fic: Leathers
Title: Leathers
Author: Puchuupoet
Word Count: ~3400
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Summary: All Jensen wants is a drink after work. He's not expecting to find Misha playing dress-up in his closet.
Notes: Massive thanks to thunder_nari for the beta and for fixing my drunken punctuation ♥
The weather was horrible, even by Vancouver standards, and Jensen was miserable. Soaking wet and chilled, tonight’s shoot had gone on longer than planned, stretching out to a 16 hour day. A lot of that had been waiting around for resets and different cameras to be set up, but Jensen’s body ached nonetheless.
Being in Dean’s headspace for that long wasn’t helping him either, especially as they were gearing up for the finale.
All Jensen wanted now was to get to his trailer, strip out of Dean’s wet clothes and collapse. He doesn’t even care about making it home tonight. He has the next few days off, which means he can worry about getting home tomorrow. Or whenever the hell he wakes up.
Right now though, as he clumps up the steps to his trailer, boots thick with mud, there’s a bed and a bottle calling out for some attention, and he is more than ready to oblige. Jared would just look at him if he found out Jensen’s plans, give him a friendly reminder about character bleed and that just cause it’s Dean’s coping method doesn’t make it a good one. But Jared left an hour earlier, Gen dropping by the set to pick him up, and well, fuck Jared’s reminder.
Jensen’s heart sinks a little as he steps into the warm trailer. Misha’s jacket is tossed over the arm of the couch, his shoes and socks in a muddy pile by the door.
He hadn’t even known Misha was on set today, thought he had finished up all his scenes the previous day and had taken advantage of the time off.
Jensen locks the door behind him, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone barging in, telling him about a last minute re-do or rewritten scene. He does his best to toe his boots off, leaving a muddy splatter when one decides to fling itself against the wall. His socks are damp too, and he peels them off and tosses them next to Misha’s on the floor in a frustrated huff.
The hem of his jeans are cold around his ankles, and he makes his way to the kitchenette next, Misha's clothing immediately slipping from his exhausted mind. There’s a bottle of Jack stashed away somewhere, and Jensen pulls out a glass after he digs out the bottle. He doesn’t bother with ice cubes, knows he’s going to be downing it before the liquid loses its chill.
Jensen leans against the counter, ignoring the cold chill of his clothes as he feels the alcohol spread through his body. His eyes are closed, breath deep as he tries not to fall asleep standing up.
“Hey there. Thought I heard you come home.” The voice is sudden, making Jensen start awake, even though he could swear he wasn’t sleeping. He opens his eyes to find Misha’s head poking around the door frame to the bedroom, hair mussed and a soft smile gracing his face.
“What are you even doing here?” Jensen can hear the exasperation in his voice, but he’s too tired, too cold to care right now. It was supposed to be him, bed and Jack, and all he can see is Misha standing in his way.
“Wanted to see how you were doing.” Misha's reply is simple, his smile soft, and suddenly Jensen’s the one feeling like a jackass. “Knew that this was an intense day and wanted to stop by.”
Jensen steps forward, ready to apologize for being short, for being tired and cold and flat out exhausted. But then Misha's licking his lips with a certain look in his eyes, and Jensen recognizes that gleam, knows that something’s up, and he pauses.
“Wanted to see how you were doing,” Misha repeats, voice soft. “But then I got distracted by certain things hidden away in your closet.” He raises an eyebrow at Jensen with that statement, as if Jensen’s supposed to know what he means. More of Misha is showing now, a bare arm leading up to a bare shoulder, and Jensen wonders exactly how much exposed Misha skin is being hidden away behind the doorway.
“What’d you find back there?” He doesn’t know why he’s encouraging this, when what he should be doing is guiding Misha out, turning his phone off and going to bed.
“Something... new.” Misha pauses, and sounds almost convincingly confused. “Could have sworn this is from a photo shoot you did, but I know I would have remembered seeing you in it.”
Jensen’s ready to make some smartass remark about Misha following his career a little too closely, until Misha steps out into the room. His legs are clad in loose leather, the chaps clinging tighter to Misha’s limbs the further up they go. Jensen’s mouth goes dry when his gaze reaches Misha’s thighs, the leather cut away to expose pale skin and Misha’s cock, semi-hard against his thigh.
“So I guess you don’t recognize them either?” Misha’s voice cuts through the silence, makes Jensen realize that he’s staring, and he looks up to find a grin curling over Misha’s face. He had forgotten about these chaps, a gag gift from a friend, if he’s remembering correctly. Not quite sure what they’re doing in his trailer, but right now, he’s not complaining.
“Never had a chance to see them like this.” Jensen’s voice catches in his throat, and he sucks down the rest of his drink, setting the glass down with too much force, the sharp noise echoing in the trailer. His other hand grips at the counter, trying to keep his balance between Misha and the liquor and exhaustion.
Misha notices as well, stepping completely out of the shadows towards Jensen. “Jesus, are you okay?”
Jensen blinks and suddenly Misha’s gone from the door way to right there, personal space and all. “Long day, you know. Just tired.” Understatement of the goddamn year, he thinks, and tries not to let himself lean towards Misha. Too much.
“Let me, then.” Misha’s voice is soft, still has that underlying predatory purr to it though, and Jensen allows himself to be pried from the counter and led towards the bedroom.
He’s about to fall into bed when Misha’s hands catch him, propping him up against the wall. “I’m not letting you fuck up the bed like this,” Misha murmurs, fingers fumbling with the buttons on Jensen’s flannel shirt.
Misha makes quick work of it, pulling Jensen away from the wall long enough to shove the shirt off his shoulders. There’s the undershirt next, damp and stuck to Jensen’s skin, and he swears Misha takes gleeful pleasure in stripping it off of him.
Jensen’s shirtless now, and while the bedroom’s warm, he still shivers from the chill creeping up his spine.
“Almost done now,” Misha reassures, and drops to his knees, eyes bright and wide as he watches Jensen, fingers busy with his fly. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”
Getting sick is the last thing on Jensen’s mind right now, completely distracted by how Misha’s able to strip the clothes off of him without touching anything vital, and Jensen’s aching to just shift forward, press his boxers against Misha’s cheek and see what happens next.
Jensen doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Misha’s fingers curl around the hem of his jeans and tug, and suddenly all the air inside Jensen is rushing out in a hard whoosh. There’s goose bumps on his thighs, which end up disappearing just as quickly as they appeared as Misha’s warm breath huffs over the exposed skin.
Jensen tries to bite back a groan as Misha’s hand grasps one of his legs, fingers skimming over his skin until they’re at Jensen’s ankle, lifting up so that Misha can pull the damp jeans off. He repeats the action on Jensen’s other leg, tossing the jeans off to the side.
There’s a heavy pause in the air as Jensen waits for Misha to let go of his ankle, to let him go back and grab his drink and fall into bed. But Misha doesn’t move, and when Jensen risks a glance down at Misha’s face, he finds Misha staring up at him.
Misha doesn’t say anything as he starts to move, both hands on Jensen now, following the lines of Jensen’s legs until Misha’s fingertips are tracing the hem where Jensen’s boxers cling to his skin. Jensen hadn’t realized the rain had soaked him so deeply, but he had been cold and practically numb down to his core for the past several hours, so it wasn’t too surprising.
He can feel Misha’s fingers though, practically burning against him as they trace along his skin, dipping underneath the fabric every time Jensen sucks in a shuddering breath.
“Misha...” Jensen trails off, not sure what exactly it is he’s asking for, begging for, really. His hands are itching to tangle in Misha’s hair, to cement himself with something real and warm and there. All he knows is that he’s still cold, not as drunk as he had hoped, and Misha’s crouched in front of him in a curious article of clothing.
Misha stands, not quite pressing close to Jensen. Jensen can feel the heat radiating off of Misha, the way the scent of the leather curls and blends with what Jensen immediately knows as Misha. The liquor’s starting to really hit his head now, hard and unrelenting, the way he had hoped it would, and Jensen can feel some of the tension leave his body.
The room is silent, and Jensen knows that there are some things Misha doesn’t push. He hadn’t thought that this would be one of them, the give and take that’s been between them since the day Misha strutted on to set, but Jensen’s pleased. He clears his throat, making sure that Misha’s eyes are on him.
“So, what made you think I could be so easily seduced by a pair of chaps?”
Misha just grins at him, cheshire cat and content. “Because they aren’t just chaps.” He slowly turns around in front of Jensen, looking back at him over his shoulder. “They’re assless chaps.”
Jensen has just enough time to take in the soft curve of Misha’s ass contrasted against the mahogany leather before Misha’s moving backwards, pressing up against Jensen.
Jensen smiles as he feels a shudder run through Misha, cold boxers pressing against Misha’s skin. Jensen’s hands instinctively grab on to Misha's waist, fingers skimming over the leather until they pass by the cool metal of the buckle and press hard against the smooth skin of Misha’s belly. Jensen keeps going, his mouth dropping to Misha’s shoulder, sucking a mark there as his fingers tentatively push further down, past coarse curls until they reach the base of Misha’s cock.
Misha groans, hips hitching back as he grinds against Jensen. His hands reach back, grasping at Jensen’s thighs as Misha tries to pull him closer.
“You’re still wearing too much,” Misha manages to groan out, futilely tugging at Jensen’s boxers. Jensen grins and wraps his fingers around Misha's dick, and he softly whimpers at how eagerly Misha thrusts against his grip.
“And you’re in my way,” Jensen shoots back, allowing himself to slump back against the wall. He wasn’t expecting this, not tonight, not when he was this tired, this cold and exhausted and out of it. He wanted to be ready for Misha, for the charm and the grin and the unexpected. Not that he’s planning on turning tonight down, not at all.
Misha twists at Jensen’s words, spinning around so that he’s facing him, eyes dark and full of promise. He fucking slithers down Jensen, mouth hot and wet, sliding from Jensen’s chest down to his hips. Misha focuses on Jensen’s hipbone, marking it purple as his fingers grasp Jensen’s boxers and pull, dragging them down to Jensen’s ankles.
“Step up,” Misha growls, and Jensen does so, one two as he lifts his feet and finally feels the dampness sliding away from him. He’s caught in limbo now, warming up and floating, all in his head, really, but Misha’s there, promising more, promising the physical, and that’s all that matters now.
Misha stands, pressing close and Jensen stutters out a moan when their cocks touch. Misha takes them both in hand, his fingers barely wrapping around them both, and starts to stroke; steady sure movements that quickly leave them both gasping for more.
Jensen knows he’s getting in over his head when Misha starts sucking bruises onto his collarbone and all Jensen can do is hold on, fingers finally reaching and grasping at Misha; too hard, too rough as his nails scrape Misha’s sides, but Misha whimpers at the touch, leans into it, and just encourages Jensen on.
“Bed,” Jensen manages to get out, and Misha just hums against his skin in response, getting one last nip in before he’s moving back, dragging Jensen along with him. Slow steps until Misha’s suddenly falling backwards and dragging Jensen down on top of him.
“You sure about this?” Misha’s voice murmurs against Jensen’s neck, his hands pausing and lightly grasping Jensen’s waist. “Don’t want to be just one of your conquests.”
Jensen can feel the way Misha smiles against his neck, can feel the underlying tremble that runs through Misha’s body, uncertain and exposed.
“Completely,” and Jensen’s never felt more sure about anything before in his life. He rolls his hips, his dick pressing into Misha’s thigh, against the smooth cut of leather and Jensen can feel the tension finally lift when Misha grins in response.
Jensen leans down to kiss Misha, rough and slick. He reaches down to Misha’s cock, all light touches as he thumbs over the head, fingertips tracing down the shaft to tease Misha’s balls.
“Lower,” Misha pulls away long enough to gasp out, his hips rolling up against Jensen.
Jensen’s fingers go lower, brushing against soft skin until he reaches a slick residue. Jensen leans back to look at Misha, trying not to grin. “How long have you been waiting here?”
Misha just arches up into Jensen’s touch, a whine escaping from his throat. “Long enough to get myself close a couple of times” he purrs out, and a shiver runs through Jensen’s body.
Jensen ducks down to press a rough kiss on Misha’s mouth before wriggling downwards, mouthing and nipping at Misha’s chest as he moves lower. He pauses when he reaches the leather belt of the chaps, the metal buckle cool against his cheek.
The scent is familiar, leather and Misha and dampness as Jensen presses his face closer and inhales. He sticks his tongue out, tracing along the smooth edge of leather, leaving a slick trail over Misha’s hipbone as Misha shivers underneath him, hips jerking up and Misha’s cock grazes Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen grins at the movement, ignores Misha’s dick to sweep his tongue lower, down the soft inside of Misha’s thigh until there’s no more room to move.
“Scoot up,” Jensen gets out, and Misha shifts his body up the bed, spreads his legs as far as he can as he braces his feet on the comforter. Misha rolls his hips up in a fluid motion, his hands grasping and twisting in the comforter, begging for Jensen's touch. The movement opens up him, spreads him out in front of Jensen, and a thrill runs down Jensen’s spine.
Jensen keeps licking, pressing closer until he starts to taste the lube. He wants to glare at Misha, to ask him what the hell he was thinking, strawberry-flavored? But he’s so close and aching, and he can feel the way Misha’s starting to tremble against him.
Jensen’s soft at first, swipe of his tongue around Misha’s rim before pressing in deeper, and he groans in response when he hears Misha whimper, feels it vibrate through Misha’s body.
He reaches up to wrap his fingers around Misha’s cock, slow strokes as Jensen feels Misha thrust into his hand. His own cock is aching, demanding to be touched.
Jensen pulls back, grinning at the way Misha whimpers and wriggles his ass for more. “How ready are you?”
“Jesus, Jensen, just fuck me already,” Misha’s smiling as he says it, but his eyes are dark and hungry.
Jensen leans back in response, eyes coasting over Misha’s body. “Hands and knees then.”
Misha scrambles to get over, leather slick against the comforter as he tries to get into place and keep his balance. He looks back at Jensen over his shoulder before dropping down, ass high and exposed in the air, framed by the dark brown chaps.
Jensen wedges himself in between Misha’s legs, his hand moving over his cock, slicking himself up. He reaches up with his other hand, grasping onto the back of the chaps as he pulls Misha closer, guiding him down as he lines them both up.
When the head of his cock presses against Misha’s ass, Jensen reaches up for the chaps with his other hand, fingers curling around the leather to tug Misha down. Jensen does his best to stay still, to drag this out as best he can. When Misha starts to push down, Jensen pulls back, holds Misha in place by the chaps and is rewarded with a throaty whimper a moment later.
Jensen waits, lets his fingers brush over the curve of Misha’s ass before grasping at the leather again. He blames this all on the whiskey, the smooth slow roll of his mind, wanting to drag this out. He’s still dead-tired if he lets himself think about it; won’t though, can’t really, the way Misha’s hips are starting to jerk as he does his best not to move.
Jensen takes pity on him, finally dragging Misha down by the leather until Jensen’s fully inside him. “Please...” Misha whines, and Jensen can see the way Misha’s knuckles are white, grabbing at the pillows now, completely spread out before Jensen.
Jensen starts moving, thrusting into Misha with force. He slides his hands between the chaps and Misha’s hips, grasping at his hips bones. It’s a tight fit, seeing how tight Misha had been wearing them in the first place, but it’s worth it when Jensen slams into Misha and forces a groan from him.
Jensen knows he’s not going to last long, and he can already feel his body tightening up, the familiar curl low in his belly that seems to spark whenever Misha’s around and pressing close. Misha seems to sense it too, the way he’s pushing back, tightening around Jensen’s cock until it’s too much, too overwhelming and all Jensen can do is hold on, clinging to flesh and leather as his orgasm overtakes him.
Misha’s trying hard not to wriggle underneath him when Jensen leans over him, pressing kisses up Misha’s spine as his hand slips from Misha’s waist to his cock, hard and leaking precome.
“You’ve been waiting for this all night.” Jensen’s words come out more as a statement than a question, whispering into Misha’s ear. He doesn’t wait for an answer, fingertips brushing over Misha’s sac before jerking him off. That’s all it takes, several firm strokes, a sharp kiss to Misha’s neck before Misha’s coming undone beneath him, shaking and jerking as he fucks into Jensen's hand, coming in streaks on the comforter.
When Misha stills, Jensen drags them both down, rolling them over on to their sides away from the mess. Misha’s chest is heaving, skin damp and the chaps have gone from seductive to ungainly and heavy.
Jensen unbuckles the chaps, slow movements pulling the strap of leather free before he’s able to strip them off of Misha. He manages to stand, legs still weak as he drops the chaps in a pile at the foot of the bed.
Jensen pads out to the front of the trailer, double checking the lock before turning out the lights in the kitchen. He does a double take at the bottle of Jack and his empty glass, staring at it until he hears Misha mumbling at him from the bedroom.
“Be right there,” he answers automatically before sticking the bottle back in the cupboard. Misha’s more than enough for him right now, and Jensen makes his way back to bed with a grin on his face.
Author: Puchuupoet
Word Count: ~3400
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Summary: All Jensen wants is a drink after work. He's not expecting to find Misha playing dress-up in his closet.
Notes: Massive thanks to thunder_nari for the beta and for fixing my drunken punctuation ♥
The weather was horrible, even by Vancouver standards, and Jensen was miserable. Soaking wet and chilled, tonight’s shoot had gone on longer than planned, stretching out to a 16 hour day. A lot of that had been waiting around for resets and different cameras to be set up, but Jensen’s body ached nonetheless.
Being in Dean’s headspace for that long wasn’t helping him either, especially as they were gearing up for the finale.
All Jensen wanted now was to get to his trailer, strip out of Dean’s wet clothes and collapse. He doesn’t even care about making it home tonight. He has the next few days off, which means he can worry about getting home tomorrow. Or whenever the hell he wakes up.
Right now though, as he clumps up the steps to his trailer, boots thick with mud, there’s a bed and a bottle calling out for some attention, and he is more than ready to oblige. Jared would just look at him if he found out Jensen’s plans, give him a friendly reminder about character bleed and that just cause it’s Dean’s coping method doesn’t make it a good one. But Jared left an hour earlier, Gen dropping by the set to pick him up, and well, fuck Jared’s reminder.
Jensen’s heart sinks a little as he steps into the warm trailer. Misha’s jacket is tossed over the arm of the couch, his shoes and socks in a muddy pile by the door.
He hadn’t even known Misha was on set today, thought he had finished up all his scenes the previous day and had taken advantage of the time off.
Jensen locks the door behind him, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone barging in, telling him about a last minute re-do or rewritten scene. He does his best to toe his boots off, leaving a muddy splatter when one decides to fling itself against the wall. His socks are damp too, and he peels them off and tosses them next to Misha’s on the floor in a frustrated huff.
The hem of his jeans are cold around his ankles, and he makes his way to the kitchenette next, Misha's clothing immediately slipping from his exhausted mind. There’s a bottle of Jack stashed away somewhere, and Jensen pulls out a glass after he digs out the bottle. He doesn’t bother with ice cubes, knows he’s going to be downing it before the liquid loses its chill.
Jensen leans against the counter, ignoring the cold chill of his clothes as he feels the alcohol spread through his body. His eyes are closed, breath deep as he tries not to fall asleep standing up.
“Hey there. Thought I heard you come home.” The voice is sudden, making Jensen start awake, even though he could swear he wasn’t sleeping. He opens his eyes to find Misha’s head poking around the door frame to the bedroom, hair mussed and a soft smile gracing his face.
“What are you even doing here?” Jensen can hear the exasperation in his voice, but he’s too tired, too cold to care right now. It was supposed to be him, bed and Jack, and all he can see is Misha standing in his way.
“Wanted to see how you were doing.” Misha's reply is simple, his smile soft, and suddenly Jensen’s the one feeling like a jackass. “Knew that this was an intense day and wanted to stop by.”
Jensen steps forward, ready to apologize for being short, for being tired and cold and flat out exhausted. But then Misha's licking his lips with a certain look in his eyes, and Jensen recognizes that gleam, knows that something’s up, and he pauses.
“Wanted to see how you were doing,” Misha repeats, voice soft. “But then I got distracted by certain things hidden away in your closet.” He raises an eyebrow at Jensen with that statement, as if Jensen’s supposed to know what he means. More of Misha is showing now, a bare arm leading up to a bare shoulder, and Jensen wonders exactly how much exposed Misha skin is being hidden away behind the doorway.
“What’d you find back there?” He doesn’t know why he’s encouraging this, when what he should be doing is guiding Misha out, turning his phone off and going to bed.
“Something... new.” Misha pauses, and sounds almost convincingly confused. “Could have sworn this is from a photo shoot you did, but I know I would have remembered seeing you in it.”
Jensen’s ready to make some smartass remark about Misha following his career a little too closely, until Misha steps out into the room. His legs are clad in loose leather, the chaps clinging tighter to Misha’s limbs the further up they go. Jensen’s mouth goes dry when his gaze reaches Misha’s thighs, the leather cut away to expose pale skin and Misha’s cock, semi-hard against his thigh.
“So I guess you don’t recognize them either?” Misha’s voice cuts through the silence, makes Jensen realize that he’s staring, and he looks up to find a grin curling over Misha’s face. He had forgotten about these chaps, a gag gift from a friend, if he’s remembering correctly. Not quite sure what they’re doing in his trailer, but right now, he’s not complaining.
“Never had a chance to see them like this.” Jensen’s voice catches in his throat, and he sucks down the rest of his drink, setting the glass down with too much force, the sharp noise echoing in the trailer. His other hand grips at the counter, trying to keep his balance between Misha and the liquor and exhaustion.
Misha notices as well, stepping completely out of the shadows towards Jensen. “Jesus, are you okay?”
Jensen blinks and suddenly Misha’s gone from the door way to right there, personal space and all. “Long day, you know. Just tired.” Understatement of the goddamn year, he thinks, and tries not to let himself lean towards Misha. Too much.
“Let me, then.” Misha’s voice is soft, still has that underlying predatory purr to it though, and Jensen allows himself to be pried from the counter and led towards the bedroom.
He’s about to fall into bed when Misha’s hands catch him, propping him up against the wall. “I’m not letting you fuck up the bed like this,” Misha murmurs, fingers fumbling with the buttons on Jensen’s flannel shirt.
Misha makes quick work of it, pulling Jensen away from the wall long enough to shove the shirt off his shoulders. There’s the undershirt next, damp and stuck to Jensen’s skin, and he swears Misha takes gleeful pleasure in stripping it off of him.
Jensen’s shirtless now, and while the bedroom’s warm, he still shivers from the chill creeping up his spine.
“Almost done now,” Misha reassures, and drops to his knees, eyes bright and wide as he watches Jensen, fingers busy with his fly. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”
Getting sick is the last thing on Jensen’s mind right now, completely distracted by how Misha’s able to strip the clothes off of him without touching anything vital, and Jensen’s aching to just shift forward, press his boxers against Misha’s cheek and see what happens next.
Jensen doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Misha’s fingers curl around the hem of his jeans and tug, and suddenly all the air inside Jensen is rushing out in a hard whoosh. There’s goose bumps on his thighs, which end up disappearing just as quickly as they appeared as Misha’s warm breath huffs over the exposed skin.
Jensen tries to bite back a groan as Misha’s hand grasps one of his legs, fingers skimming over his skin until they’re at Jensen’s ankle, lifting up so that Misha can pull the damp jeans off. He repeats the action on Jensen’s other leg, tossing the jeans off to the side.
There’s a heavy pause in the air as Jensen waits for Misha to let go of his ankle, to let him go back and grab his drink and fall into bed. But Misha doesn’t move, and when Jensen risks a glance down at Misha’s face, he finds Misha staring up at him.
Misha doesn’t say anything as he starts to move, both hands on Jensen now, following the lines of Jensen’s legs until Misha’s fingertips are tracing the hem where Jensen’s boxers cling to his skin. Jensen hadn’t realized the rain had soaked him so deeply, but he had been cold and practically numb down to his core for the past several hours, so it wasn’t too surprising.
He can feel Misha’s fingers though, practically burning against him as they trace along his skin, dipping underneath the fabric every time Jensen sucks in a shuddering breath.
“Misha...” Jensen trails off, not sure what exactly it is he’s asking for, begging for, really. His hands are itching to tangle in Misha’s hair, to cement himself with something real and warm and there. All he knows is that he’s still cold, not as drunk as he had hoped, and Misha’s crouched in front of him in a curious article of clothing.
Misha stands, not quite pressing close to Jensen. Jensen can feel the heat radiating off of Misha, the way the scent of the leather curls and blends with what Jensen immediately knows as Misha. The liquor’s starting to really hit his head now, hard and unrelenting, the way he had hoped it would, and Jensen can feel some of the tension leave his body.
The room is silent, and Jensen knows that there are some things Misha doesn’t push. He hadn’t thought that this would be one of them, the give and take that’s been between them since the day Misha strutted on to set, but Jensen’s pleased. He clears his throat, making sure that Misha’s eyes are on him.
“So, what made you think I could be so easily seduced by a pair of chaps?”
Misha just grins at him, cheshire cat and content. “Because they aren’t just chaps.” He slowly turns around in front of Jensen, looking back at him over his shoulder. “They’re assless chaps.”
Jensen has just enough time to take in the soft curve of Misha’s ass contrasted against the mahogany leather before Misha’s moving backwards, pressing up against Jensen.
Jensen smiles as he feels a shudder run through Misha, cold boxers pressing against Misha’s skin. Jensen’s hands instinctively grab on to Misha's waist, fingers skimming over the leather until they pass by the cool metal of the buckle and press hard against the smooth skin of Misha’s belly. Jensen keeps going, his mouth dropping to Misha’s shoulder, sucking a mark there as his fingers tentatively push further down, past coarse curls until they reach the base of Misha’s cock.
Misha groans, hips hitching back as he grinds against Jensen. His hands reach back, grasping at Jensen’s thighs as Misha tries to pull him closer.
“You’re still wearing too much,” Misha manages to groan out, futilely tugging at Jensen’s boxers. Jensen grins and wraps his fingers around Misha's dick, and he softly whimpers at how eagerly Misha thrusts against his grip.
“And you’re in my way,” Jensen shoots back, allowing himself to slump back against the wall. He wasn’t expecting this, not tonight, not when he was this tired, this cold and exhausted and out of it. He wanted to be ready for Misha, for the charm and the grin and the unexpected. Not that he’s planning on turning tonight down, not at all.
Misha twists at Jensen’s words, spinning around so that he’s facing him, eyes dark and full of promise. He fucking slithers down Jensen, mouth hot and wet, sliding from Jensen’s chest down to his hips. Misha focuses on Jensen’s hipbone, marking it purple as his fingers grasp Jensen’s boxers and pull, dragging them down to Jensen’s ankles.
“Step up,” Misha growls, and Jensen does so, one two as he lifts his feet and finally feels the dampness sliding away from him. He’s caught in limbo now, warming up and floating, all in his head, really, but Misha’s there, promising more, promising the physical, and that’s all that matters now.
Misha stands, pressing close and Jensen stutters out a moan when their cocks touch. Misha takes them both in hand, his fingers barely wrapping around them both, and starts to stroke; steady sure movements that quickly leave them both gasping for more.
Jensen knows he’s getting in over his head when Misha starts sucking bruises onto his collarbone and all Jensen can do is hold on, fingers finally reaching and grasping at Misha; too hard, too rough as his nails scrape Misha’s sides, but Misha whimpers at the touch, leans into it, and just encourages Jensen on.
“Bed,” Jensen manages to get out, and Misha just hums against his skin in response, getting one last nip in before he’s moving back, dragging Jensen along with him. Slow steps until Misha’s suddenly falling backwards and dragging Jensen down on top of him.
“You sure about this?” Misha’s voice murmurs against Jensen’s neck, his hands pausing and lightly grasping Jensen’s waist. “Don’t want to be just one of your conquests.”
Jensen can feel the way Misha smiles against his neck, can feel the underlying tremble that runs through Misha’s body, uncertain and exposed.
“Completely,” and Jensen’s never felt more sure about anything before in his life. He rolls his hips, his dick pressing into Misha’s thigh, against the smooth cut of leather and Jensen can feel the tension finally lift when Misha grins in response.
Jensen leans down to kiss Misha, rough and slick. He reaches down to Misha’s cock, all light touches as he thumbs over the head, fingertips tracing down the shaft to tease Misha’s balls.
“Lower,” Misha pulls away long enough to gasp out, his hips rolling up against Jensen.
Jensen’s fingers go lower, brushing against soft skin until he reaches a slick residue. Jensen leans back to look at Misha, trying not to grin. “How long have you been waiting here?”
Misha just arches up into Jensen’s touch, a whine escaping from his throat. “Long enough to get myself close a couple of times” he purrs out, and a shiver runs through Jensen’s body.
Jensen ducks down to press a rough kiss on Misha’s mouth before wriggling downwards, mouthing and nipping at Misha’s chest as he moves lower. He pauses when he reaches the leather belt of the chaps, the metal buckle cool against his cheek.
The scent is familiar, leather and Misha and dampness as Jensen presses his face closer and inhales. He sticks his tongue out, tracing along the smooth edge of leather, leaving a slick trail over Misha’s hipbone as Misha shivers underneath him, hips jerking up and Misha’s cock grazes Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen grins at the movement, ignores Misha’s dick to sweep his tongue lower, down the soft inside of Misha’s thigh until there’s no more room to move.
“Scoot up,” Jensen gets out, and Misha shifts his body up the bed, spreads his legs as far as he can as he braces his feet on the comforter. Misha rolls his hips up in a fluid motion, his hands grasping and twisting in the comforter, begging for Jensen's touch. The movement opens up him, spreads him out in front of Jensen, and a thrill runs down Jensen’s spine.
Jensen keeps licking, pressing closer until he starts to taste the lube. He wants to glare at Misha, to ask him what the hell he was thinking, strawberry-flavored? But he’s so close and aching, and he can feel the way Misha’s starting to tremble against him.
Jensen’s soft at first, swipe of his tongue around Misha’s rim before pressing in deeper, and he groans in response when he hears Misha whimper, feels it vibrate through Misha’s body.
He reaches up to wrap his fingers around Misha’s cock, slow strokes as Jensen feels Misha thrust into his hand. His own cock is aching, demanding to be touched.
Jensen pulls back, grinning at the way Misha whimpers and wriggles his ass for more. “How ready are you?”
“Jesus, Jensen, just fuck me already,” Misha’s smiling as he says it, but his eyes are dark and hungry.
Jensen leans back in response, eyes coasting over Misha’s body. “Hands and knees then.”
Misha scrambles to get over, leather slick against the comforter as he tries to get into place and keep his balance. He looks back at Jensen over his shoulder before dropping down, ass high and exposed in the air, framed by the dark brown chaps.
Jensen wedges himself in between Misha’s legs, his hand moving over his cock, slicking himself up. He reaches up with his other hand, grasping onto the back of the chaps as he pulls Misha closer, guiding him down as he lines them both up.
When the head of his cock presses against Misha’s ass, Jensen reaches up for the chaps with his other hand, fingers curling around the leather to tug Misha down. Jensen does his best to stay still, to drag this out as best he can. When Misha starts to push down, Jensen pulls back, holds Misha in place by the chaps and is rewarded with a throaty whimper a moment later.
Jensen waits, lets his fingers brush over the curve of Misha’s ass before grasping at the leather again. He blames this all on the whiskey, the smooth slow roll of his mind, wanting to drag this out. He’s still dead-tired if he lets himself think about it; won’t though, can’t really, the way Misha’s hips are starting to jerk as he does his best not to move.
Jensen takes pity on him, finally dragging Misha down by the leather until Jensen’s fully inside him. “Please...” Misha whines, and Jensen can see the way Misha’s knuckles are white, grabbing at the pillows now, completely spread out before Jensen.
Jensen starts moving, thrusting into Misha with force. He slides his hands between the chaps and Misha’s hips, grasping at his hips bones. It’s a tight fit, seeing how tight Misha had been wearing them in the first place, but it’s worth it when Jensen slams into Misha and forces a groan from him.
Jensen knows he’s not going to last long, and he can already feel his body tightening up, the familiar curl low in his belly that seems to spark whenever Misha’s around and pressing close. Misha seems to sense it too, the way he’s pushing back, tightening around Jensen’s cock until it’s too much, too overwhelming and all Jensen can do is hold on, clinging to flesh and leather as his orgasm overtakes him.
Misha’s trying hard not to wriggle underneath him when Jensen leans over him, pressing kisses up Misha’s spine as his hand slips from Misha’s waist to his cock, hard and leaking precome.
“You’ve been waiting for this all night.” Jensen’s words come out more as a statement than a question, whispering into Misha’s ear. He doesn’t wait for an answer, fingertips brushing over Misha’s sac before jerking him off. That’s all it takes, several firm strokes, a sharp kiss to Misha’s neck before Misha’s coming undone beneath him, shaking and jerking as he fucks into Jensen's hand, coming in streaks on the comforter.
When Misha stills, Jensen drags them both down, rolling them over on to their sides away from the mess. Misha’s chest is heaving, skin damp and the chaps have gone from seductive to ungainly and heavy.
Jensen unbuckles the chaps, slow movements pulling the strap of leather free before he’s able to strip them off of Misha. He manages to stand, legs still weak as he drops the chaps in a pile at the foot of the bed.
Jensen pads out to the front of the trailer, double checking the lock before turning out the lights in the kitchen. He does a double take at the bottle of Jack and his empty glass, staring at it until he hears Misha mumbling at him from the bedroom.
“Be right there,” he answers automatically before sticking the bottle back in the cupboard. Misha’s more than enough for him right now, and Jensen makes his way back to bed with a grin on his face.