Fic: Quicksilver (Jensen/Misha, NC-17)
Oh, 2010, I knew you had another fic in you!
Title: Quicksilver
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Entirely a product of my own imagination, alas.
Summary/Notes: Written for this prompt: Jensen has a nipple ring, and Misha likes it. Effectively. Total PWP.
Misha's got a mouth on him like mercury, quicksilver swift, and the trails it makes in the hollow of Jensen's throat feel as if they ought to burn, stand out afterward like brands. Jensen's short of breath, fingers groping blindly for purchase, and Misha laughs a little when they twist into the already-mussed thickness of his hair, skirting the edge of too hard.
"Not going anywhere," Misha says, soft burr of breath against Jensen's skin, and licks the words in afterwards, tongue making tiny kitten-swipes at the juncture of Jensen's neck and shoulder. "Want to see you, Jen." The hand on Jensen's shoulder slips lower, palming the smooth line of his collarbone, as if in demonstration: slides a little lower still, exploring.
The change in Misha's breathing when his thumb catches the hard little point of Jensen's nipple is almost comically abrupt, a hitch in the back of his throat that's almost voiced, some strangulated, cut-off moan. "Jesus Christ, Jensen! You're - fuckin' - "
"You like?" Jensen manages; loosens his fist and cards his fingers through Misha's hair, cradling the back of his skull.
Misha's fumbling at Jensen's t-shirt, both hands slipping up under it without preamble, tugging it upward. The moment it passes the middle of Jensen's chest, Jensen hears that sound again, the smoky, drawn-out whimper that signals Misha's wholehearted approval. "Christ," Misha says, strainedly, by way of answer. Slowly, he drags the pad of his thumb over the now-exposed nipple, fingernail catching at the tiny silver ring threaded through it. The gesture is tentative, but Misha's eyes are wide, their blue thinned to almost nothing around the spread of his pupils. Jensen feels his own breath quicken; angles his body up into the touch, like an animal seeking a caress.
"Jesus," Misha says; and then he's ducking his head, nudging at the ring with his lips, tongue coming out to curl around it gently where he's mouthing at it.
Jensen lets out a breath on a long, slow whine, and tightens his fingers again, tugging Misha closer. "You can go harder," he gets out; slides his free hand down the smooth length of Misha's arm, tangling their fingers together. "Had them a while; you can - fuck."
Misha's a quick study, always, and never more so than when he's fully invested in the subject at hand. Jensen's still struggling for words when Misha lays off the teasing nudges of his lips and envelops Jensen's nipple entirely, anchoring the ring between his teeth as he sucks. Fuck, it's good; shoots hot prickles of want right down into Jensen's dick, and he lets himself give into it entirely for a long moment, cradling Misha's head as he tugs and licks and teases.
When Misha pulls off, it's reluctantly; Jensen's in absolutely no doubt that he'd have gone on like that forever if he could have sucked and talked at the same time. Misha's breathing hard, cock straining against the fly of his jeans, and the flush in his cheeks leaves no question at all of just how into the whole fucking thing he is. But Misha's a talker; Jensen's known that about him right from the start; and right now, Misha clearly has something to say.
"You kinky little fucker." His thumb's back at Jensen's nipple, now, nudging at the ring, tracing little circles through the shiny-slick of his spit like he just can't keep from touching. "Do you have any fuckin' idea how insanely hot that thing is, Jensen?"
Misha's leaning up towards him, now, mouthing at the bolt of Jensen's jaw and shifting closer to him on the sofa. The next thing Jensen knows is the weight of Misha's thigh pressing against his own; and then the sudden flash-heat of Misha's cock rocking down into Jensen's as Misha straddles him. Jensen can't bite back the groan that rises up in his throat as Misha rolls down against him; doesn't even think to try.
"I'm gettin' an idea," he pants; lifts his pelvis up to meet Misha's, descending.
"Fuck," Misha hisses. He tugs at the ring a little harder; twists it sharply, brisk little flick of his wrist as he moves. "Between this and that fuckin' drawl, I think I'll be lucky if I don't embarrass myself." He bites his lip, flash of white teeth against pink, and Jensen feels his dick twitch at how hot it is, Misha losing his grasp on his controls like this.
"Who says you even could?" Misha's hips are shifting against his, but there's clearly some attempt being made on Misha's part to keep it cautious, keep it careful, and Jensen - fuck. Jensen doesn't want careful right now. He gropes for Misha's hips; holds him still and rocks up against him; leans up to lick at his mouth until Misha moans a little, pressing the kiss deeper.
Misha's fingers move reflexively at Jensen's nipple, tugging and twisting, flicking the ring back and forth and then pulling away to sketch circles, and it's driving Jensen fucking crazy. Above him, Misha's all hectic heat, licking little whimpers into Jensen's mouth as they rut together, and it's graceless and inelegant and it's exactly what Jensen wants. He's close, breathless, so turned on that his skin is tingling with it, and he snakes a hand between them, snapping open the button on his jeans and shoving down the zipper with the heel of his hand, just looking to relieve the pressure. Unzipping Misha is only the next logical step; pressing his fingers against warm skin and...hair...and...no underwear and hell, the flash of heat that goes through Jensen at that realisation is like a palpable scald.
"Oh, fuck," he grits out, and their lips have gone loose against each other, now, the kiss no longer anything but their hot breath on each other's slack mouths. "Fuck, Misha, you're killin' me."
"I'm killin' you?" The words are impressively coherent, given the way Misha's rutting against him now, the heat of his bare cock burning against Jensen's through the thin barrier of his damp undershorts. "Jensen - Christ - " and then Misha's shoving the shorts aside, cradling both their cocks in his hand, and that's it, that's as much as Jensen can take.
"Gonna," he pants, and then Misha pulls inexpertly at the nipple ring and Jensen fucking loses it, cries out into Misha's mouth as he shoots all over Misha's fingers. Misha's biting his lip on a juddering, deep-throated moan, still fucking furiously into his own fist through the slick of Jensen's come, but it's only ten seconds before he's seizing up tight, back arching as he spills over his hand and Jensen's cock and the sweat-sticky skin of their stomachs.
They come down laughing, Misha's forehead pressed to Jensen's shoulder for a moment before he recovers himself; remembers that he's heavy, or something, and rolls to the side with a groan.
"Fuck," Jensen says, legs splayed nonchalantly akimbo. He grins at Misha sidelong, head tipped way back against the sofa cushion. "Who was it you were just calling kinky, there?"
Misha's answering grin is lazy, half-acknowledgement, half-defiance. "You realise you're getting the other one pierced as soon as we can find a clean parlour, right?"
Jensen laughs a little, feeling heavy-lidded and languid and pleased. Misha's hand is loosely curled against his own stomach, their slick still clinging to his fingers, and Jensen reaches over; brings it to his lips and sucks two fingers casually into his mouth. Misha's eyes widen, mouth parting on a stunned laugh. Jensen raises an eyebrow as he releases Misha's fingers, clean.
"Soon as we find a clean parlour," he says, drawing Misha's fingers down until they rest on the unpierced nipple, glistening with his saliva. He circles them slowly until Misha gets the idea and takes over for him, rubbing gently until Jensen's nipple perks up, hardening, a promise. Later.
"You're gonna be the death of me," Misha says, sounding like a broken man.
Jensen just smirks. It seems to pretty much cover it.
****
Yeah, that's right, this is what I'm doing on Hogmanay. I'M SO COOL.
Title: Quicksilver
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Entirely a product of my own imagination, alas.
Summary/Notes: Written for this prompt: Jensen has a nipple ring, and Misha likes it. Effectively. Total PWP.
Misha's got a mouth on him like mercury, quicksilver swift, and the trails it makes in the hollow of Jensen's throat feel as if they ought to burn, stand out afterward like brands. Jensen's short of breath, fingers groping blindly for purchase, and Misha laughs a little when they twist into the already-mussed thickness of his hair, skirting the edge of too hard.
"Not going anywhere," Misha says, soft burr of breath against Jensen's skin, and licks the words in afterwards, tongue making tiny kitten-swipes at the juncture of Jensen's neck and shoulder. "Want to see you, Jen." The hand on Jensen's shoulder slips lower, palming the smooth line of his collarbone, as if in demonstration: slides a little lower still, exploring.
The change in Misha's breathing when his thumb catches the hard little point of Jensen's nipple is almost comically abrupt, a hitch in the back of his throat that's almost voiced, some strangulated, cut-off moan. "Jesus Christ, Jensen! You're - fuckin' - "
"You like?" Jensen manages; loosens his fist and cards his fingers through Misha's hair, cradling the back of his skull.
Misha's fumbling at Jensen's t-shirt, both hands slipping up under it without preamble, tugging it upward. The moment it passes the middle of Jensen's chest, Jensen hears that sound again, the smoky, drawn-out whimper that signals Misha's wholehearted approval. "Christ," Misha says, strainedly, by way of answer. Slowly, he drags the pad of his thumb over the now-exposed nipple, fingernail catching at the tiny silver ring threaded through it. The gesture is tentative, but Misha's eyes are wide, their blue thinned to almost nothing around the spread of his pupils. Jensen feels his own breath quicken; angles his body up into the touch, like an animal seeking a caress.
"Jesus," Misha says; and then he's ducking his head, nudging at the ring with his lips, tongue coming out to curl around it gently where he's mouthing at it.
Jensen lets out a breath on a long, slow whine, and tightens his fingers again, tugging Misha closer. "You can go harder," he gets out; slides his free hand down the smooth length of Misha's arm, tangling their fingers together. "Had them a while; you can - fuck."
Misha's a quick study, always, and never more so than when he's fully invested in the subject at hand. Jensen's still struggling for words when Misha lays off the teasing nudges of his lips and envelops Jensen's nipple entirely, anchoring the ring between his teeth as he sucks. Fuck, it's good; shoots hot prickles of want right down into Jensen's dick, and he lets himself give into it entirely for a long moment, cradling Misha's head as he tugs and licks and teases.
When Misha pulls off, it's reluctantly; Jensen's in absolutely no doubt that he'd have gone on like that forever if he could have sucked and talked at the same time. Misha's breathing hard, cock straining against the fly of his jeans, and the flush in his cheeks leaves no question at all of just how into the whole fucking thing he is. But Misha's a talker; Jensen's known that about him right from the start; and right now, Misha clearly has something to say.
"You kinky little fucker." His thumb's back at Jensen's nipple, now, nudging at the ring, tracing little circles through the shiny-slick of his spit like he just can't keep from touching. "Do you have any fuckin' idea how insanely hot that thing is, Jensen?"
Misha's leaning up towards him, now, mouthing at the bolt of Jensen's jaw and shifting closer to him on the sofa. The next thing Jensen knows is the weight of Misha's thigh pressing against his own; and then the sudden flash-heat of Misha's cock rocking down into Jensen's as Misha straddles him. Jensen can't bite back the groan that rises up in his throat as Misha rolls down against him; doesn't even think to try.
"I'm gettin' an idea," he pants; lifts his pelvis up to meet Misha's, descending.
"Fuck," Misha hisses. He tugs at the ring a little harder; twists it sharply, brisk little flick of his wrist as he moves. "Between this and that fuckin' drawl, I think I'll be lucky if I don't embarrass myself." He bites his lip, flash of white teeth against pink, and Jensen feels his dick twitch at how hot it is, Misha losing his grasp on his controls like this.
"Who says you even could?" Misha's hips are shifting against his, but there's clearly some attempt being made on Misha's part to keep it cautious, keep it careful, and Jensen - fuck. Jensen doesn't want careful right now. He gropes for Misha's hips; holds him still and rocks up against him; leans up to lick at his mouth until Misha moans a little, pressing the kiss deeper.
Misha's fingers move reflexively at Jensen's nipple, tugging and twisting, flicking the ring back and forth and then pulling away to sketch circles, and it's driving Jensen fucking crazy. Above him, Misha's all hectic heat, licking little whimpers into Jensen's mouth as they rut together, and it's graceless and inelegant and it's exactly what Jensen wants. He's close, breathless, so turned on that his skin is tingling with it, and he snakes a hand between them, snapping open the button on his jeans and shoving down the zipper with the heel of his hand, just looking to relieve the pressure. Unzipping Misha is only the next logical step; pressing his fingers against warm skin and...hair...and...no underwear and hell, the flash of heat that goes through Jensen at that realisation is like a palpable scald.
"Oh, fuck," he grits out, and their lips have gone loose against each other, now, the kiss no longer anything but their hot breath on each other's slack mouths. "Fuck, Misha, you're killin' me."
"I'm killin' you?" The words are impressively coherent, given the way Misha's rutting against him now, the heat of his bare cock burning against Jensen's through the thin barrier of his damp undershorts. "Jensen - Christ - " and then Misha's shoving the shorts aside, cradling both their cocks in his hand, and that's it, that's as much as Jensen can take.
"Gonna," he pants, and then Misha pulls inexpertly at the nipple ring and Jensen fucking loses it, cries out into Misha's mouth as he shoots all over Misha's fingers. Misha's biting his lip on a juddering, deep-throated moan, still fucking furiously into his own fist through the slick of Jensen's come, but it's only ten seconds before he's seizing up tight, back arching as he spills over his hand and Jensen's cock and the sweat-sticky skin of their stomachs.
They come down laughing, Misha's forehead pressed to Jensen's shoulder for a moment before he recovers himself; remembers that he's heavy, or something, and rolls to the side with a groan.
"Fuck," Jensen says, legs splayed nonchalantly akimbo. He grins at Misha sidelong, head tipped way back against the sofa cushion. "Who was it you were just calling kinky, there?"
Misha's answering grin is lazy, half-acknowledgement, half-defiance. "You realise you're getting the other one pierced as soon as we can find a clean parlour, right?"
Jensen laughs a little, feeling heavy-lidded and languid and pleased. Misha's hand is loosely curled against his own stomach, their slick still clinging to his fingers, and Jensen reaches over; brings it to his lips and sucks two fingers casually into his mouth. Misha's eyes widen, mouth parting on a stunned laugh. Jensen raises an eyebrow as he releases Misha's fingers, clean.
"Soon as we find a clean parlour," he says, drawing Misha's fingers down until they rest on the unpierced nipple, glistening with his saliva. He circles them slowly until Misha gets the idea and takes over for him, rubbing gently until Jensen's nipple perks up, hardening, a promise. Later.
"You're gonna be the death of me," Misha says, sounding like a broken man.
Jensen just smirks. It seems to pretty much cover it.
****
Yeah, that's right, this is what I'm doing on Hogmanay. I'M SO COOL.