fic: You and I Now
Title: You and I Now
Author: puchuupoet
Pairing: Jensen/Misha, with bits of Dean and Castiel
Word Count: ~3150
Rating: nc-17
Heads-up: Character bleed, porn <3
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Notes: Fic, finally ♥ Title's from Mumford & Sons' Feel The Tide, which I can't recommend enough. Much love to playthefool and cho_malfoy for the beta and reassurances.
It's the rush at the end of it all, the final cram of getting everything finished and polished up for the studios. Jensen's pleased with how it's all worked out, and he can't stop the smile from constantly appearing on his face. The final push was hard, yeah, multiple episodes being worked on at the same time, that rush from jumping around and keeping it all clean and smooth. But they did it. Fuck yes, they did it.
He's ready to keep celebrating, fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of champagne. Not what he'd usually go for, but it's a change from what Dean would drink, and that's what he's looking for right now: a break from it all. Time to tuck Dean away for a bit, until the next convention, the next meeting, but until then? He's gonna cherish what he has waiting for him.
Jensen pushes his trailer door open, ready to say goodbye to the place for a couple of months. Everything's the way he left it earlier in the day, save for Misha curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. Jensen can sympathize, and he knows it's been hard on Misha recently. The filming for the past couple of days has required him to jump between the embellished version of himself and the new Castiel that's emerging, that mix of assertive dick and tentative questioning.
"Hey." Jensen drops his stuff on the closest flat space, ready to get out of Dean's damp clothes. "Thought you were off awhile ago?"
Misha looks over at him, wide-eyed in a way that pricks at the back of Jensen's neck. "I can leave, if you want. Just, you know. Nothing else to do."
"No man, not at all. I just thought you'd be eager to get out of here, that's all." Jensen kicks his shoes off, stepping on the heel of one until it pops off his foot. "You wanna grab dinner? I just need to change."
"Yeah..." But Misha's distracted, staring at the TV as his fingers twist his t-shirt collar. Jensen stares at him for another moment before heading to the back of the trailer. There's a bouquet of flowers back there on his nightstand, and from the doorway he can see the scrawled out "Congratulations!" in the AD's handwriting.
Jensen focuses on his closet instead, pulling out his t-shirt and jeans and fuck, he's ready to shed this skin. He's done it before, tossed this drunken jackass to the floor in one swift kick, but it's a little harder this time. He throws Dean's shirts into the hamper, stands there braindead for a moment before thumbing at the button on his fly. It's harder now, even though he knows it should be easier. They have a seventh season, and he has faith in Eric and Sera and the whole damn crew. But Dean's not slipping away as easily as Jensen had hoped.
"Misha!" he calls out, leaning against the door frame. "Where'd you want to go?"
Silence greets him, and Jensen heads towards him, curious and worried.
"Huh?" Misha rolls his head back on the couch cushions when Jensen gets near. "I missed that."
"I wanted to know where'd you want to go for dinner."
Misha shrugs, distracted by whatever's on TV.
"Hey." Jensen steps in front of him, grabbing the remote and turning it off. "What's up?"
Another shrug.
"Bullshit."
"It's weird. And nothing, really. It's nothing."
Jensen raises an eyebrow at Misha. "You're really going to sit there and tell me that?"
"What else would I say?"
"Really? The truth." Jensen huffs out a sigh before turning back towards the bedroom. "It's like you're channeling Cas or something right now."
Misha tenses, his hand gripping at the couch cushion, and Jensen wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't hesitated for those few seconds, his foot hovering in the air.
"Come here," he murmurs without thinking, his voice slipping into Dean's tone automatically.
Misha looks up at him from the couch, and Jensen can see the hesitation in his stance. It passes quickly though, and Misha pulls himself up off the couch until he's facing Jensen, eye to eye.
"Yes?" His voice is dropping, and Jensen can hear the curl of Castiel around the edges. Close enough.
"Need to talk to you." Jensen raises an eyebrow, smirks in a way that goes against all his instincts. "In the back."
"Of course." Misha's agreeable, complacent, and Jensen wonders if the writers realize this, exactly how eager Castiel can be in following Dean into the lions' den.
Jensen's hyperaware of Misha's presence on the walk back to the bedroom. To the clothes, he tries to remind himself. How his jeans hang low on his hips, no time earlier to worry about a belt. He pauses when he reaches the foot of the bed, Misha close behind, and Jensen turns to face him.
"What is it?" More and more, it sounds like Castiel behind him, and Jensen's not sure if that's what he wants to happen. If he even knows what's supposed to happen here, for them to make it through it okay.
"You..." Jensen stutters, halts his words before they get him into trouble. "We need a break. Not," he interjects, seeing the look of protest on Castiel's face, "from each other. From this." He gestures around them. "All of this. From every angle."
Misha looks at him, tilting his head in that fucking way the writers latched onto, but Jensen admits that it works in certain situations. Like this one.
"You want to ignore all of that?" Misha seems to choose his words carefully, his eyes not meeting Jensen's.
"All of it. Apocalypse, Heaven, Hell, family." Jensen's equally careful, still not sure where he's going with this. "You and me, regrouping."
"Regrouping?" And Misha raises his eyebrows at that, incredulous look on his face, and Jensen can't help but snicker.
"Whatever you want to call it, whatever you need. I just, I just can't have you like this." Jensen hesitates, the admission new. "Want you by my side, but, all of you. I need all of you with me."
Misha stares at him now, open-mouthed and if Jensen didn't feel so raw and exposed, he'd be laughing.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
"In regards to..."
Jensen cuts him off. "However you want to interpret it, I'm here. We may have some stuff to work out, but." He rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm here. Waiting."
"You'd do that for me?" Misha's teasing him now, Jensen swears it. The way his tone changes, back and forth until Jensen's not sure who he's talking to, Misha or Castiel, even though it's starting to feel like both are one and the same.
"Anything," Jensen admits, to both of them, and he can feel the ache in his belly start to loosen.
"But what about...?" Misha asks, but Jensen doesn't let him finish. Three steps forward and he's backing Misha up against the wall. Jensen shuts him up with a hard kiss, his hands reaching up to cup at Misha's face, fingertips skritching at his temples.
"Got you," Jensen murmurs, even though he's not sure of the context anymore. Just that Misha's here, pressed up tight against him with his hands grasping at Jensen's waist.
"You sure?" Misha's voice is almost back to Misha's now, slick and teasing and Jensen hopes that it's for good, that Castiel's been shed and Misha laid bare.
"Always." Jensen moves one arm to wrap around Misha's waist, hiking him closer as he twists them both around, pushing forward until Misha falls back against the bed. "Never forget it." he adds, adjusting until they're both on the bed, Jensen straddling Misha's thighs.
"Promises, promises," Misha teases, but it's too much of him, thick and syrupy and Jensen's hackles raise.
"Don't even try it," Jensen tells Misha, pulling at his arms until they're raised up above Misha's head, pinned in place with one hand. Jensen uses his free hand to push up Misha's t-shirt, until it's rucked up underneath his arms.
"Try what?"
"Being anything but yourself," Jensen whispers, bringing his head down to kiss Misha, softer this time. It's not that they haven't kissed before, drunken bets and teasing each other, but this is the first time Jensen's really admitted to it, what it really means to him. Desperate and open-mouthed, he doubts himself until Misha whimpers and surges him back, firm kisses reassuring Jensen.
Misha's hands struggle under Jensen's grip, and Jensen lets go, his hand trailing down to cup at Misha's face. Misha wriggles underneath him, his hands busy on Jensen's fly, shucking his jeans off as best he can.
Jensen groans when Misha pushes his jeans down, fingers pausing to knead at Jensen's ass. Jensen's hard, slick with precome and Misha's jeans are rough and more of a turn-on than Jensen was expecting. He hitches his hips forward, the soft head dragging against denim, and Jensen's head drops to rest on Misha's shoulder.
"Please," he whimpers out, and maybe he's not as free of Dean as he had hoped. Misha's arms wrap around him, pulling Jensen in closer, and Jensen can feel Misha's mouth drag along his jaw.
"Please what?" Misha teases, nipping at his earlobe. Jensen hesitates, and Misha responds in turn, long fingers curving over Jensen's ribs. Jensen leans into it, nuzzling at Misha's neck with a soft mouth.
"Need you." Jensen doesn't like this, the way it's been flipped around and Misha's the one suddenly taking care of him. But he can't deny that the past few weeks have been hard on him too, how it's just been easier to be Dean than shed him every night and pull him and his baggage on every morning, every time the alarm goes off.
"Need me or need this?" There's still that twist to Misha's words, subtle and dark, that ego he thinks he needs to have in this business. Jensen hates it on him.
"Fuck you," he murmurs, biting Misha's neck and feeling the skin swell underneath his mouth. "You. It's always been you."
Misha doesn't answer Jensen then, silent and still until Jensen rocks his hips forward against Misha. That gets him going, fingers gripping at Jensen, nails leaving red trails as he tries to pull him closer.
"Why'd you wait so long?" Misha's hand snakes down between them, fingers wrapping around Jensen's dick.
"Didn't want my emotions to fuck them up." Jensen's breathless, hips hitching against Misha.
"And you didn't stop to think that maybe it'd help them out?"
Fuck. Jensen pushes up, away from Misha so that he can look him in the eye. "You really think it'd go over well?"
Misha eyes him, his hands still on Jensen's body, and the silence itches at Jensen's skin.
"You think Cas doesn't need a hug every now and then?"
"Jesus, Misha." Jensen falls back on him with those words, hating how his stomach twists with guilt, even though they're talking about a goddamn fictional character. Because he knows, he gets it, that while Castiel may have been created in some think tank down in L.A., he's chilling somewhere in Misha's psyche. He gets it, and he's disappointed that he hasn't made the connection until now.
"Hey, stop it." Misha gently whacks at the side of Jensen's head. "We all got caught up in our own thing, okay? Stop thinking whatever you're thinking."
"Why?" Jensen asks automatically.
"Cause it's ruining your pretty face. And if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to feel obligated to either leave the room or fuck it out of you."
Jensen starts to snicker, and when Misha grins back at him he can't hold it back, losing it in a deep belly laugh.
"Well, when you phrase it like that..." Jensen teases, and is rewarded with another blinding grin.
"Hurry up and help me get naked already." Misha lets go of Jensen to start working on his jeans, wriggling out of them as best he can with Jensen still on top.
Jensen doesn't argue, just pulls back long enough to hook his fingers over the waistband of Misha's jeans and pull them down. Misha's gone commando, something that shouldn't really surprise Jensen, but now it's just fucking hot, the soft slap of his cock hitting his thigh and Jensen can't get rid of Misha's jeans fast enough.
Standing by the side of the bed, Jensen takes advantage of the opportunity to kick off his shoes and get rid of his jeans. When he glances back up at Misha, he finds the other man hasn't moved at all; his shirt's still pushed up as far as it can go, and in the low light Jensen can see the goose bumps on Misha's thighs.
"You okay?" Misha asks, and Jensen knows that tone of voice. It's the same one that's been running through his head, worried about taking this step.
"Never better."
"Mmhmmm." Misha doesn't sound fully convinced. He stretches out, the movement subtle but then he raises his arms above his head, back where Jensen just had them pinned down. Jensen's mouth is dry, hands gripped tight at his sides, cause yeah, the celebratory champagne from earlier is still in his system. And Misha being Misha, being Cas, Jensen's suddenly having a hard time convincing himself to move back towards him.
Misha sits up, scooting over until he's perched on the edge of the bed, his feet hooked on the edge of the frame. "What is it?"
Jensen shakes his head, realizing he's comfortable where he is, with how they are. Even if it had led to a couple awkward nights of him rutting up against his mattress, Misha's name whimpered into the pillows. It's worth it to keep this balance steady between them.
"Not acceptable." Misha's voice is softer this time, and Jensen instinctively steps towards him, head bowed down.
"Why not?" Jensen tries not to focus on the way his voice seems to waver. He hopes it's just in his head, but when he glances at Misha's face, he knows that's not the case.
"Cause I need you, and you need me." Misha shrugs, and Jensen laughs at the gesture.
"You make it sound so simple."
"You're making it harder than it needs to be." His tone is matter-of-fact, and the look on Misha's face matches it. He reaches out, snagging Jensen's hand and holding onto it tightly. "What's so wrong about pursuing what you want?"
"Things change. Fall apart." Jensen half-heartedly tries to tug his way out of Misha's grip. He's aware of how naked he is, how they both are, and only pride keeps him from covering himself up. Even if he really wants to. "Come on, Misha."
Misha's eyebrow twitches up at Jensen's words, but he says nothing. Just crawls his grip up Jensen's hand until his fingers circle around Jensen's wrist. "Come on," he murmurs back, and falls backwards onto the bed.
Jensen yelps when he's pulled back down, and he scrambles to avoid hitting his chin on the mattress. The last thing he wants is to be knocked unconscious between Misha Collins' thighs. Or maybe it is. He's still not sure on that one yet.
He ends up back where he started, straddling Misha, his hands tangled up in blanket and Misha's tightened grip. The notable difference is that when Misha pushes his hips up, he leaves a smear of precome on Jensen's stomach.
"What are we doing?" Jensen's voice is barely a whisper, and he's pretty sure he just thought it until Misha lets go of his hand long enough to pull Jensen flush against him.
"Even with everything happening, you know Cas would die for Dean. Do whatever he could to save him." Misha's tone is conversational, out of place casual, and Jensen tries to keep up. "And Dean... You know Dean," Misha tells him, glancing down to meet Jensen's eyes. "Dean needs him just as much, even more sometimes. But you know, it's hard, when he's angry and confused and broken down."
Jensen's not sure when Misha started stroking his back, but now he's aware of the touch: the soft drag of fingertips against his skin, tracing over his spine and around shoulder blades. There's a slow hitch in Misha's hips as well, a comforting roll that Jensen finds himself mimicking without even realizing it.
"Dean's confused a lot," he admits, ducking his head to press his mouth to Misha's neck, as if to stop himself from admitting anything greater.
"We all are, sometimes." Misha's other hand lets go of Jensen's, moving to wrap long fingers around his hip. A change in pressure and Misha's holding on, guiding Jensen as his own body changes tempo. Misha rocks up faster, his dick sliding past Jensen's, against the cut of Jensen's hip.
Jensen bites down on Misha's shoulder, fingers kneading the mattress, and he can feel Misha shake underneath him, soft gasps turning Jensen on even more.
"Yes," he whispers, nuzzling against the mark blossoming on Misha's skin. "God yes, please."
Nothing changes for a moment, and Jensen's worried that he read the whole situation wrong. But Misha wriggles around underneath him, until his cock is rubbing up against Jensen's and Misha's hand is wrapping around them both together.
Jensen's arms give out, and he slumps to one side, hips jerking forward into Misha's grip. It's not what he had ever imagined happening; none of this is, since he never actually believed it existed for him.
"Jensen." Misha groans out his name, a two syllable drawl as his hips jerk and Jensen can feel him come, a hard spatter against his stomach that slicks up the space between them.
He's never heard his name like that before, broken and full of promise, and when Misha's grip tightens Jensen can only try to catch his breath before he's coming, his orgasm catching him off-guard.
Jensen can hear Misha chuckling when he opens his eyes, and he realizes he's been wiped clean, a blanket tossed over him. Misha's stretched out parallel to him, a pair of navy boxers low on his hips.
"Did I...?"
"For maybe five minutes? But it can be a bitch to clean up when it dries. Hope you don't mind." Misha stays where he is, and it's suddenly more awkward than when Jensen first pinned him up against the wall.
"Come here." Jensen lifts up the edge of the blanket, holding it up until Misha moves in closer.
"How'd you want to...?" Misha sounds uncertain until Jensen hikes a leg over his and tosses the blanket over them both.
"I want this."
"This works," Misha murmurs, nosing against Jensen's cheek. "I like this."
"Yeah." Jensen stretches an arm out towards the side table, grasping around until he turns the light off. "Me too."
Author: puchuupoet
Pairing: Jensen/Misha, with bits of Dean and Castiel
Word Count: ~3150
Rating: nc-17
Heads-up: Character bleed, porn <3
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Notes: Fic, finally ♥ Title's from Mumford & Sons' Feel The Tide, which I can't recommend enough. Much love to playthefool and cho_malfoy for the beta and reassurances.
It's the rush at the end of it all, the final cram of getting everything finished and polished up for the studios. Jensen's pleased with how it's all worked out, and he can't stop the smile from constantly appearing on his face. The final push was hard, yeah, multiple episodes being worked on at the same time, that rush from jumping around and keeping it all clean and smooth. But they did it. Fuck yes, they did it.
He's ready to keep celebrating, fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of champagne. Not what he'd usually go for, but it's a change from what Dean would drink, and that's what he's looking for right now: a break from it all. Time to tuck Dean away for a bit, until the next convention, the next meeting, but until then? He's gonna cherish what he has waiting for him.
Jensen pushes his trailer door open, ready to say goodbye to the place for a couple of months. Everything's the way he left it earlier in the day, save for Misha curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. Jensen can sympathize, and he knows it's been hard on Misha recently. The filming for the past couple of days has required him to jump between the embellished version of himself and the new Castiel that's emerging, that mix of assertive dick and tentative questioning.
"Hey." Jensen drops his stuff on the closest flat space, ready to get out of Dean's damp clothes. "Thought you were off awhile ago?"
Misha looks over at him, wide-eyed in a way that pricks at the back of Jensen's neck. "I can leave, if you want. Just, you know. Nothing else to do."
"No man, not at all. I just thought you'd be eager to get out of here, that's all." Jensen kicks his shoes off, stepping on the heel of one until it pops off his foot. "You wanna grab dinner? I just need to change."
"Yeah..." But Misha's distracted, staring at the TV as his fingers twist his t-shirt collar. Jensen stares at him for another moment before heading to the back of the trailer. There's a bouquet of flowers back there on his nightstand, and from the doorway he can see the scrawled out "Congratulations!" in the AD's handwriting.
Jensen focuses on his closet instead, pulling out his t-shirt and jeans and fuck, he's ready to shed this skin. He's done it before, tossed this drunken jackass to the floor in one swift kick, but it's a little harder this time. He throws Dean's shirts into the hamper, stands there braindead for a moment before thumbing at the button on his fly. It's harder now, even though he knows it should be easier. They have a seventh season, and he has faith in Eric and Sera and the whole damn crew. But Dean's not slipping away as easily as Jensen had hoped.
"Misha!" he calls out, leaning against the door frame. "Where'd you want to go?"
Silence greets him, and Jensen heads towards him, curious and worried.
"Huh?" Misha rolls his head back on the couch cushions when Jensen gets near. "I missed that."
"I wanted to know where'd you want to go for dinner."
Misha shrugs, distracted by whatever's on TV.
"Hey." Jensen steps in front of him, grabbing the remote and turning it off. "What's up?"
Another shrug.
"Bullshit."
"It's weird. And nothing, really. It's nothing."
Jensen raises an eyebrow at Misha. "You're really going to sit there and tell me that?"
"What else would I say?"
"Really? The truth." Jensen huffs out a sigh before turning back towards the bedroom. "It's like you're channeling Cas or something right now."
Misha tenses, his hand gripping at the couch cushion, and Jensen wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't hesitated for those few seconds, his foot hovering in the air.
"Come here," he murmurs without thinking, his voice slipping into Dean's tone automatically.
Misha looks up at him from the couch, and Jensen can see the hesitation in his stance. It passes quickly though, and Misha pulls himself up off the couch until he's facing Jensen, eye to eye.
"Yes?" His voice is dropping, and Jensen can hear the curl of Castiel around the edges. Close enough.
"Need to talk to you." Jensen raises an eyebrow, smirks in a way that goes against all his instincts. "In the back."
"Of course." Misha's agreeable, complacent, and Jensen wonders if the writers realize this, exactly how eager Castiel can be in following Dean into the lions' den.
Jensen's hyperaware of Misha's presence on the walk back to the bedroom. To the clothes, he tries to remind himself. How his jeans hang low on his hips, no time earlier to worry about a belt. He pauses when he reaches the foot of the bed, Misha close behind, and Jensen turns to face him.
"What is it?" More and more, it sounds like Castiel behind him, and Jensen's not sure if that's what he wants to happen. If he even knows what's supposed to happen here, for them to make it through it okay.
"You..." Jensen stutters, halts his words before they get him into trouble. "We need a break. Not," he interjects, seeing the look of protest on Castiel's face, "from each other. From this." He gestures around them. "All of this. From every angle."
Misha looks at him, tilting his head in that fucking way the writers latched onto, but Jensen admits that it works in certain situations. Like this one.
"You want to ignore all of that?" Misha seems to choose his words carefully, his eyes not meeting Jensen's.
"All of it. Apocalypse, Heaven, Hell, family." Jensen's equally careful, still not sure where he's going with this. "You and me, regrouping."
"Regrouping?" And Misha raises his eyebrows at that, incredulous look on his face, and Jensen can't help but snicker.
"Whatever you want to call it, whatever you need. I just, I just can't have you like this." Jensen hesitates, the admission new. "Want you by my side, but, all of you. I need all of you with me."
Misha stares at him now, open-mouthed and if Jensen didn't feel so raw and exposed, he'd be laughing.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
"In regards to..."
Jensen cuts him off. "However you want to interpret it, I'm here. We may have some stuff to work out, but." He rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm here. Waiting."
"You'd do that for me?" Misha's teasing him now, Jensen swears it. The way his tone changes, back and forth until Jensen's not sure who he's talking to, Misha or Castiel, even though it's starting to feel like both are one and the same.
"Anything," Jensen admits, to both of them, and he can feel the ache in his belly start to loosen.
"But what about...?" Misha asks, but Jensen doesn't let him finish. Three steps forward and he's backing Misha up against the wall. Jensen shuts him up with a hard kiss, his hands reaching up to cup at Misha's face, fingertips skritching at his temples.
"Got you," Jensen murmurs, even though he's not sure of the context anymore. Just that Misha's here, pressed up tight against him with his hands grasping at Jensen's waist.
"You sure?" Misha's voice is almost back to Misha's now, slick and teasing and Jensen hopes that it's for good, that Castiel's been shed and Misha laid bare.
"Always." Jensen moves one arm to wrap around Misha's waist, hiking him closer as he twists them both around, pushing forward until Misha falls back against the bed. "Never forget it." he adds, adjusting until they're both on the bed, Jensen straddling Misha's thighs.
"Promises, promises," Misha teases, but it's too much of him, thick and syrupy and Jensen's hackles raise.
"Don't even try it," Jensen tells Misha, pulling at his arms until they're raised up above Misha's head, pinned in place with one hand. Jensen uses his free hand to push up Misha's t-shirt, until it's rucked up underneath his arms.
"Try what?"
"Being anything but yourself," Jensen whispers, bringing his head down to kiss Misha, softer this time. It's not that they haven't kissed before, drunken bets and teasing each other, but this is the first time Jensen's really admitted to it, what it really means to him. Desperate and open-mouthed, he doubts himself until Misha whimpers and surges him back, firm kisses reassuring Jensen.
Misha's hands struggle under Jensen's grip, and Jensen lets go, his hand trailing down to cup at Misha's face. Misha wriggles underneath him, his hands busy on Jensen's fly, shucking his jeans off as best he can.
Jensen groans when Misha pushes his jeans down, fingers pausing to knead at Jensen's ass. Jensen's hard, slick with precome and Misha's jeans are rough and more of a turn-on than Jensen was expecting. He hitches his hips forward, the soft head dragging against denim, and Jensen's head drops to rest on Misha's shoulder.
"Please," he whimpers out, and maybe he's not as free of Dean as he had hoped. Misha's arms wrap around him, pulling Jensen in closer, and Jensen can feel Misha's mouth drag along his jaw.
"Please what?" Misha teases, nipping at his earlobe. Jensen hesitates, and Misha responds in turn, long fingers curving over Jensen's ribs. Jensen leans into it, nuzzling at Misha's neck with a soft mouth.
"Need you." Jensen doesn't like this, the way it's been flipped around and Misha's the one suddenly taking care of him. But he can't deny that the past few weeks have been hard on him too, how it's just been easier to be Dean than shed him every night and pull him and his baggage on every morning, every time the alarm goes off.
"Need me or need this?" There's still that twist to Misha's words, subtle and dark, that ego he thinks he needs to have in this business. Jensen hates it on him.
"Fuck you," he murmurs, biting Misha's neck and feeling the skin swell underneath his mouth. "You. It's always been you."
Misha doesn't answer Jensen then, silent and still until Jensen rocks his hips forward against Misha. That gets him going, fingers gripping at Jensen, nails leaving red trails as he tries to pull him closer.
"Why'd you wait so long?" Misha's hand snakes down between them, fingers wrapping around Jensen's dick.
"Didn't want my emotions to fuck them up." Jensen's breathless, hips hitching against Misha.
"And you didn't stop to think that maybe it'd help them out?"
Fuck. Jensen pushes up, away from Misha so that he can look him in the eye. "You really think it'd go over well?"
Misha eyes him, his hands still on Jensen's body, and the silence itches at Jensen's skin.
"You think Cas doesn't need a hug every now and then?"
"Jesus, Misha." Jensen falls back on him with those words, hating how his stomach twists with guilt, even though they're talking about a goddamn fictional character. Because he knows, he gets it, that while Castiel may have been created in some think tank down in L.A., he's chilling somewhere in Misha's psyche. He gets it, and he's disappointed that he hasn't made the connection until now.
"Hey, stop it." Misha gently whacks at the side of Jensen's head. "We all got caught up in our own thing, okay? Stop thinking whatever you're thinking."
"Why?" Jensen asks automatically.
"Cause it's ruining your pretty face. And if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to feel obligated to either leave the room or fuck it out of you."
Jensen starts to snicker, and when Misha grins back at him he can't hold it back, losing it in a deep belly laugh.
"Well, when you phrase it like that..." Jensen teases, and is rewarded with another blinding grin.
"Hurry up and help me get naked already." Misha lets go of Jensen to start working on his jeans, wriggling out of them as best he can with Jensen still on top.
Jensen doesn't argue, just pulls back long enough to hook his fingers over the waistband of Misha's jeans and pull them down. Misha's gone commando, something that shouldn't really surprise Jensen, but now it's just fucking hot, the soft slap of his cock hitting his thigh and Jensen can't get rid of Misha's jeans fast enough.
Standing by the side of the bed, Jensen takes advantage of the opportunity to kick off his shoes and get rid of his jeans. When he glances back up at Misha, he finds the other man hasn't moved at all; his shirt's still pushed up as far as it can go, and in the low light Jensen can see the goose bumps on Misha's thighs.
"You okay?" Misha asks, and Jensen knows that tone of voice. It's the same one that's been running through his head, worried about taking this step.
"Never better."
"Mmhmmm." Misha doesn't sound fully convinced. He stretches out, the movement subtle but then he raises his arms above his head, back where Jensen just had them pinned down. Jensen's mouth is dry, hands gripped tight at his sides, cause yeah, the celebratory champagne from earlier is still in his system. And Misha being Misha, being Cas, Jensen's suddenly having a hard time convincing himself to move back towards him.
Misha sits up, scooting over until he's perched on the edge of the bed, his feet hooked on the edge of the frame. "What is it?"
Jensen shakes his head, realizing he's comfortable where he is, with how they are. Even if it had led to a couple awkward nights of him rutting up against his mattress, Misha's name whimpered into the pillows. It's worth it to keep this balance steady between them.
"Not acceptable." Misha's voice is softer this time, and Jensen instinctively steps towards him, head bowed down.
"Why not?" Jensen tries not to focus on the way his voice seems to waver. He hopes it's just in his head, but when he glances at Misha's face, he knows that's not the case.
"Cause I need you, and you need me." Misha shrugs, and Jensen laughs at the gesture.
"You make it sound so simple."
"You're making it harder than it needs to be." His tone is matter-of-fact, and the look on Misha's face matches it. He reaches out, snagging Jensen's hand and holding onto it tightly. "What's so wrong about pursuing what you want?"
"Things change. Fall apart." Jensen half-heartedly tries to tug his way out of Misha's grip. He's aware of how naked he is, how they both are, and only pride keeps him from covering himself up. Even if he really wants to. "Come on, Misha."
Misha's eyebrow twitches up at Jensen's words, but he says nothing. Just crawls his grip up Jensen's hand until his fingers circle around Jensen's wrist. "Come on," he murmurs back, and falls backwards onto the bed.
Jensen yelps when he's pulled back down, and he scrambles to avoid hitting his chin on the mattress. The last thing he wants is to be knocked unconscious between Misha Collins' thighs. Or maybe it is. He's still not sure on that one yet.
He ends up back where he started, straddling Misha, his hands tangled up in blanket and Misha's tightened grip. The notable difference is that when Misha pushes his hips up, he leaves a smear of precome on Jensen's stomach.
"What are we doing?" Jensen's voice is barely a whisper, and he's pretty sure he just thought it until Misha lets go of his hand long enough to pull Jensen flush against him.
"Even with everything happening, you know Cas would die for Dean. Do whatever he could to save him." Misha's tone is conversational, out of place casual, and Jensen tries to keep up. "And Dean... You know Dean," Misha tells him, glancing down to meet Jensen's eyes. "Dean needs him just as much, even more sometimes. But you know, it's hard, when he's angry and confused and broken down."
Jensen's not sure when Misha started stroking his back, but now he's aware of the touch: the soft drag of fingertips against his skin, tracing over his spine and around shoulder blades. There's a slow hitch in Misha's hips as well, a comforting roll that Jensen finds himself mimicking without even realizing it.
"Dean's confused a lot," he admits, ducking his head to press his mouth to Misha's neck, as if to stop himself from admitting anything greater.
"We all are, sometimes." Misha's other hand lets go of Jensen's, moving to wrap long fingers around his hip. A change in pressure and Misha's holding on, guiding Jensen as his own body changes tempo. Misha rocks up faster, his dick sliding past Jensen's, against the cut of Jensen's hip.
Jensen bites down on Misha's shoulder, fingers kneading the mattress, and he can feel Misha shake underneath him, soft gasps turning Jensen on even more.
"Yes," he whispers, nuzzling against the mark blossoming on Misha's skin. "God yes, please."
Nothing changes for a moment, and Jensen's worried that he read the whole situation wrong. But Misha wriggles around underneath him, until his cock is rubbing up against Jensen's and Misha's hand is wrapping around them both together.
Jensen's arms give out, and he slumps to one side, hips jerking forward into Misha's grip. It's not what he had ever imagined happening; none of this is, since he never actually believed it existed for him.
"Jensen." Misha groans out his name, a two syllable drawl as his hips jerk and Jensen can feel him come, a hard spatter against his stomach that slicks up the space between them.
He's never heard his name like that before, broken and full of promise, and when Misha's grip tightens Jensen can only try to catch his breath before he's coming, his orgasm catching him off-guard.
Jensen can hear Misha chuckling when he opens his eyes, and he realizes he's been wiped clean, a blanket tossed over him. Misha's stretched out parallel to him, a pair of navy boxers low on his hips.
"Did I...?"
"For maybe five minutes? But it can be a bitch to clean up when it dries. Hope you don't mind." Misha stays where he is, and it's suddenly more awkward than when Jensen first pinned him up against the wall.
"Come here." Jensen lifts up the edge of the blanket, holding it up until Misha moves in closer.
"How'd you want to...?" Misha sounds uncertain until Jensen hikes a leg over his and tosses the blanket over them both.
"I want this."
"This works," Misha murmurs, nosing against Jensen's cheek. "I like this."
"Yeah." Jensen stretches an arm out towards the side table, grasping around until he turns the light off. "Me too."