Fic: Thrones, Dominations -- Part 2 (Jared/Misha, NC-17)

[obstinatrix]

One look at Ackles was quite sufficient to tell Misha he hadn't exactly come here willingly. His sullen expression was nothing new -- Misha had never seen him smile. Apparently, he didn't find the question of the stick insects remotely humorous. His posture, though, struggling and pinned between two of Misha's goons, marked a new height of uncooperativeness. Misha clicked his tongue in quiet disapproval at the sight, shaking his head as he crossed the room and took his seat on the glass chair.

"Jensen, Jensen." He crossed his legs tartly and proffered Ackles a smile. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Ackles's lip curled. "Gee, I don't know. It kind of seems like your idiot minions kidnapped me and won't get the fuck off me."

The man had spunk, if nothing else, Misha would give him that. Besides, he knew first hand that most of his flunkeys smelled rather unpleasant, and he didn't want Ackles too harried if they were going to negotiate. So he raised his eyebrow -- at the utterly unnecessary language -- but inclined his head in curt acknowledgement. "Indeed, there's no need for that. You're here, aren't you?" He clapped his hands. "All right, gentlemen."

Ackles staggered a little when he was released, eyes flying to the door as the goons retreated toward it, but Misha was quite prepared for that. "Let me slip you into something more comfortable, Mr Ackles. Jared?"

How Jared always knew exactly what was wanted, Misha still couldn't fathom, but then again, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. If it was a miracle, he was content not to question it. Jared, functioning in silent mode now without any word from Misha, wasted no time in crossing the room, circling Ackles until he was behind him. Ackles's expression shifted until it rather resembled that of a man locked into a panther's cage, as well it might. Misha watched approvingly as Jared took gentle, but firm hold of Ackles's wrists, twisting them behind his back and pinning them there in one massive hand. The other arm slid easily around Ackles's waist, hauling him backward until they were flush front to back, only the knot of their hands between them. Ackles looked like a deer in headlights, however hard he was trying to school his expression. That was enough to confirm for Misha that this had been a good plan of attack.

"What are you doing?" Ackles demanded after a moment, but his voice was a little thready and a lot uncertain. Misha rather enjoyed it. He wondered what Ackles was anticipating. Every possible option sounded amusing.

Misha leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Improving the atmosphere," he said idly. "So we can talk. That is why you're here, is it not, Mr Ackles?"

Ackles snorted. Damn, but he made a pretty picture, making such valiant efforts towards fieriness with his whole body immobilised against Jared's broad bare chest. Misha was so busy congratulating himself on having such pretty nemeses that he missed Ackles's response. "What was that?"

"I said, you tell me!" Ackles attempted to straighten his back in some futile show of dominance. It was all rather endearing. "Look, the show's over, all right? You want the insects, they only live on that island. I have bought the island, so now you can't have them. Why is it complicated?"

"Oh, you are sweet." Misha's mouth quirked. It wasn't quite a smile. "I do know that they're endangered, you know. I'd cultivate them, have a whole labful eventually. I'd be helping the species, not hurting it. I need those stick insects, Mr Ackles."

"They need to be in the wild," Ackles snapped, "where they belong! Not -- not bred as fodder for your stupid machine, or whatever."

Misha smiled briefly. "My stupid machine? My stupid machine that could end world hunger, save people? And you're more worried about a stick insect? Mr Ackles. I thought I was supposed to be the bad guy, here?"

Ackles flushed, mouth tightening, but he said nothing. Misha took it as a heartening sign. "Jensen. Can't we persuade you to do the right thing, here? It would be in your best interest." Glancing up, he caught Jared's eye over Ackles's shoulder, and Jared smiled, nodded just for Misha's eyes. His restraining hand, low on Ackles's stomach, splayed wide, fingers spreading until the tip of his pinky nudged at the waistband of Ackles's pants. His hips shifted, body crowding in closer, and Misha didn't miss the way Ackles tensed, mouth falling open in an unguarded second before his face closed over again.

"Seriously?" Oh, he sounded outraged now. That meant he'd been discomfited for sure, in more ways than one. "You think you can win me over with your whore?" His eyes burned bright green, furious and -- Misha suspected -- just a little aroused, which of course only exacerbated the fury. "You honestly think I'd abandon all my moral principles for a turn with your fucking rentboy?"

Jared was too well-practised to break character in the middle of things, but Misha didn't miss the way he arched an eyebrow, half-amused. Misha was amused, too, but not solely. Jared was not his whore. "Better men than you," he said curtly, "have done more for Jared, let me tell you." He folded his arms. "Besides, who ever said he was on offer?" He permitted himself a little smirk. "Jared is my boy, Mr Ackles."

Ackles's sullen expression was back in force. "It was implied," he snapped, "and it's rejected."

"Maybe we weren't implying what you think," Misha shot back coldly, unable to resist an easy toss. Jared, catching his drift immediately, tightened his fingers, pressed himself closer to Ackles, threatening. Ackles's frown deepened, but Misha caught his convulsive swallow, the tremor in his shoulders that -- intriguingly -- might have meant several things.

"You're not going to rape me into submission," he said bluntly. "That's not your style. Don't try and bluff it."

Misha lifted a shoulder airily. "And you won't take an inducement?" His eyes flickered pointedly up toward Jared. "I can see your -- interest -- Mr Ackles."

"You're an asshole," Jensen retorted, and once again, Misha found himself at least admiring his spark, even if it was more than a little ill-advised.

"So it's been said," Misha conceded. "Well, it's a pity. You would have looked rather lovely together. Might have made a good video for my collection. Still, if you won't, you won't. We have other options." He sat back in his chair, clicked his fingers. "Jared, sweetheart. Come here."

Jared relinquished his charge slowly, but he crossed the room without sparing him a second glance. His long spine was ramrod straight, soldierly, and he settled himself on the arm of Misha's chair with catlike grace, long legs dangling. Misha's eyes were firm on Jensen's as he raised one hand, tangled it in the soft hair at the nape of Jared's neck. "Jensen didn't mean it," he soothed. "Did you, Jensen?"

Ackles's face tightened, but he hadn't moved, and that was something. Perhaps the visual aid of a half-naked Jared was doing more good than Misha had dared hope. Misha crooked his fingers, waiting for Jared to push back against his hand like an animal wanting to be petted. Ackles's eyes, unmistakably, followed the shift of Jared's head, the way his chin lifted, long throat stretching. Misha quirked his mouth. "Jensen?"

Ackles sighed. "Look," he demanded, impatient, but newly diplomatic, "what do you want from me, huh? What do I have to do to be rid of you for good?"

This was new. This was helpful. Misha spread his hands. "Mr Ackles. I believe we have discussed this. I would only need, you know, a mating pair of the stick insects and then I could produce more, the potential would be there. Once we had enough to risk it, I could even have Speight attempt to assess the exact composition of the insects and work out whether or not we could replicate it artificially."

Ackles frowned again. It was all becoming rather boring. "That's still animal testing. It's cruelty. This is one of the most endangered species in the world, Collins, in case you didn't know."

"I was aware," Misha put in smoothly. "After all, my situation would be an awful lot simpler if that weren't the case, would it not?" He pushed a hand slowly through Jared's hair, tugging it gently and enjoying the way Ackles's eyes followed the movement before he looked away.

"What makes you think it's the Lord Howe Island Stick Insect that you're missing, anyway?" Ackles demanded.

It seemed a fair enough question. Misha lifted one shoulder affably. "Speight's computer told me so." He smiled. "Speight's computer is infallible, Mr Ackles. Ask me how."

Ackles smiled faintly. "How?"

"Because," Misha said, "Speight is infallible, that's how. He designed my machine. He designed the computer to calculate all the needs of the machine. He is a genius." He laughed. "And, besides -- we didn't take his word for it at first. Believe me, we have tried everything else. The LHI stick insect is it."

Ackles hesitated. He was contemplating it, Misha could see it in his face, the cogs working behind his eyes. If Ackles was known to have helped in the finalisation of such a humanitarian invention, he would be famous. He would be known worldwide as a great patron and benefactor, a generous philanthropist. Moreover, he surely knew how Misha would spin it, now, if he refused to comply. Ackles would be the man who thought the stick insect more important than the starving child, the insane animal rights activist of the human-hating, grave-desecrating sort. And that would do nobody any good at all.

He waited. He could feel Jared waiting, too, the deepening of his breaths in the long body pressed to his side. He could see in Ackles's face when it came time for a countdown: three -- two --

"If I gave you a mating pair," Ackles began.

Misha was always right about countdowns. "Yes?"

Ackles sighed. Misha could see in his face that he was hating himself with every breath he took, but that wasn't Misha's concern. Misha's concern right now was to keep him breathing and in this room long enough to get the okay that would save him a lot of unnecessary strife. Eventually, Ackles crossed his arms and said, "Could experiments be done without injuring the insects?"

Misha held a small mental party. "Mr Ackles, Dr Speight is a genius. He can do anything."

"I'd find out about it, if you were lying to me," Ackles cautioned slowly. "No newspaper in the world would be safe from me."

"But of course." He crossed his arms, fighting down the triumphal thump of his heart until he was sure of this, certain that it could be viable. "How would you get the pair to me?" He smiled gently. "You couldn't go yourself, obviously. I'm not that stupid."

Ackles's eyelid twitched. So he had been considering that as a last-ditch attempt, then, to get out of this alive and without relinquishing a thing. Still, it was a no-go, he had to know that now. Jared lifted his head, studied Ackles in silence, and Misha took a moment to delight in the way Ackles swallowed, shifted slightly, uncomfortable again.

"Of course," Ackles said, after a moment. Misha was relieved all over again to hear that he was going to be sensible about this. After all, the alternatives were few, and all of them rather unattractive. "I would call Kane. He'd bring them. I'd wait here. He'd give you the pair, you'd verify, and then you'd hand me over." He paused, and added stonily, "And my contribution would be acknowledged. If I'm going to do this, I'm not going to do it for nothing. I don't have to do it at all, Collins."

"You do," Misha corrected softly.

Ackles sighed, rolled his eyes. "I do, or I wouldn't be doing it. But still -- terms."

"Terms," Misha nodded. "That's fine. You can call Kane now, can't you? My men left you your cellphone?"

They had. Jared slid an arm around Misha's neck, rested his temple against Misha's hair while Ackles made the call, eyes on them the whole time while Misha watched him steadily back. When he clicked the phone shut, his hand was shaking. Misha couldn't tell if it was from anger, or anxiety, or relief, but it was done. The exchange was watertight, especially when one had as much experience as Misha did. All they had to do now was wait until Kane arrived with the insects, hand them over to Speight for testing. There would be more waiting after that, of course, but no more obstacles. Misha had waited for this day for some time.

He felt it warranted some celebration.

"Jensen," he said -- "mind if I call you Jensen?"

"Can I stop you?"

Misha laughed. "I guess not, but it seemed polite to ask, after what you're doing for me."

"Not for you," Jensen put in, low. Misha shrugged.

"For me, for Jared, for your own reputation, for the world. Put it however you like, Jensen. It all comes down to the same thing."

Exhilaration beat steadily below Misha's jaw, tripping heat up and down his spine. He held Jensen's eyes as he leaned up slowly, opened his mouth against the bolt of Jared's jaw, eliciting a tiny, voiceless sound. Jensen swallowed, fists clenching at his sides. "Oh? And what's that?"

Misha laughed. "Well, success, of course. The machine will run. Lives will be saved!" And Misha would be the richest man on earth, but Misha didn't think Mr Ackles would welcome a reminder of that at this juncture. "Now, Jensen, I imagine you will be here a couple of days. As you are now our valued guest, I want you to be comfortable." His hand curled around the nape of Jared's neck. "I am going to take Jared upstairs. If you like, you can join us. I don't give him away, and he isn't for sale, but I might be -- how shall I put this? Induced to share. As a reward, of course."

He hadn't expected Ackles to accept, of course, but still, the look of self-righteous disgust on his pretty face was rather rewarding. "No," he said, "thank you."

Misha shrugged elaborately. "Whatever you say, Jensen. You're missing out, of course, but I hear you were brought up very religiously." He snapped his fingers in the direction of the door, and like clockwork, it opened, revealing a two-man security detail. "Your own safe room it is, then. I look forward to seeing you when your friend arrives with my stick insects. There are books, a television, so on. You're not a prisoner."

Clearly, Ackles was on the verge of making some quip before he noticed Jared's focused gaze on him again and shrank back under it, rage subsiding. "No," he said, grumpily. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Mr Ackles," Misha said, and slipped an arm around Jared's waist as they stood. "I hope you have a very pleasant stay."



"Shame he wouldn't join us," Misha said. "Don't you think?"

"In theory, maybe," Jared said, rolling his shoulders, "but not in practice, really, no."

"Possessive little bitch," Misha accused, delighted. Jared shrugged.

"That, and it cramps my style to have someone else watching, man. It's embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" Misha knee-walked up the bed, knees braced either side of Jared's hips. "What do you have to be embarrassed about? Come on, baby, he wanted you bad."

Jared snorted. "Yeah, but if he'd seen the way I get, he'd have thought I was a freak, and you know it."

"You'd rather he thought you were a looming silent sidekick than a pretty boy who wears stilettos for me when I ask him to?"

"There is so much wrong with you," Jared said, "that you can't see why that makes perfect sense, Jesus." His voice was fond, though, under the snark, and Misha couldn't help but curl his fingers around the base of Jared's throat to feel it vibrating under his skin, the gentle thrumming as he spoke.

"Never said I was normal." His hand tightened a little, barely perceptibly at first, and then a little more, a little more, until Jared was lifting his hips in a slow cant, head tipping back, mouth falling open. "Okay, baby?"

Just like that, Jared was fully hard; Misha could see the outline of it straining against the inseam of his jeans. God. He loved how easy Jared was; loved the way he inhaled all tight and shivery when Misha loosened his grip, let him breathe again.

"Nnngh," Jared managed, voice gone rough with restraint. "Yeah."

Misha laughed a little, couldn't help it. Jared was flushed, the pink of it running deep into his chest, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, flashing green and gold. Misha flattened hands to his chest, palmed his nipples, smoothed a path over the taut lines of his abs to the waistband of his jeans. "Anyway," he said, conversationally, "I really don't get what you'd have to be embarrassed about. Whatever special things you get off on, you wouldn't be the only one." He popped Jared's button deftly, drew the zipper down. "Should've seen his face, Jared, when you had him pinned. Thought he was being subtle, but it was just the way you look when you're bolted to the headboard with your ankles in the spreader." Jared's dick was pushing up, insistent, against the inside of his wrist, and Misha rubbed the heel of his hand down it, let the precome smear on his forearm. "You like that, don't you, baby?"

Ordinarily, Jared was a very articulate person, even if their employees -- and enemies -- never got to see it. Jared could talk for all America if he had to, and he'd win. But when Misha talked him up like this, rubbed the inside of his wrist up and down his shaft and told him exactly what his place was, Jared got lost somewhere in it, went to ground in a hinterland of cut-off whimpers and animal sounds. "Fuck, Misha," was about the best he could manage, pulsing his hips up so the open jeans shimmied down over the spurs of them. "Yeah. Yeah."

"Yeah?" Misha could feel his own dick shoving out the seam of his pants, but that wasn't the important thing right now -- not when Jared was like this, shifting on the mattress, teething fretfully at his lower lip. His hips moved in frenetic figure-eights that made Misha want to spread him wide and eat him out, and, hell, Misha called the shots in this relationship. He caught hold of the waistband of Jared's jeans; dragged them down over his hips, down his long thighs. Jared lifted up, body bowing off the bed obligingly, and Misha went with it, used the momentum to haul the skin-tight denim down the rest of the way, over Jared's long feet and onto the floor. Jared was bare underneath, the massive length of him golden-tan and naked against white sheets, and Misha had to take a moment to breathe, to gather his wits. "Okay," he managed, after a long second, and brought his palm down hard against the outside of Jared's thigh. "Turn around for me, sweetheart. Up on your hands and knees."

Jared moved instantly, obediently, and that fact alone was enough to make Misha twitch in his shorts, pulse going jagged in his dick at the sight of this man, this big, gorgeous man so entirely pliant at his demand. Fuck, but he liked this; liked the way Jared looked with his head dipped low between his shoulders, hair spilling down onto the pillow, balls and dick heavy between his legs. Jared's ass was made for this, tight and pert and pushed up catlike and wanton, and Misha couldn't resist a smack with a flat of his hand, hard enough to leave a raised imprint. Jared shuddered, cried out, and that was hot enough that Misha wanted more of it; smacked him backhanded on the other cheek and then swung back again to layer a second hit over the first of the three.

"Misha," Jared groaned, arching his back like an alleycat, "God, Misha, please."

"I got you," Misha murmured, voice breaking under the surge of lust that twisted in his belly like a knife. "Ssssh, baby. I got you."

He leaned in slow, licked at the base of Jared's tailbone, licked lower. Jared pushed his hips up, deepening the curvature of his spine, and Misha took him up on the unspoken invitation, spreading his thighs wider with his palms, nosing down the cleft until he could tongue at the tight little pucker of his hole. God. He loved doing this; loved lapping at it with flat, broad strokes until it opened for him, until Jared opened and let him fuck his tongue inside. He loved the way Jared arched his back and whimpered; loved the hot little sounds that spilled out of him at every pass of Misha's tongue, fuck.

"Misha," Jared ground out, "please, God, please."

God, yeah, Misha was pretty much convinced that this here was the most fun he could have with his clothes on. The fact that Jared was naked under his mouth, sweating finely under his hands, had no bearing on the situation at all. He curled his tongue, worked it now in slow circles, now quick curlicues, loving the way his blood pounded to the sound of Jared's broken little cries. Jared could never take much of this; by the time he'd loosened enough for Misha to force his way inside of him, he was face-to-palms on the bed, thighs shaking, sweat licking the divots at the base of his spine. The whole room smelled of sex, Jared's cock hard and drooling a little slick place onto the sheets underneath him, and, fuck, Misha could taste it when he spread Jared wider, worked his tongue in to the base and sucked wet and shallow at his rim.

"Misha!" Jared's whole body heaved, bucked, ass thrust backward against Misha's face, and that was the best thing about Jared, really, out of all the good things: how noisy and certain-sure he was when he wanted something, how goddamn gratifyingly desperate. Misha's dick ached, blurting precome just at the wanton sound of it, the way Jared's back arched upward, trying to get more of Misha's tongue inside of him. It was too intoxicating not to just go with it, and Misha found himself moaning, too, as he drooled spitslick into Jared's hole, brought two fingers up in a scramble to shove inside and spat down into the vee of them.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, so turned on that the husky sound of his own voice skipped a wave of pleasure down his spine, something alien and hot and good. "Gonna fuck you good, fuck you so hard, you want that?" He torqued his fingers, found Jared's prostate and rubbed roughly over it; pulled out and fucked back in. "You want that, baby boy?"

"God, yeah." Jared was sunken almost entirely onto his forearms, now, ass thrust up, shifting reflexively. Later, maybe, he'd be shamed by this, embarrassed, but now there was only the driving, thundering want, and that was all Misha needed. Some perverse part of Jared, he knew, enjoyed even the shame, loved the way Misha crooned sweetheart and babydoll and baby boy even while he hated it, and the tug of war was fucking delicious to watch. Misha wanted more, breath coming fast for lack of it. With his free hand, he snapped open the fly of his suit trousers, tugged his boxers down to snag beneath his balls, swollen with sex. After that, it was only an arm's stretch to the lube handily placed on the bedside table; only a moment's work to drizzle a string of it between his fingers and into Jared's body. It was cold, and Jared convulsed at the sensation, but that was all right; Misha could take care of that. Ten seconds from now, Misha was going to be inside him, and no part of either one of them would be cold then.

Fuck, but he was aching. Adrenaline and the way Jared looked spread out like this, the wet pinkness of his hole and the knowledge that Misha was going to stretch that out, get all of himself in there --- shit. Every impulse in his body screamed in in in in in, but Jared liked a tease, so he rubbed the slick head of his dick in a slow circle against Jared's hole before he shoved inside, careful, letting him swallow the widest part. One hand slid through the sweat at the small of Jared's back, up to his spine, the nape of his neck. He curled his fingers in the thick of Jared's hair and tugged, hard enough to force an arch of his long throat.

"Fffffff --" Air hissed sharp through Jared's front teeth, and Misha bit back a gasping laugh of relief as he pushed in slow, watching the way Jared opened to accommodate him, how easily he took him in.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, hand retreating to rub slow circles on the smooth outside of Jared's thigh, the taut rise of his ass. "So good for me, aren't you, so fucking -- " and he pulled back, snapped sharply back in so that Jared cried out and shuddered.

"Nnngh," Jared ground out, new string of precome slipping wetly down from the exposed head of his cock, and Misha curled his hand around and under him, palming his flat stomach, cradling the base of his dick -- almost, but not quite, close enough to where he wanted it.

"Yeah," he breathed, drawing out the word as he ground his hips into Jared's ass, the sticky, smeary wetness there catching at his balls. The pull, the breathless clench of Jared's muscles on his dick as he thrust in and out of him was incredible, tight and fiercely good, and it was like a drug, something he couldn't give up if he wanted to. He was in charge, he was amazing; he was going to be the king of the world, and he'd take Jared with him, do whatever he wanted with him and Jared would let him.

God. The thought made Misha's blood fizz in his veins, juddering, and his thrusts began to speed until the smacks of contact were audible, their bodies pressed together hip to sternum when Misha fucked in. Jared was his, owned, and when Misha angled one knee and began thrusting in mercilessly against Jared's prostate, there was no question about it, just Jared moaning weakly against the back of his hand as he jerked his hips and shivered.

"That good, baby?" Misha spat, dizzy and reckless with want as he pounded into Jared's heat. His fingers slipped, curled around Jared's shaft, thumb slipping over the wet head. "That good, Jay? Gonna come, come for me, come just like that, Jesus --"

"Misha, fuck," Jared yelled into the mattress, and then he was tensing up, hips fucking shallowly as he came all over the bedspread, all over Misha's knuckles. The wet heat of it was a shock on the back of his hand, smearing against the fine skin of his wrist, and it was enough to make him groan his own noises against Jared's back, hips snapping frenetically as he thrust in, stilled and came.

"Shit," he managed, fingers still clenched in the meat of Jared's thigh. His pulse raced furiously in his jaw, in the depths of his chest. "God, Jared. So fucking good for me, sweetheart."

Jared, spreadeagled beneath him, was beyond speech. He didn't show any sign of wanting to move, and that, for now, was fine with Misha, the hot clutch of Jared's ass comforting on Misha's softening dick, coaxing out the aftershocks. Eventually, though, this would become uncomfortable. Misha was well enough aware of that to push himself up on his elbows after a minute or so; to pull out and watch Jared's hole gape wetly in his wake. Come sluiced out after him in a sticky white gush, and Misha dragged his fingers through it thoughtfully as Jared shifted and breathed, coming back to himself.

"God, baby," Misha said, breathless. "I love you when you're like this, all for me. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, you know that?"

"Mmmm," Jared murmured, soft. Misha couldn't be sure if he was even listening. Sex tended to knock Jared for six, leave him panting and spaced-out and dazed. That was okay, as far as Misha was concerned. That was just Jared, his beautiful, pliant boy, and maybe Jared didn't want anyone else to see him like this, but Misha couldn't think why not. Jared was lovely this way, so fucked out and dizzied and gorgeous, so perfect. Misha wanted everyone to see him, to crave him and know he was nothing they could have. That was Misha's greatest joy in life, after all: the having of things that other people wanted, secure in the knowledge that he could never be ousted from his position of privilege.

Soon enough, Misha would be the richest man on God's green earth. Ackles was missing out, not seeing this; not seeing the way Jared yielded for Misha, like his body knew just what Misha was -- as if it knew it was accepting its new god, the lord of things to come.

The thought made Misha's blood sing pleasantly, scudding hot through his veins. Perhaps all Ackles needed was to calm down; it was plausible. Perhaps, in the morning, when Kane still had not arrived, he would change his mind, and join them, and see.

In the meantime, Misha had Jared, his shallow little post-coital noises and the way his body felt, so long against Misha's front.

Sure, so it was eleven o'clock in the morning. The joy of being the incumbent overlord of the world was that nobody could tell Misha when not to take a nap.

Jared, beneath him, was half passed out already, breath coming shallowly. Misha curled an arm around his waist, smoothed a palm up his side. Tomorrow, perhaps, Kane would come with the stick insects, start them off on a new adventure. Tomorrow, perhaps, would be the first day of a new era of existence.

It was going to be a busy day. Misha didn't think anyone could fault him for getting in some shut-eye in preparation.

"Sleep tight, baby," he murmured against the flat of Jared's shoulderblade.

Jared lifted one shoulder, a soft sound catching on its way out of his throat. He was already mostly asleep, by the sound of it, fucked-out and exhausted. Misha couldn't find a way to fault him.

He closed his eyes, pressed his face to the sweaty curve of Jared's back. Tomorrow, if things went right, Misha Collins would rule the world. All things considered, he thought he deserved a good preparatory sleep.



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