks awkwardly at everywhere around himself, just not into Misha's eyes as he answers. “'Uhm... no... Jensen, I mean... well... I would be... no, I would love to come over tomorrow!'” he mocks Misha's stuttering and finishes off with his hand entangled in a strand of his floppy brown hair, twirling it around his finger like a girl playing coy and staring at the floor with mock bashfulness.
In spite of himself, Misha begins to laugh loudly at that pretty overacted impersonation.
Jared, on the other hand, drops his hand and the charade in a split second. “Seriously, how is that not flirting?” he asks in his normal voice again, unfazed by Misha's laughter.
“It's not like I stuttered on purpose. I was surprised?” Misha offers with a grin.
Jared just smiles a bit sadly and turns around to head for the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“But don't think I'd give up on the Jensen subject just yet,” Jared says, pointing his index finger at Misha without even looking fully at him.
Misha sighs.
“No, don't-” Jared mock-sighs as well, “It's not like you couldn't use a bit of social contact, Misha. The only person you really talk to is me anyway.”
A barely audible whine interrupts them. Misha and Jared both look down to find one of the minions standing there, tugging at Jared's jeans. “Yeah, you guys count, too,” Jared says placably and reaches down to pat the minion's head. The little guy smiles and cheers instantly and hugs Jared's leg before he runs off with a delighted giggle.
“How did he escape from the lab? I locked the door,” Misha ponders out loud.
“He was upstairs, in the bathroom,” Jared says, a grin spreading on his lips.
Oh, no, Misha thinks. That grin. “What did he...?”
“Oh, nothing much. You might just wanna clean the bathroom and lock up your lube a little better next time,” Jared smirks. “That is, as soon as you buy a new bottle, because the last one is now empty.”
So he forgot the lube in the observation room. Great. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'll take care of that later. Can we do some planning in the lab now?”
“Yeah, why not. Speaking of planning: what are you going to wear tomorrow?” Jared asks and laughs, mischief lighting up his eyes as he ducks out of Misha's range of fire and jumps down the stairs to the lab.
“You are unbelievable, Jared!” Misha yells after him. “I'm talking about my big ass plan to take over world leadership and you-” he shakes his head and jumps after him.
Jared sits down on their small table and kicks a chair out for Misha. Then he even has the nerve to blink up innocently at him. “So, what were we talking about?”
Misha rolls his eyes. “I need a plan, a good one. To make Mystic J realize that I'm still alive and serious competition.”
“Right, okay,” says Jared. “Your midnight-blue button-down would be perfect. Brings out your eyes.”
“I could paint the White House pink or something like that,” Misha muses, having decided to ignore Jared until he gives up.
“-and dark jeans, definitely dark jeans. The pair that makes even me want to slap your ass.”
“Which would also be a great message for LGBT rights and all that, but then again-”
“And we should definitely work on your dating skills, you're rusty.”
“-I'd had to do it in all colors of the rainbow. That could be quite hard to manage.”
“Of course I'd have to take care your hair-”
“It would be hard to separate the colors in the dark. I'd have to work out a system so I don't mess the order up-”
“Can't let you stand there in front of Mr. Perfect stuttering and with your trademark bed head. How could you get laid like that?”
“For crying out loud! We. Are. Just. Watching. Football!” Misha finally snaps, his patience drained.
“Exactly!” Jared yells back and looks at him as if Misha just had the most obvious epiphany. “It's perfect to get to know him!”
“Jared, you know exactly that I can't! This-” Misha throws his arms in the air, gesturing at the lab around them and almost smacks a minion over that stands beside him. He quickly pats him on the head in silent apology. “- I can't let anyone in my life. You know how it ended last time.”
“Yeah, I know. And who says Jensen is like her?” Jared questions and Misha's posture falls. He knows that Jared is right, and that's the sad part.
When Misha is busy staring into space instead of answering, lost in his memories, Jared clears his throat, adding in a much softer and conciliatory voice, “Look, I'm just saying. Jensen seems like a decent guy. Why don't you give it a try? I mean, how long has it been for you?”
Misha responds with a snort and deliberately doesn't answer the question. “I don't even know if he's gay.”
“Only one way to find out,” Jared replies.
Misha still doesn't like that grin on his face. Because it makes his stomach tingle with something like hope. And no, he doesn't want to feel like that. It can only end in heartbreak and pain and that is the last thing Misha needs right now.
"And that would be?" he asks, trying to dub his conflicted feelings.
"You go on your date tomorrow-"
"It's football," Misha groans again, frustrated this time. He will refuse to concede that two men meeting to watch football is a date until the end of his days.
"Fine," Jared rolls his eyes. "You go over there to 'watch football'-", air quotation marks, "- tomorrow and you're gonna be as charming as ever. You already got him to tell you that he's single. There's not much of a stretch from that, right?"
"If you think so," Misha covers his eyes with one hand and rubs circles onto his temple.
Jared sighs and Misha can see from the corners of his eyes how his shoulders slump down. "You won't even consider giving it a try."
"Why would I?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
Misha drops his hand and their eyes lock over the table. The epic staring contest that ensues ends up with no real winner on one side or the other. It's interrupted by a minion - not the one Misha almost whacked across his head before, but actually one with two eyes - who tugs at his sleeve. "Mee-ma?" he asks, his mouth drawn down in an unhappy expression.
Misha eyes him confused. "I'm not your grandma," he teases with a lopsided smile, although he knows that it is the minions' manner to call him by his name. They can't pronounce it any better.
"Mee-ma?" the minion says again, more urgently as he pokes Misha's thigh with his other hand before turning around and pointing at the lab. At the test area of the lab, to be exact.
Misha rises instantly, knowing that there is something going on. His minion guides him to a table where a bunch of other minions are busy shuffling around, bouncing on and off the chairs around it.
"What's going on here, guys?" Misha asks, and a look over his shoulder tells him Jared is following him.
The minions giggle and scatter away from the table to hide in the depths of the lab as Misha approaches. When they're gone, Misha sees what they have been 'working' on before he interrupted them.
It's a bomb.
One of his newly developed bombs. The ones that have the impact of a smoke grenade, but the smoke they leave is pink and smells of fresh flowers and spreads a psychic drug in the system of the people inhaling it. It messes with their brain, just for a little while. And in the most hilarious way, to say the least. If there is one chemical out there that can turn people gay for a few hours, it's this one. Misha squirms a bit at the memory of two minions going at it in the test chamber. Even though they can't reproduce in the regular way, it's not really a pleasant thought.
The bomb is also painted.
In bright pink letters that still shine wetly, there's "J <3 M" written across it.
Misha facepalms.
"Wait until I get you!" he shouts in the direction of where the minions have vanished seconds ago, but there's not much venom in his voice.
Jared takes one look at the bomb and cracks up instantly, doubling over and laughing like crazy. He has tears in his eyes by the time he manages to cough, “Even the guys know it! Oh this is priceless!” and has to hold on to the table because he's shaking so much with laughter.
Misha grumbles, but in the end, there's a smirk on his face, too. Because the minions are hiding around the corner, carefully eyeing him and Jared and seemingly discussing the matter in their own babbling language. When they sense that he gives up and smiles gently at them, they cheer and make kissy faces at him, pointing sideways. In the direction of Jensen's house.
They're rooting for Misha.
It's just utterly endearing.
Misha sighs and looks at Jared, who stands beside him. His laughter has changed to a soft chuckle. “Well, then. I'll do it. But I have dibs on the 'I told you so' when it doesn't work.”
“If it doesn't work,” Jared says, before he breaks into another big grin, leaps forward and hugs Misha. “I don't have the feeling you'll regret this. Doesn't matter how it turns out. Trust me.”
Patting Jared's back awkwardly as his face is mushed against Jared's shoulder, Misha nods. And sighs again.
And smiles, eventually. He really hasn't been out for a long time. He's kind of looking forward to it.
Jared's friendly embrace feels good, but Misha can't help but think of green eyes and a freckled nose and spiky blonde hair instead of the brown floppy strands tickling his nose.
“So, can we get back to planning now?” Misha asks quietly as he leans backwards.
“Sure. Which plan first?” Jared nods as he lets go of Misha and subsequently returns to the table.
Misha follows him and flops down on his previous chair. “Let's get back to painting the White House pink.”
“That's barely a prank and you know it,” Jared eyes him carefully, his eyebrows raised.
Misha moans. “It's hard to come up with a good plan these days. Have you got a better idea?”
“Should it be a political statement?”
“I don't know. Anything without a political statement is a prank. So, yes.”
They sit there, both resting their chin in their hands and thinking for a few minutes. The room is eerily silent except for a few minions fighting over a banana in the back.
“Yeah, I got nothing,” Jared says after a while.
“Me neither,” Misha replies and rubs both hands over his face. It's not much of a surprise that they can't think of any plan. It's more like what they have to deal with on a daily basis, especially lately.
Misha feels like he's standing beside himself anyway. All he can think about is Jensen and the laugh lines around his green eyes and the freckles on his nose and that he has a date with him tomorrow. What he doesn't know is what to expect. Or what to hope, for that matter. If he should hope at all.
“I've got a name for our new bombs, though,” Jared grins.
“Yes?” Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Spill it, Padalecki.”
“The J&Ms.”
Misha throws a ball of wadded paper at his head.
Monday turns out to be one crazy day, even without having to watch Jensen all day. Because as opposed to Misha, he has a job.
Which means that Misha sees him leaving the house at 7 a.m. in a suit and tie. Sometimes, life is just not fair. And watching Jensen in a suit and not being able to touch is definitely not fair. The guy is just too good looking. Especially in a suit.
Misha tries to waste the day away with cleaning the house - well, mainly cleaning the bathroom, where everything is slick and covered in lube - putting a bit of the stuff that belongs to the lab back in the lab while keeping the minions at bay. Jared will come in at about lunchtime, and Misha sincerely hopes that he is done then. He also dusts off the morning star and sword in his living room, and vacuums the place. It's strange how much dirt the minions drag in on a daily basis, even though they're not even allowed outside the lab. They still manage to get into the house too often.
By the time Jared arrives, Misha is busy cooking stew.
The afternoon is spent on developing a new sub-basement rocket launcher - for the J&Ms, and yes, Misha decided to keep the name - and Jared even has the decency to not mention Misha's date every two seconds.
God knows it's all Misha can think about anyway.
Around five o'clock, a minion runs up to Misha and tugs at his hand. “Jen!” the little guy says urgently.
As it turns out, Jensen just returned from work, looking a little exhausted. Misha watches him through his button bug yet again, but the battery is already dangerously low. He might have to take another one of the bugs over to Jensen's that evening.
Jensen goes out for an after-work run then, clad in shorts and a white wifebeater, and Misha is back to his train of thought where life is not fair. When he returns half an hour later, sweaty and his short hair sticking to his forehead, Misha watches him from the kitchen window while leaning against the counter. He sighs deeply.
“Six o'clock,” Jared says from behind him. Misha didn't even hear him come in.
“Yes,” he replies absent-mindedly and watches Jensen jump up to his own patio.
“So, your - appointment - is in an hour-”
“Yes, Jared, you are finally allowed to make a fuss about it,” Misha agrees, unable to suppress a small smile. He can't exactly say that he didn't look forward to this point.
“Great!” Jared claps his hands together. “Then off you go. Take a shower!”
“I showered this morning,” Misha objects while tilting his head to the side.
“Sure, but you're going on a date, so get your ass into the bathroom,” Jared says pointedly but patiently, and adds, “Oh, and I need full access to your bedroom.”
Reluctantly, Misha hands him the key to his bedroom. Ever since the Great Lube Misuse Incident of 2012, he keeps it locked.
“Good,” Jared nods and shoos Misha upstairs and into the bathroom.
The short shower feels good and helps Misha relax a bit, which is more than necessary.
When he returns to his bedroom, he finds Jared with an outfit laid out for him on his bed.
“I think it'll fit perfectly,” he explains, “C'mon, try it on.”
With an incredulous look, Misha drops the towel he was using to cover himself and slips into his favorite orange boxer-briefs. The pants Jared selected are a pair of dark blue jeans that sit pretty tight. It's his neatest pair, and Misha knows how good he looks in them. The outfit is completed by an ocean blue button-down that, again, fits really tight. Misha could go out dressed like this, yet it still looks casual enough to pass as appropriate for watching football.
Misha feels good dressed like this.
“Now, we need to do something about your hair. Bathroom, now,” Jared orders and Misha gladly obeys. He doesn't care a lot about his hair styling these days, but Jared being the straight but long-haired guy here clearly does. Misha blow-dries his hair and watches in the mirror as Jared covers his hands in hair wax and runs them through his dark strands. When he is finished, Misha has to admit that his hair looks artfully mussed without seeming so intentionally.
“Thanks, Jared,” Misha says truly gratefully as they walk down the stairs and towards the main entrance. He exhales deeply.
“No problem. You ready?” Jared asks, patting his shoulder.
“No, not really, but - alrighty then," Misha huffs nervously and turns towards the door. "Almost seven o'clock, I think I can go over without seeming... I don't know."
Jared says nothing in return.
Misha suddenly turns back to Jared and frowns. "I can't go over there," he whines and feels pathetic and insecure and basically everything he doesn't want to feel like, because he's a supervillain, and supervillains don't get buck fever. Not from having a date anyway. Or watching football, whatever.
"Misha, don't make me give you another lecture."
Misha uses his puppy eyes. They have no effect on Jared. There is a reason why Jared is his best friend, in the end, because he could always call Misha's bullshit. Sighing, he drops his head to his chest in defeat and is speechless for a moment while Jared's arms wrap around his shoulders.
"C'mon, Mish, have some confidence. We've talked about this."
"It's just... I don't want to throw myself out there. It's like begging to get ripped to shreds. There are so many variables in this plan, it is doomed to fail from the beginning," Misha says quietly. “I don't know what to hope any more, you know.”
Jared just holds him close, his voice a deep, soft rumble that never fails to calm Misha down. "It will only fail if you don't give it a chance. And I still don't think it will. I mean, I saw you in the kitchen earlier. Don't think I didn't notice how you look at him and don't even try to bullshit me about it, okay?"
Misha rests his head at Jared's shoulder while carefully trying not to ruin his hair. He doesn't reply anything, and he knows that's answer enough for Jared.
"And don't think I didn't notice the way he looks at you," Jared adds silently, running his hand soothingly up and down Misha's back.
"What?" Misha snaps up, taken by surprise.
"Remember the camera you installed at the front door?"
"Yes...?"
"Remember that observation room you've got in the lab?"
"Did you-"
"Yup."
"I hate you, Jared."
"I know. Now go get him, tiger," and with that and a laugh, Jared grabs Misha's shoulders firmly and shoves him out of the door.
"If only," Misha mutters under his breath. He carefully straightens his shirt and saunters over to Jensen's house to push the button of the door bell.
"Misha!" he suddenly hears Jared shout from behind him. "You forgot something!" and he holds up a six-pack of beer.
After checking that Jensen isn't already standing behind the door, Misha quickly jumps back into his own garden, where Jared meets him half-way and hands over the six-pack. “Thanks, Jare. Again.”
"Don't mention it and have fun," says Jared with a wink and returns to the house.
Smiling slightly, Misha walks to Jensen's front door, where the other man already waits for him. "Hey," Jensen greets him with a wide grin before he nods towards Jared disappearing into Misha's house. "Who's Mr. Beer-Supplier over there?"
"That's Jared, my best friend. And occasionally my living memory mechanism," Misha chuckles. "And good afternoon to you too, Sir."
"Come on in," Jensen just says, still grinning, and steps aside to let Misha in.
Only then Misha realizes that not only had Jensen obviously had a shower as well - which might have been kind of necessary after the run anyway - but he also has done his hair. Not the usual, product-free or messed-up state that Misha is used to, and not the slicked-back style he had this morning when he went to work. Just actually groomed and spiky and hands-down incredibly hot. Jensen wears a Led Zeppelin bandshirt that is clearly well-worn and comfy and jeans, and pads bare-footed through the house. Misha refuses to think that he actually dressed up for the occasion, but there's this nagging voice in his head that constantly reminds him of Jensen's hair. Jensen's really nice, really tempting-to-run-your-hand-through-it hair.
Misha is doomed and he knows it, but he still manages to hand over the beer. Jensen is quick to place the bottles in the fridge.
"Is the game already on? Not that we missed the kick-off," Misha asks, just to have said something and not just stand there staring stupidly at Jensen. Which is a tempting activity for the evening, he has to admit. Pretty hard to resist.
"Nah. Game starts in about half an hour," Jensen replies reassuringly and hands a bottle of beer, an already cooled and opened one, to Misha.
"Which is your favorite team, by the way?" Misha asks innocently.
"I got two... the Mavericks and the Cowboys," Jensen grins.
"Well, then here's to the Mavericks winning tonight," Misha toasts and raises his bottle.
"That's basketball, dude," Jensen just grins some more.
"Oh," Misha swallows and tries hard not to curse.
Jensen still clinks his bottle against Misha's before he takes a swig of it. Misha quickly mirrors it, but his nerves get the better of him. "Listen, I don't really watch sports that much, so I'm sorry if-"
"Relax, it's fine," Jensen pats him on the back. “I still like to watch whatever game is on TV, doesn't need to be a game of my favorite team. I just tend to be a little louder when one of them is on.”
An awkward smile returns to Misha's face, but he still feels way off his game here. He can't really think of something to say in reply to that and is quite glad when Jensen is the one who breaks the silence.
"It's just a nice way to kick back after work, you know," he explains. "You up for some pizza?"
"Yes, of course," Misha nods. "Whatever you like. I eat pretty much anything, just FYI."
"Even anchovies and garlic and pepperoni?" Jensen shoots him a challenging look.
"Sure, why not," Misha shrugs, grinning.
"You have no idea what you got yourself into." And with that, Jensen turns to the living room, waves at Misha to wait in the kitchen. He can't make out what Jensen is ordering, but at least he can be sure it'll be interesting. When Jensen returns, there's a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Should I give you the tour?" he asks, gesturing around the house.
It's not like Misha hasn't seen the whole house through his button bug already, but he nods.
The house is clean, even now that he sees it with his own eyes. Jensen's stuff is neatly stacked away in tasteful, classy furniture that manages to be both handy and still lets the house seem lived-in. It feels warm and like a real home. There's a spacious, modern bathroom, which Jensen explains was renovated before he moved in. They make small talk, about the house, when it was built, what Jensen renovated in here and why he wanted to move here. Turns out, it's not only the neighborhood but mostly the cut of the house. Misha can't help but stare at Jensen's lips, the sinuous curve of them as they move, full and plush and so kissable that it almost hurts to hold himself back. He listens to the smooth rumble of Jensen's deep voice, loves the tone of it, the way he talks, the way just a barely noticeable smile alters his voice to something that feels rather like warm, golden honey.
Misha could do this all day. If Jensen's green eyes weren't watching him so intently all the time, that is. With that damn amused sparkle in them that makes Misha shudder pleasantly to his bones.
He has to take a deep breath when they reach the master bedroom, which sports a king-sized bed and a built-in wardrobe that covers the whole wall opposite the balcony. A balcony with a set of chairs and a table to sit outside, and the sudden picture of having breakfast out there at sunrise settles uncomfortably in Misha's brain.
He knows he can't have it, and yet he still yearns for it like he didn't for anything in a long time.
They say when you look at houses or flats, you have to imagine and ponder if your stuff would fit in there. Not just fit by having enough space to put it in there, but if you can see yourself there, living there, your furniture standing around there, your pictures covering the walls. And Misha can definitely see himself here - standing in the kitchen, making breakfast like Jensen did the day before yesterday, or sharing the shower with him in the morning - and that thought is just utterly scary.
The living room isn't equipped with a decorative morning star over the couch and Misha feels like his own would look great hanging there.
Not that he doesn't like his own place. He loves his own place, for that matter. But here, everything seems so normal and regular, mostly because of the lack of any minions TP-ing the couch table. Misha does miss the craziness a bit, though. He finds himself wondering what Jensen's personal bit of craziness in life might be.
If Jensen notices his glances and the frown on his face, he doesn't say anything. He just smiles that constant, warm smile at Misha that makes his stomach flutter.
Luckily, the living room is the last room of the tour, and Jensen flops down on the cushions with his beer in hand right when the game starts. Misha sits down beside him, tries to sit not too close and invade Jensen's personal space, but not too far away to seem awkward.
"I think you might have to explain a bit to me about football, because I seriously have no clue what the hell they're doing there," Misha smiles at him, emptying the beer bottle because the tour has cost him quite frankly a couple nerves and demanded plenty of alcohol.
"Okay," Jensen says, serious as can be, and points at the TV, "That right there was the kick-off."
Misha can still see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips and grins. "No shit, Sherlock."
Jensen chuckles. The sound still doesn't fail to amaze Misha with how soft and warm it is. Calmly, Jensen starts to explain the rules of the game and though Misha listens mostly, he ends up yet again focused on Jensen's lips.
Until the doorbell rings.
“Must be the pizza,” Jensen says and jumps to his feet. “Don't even dare to offer me money, I invited you,” he adds firmly on his way out of the room, apparently not having missed that Misha reached for the wallet in his pocket.
Misha sighs and gives in.
When Jensen returns and presents the pizza box to Misha, he screws his face up reflexively. “What the fuck did you make them put on that poor pizza?”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow at him, obviously surprised by Misha's choice of words. “Well, you said that you'd eat anything. Anything being anchovies, olives, onions, capers and pepperoni here.”
“I take this is your way of testing if I'm friend material?” Misha looks up questioningly and Jensen laughs at him. “Bring it.”
“You want another beer to wash that down?” Jensen asks after placing the box on the coffee table.
“Yes, please.”
Still smiling, Jensen leaves the room and gives Misha plenty of time to watch him stroll down the few feet to the kitchen, watch the languid sway of his hips - and damn, if the curve of Jensen's lips is sensuous, then the curve of his ass is downright dirty. Somehow Misha manages to keep a straight face during all of this and thanks Jensen when he returns with two fresh bottles of beer and two plates for their pizza.
The pizza smells far from delicious, but after the first bite of it, Misha moans appreciatively.
“Truth be told, it's better than I thought,” he admits and takes another large bite of it.
Jensen looks over, studies him for a moment, then slowly begins to grin. “Congrats, you passed.”
“The friend-material test?” Misha asks, locking eyes with Jensen and raising his eyebrow.
“Obviously. Because this is my favorite combination of pizza topping ever. And I've only ever got it in one single pizzeria in this town.”
Misha chuckles amused and resumes chewing. “I get that other people have failed before me, then?” he asks after a short beat.
Jensen nods absent-mindedly. “More like pretended that it was edible when they rather wanted to spit it out again instantly. You didn't look like that at all, and I noticed that usually people's acting skills leave them at the first bite into this pizza.”
“I like it, I do,” Misha says with a grin and helps himself to a second slice, which earns him an amused smile from Jensen.
They eat in silence, occasionally taking a sip from their beer, and the comfortable atmosphere remains thoroughly unbroken. Jensen throws in bits and pieces to explain some more football rules, and they clink their bottles to celebrate each touchdown.
It's not really the game that makes Misha relax so much, it's just the way they both lounge on the sofa, stretched out, Jensen's feet propped up on the coffee table, so comfortable in each other's presence. It's the way Jensen is with him right now, like a friend, nudging his shoulder every now and then to get Misha's attention and tell him something about the game. Misha feels ten kinds of weird because of it and tries desperately not to over-think this. Smirking at him, green eyes sparkling, Jensen sits beside Misha, arm lazily placed on top of the back rest.
If Misha over-thought this, he might as well wonder if Jensen is deliberately flirting or not.
He really tries not to think about it. When the football game goes into half-time, Jensen shoots Misha a short look. “Would you mind if I changed to the news?”
“Not at all,” Misha smiles. “I'd usually watch it myself at this time.”
Jensen nods in understanding and pushes the button on the remote. NBC has just begun with broadcasting the news.
The anchorman looks directly into the camera before he resumes reading the current message. “The state of New York has signed the law to legalize gay marriage this day. Subsequently, a group of opponents to the new legislation has gathered in front of the White House. Here is the live update from our reporter on location -”
Misha can't help but snort as the camera shows off a group of at least forty people standing at the gates of the White House, carefully watched by the Secret Service and some DC Metro policemen. They bear signs with messages like 'God hates fags' and 'Homosexuality is a crime', and those are just the milder examples, waving them through the air as they shout in unison at the White House.
“Ignorant assholes,” Jensen mutters into his non-existent beard.
“Yeah, seconded,” Misha adds, “Where the hell is the oh-so-great Kapt'n Kripke at events like this, huh? Just a damn homophobe like those guys there.”
“Word,” Jensen just says and holds his fist towards Misha.
Without hesitating for a single second, he curls his own fingers into a fist and bumps it.
The meaning of it all falls into place right then. “So you support gay marriage?” Misha asks tentatively, hope settling in the pit of his stomach, letting tingles run up his spine.
“'Course I do,” Jensen shrugs, “Doesn't mean I'd want to marry a woman or a man, but I'm all for treating everyone equally.”
Misha eyes him carefully, trying to find the words and the courage to ask. “It would be awesome to legalize it just to troll these guys,” he says instead and nods at the TV.
“Isn't trolling something different?” Jensen asks, one eyebrow rising towards his hairline. The sparks in his eyes are mesmerizing, suggesting something more behind the words.
“Well. Yes, I guess trolling would rather be stand up to them and kiss another man in front of them,” Misha admits, holding Jensen's gaze despite how intense his eyes shine by now.
“Would you?” Jensen replies quietly, daringly, after a short moment or two. His tone is careful, and Misha's heart jumps at the thought that he's testing the waters here as well.
“Kiss another guy? Sure,” Misha smiles lopsided and looks down into his lap. He can't stand Jensen's eyes right now. “In front of those people? Yes, if he agreed.”
“So you're saying...”
“- that I'm bi,” Misha finishes Jensen's sentence.
“Huh.”
“What 'huh'?”
“Me too,” Jensen replies nonchalantly. This time, Misha can no longer look away from him, his eyes drawn like a magnet to Jensen. The other man sits there and fidgets with a piece of fluff on his jeans-clad leg, and damn, a grown man shouldn't be allowed to look so fucking cute.
Misha doesn't answer. Any answer of any kind right then would seem weird and awkward and pathetic. Or worse - needy. So all he does is hold his fist towards Jensen like Jensen had done before.
When Jensen doesn't respond immediately, Misha wiggles it invitingly. “Bump it, you know you want to,” he almost sing-songs.
“Dunno, is there any code of gay-fistbumping involved that I don't know of?” Jensen teases, grinning. He looks almost smug.
“You could always hook your pinky into mine when we're done, but that's too gay even for me. Also, you might wanna rephrase that sentence,” Misha deadpans.
Jensen laughs, his voice again so smooth and pleasant to just listen to. Disturbingly enough, Misha could quickly get used to hearing that sound, even finds himself craving to hear it more often. When their fists connect and both of them subsequently spread their fingers to an exploding fistbump, they both begin to laugh again.
Jensen even hooks his pinky into Misha's then. Not without a daring smirk, though. No matter how hard it gets, Misha holds his gaze and doesn't let go. He waits for the moment to go by, but has no such luck.
Eventually, Jensen sighs while he lets go. “So, how was high school?” he asks and raises an eyebrow.
“Don't get me started on that,” Misha rolls his eyes. “They found out about it when I was a sophomore. Caught me in the closet with another guy. Literally. And the rest is history,” he shrugs and breaks the eye contact. Those are not really memories he likes to dig up. “And for you?”
“I was 'straight' back then,” Jensen says, complete with the air quotation marks, “No one questioned me when I went to the supply closet with some guy while I was openly dating the head cheerleader. It was her who outed me in my senior year, though, because she thought she could get some kind of revenge on me. Please, as if.”
“What did you do?”
“Let's just say, I made her regret it. I'm a bit of a prankster, to be honest. And I wouldn't let her ruin my prom, so I went there with the guy I was sleeping with at the time and believe me when I say I had more fun there than her,” Jensen grins.
“A prankster, huh?” Misha reciprocates the grin.
“Yeah, so?”
Misha sighs, his lips torn to a melancholy smile, “I could have used someone like you back then. Instead I just took all the insults. I even signed up for Appalachian clogging during PE so they wouldn’t have to go out of their way.”
“Appalachian clogging?” Jensen asks back, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “What even is that?”
“Promise, you don't wanna know,” Misha winks. “What can I say, it was high school and I was desperate.”
At that, Jensen throws his head back and bursts into laughter and all Misha can think about - between his own shaking fits - is the way his neck looks, so kissable with light stubble, and the way his lips are parted and the warm, soft rumble of his laughter floods the room.
Damn, Misha wants to kiss him senseless, and if it wasn't already abundantly clear how gone he was for this guy at this point, it is now. He has to take a deep breath before he can look into Jensen's moss-green eyes again.
They go on chatting and laughing throughout the rest of the game and only when the late night news gets broadcast with the same news as before, about the protests, Jensen pipes up. “Someone really should play a good prank on those guys. I mean seriously.”
“I've been waiting for someone to paint the White House pink for years,” Misha grins.
“Or in rainbow colors. Or paint something else in rainbow colors,” Jensen laughs, slapping his thigh.
“And then make out in front of it. With a same-sex partner, obviously.”
They fist-bump again before catching each other's eye and laughing. Misha can't remember the last time he had so much fun. But it feels weird, somehow. Just the day before yesterday, Misha watched the man he's currently hanging out and kicking back with masturbating and fingering himself on this very sofa. And jerked off to it, multiple times, because the picture was so damn hot. And Jensen, now that he has all the time to look at him, really look at him, is incredibly handsome. The fact that he's also incredibly nice and friendly makes Misha almost flush from embarrassment, because he's watched that private, intimate moment. Misha quickly drowns the uprising blush and his messed-up feelings with a few good gulps of his beer.
Later that night, after one more beer, Jensen walks Misha to the door.
And Misha all but trips over the words already laying on the tip of his tongue. 'I had so much fun tonight, wanna go on a second date?' But then again, he wasn't a girl and this wasn't a date and all of this was seriously messed up.
“So, you wanna see a real Mavericks game?” Jensen asks tentatively standing in the door frame, while Misha is busy slipping on his shoes in the hallway.
“Why not? When is the next one?” he returns the question.
“This Friday.”
Deciding to just go with his gut, Misha smiles and steps towards Jensen, looking him squarely in the eye. “Okay, then Friday it is. My place this time.”
“Thanks, I'll be there,” Jensen accepts with an enthusiastic nod. “Eight o'clock.”
“It's a date,” Misha grins, and suddenly the air between them is vibrating. It slipped out, it wasn't meant to be said - not like this, it's just a figure of speech. He didn't mean a date, of course he didn't. Still, there's Jensen, standing right in front of Misha, merely inches separating them. A blush is rising on Misha's cheeks and he feels like being in high school all over again.
It takes quite some self-restraint to not squeal or jump back when Jensen smiles even wider and reaches out to hug Misha. The feeling settling in his stomach is weird. Sudden affection hits Misha like a brick to the head, and he carefully angles his crotch away from Jensen, because damn - he can feel each muscle of Jensen's broad chest rippling under the fabric of his shirt, his trained biceps bulging the sleeve, Jensen's skin soft where he brushes Misha's. Without making a conscious decision, Misha wraps his arms around Jensen's neck, holds him close. It's a reflex, that's all. Or so Misha tells himself.
“Good night, Misha,” Jensen says quietly, and his voice is strangely low and raspy. He clears his throat immediately after finishing the sentence.
“Sleep tight,” Misha answers, squeezing Jensen one more time before letting go of his neck and leaning back from the hug.
With that ever-present warm smile, Jensen watches Misha hop down the stairs and leave for his own house. They share one last look and a quick wave before Misha slips through the doorway. His heart thunders in his chest at what feels like twice its usual rate and he feels completely off his game. Pleasantly aroused, yes, but totally thrown off balance.
He is greeted by a bunch of minions behind the door. They whisper to themselves, gesturing around and babbling. When Misha closes the door behind himself, they all turn to him, start to babble and make questioning noises.
“It was a nice date, and I didn't mess up,” Misha says, a bit proud.
The minions cheer and whistle loudly, some showing off a little victory dance. One of them in the front row raises his eyebrows and makes kissy noises.
“No, I didn't kiss him, Joe.”
“Awww,” Joe announces and lets his head drop onto his chest.
Misha sighs quite contently before ushering the minions back into the lab and heading upstairs. He needs a shower. And jerking off. Now.
"Mind if I join you?"
It's Tuesday afternoon. Jensen has just returned from work and is heading for a run. That is, until Misha jumped in his way and is now watching him with his head tilted sideways and a smile on his lips. He wears shorts, running shoes and a gray, worn AC/DC shirt that is hanging wide around his frame, but not failing to show off his slender figure. Jensen tries hard not to check him out that blatantly and probably fails miserably.
"No, not at all. But just to warn you, I usually run for at least half an hour, so-" Jensen manages, but is quickly interrupted.
"I may be out of shape, but half an hour I can do," Misha grins at him. Then he turns around to run down the sidewalk. "I used to run marathons, you know."
"You did?" Jensen finds himself gaping and falling into step beside his neighbor.
"Yes, I love running. I just... stopped, some time ago, I guess. It's hard to get your ass off the couch when you've got no motivation to."
Jensen shoots him a short glance, noticing the tense look on Misha's face. Yes, he thinks he can relate to what it's like. Being 'unemployed', or speaking in supervillain-manner, not finding anything to do, no prank to play, no epic heist, nothing of that ilk at all. Huffing out a short
chuckle, Jensen punches Misha's upper arm good-naturedly and not really hard. "Well, then it's time to get back to it, I'd say," he says lightly.
A smile returns to Misha's lips and he waves Jensen off to the side. "C'mon, I'll show you my favorite route."
While Jensen only had time to explore and scout around the neighborhood, running his laps around the block, Misha has lived here for years already and knows his way around. They make it through a beautiful park, even into a picturesque small forest area. The weather is perfectly sunny with a mild summer breeze and everything around him makes Jensen relax and breathe in the fresh, clean air. He is also very aware of the fact that a goofy grin seems to be glued to his face, but he's just unable to not smile. Truth of the matter is, he hasn't felt so free and well in some time, almost feels the tension physically ooze out of him, even if the image is quite gross. Also, there's Misha. Misha with his stupidly blue eyes, his plush lips hanging open and gasping for air as he runs beside Jensen, their elbows touching occasionally. Sweat is running down Misha's forehead, making his dark, short hair curl where it sticks to his skin.
Jensen's heart almost does that not-literal skip of a beat that has nothing to do with the exertion of running.
"Stretching break," Misha announces when they made it through the piece of forest and reach a small bench.
Misha hauls his foot up the back rest of the bench and begins his exercises, Jensen following suit. They help each other stretch the front of their thighs, holding onto each other's shoulder to keep the balance in mutual understanding. And if Jensen lets his hand rest on
Misha's shoulder a bit longer than is strictly necessary, well, then that's that. After a few minutes, they're done and return home to their peaceful suburb.
When they run back into their street, Jensen wonders for the first time in ages. Scratch that, he wishes. Wishes that this would be normal, that there wouldn't be a difficult and corrupted world out there that needed to be taught its lesson by a bunch of heroes and villains, that this was all they were... living a normal, quiet life in the suburbs and going for a run after work, Misha and him.
They walk the remaining couple hundred feet, calming their breathing and gulping in as much air as possible. When Jensen looks at the watch on his wrist, it turns out they were away for almost an hour. On some kind of silent agreement, they stop in front of Misha's place, and he obviously has a hard time finding the right words.
"'s that motivation enough for you?" Jensen offers to put him out of his misery.
"What do you- I mean, uhm..." Misha sucks in another deep breath, still not completely calm.
"Motivation to get your pretty little ass off the sofa," Jensen winks.
Misha gapes at him and tries to disguise it with still-catching-his-breath. Jensen almost believes it.
"Tomorrow, same time, same place. I'd be very disappointed if you don't show up," Jensen adds before he turns towards his house. "See you, Misha!"
He is only able to hear a muffled "Yeah, see you" from behind and grins quietly to himself. One might have called it smug, but - he just did get Misha to A.) come out of his shell a bit B.) make him stutter adorably and C.) manage to get him completely flustered. And damn if that isn't a good thing.
On Wednesday, they explore a different course that includes a bit more forest. Conversation flows nice and easy, about the world and their moms and everything in between. Turns out they aren't that different. Jensen had a weird day at work, and Misha laughs his ass off at his impersonation of arguing co-workers.
“I don't know if I can be there tomorrow,” Misha says once they returned to their houses. “I've got an important appointment in the afternoon and no idea how long it'll take.”
“Job interview?” Jensen asks back.
“Kinda,” Misha shrugs. “I don't wanna jinx it.”
“Sure,” Jensen nods and slaps Misha's shoulder encouragingly. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
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