Can't Read My Poker Face
Fandom: Supernatural RPS
Characters: Jensen/Jared, Misha
Prompt: Bet
Summary: Misha plays dirty, Jensen's pretty and Jared's confused and stuck in between...
Wordcount: 2,334
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: agent_jl36
A/N: This fic is probably the only one of the 25 prompts that doesn't belong to the others. That's because I wrote it before and wasn't sure if I should post it. Then I decided to put it here and hide among the others.
Prompt Table # 1
Theme: Kiss
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Can't Read My Poker Face
Misha takes a sip of his beer and looks at Jared, “So I’ve been thinking.”
“Good for you,” Jared mutters.
He doesn’t need to turn his head to know Misha’s watching him. He can feel it well, and he’s honestly getting tired of it. Because this is a Friday night and they’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours and Jared wishes Misha had better things to do than studying him like some weird specie of animal and stopped bombarding him with weird, uncomfortable questions.
“You and Jensen… You’re really close, right?”
Jared smiles unwittingly when Jensen sends another ball into the pocket where it belongs and his lips greets a satisfied grin that disappears just as swiftly as it appeared. Jared watches him from where he’s leaning his elbows on the desk of the bar and for the first time he’s known this guy, he wonders if Jensen’s this good at pool because Dean taught him or whether Dean is as excellent at it as he is, because it’s already in Jensen. He doesn’t understand why it seems to be so important right now.
“Yeah, it’s… You know, it’s been a while up here,” Jared replies automatically, and not really sensing anything behind Misha’s question. “A couple of centuries at least.”
“And are you like… together?”
There’s a strange emphasis on the last word and that is enough to steal Jared’s attention from the billboard game and his friend and focus at Misha’s question instead. Then he sputters the sip of beer he’s just taken - a very bad idea, seriously - and coughs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Misha at last. He’s watching him, poring at him like the very damn angel Jared’s almost sure has just taken Misha’s place.
“What?” Jared asks finally, wincing as his sore throat clenches with pain. Stupid beer. And stupid Misha.
“I’m asking you if you two are dating. You know, huggin' and a kissin', dancin' and a lovin', that sort of things… I’m not speaking Spanish, am I?”
“No.” Jared snorts like that idea is just plain stupid. Idiotic, really.
Like he hasn’t spent the last few months, maybe even years, thinking, wondering. Weighing his options and hoping. He glances at his fingers wrapped around the bottle and notices their nervous tapping against the glass. He wills them to stop and clears his throat. “Of course not. We’re not, we’re just… friends, you know?”
“And you’ve never… I mean, not even once? Not even a little friendly help?” Jared frowns at that question, but remains silent and shakes his head instead. “A kiss?” Misha goes on. “You’ve never even tried? Wow, you’re… You’ve got a very strong will. I’d never have thought so.”
It might be a compliment, but coming from Misha, right now and with the predatory look in his eyes, Jared feels honestly insulted. If Misha just stated that Jared is a complete, patented idiot, he’d accepted it better than this wannabe elegant, innocent dancing around the exact same statement.
“No,” he replies, a little louder and angrier than he meant to. “Jensen is a friend. That’s it. That’s all there is.”
“Sure, on the surface, but underneath? Is it also all there is?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Misha seems to be very pleased with that answer. He wriggles on the bar stool, a little impatiently, Jared thinks, like he’s getting ready to run. Somewhere. “So you’re not gonna break my neck if I go over there and try my luck?” Holding his own beer, Misha points his index finger towards Jensen and arches his eyebrow pointedly.
“Try your luck?” Jared asks, momentarily confused. “How? Oh!... Oh, you mean-- Right.” He shrugs, trying to hide the embarrassment and panic rising out of nowhere.
“I mean, look at that ass. So…” Misha trails of and clenches his hand into a fist, making this sort of ‘I want’ expression that sends a shiver down Jared’s spine.
He’s always known that Misha is a freak, but he’s never heard him talking this honestly or blatantly before. It’s kind of creepy. On a wholly new Misha creepy level.
“And the lips,” Misha goes on, sounding like he’s just got a serious case of word diarrhea. “Downright sinful, don’t you think? Can you imagine how they’d feel beneath yours? You think they’re even softer than they look?”
He glances at Jared, who returns his look rather stiffly; terrified that Misha will see the truth after all. Because Jared’s breath somehow just got stuck in his throat and pearls of sweat broke up on his forehead. And, shit, is it getting hot in there?
But Misha seems to be too caught up in his own mind to notice anything beside Jensen right now. “You know how he always licks his lips or bites his lower lip? Christ, he’s driving me insane with that damn habit. You think he even realizes that? Do you think he’s even aware of all the eyes on him right now?”
Jensen’s ready to nail another ball and he’s leaning forward, his spine in a perfect line with his outstretched hand, the tips of his fingers, as he measures the distance and angle. His skin is golden beneath the dimmed blurbs above, his muscles tensed and evident, and there’s a flash of pale skin bared where the waistband of his washed out jeans don’t quite meet with the hem of his T-shirt. His bottom lip is drawn in between his teeth and his eyebrow is cocked in concentration. It’s subtle, innocent, really. And still unfairly sexy.
Jared looks around and realizes that he and Misha aren’t the only ones who are looking, watching. And no one seems to be actually focused at the game. He wonders if they hadn’t accidentally stumbled into a gay bar by any chance.
Something inside him suddenly, almost audibly rattles. What he sees now is nothing that he hasn’t seen before, a million times, it’s just that he sees it, through someone else’s eyes and his own. Throughout the years they’ve been working on the show together; from a meeting of strangers to the strongest bond Jared’s ever had with about anyone. Misha’s questions and his determination don’t all of a sudden sound as innocent as Jared took it before, it sounds downright stupid and awful, and Jared turns to tell Misha all that. Only Misha’s no longer there. Close to panicking, Jared looks around densely, wondering where the hell the guy just disappeared to and that hey, maybe it was the angel after all, when he remembers and makes a realization. He spots Misha standing right in front of Jensen at the other end of the bar. Shit.
From what Jared can see, not that he’s watching or something, Jensen is very flabbergasted of Misha’s appearance and proximity and of whatever he’s saying. He seems to be taken by surprise and confused, and is that an S.O.S. he sends to Jared when he catches his gaze? It sure looks exactly like that.
Jared isn’t thinking when he stands up, heading right where Jensen’s blocked, trapped in a shadowed corner like a little animal. He isn’t thinking about anything; his eyes, mind, every sense narrowed and focused only at the two figures nearly lost in the crowd of other people mingling around.
Only when he gets closer can he see Misha’s finger hooked in the loop on Jensen’s low-riding jeans, his other hand resting on the wall beside Jensen’s head. Jensen’s leant against the wall, clutching his beer, his fingers wound tight around the slender neck of the golden-brown bottle.
The first words Jared hears are Jensen’s - a soft, low Texan drawl. “--you’re married.”
There’s a chuckle coming from Misha; amused and dark. “She would understand,” he says, drawing Jensen’s hips slightly closer with the tug of his finger. He leans closer and Jared can see their shadows that are projected on the opposite wall already touching, melting into each other. It’s a notion that makes him see red in an instant.
“And she does,” Misha continues, his thumb inching higher, teasing beneath the rim of Jensen’s T-shirt. “You’re a very attractive man, Jensen. She knows. She kind of wants, too.”
Jensen’s eyes widen and he swallows thickly, “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed,” Misha nods. “So?” he prompts. “What’s it gonna be? Yes? Or no?”
Jensen looks up when Jared approaches them, and Jared might be only hoping again, imaging things, but he’d swear Jensen breaths out with relief. “Jared.”
Misha doesn’t seem to be affected, or even surprised by Jared’s appearance. He never stops grinning, leering really, reminding Jared of the big bad wolf from the Little Red Riding Hood. “Jared,” he echoes, without looking up at him, his eyes firmly glued to Jensen’s green ones.
“Misha, I think I’ve changed my mind,” Jared announces resolutely, determined, as he, almost unobtrusively jog into Misha’s side to push him out of the way. Unsuccessfully so, because Misha doesn’t even move, holds tight like a damn dog tick. He’s actually arrogant enough to step even closer to Jensen, close enough that their hips are touching for real now. “What we talked about… What you asked me.”
“Have you now?” Misha asks, watching Jensen’s gaze sweep from one to the other and one more time in a different order. “And what you’re planning to do about it?”
Jared isn't planning anything actually, he just reaches out and clasps Jensen’s elbow, dragging him out of the shadows and Misha’s closeness.
“This,” he says simply before he presses his lips against Jensen’s, already parted on a question Jensen was just about to ask. It sounded a lot like, “What the hell’s go--?”
There’s silence. The whole bar is awfully quiet all of a sudden; a pin dropping at the other end of the room would sound like a bomb explosion. Then someone whistles, other people laugh. And Jared hopes that no one is getting ready to go and beat the living hell out of them.
Jensen’s frozen and Jared’s sure he’s finally, royally screwed up this time, but when he’s about to pull away, Jensen’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, keeping him there. His tongue darts out, flicking over Jared’s bottom lip and coaxing his lips apart, and Jared more than happily obeys. Jensen’s lips are warm, and even smoother than Jared thought, and he thinks he’ll have to tell Misha, because he might like to know, and he tastes a bit like beer and Tequila and a lot like something that must be just Jensen. Jared’s head is spinning and he’s not sure he can blame all that only on the alcohol. Jensen sighs into his mouth and that’s about the best, sexiest sound Jared’s ever heard.
But there’s another sound, one that isn’t nearly as sexy, either pleasant. Jared pulls away when Jensen does and they both look at Misha, who’s still standing beside them and fucking laughing. He looks also damn pleased with himself. And Jared wants to punch him. Now even a bit more than before, because holy crap!, he nearly handed Jensen over.
“What the hell are you giggling at?” he snaps at him, resting his hand on the small of Jensen’s back to keep him close in case Misha would also change his mind and decide to fight.
“Oh, nothing, really,” Misha grins brightly. “But you two just won me $2,000 dollars. Thanks guys, seriously. I guess I owe you at least a drink. So come to join me when you're - if you’re ever done here.”
“What?” Jensen questions, looking just as confused as Jared feels.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ask anyone on the set on Monday, you’ll understand,” Misha tells them before he turns and heads for the bar. He stops after a couple of steps and looks back at them. “Oh, and sorry, Jensen, if I scared you or something… It was all a part of the act.”
Jensen nods, a little slow and a lot fuzzy-headed. “Sure.”
“Not that I wasn’t serious all the time.” He winks at Jensen and Jared takes a step forward to fucking hit that guy already. Misha only laughs though.
“What?!”
“I… I think I might know what that all was about,” Jensen starts, unsure and hesitant.
Jared takes his eyes off Misha who’s settled back on the bar stool and ordered another beer, leaning back and watching them amusedly, and looks at Jensen instead. It’s a much prettier and more sympathetic picture. “You do? What then?”
“Misha won.”
“Won? Yeah, but… won what?”
“They were betting on us, Jay,” Jensen elaborates, and wasn’t that just obvious? Should have been. “Whether we are or aren’t together. Or more like… whether there is, or isn’t something between us.”
“That’s ridiculous! And you knew?”
“I… heard about it. I overhead the make-up girls talking about it once. But that was like… two years ago? I honestly thought they gave it up.”
“Well, looks like they haven’t. And looks like we just helped Misha win. Misha, of all people. Damn it, that makes me kinda angry.”
“And does it really matter?” Jensen smiles as his fingers close around Jared’s forearm, tugging him nearer. “He was the bravest. Perhaps he really deserved it.”
“Bravest? More like the most impudent, calculating bastard I know.”
“Let it go. What do you say we leave him here and go home?”
“Home?”
“Yeah, Jay. Home.”
“So you think there is something?”
Jensen pauses and then shrugs, “I don’t know. We should like... find out.”
Characters: Jensen/Jared, Misha
Prompt: Bet
Summary: Misha plays dirty, Jensen's pretty and Jared's confused and stuck in between...
Wordcount: 2,334
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: agent_jl36
A/N: This fic is probably the only one of the 25 prompts that doesn't belong to the others. That's because I wrote it before and wasn't sure if I should post it. Then I decided to put it here and hide among the others.
Prompt Table # 1
Theme: Kiss
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Can't Read My Poker Face
Misha takes a sip of his beer and looks at Jared, “So I’ve been thinking.”
“Good for you,” Jared mutters.
He doesn’t need to turn his head to know Misha’s watching him. He can feel it well, and he’s honestly getting tired of it. Because this is a Friday night and they’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours and Jared wishes Misha had better things to do than studying him like some weird specie of animal and stopped bombarding him with weird, uncomfortable questions.
“You and Jensen… You’re really close, right?”
Jared smiles unwittingly when Jensen sends another ball into the pocket where it belongs and his lips greets a satisfied grin that disappears just as swiftly as it appeared. Jared watches him from where he’s leaning his elbows on the desk of the bar and for the first time he’s known this guy, he wonders if Jensen’s this good at pool because Dean taught him or whether Dean is as excellent at it as he is, because it’s already in Jensen. He doesn’t understand why it seems to be so important right now.
“Yeah, it’s… You know, it’s been a while up here,” Jared replies automatically, and not really sensing anything behind Misha’s question. “A couple of centuries at least.”
“And are you like… together?”
There’s a strange emphasis on the last word and that is enough to steal Jared’s attention from the billboard game and his friend and focus at Misha’s question instead. Then he sputters the sip of beer he’s just taken - a very bad idea, seriously - and coughs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Misha at last. He’s watching him, poring at him like the very damn angel Jared’s almost sure has just taken Misha’s place.
“What?” Jared asks finally, wincing as his sore throat clenches with pain. Stupid beer. And stupid Misha.
“I’m asking you if you two are dating. You know, huggin' and a kissin', dancin' and a lovin', that sort of things… I’m not speaking Spanish, am I?”
“No.” Jared snorts like that idea is just plain stupid. Idiotic, really.
Like he hasn’t spent the last few months, maybe even years, thinking, wondering. Weighing his options and hoping. He glances at his fingers wrapped around the bottle and notices their nervous tapping against the glass. He wills them to stop and clears his throat. “Of course not. We’re not, we’re just… friends, you know?”
“And you’ve never… I mean, not even once? Not even a little friendly help?” Jared frowns at that question, but remains silent and shakes his head instead. “A kiss?” Misha goes on. “You’ve never even tried? Wow, you’re… You’ve got a very strong will. I’d never have thought so.”
It might be a compliment, but coming from Misha, right now and with the predatory look in his eyes, Jared feels honestly insulted. If Misha just stated that Jared is a complete, patented idiot, he’d accepted it better than this wannabe elegant, innocent dancing around the exact same statement.
“No,” he replies, a little louder and angrier than he meant to. “Jensen is a friend. That’s it. That’s all there is.”
“Sure, on the surface, but underneath? Is it also all there is?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Misha seems to be very pleased with that answer. He wriggles on the bar stool, a little impatiently, Jared thinks, like he’s getting ready to run. Somewhere. “So you’re not gonna break my neck if I go over there and try my luck?” Holding his own beer, Misha points his index finger towards Jensen and arches his eyebrow pointedly.
“Try your luck?” Jared asks, momentarily confused. “How? Oh!... Oh, you mean-- Right.” He shrugs, trying to hide the embarrassment and panic rising out of nowhere.
“I mean, look at that ass. So…” Misha trails of and clenches his hand into a fist, making this sort of ‘I want’ expression that sends a shiver down Jared’s spine.
He’s always known that Misha is a freak, but he’s never heard him talking this honestly or blatantly before. It’s kind of creepy. On a wholly new Misha creepy level.
“And the lips,” Misha goes on, sounding like he’s just got a serious case of word diarrhea. “Downright sinful, don’t you think? Can you imagine how they’d feel beneath yours? You think they’re even softer than they look?”
He glances at Jared, who returns his look rather stiffly; terrified that Misha will see the truth after all. Because Jared’s breath somehow just got stuck in his throat and pearls of sweat broke up on his forehead. And, shit, is it getting hot in there?
But Misha seems to be too caught up in his own mind to notice anything beside Jensen right now. “You know how he always licks his lips or bites his lower lip? Christ, he’s driving me insane with that damn habit. You think he even realizes that? Do you think he’s even aware of all the eyes on him right now?”
Jensen’s ready to nail another ball and he’s leaning forward, his spine in a perfect line with his outstretched hand, the tips of his fingers, as he measures the distance and angle. His skin is golden beneath the dimmed blurbs above, his muscles tensed and evident, and there’s a flash of pale skin bared where the waistband of his washed out jeans don’t quite meet with the hem of his T-shirt. His bottom lip is drawn in between his teeth and his eyebrow is cocked in concentration. It’s subtle, innocent, really. And still unfairly sexy.
Jared looks around and realizes that he and Misha aren’t the only ones who are looking, watching. And no one seems to be actually focused at the game. He wonders if they hadn’t accidentally stumbled into a gay bar by any chance.
Something inside him suddenly, almost audibly rattles. What he sees now is nothing that he hasn’t seen before, a million times, it’s just that he sees it, through someone else’s eyes and his own. Throughout the years they’ve been working on the show together; from a meeting of strangers to the strongest bond Jared’s ever had with about anyone. Misha’s questions and his determination don’t all of a sudden sound as innocent as Jared took it before, it sounds downright stupid and awful, and Jared turns to tell Misha all that. Only Misha’s no longer there. Close to panicking, Jared looks around densely, wondering where the hell the guy just disappeared to and that hey, maybe it was the angel after all, when he remembers and makes a realization. He spots Misha standing right in front of Jensen at the other end of the bar. Shit.
From what Jared can see, not that he’s watching or something, Jensen is very flabbergasted of Misha’s appearance and proximity and of whatever he’s saying. He seems to be taken by surprise and confused, and is that an S.O.S. he sends to Jared when he catches his gaze? It sure looks exactly like that.
Jared isn’t thinking when he stands up, heading right where Jensen’s blocked, trapped in a shadowed corner like a little animal. He isn’t thinking about anything; his eyes, mind, every sense narrowed and focused only at the two figures nearly lost in the crowd of other people mingling around.
Only when he gets closer can he see Misha’s finger hooked in the loop on Jensen’s low-riding jeans, his other hand resting on the wall beside Jensen’s head. Jensen’s leant against the wall, clutching his beer, his fingers wound tight around the slender neck of the golden-brown bottle.
The first words Jared hears are Jensen’s - a soft, low Texan drawl. “--you’re married.”
There’s a chuckle coming from Misha; amused and dark. “She would understand,” he says, drawing Jensen’s hips slightly closer with the tug of his finger. He leans closer and Jared can see their shadows that are projected on the opposite wall already touching, melting into each other. It’s a notion that makes him see red in an instant.
“And she does,” Misha continues, his thumb inching higher, teasing beneath the rim of Jensen’s T-shirt. “You’re a very attractive man, Jensen. She knows. She kind of wants, too.”
Jensen’s eyes widen and he swallows thickly, “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed,” Misha nods. “So?” he prompts. “What’s it gonna be? Yes? Or no?”
Jensen looks up when Jared approaches them, and Jared might be only hoping again, imaging things, but he’d swear Jensen breaths out with relief. “Jared.”
Misha doesn’t seem to be affected, or even surprised by Jared’s appearance. He never stops grinning, leering really, reminding Jared of the big bad wolf from the Little Red Riding Hood. “Jared,” he echoes, without looking up at him, his eyes firmly glued to Jensen’s green ones.
“Misha, I think I’ve changed my mind,” Jared announces resolutely, determined, as he, almost unobtrusively jog into Misha’s side to push him out of the way. Unsuccessfully so, because Misha doesn’t even move, holds tight like a damn dog tick. He’s actually arrogant enough to step even closer to Jensen, close enough that their hips are touching for real now. “What we talked about… What you asked me.”
“Have you now?” Misha asks, watching Jensen’s gaze sweep from one to the other and one more time in a different order. “And what you’re planning to do about it?”
Jared isn't planning anything actually, he just reaches out and clasps Jensen’s elbow, dragging him out of the shadows and Misha’s closeness.
“This,” he says simply before he presses his lips against Jensen’s, already parted on a question Jensen was just about to ask. It sounded a lot like, “What the hell’s go--?”
There’s silence. The whole bar is awfully quiet all of a sudden; a pin dropping at the other end of the room would sound like a bomb explosion. Then someone whistles, other people laugh. And Jared hopes that no one is getting ready to go and beat the living hell out of them.
Jensen’s frozen and Jared’s sure he’s finally, royally screwed up this time, but when he’s about to pull away, Jensen’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, keeping him there. His tongue darts out, flicking over Jared’s bottom lip and coaxing his lips apart, and Jared more than happily obeys. Jensen’s lips are warm, and even smoother than Jared thought, and he thinks he’ll have to tell Misha, because he might like to know, and he tastes a bit like beer and Tequila and a lot like something that must be just Jensen. Jared’s head is spinning and he’s not sure he can blame all that only on the alcohol. Jensen sighs into his mouth and that’s about the best, sexiest sound Jared’s ever heard.
But there’s another sound, one that isn’t nearly as sexy, either pleasant. Jared pulls away when Jensen does and they both look at Misha, who’s still standing beside them and fucking laughing. He looks also damn pleased with himself. And Jared wants to punch him. Now even a bit more than before, because holy crap!, he nearly handed Jensen over.
“What the hell are you giggling at?” he snaps at him, resting his hand on the small of Jensen’s back to keep him close in case Misha would also change his mind and decide to fight.
“Oh, nothing, really,” Misha grins brightly. “But you two just won me $2,000 dollars. Thanks guys, seriously. I guess I owe you at least a drink. So come to join me when you're - if you’re ever done here.”
“What?” Jensen questions, looking just as confused as Jared feels.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ask anyone on the set on Monday, you’ll understand,” Misha tells them before he turns and heads for the bar. He stops after a couple of steps and looks back at them. “Oh, and sorry, Jensen, if I scared you or something… It was all a part of the act.”
Jensen nods, a little slow and a lot fuzzy-headed. “Sure.”
“Not that I wasn’t serious all the time.” He winks at Jensen and Jared takes a step forward to fucking hit that guy already. Misha only laughs though.
“What?!”
“I… I think I might know what that all was about,” Jensen starts, unsure and hesitant.
Jared takes his eyes off Misha who’s settled back on the bar stool and ordered another beer, leaning back and watching them amusedly, and looks at Jensen instead. It’s a much prettier and more sympathetic picture. “You do? What then?”
“Misha won.”
“Won? Yeah, but… won what?”
“They were betting on us, Jay,” Jensen elaborates, and wasn’t that just obvious? Should have been. “Whether we are or aren’t together. Or more like… whether there is, or isn’t something between us.”
“That’s ridiculous! And you knew?”
“I… heard about it. I overhead the make-up girls talking about it once. But that was like… two years ago? I honestly thought they gave it up.”
“Well, looks like they haven’t. And looks like we just helped Misha win. Misha, of all people. Damn it, that makes me kinda angry.”
“And does it really matter?” Jensen smiles as his fingers close around Jared’s forearm, tugging him nearer. “He was the bravest. Perhaps he really deserved it.”
“Bravest? More like the most impudent, calculating bastard I know.”
“Let it go. What do you say we leave him here and go home?”
“Home?”
“Yeah, Jay. Home.”
“So you think there is something?”
Jensen pauses and then shrugs, “I don’t know. We should like... find out.”