Fic: All The Conspirators (Jensen/Misha, uh, via Jared/Misha)
All my fics about these guys are the same. OH WELL. I think this is just about long enough to get its own entry, even though most of the people likely to care have already seen it at the comm.
Title: All The Conspirators
Rating: PG-13?
Words: ~1100
Disclaimer: Liiiiiiiiiiiiiies.
Summary/Notes: For hils's prompt here: 'Jensen dares Misha to make out with Jared for a joke. He is surprised by how jealous he gets when Misha goes through with it.' With extra added pre-game conspiring. Totally pointless self-indulgence.
Additional Notes: Bonus points for anyone who knows the derivation of the title. ;) Oh, and I was drunk when I wrote this, so, uhhhh.
The moment the words are out of Jensen's mouth, he wants to take them back. The thing about Misha is that, where anyone else would merely cock an eyebrow and at least try to weasel their way out of an off-the-cuff dare with a "Really?" Misha scorns and skips that step, barrelling boldly onward without question. If Jensen had said "Hey, I dare you to down that bottle of shampoo - you know, the one that smells like coffee?" they'd probably be en route to the ER by now. If he'd said, "Hey, Misha - go kiss Jared's dog!" they'd probably be side-eying Misha for signs of rabies.
So, it really shouldn't surprise Jensen at all that Misha's hands are already in Jared's hair, 0.2 seconds after Jensen's done daring them to make out.
The thing is, the two of them are as bad as each other, and frankly, this is something Jensen sometimes forgets. It's like - it shouldn't actually be possible for him to have ended up caught between two such extravagant personalities, and sometimes there's a small part of his brain that blocks it out, pretends it isn't true. And then, blissfully caught up in this false sense of security and adulthood, he says dumb shit like, "Hey, Misha, I dare you to make out with Jared," and expects to get the eyebrow.
And what he gets instead is a smirk from Misha, and answering laugh, low and pleased, from Jared. And then he wants to shoot himself in the face.
It wouldn't be so bad if they treated it like any other couple of straight guys, gunning it on a dare so as not to wind up labelled as pussies. No, Jensen's problem with it is the stupid intensity of it all, the way Misha's fingers fist in Jared's ridiculous amounts of hair, tugging him close, holding his eyes. Jensen's problem with it is the way their mouths fit together, soft and slow, at first, easy - almost like they've done shit like this before.
Not that Jensen gives a fuck if they have. At all. That really isn't the issue, here.
The issue is that it just isn't appropriate, when all it was is a dare and Misha's got his tongue in Jared's mouth, licking slick and slow. It isn't, you know, what Jensen meant, for Jared to bring up his hands like that, his fucking massive hands, and cradle Misha's face, cupping his jaw while they lick at each other's lips. It's overkill, is what it is; and when Jared makes that sound in the back of his throat - when Misha echoes it, and tightens his fingers in Jared's hair - Jensen knows it's time to call uncle.
"Okay," Jensen says, voice a little clipped, fingers drumming a tattoo on his thigh. "Okay, guys, I get it. You're amazing."
He falls silent for a moment, expecting something like triumph, a fistpump from Jared. When all he gets is a satisfied hmm, ground out of the back of Misha's throat as Jared sucks at his lower lip, Jensen's more than a little nonplussed.
"Okay," he repeats, slowly, like he's conversing with idiots. "Come on, guys. I get it. Dare completed. Let's move on, okay?"
"Mmmm," Jared says, almost like he's expressing agreement. Problem is, his mouth is still on Misha's, his hands still bracketing Misha's face. Misha's lashes are downcast against his cheekbones, fingers tangled in Jared's hair, and shit, Jensen doesn't have to put up with this crap.
"Jared, Jesus!" His hand is moving entirely of its own accord, shoving at Jared's shoulder, at the base of his neck. "C'mon, man. Misha's fuckin' wasted; I think you can quit."
The look on Jared's face when he pulls back is less than ideal. He's smirking, pointedly, unmistakably, his eyes crinkled up in amusement.
"D'we get him?" Misha asks, and Jared laughs; rakes his fingers through Jensen's hair.
"Think we did," he says, all slow drawl and satisfaction, and fuck, Jensen doesn't need this, not now; doesn't need to be ganged up on.
"I hate you," he mutters, in the general direction of both of them.
When they laugh, it's pretty obvious that both of them are laughing at Jensen.
"Hey, Jen," Misha purrs, "Dare you to kiss Jared."
"I'm not gonna kiss Jared," Jensen snaps, impulsively. "He's like my brother, jeez."
They both laugh at that, not unkindly. Jensen isn't sure how to take it.
"Fine," Jared says. "Jensen, I dare you to kiss Misha."
The pause that follows is entirely - entirely - of Jensen's making. Misha's poised and ready, eyes laughing, mouth damp and parted to be kissed. When Jensen moves forward, unthinking, he's met in the middle, Misha's thumbs at his temples, Jared's hand supportive at the small of his back.
"Yeah," Jared breathes, breath warm on Jensen's face as his lips touch Misha's. "Told you," he goes on, and Misha laughs, soft puff of it into Jensen's mouth.
So they planned this, Jensen thinks. Fuck. Nothing in this world is sacred.
He'd be a helluva lot more agitated if it weren't for the way Misha's licking into his mouth, combing his fingers through Jensen's hair.
He'd be a helluva lot more agitated, if this weren't exactly what he's wanted for months upon months.
"Hmmmm," Misha pants, and it's acknowledgement, gratitude and want and approval.
Jared's hand is in Jensen's hair as they kiss, but he can't bring himself to mind.
Alcohol, he tells himself firmly, is a viable excuse for anything.
Next thing he knows, Misha's wiping his brain, and after that, no excuses are needed.
Title: All The Conspirators
Rating: PG-13?
Words: ~1100
Disclaimer: Liiiiiiiiiiiiiies.
Summary/Notes: For hils's prompt here: 'Jensen dares Misha to make out with Jared for a joke. He is surprised by how jealous he gets when Misha goes through with it.' With extra added pre-game conspiring. Totally pointless self-indulgence.
Additional Notes: Bonus points for anyone who knows the derivation of the title. ;) Oh, and I was drunk when I wrote this, so, uhhhh.
The moment the words are out of Jensen's mouth, he wants to take them back. The thing about Misha is that, where anyone else would merely cock an eyebrow and at least try to weasel their way out of an off-the-cuff dare with a "Really?" Misha scorns and skips that step, barrelling boldly onward without question. If Jensen had said "Hey, I dare you to down that bottle of shampoo - you know, the one that smells like coffee?" they'd probably be en route to the ER by now. If he'd said, "Hey, Misha - go kiss Jared's dog!" they'd probably be side-eying Misha for signs of rabies.
So, it really shouldn't surprise Jensen at all that Misha's hands are already in Jared's hair, 0.2 seconds after Jensen's done daring them to make out.
The thing is, the two of them are as bad as each other, and frankly, this is something Jensen sometimes forgets. It's like - it shouldn't actually be possible for him to have ended up caught between two such extravagant personalities, and sometimes there's a small part of his brain that blocks it out, pretends it isn't true. And then, blissfully caught up in this false sense of security and adulthood, he says dumb shit like, "Hey, Misha, I dare you to make out with Jared," and expects to get the eyebrow.
And what he gets instead is a smirk from Misha, and answering laugh, low and pleased, from Jared. And then he wants to shoot himself in the face.
It wouldn't be so bad if they treated it like any other couple of straight guys, gunning it on a dare so as not to wind up labelled as pussies. No, Jensen's problem with it is the stupid intensity of it all, the way Misha's fingers fist in Jared's ridiculous amounts of hair, tugging him close, holding his eyes. Jensen's problem with it is the way their mouths fit together, soft and slow, at first, easy - almost like they've done shit like this before.
Not that Jensen gives a fuck if they have. At all. That really isn't the issue, here.
The issue is that it just isn't appropriate, when all it was is a dare and Misha's got his tongue in Jared's mouth, licking slick and slow. It isn't, you know, what Jensen meant, for Jared to bring up his hands like that, his fucking massive hands, and cradle Misha's face, cupping his jaw while they lick at each other's lips. It's overkill, is what it is; and when Jared makes that sound in the back of his throat - when Misha echoes it, and tightens his fingers in Jared's hair - Jensen knows it's time to call uncle.
"Okay," Jensen says, voice a little clipped, fingers drumming a tattoo on his thigh. "Okay, guys, I get it. You're amazing."
He falls silent for a moment, expecting something like triumph, a fistpump from Jared. When all he gets is a satisfied hmm, ground out of the back of Misha's throat as Jared sucks at his lower lip, Jensen's more than a little nonplussed.
"Okay," he repeats, slowly, like he's conversing with idiots. "Come on, guys. I get it. Dare completed. Let's move on, okay?"
"Mmmm," Jared says, almost like he's expressing agreement. Problem is, his mouth is still on Misha's, his hands still bracketing Misha's face. Misha's lashes are downcast against his cheekbones, fingers tangled in Jared's hair, and shit, Jensen doesn't have to put up with this crap.
"Jared, Jesus!" His hand is moving entirely of its own accord, shoving at Jared's shoulder, at the base of his neck. "C'mon, man. Misha's fuckin' wasted; I think you can quit."
The look on Jared's face when he pulls back is less than ideal. He's smirking, pointedly, unmistakably, his eyes crinkled up in amusement.
"D'we get him?" Misha asks, and Jared laughs; rakes his fingers through Jensen's hair.
"Think we did," he says, all slow drawl and satisfaction, and fuck, Jensen doesn't need this, not now; doesn't need to be ganged up on.
"I hate you," he mutters, in the general direction of both of them.
When they laugh, it's pretty obvious that both of them are laughing at Jensen.
"Hey, Jen," Misha purrs, "Dare you to kiss Jared."
"I'm not gonna kiss Jared," Jensen snaps, impulsively. "He's like my brother, jeez."
They both laugh at that, not unkindly. Jensen isn't sure how to take it.
"Fine," Jared says. "Jensen, I dare you to kiss Misha."
The pause that follows is entirely - entirely - of Jensen's making. Misha's poised and ready, eyes laughing, mouth damp and parted to be kissed. When Jensen moves forward, unthinking, he's met in the middle, Misha's thumbs at his temples, Jared's hand supportive at the small of his back.
"Yeah," Jared breathes, breath warm on Jensen's face as his lips touch Misha's. "Told you," he goes on, and Misha laughs, soft puff of it into Jensen's mouth.
So they planned this, Jensen thinks. Fuck. Nothing in this world is sacred.
He'd be a helluva lot more agitated if it weren't for the way Misha's licking into his mouth, combing his fingers through Jensen's hair.
He'd be a helluva lot more agitated, if this weren't exactly what he's wanted for months upon months.
"Hmmmm," Misha pants, and it's acknowledgement, gratitude and want and approval.
Jared's hand is in Jensen's hair as they kiss, but he can't bring himself to mind.
Alcohol, he tells himself firmly, is a viable excuse for anything.
Next thing he knows, Misha's wiping his brain, and after that, no excuses are needed.