Fic: Wound Down, Wound Up - Jensen/Misha, NC-17
Title: Wound Down, Wound Up
Author: qthelights
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1312
Disclaimer: Not mine, Didn't happen.
Summary: Misha winds down after a long week.
Notes: Written for Day 2 of mmom
He's been on set all week, and really, he doesn't know how Jensen and Jared manage it. Granted, there's a lot of sitting around, but it's busy sitting around. There are always things to think about. How you're gonna play the next scene, what the lines are for the one after that.
It feels like he hasn't had a moment to himself all week.
Which is why, an hour after flinging his satchel inside the door and his keys on the table, he is happily melded into the couch with a beer and a well-thumbed book. And he does not plan on moving. For the entire weekend.
But relaxation isn't coming. If he goes to sleep now, he'll fuck up his already fucked up sleep schedule, it's way too early in the evening. It's too early to eat, and frankly, just the thought of looking in the fridge to find something to cook is way too much trouble to consider.
Around the time he finds he's read the same paragraph three times and is still no closer to understanding what the hell it's on about he gives up the pretence and sets the book aside.
There's only one way to calm the jittery flickers of synaptic firing that are going on within his overstressed muscles. Well, one way that doesn't involve him moving from the couch, anyway.
He braces a bare foot up on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, the other flat on the carpeted floor. Slouches down into the cushions and slips his hand down to the waistband of the sweats he'd slid into earlier, pushes his fingers underneath the cotton. With a brief blunt scratch of his fingernails through the coarse hair there he wraps his palm around his soft cock.
Yes. This is exactly what he needs.
With a sigh Misha lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch, closes his eyes and lets his mind drift, following the sensuous feelings of arousal that begin to pool as he works himself to hardness. The flesh under his fingers becomes taut and the hardness fills his grip. And given that there is no one around, that he isn't on set any longer and has no potentially embarrassing interruptions imminent, he lets himself go.
Allows his breathing to shallow out and whisper past his lips in little puffs of air in time with the stroking of his hand. Allows the soft moan that builds in his chest to skitter up his throat and escape into the quiet of the living room.
Fuck yes.
He could make this better, he could go find lube or porn, but really... He's close enough as it is, and he really doesn't give a fuck if it isn't the most elegant hand-job of all time, if he might end up a little chafed afterwards. Besides, there is already pre-come beading and he allows the circle of his hand to slip up and over, the head of his cock disappearing through his fingers. And then down again in a long stroke, swiping the pre-come in the wake of his hand.
When his fucking phone rings, vibrating on the seat cushion next to him, he fully intends to ignore it. But the caller Id flashes up "Jensen" and something compels him to pause. Jensen doesn't often call him. Especially not when they've spent all day together on set. It might be important, right?
Probably not as important as the cock in his hand or the pretty awesome orgasm he is working his way towards, the orgasm he really fucking needs. But still.
Knowing better, he swipes the thumb of his unoccupied hand across the touch pad and lifts the phone to his ear.
"Jensen?" he queries, tries not to sound frustrated. Tries not to sound like he is currently jacking himself off. The thought somehow makes things worse, his dick giving a jumpy twitch under his fingers. Shit.
"Misha?" Jensen's voice is warm in his ear. "Hey man, I was just wondering if you wanted to come round for a beer tomorrow. Jared has some half-assed idea that bonding and booze is in order."
"Um." He does a quick run through of his plans for the weekend, keeps his hand working himself slowly. Really, his plans only involved staying where he is on the couch. But he should probably play at being sociable. Stupid societal norms. "Yeah, sure," he replies, tightens his hold on his cock with a barely repressed shudder. He isn't going to last.
"Cool, well come over any time. Game's at 2." Jensen's voice is a low rumble in his ear, and Misha's ashamed, only not really, to admit that it sends frissons of want down his abs like electricity.
"Uh huh, yup." It's not his most elegant sentence. But it's better than the moan that he's constricting down into his chest, forcing his diaphragm to cling onto lest it find its way out and down the phone line.
There's a pause on the other end, and Misha bites his lip, wants to roll his eyes and growl at Jensen to get on with it.
"Er... you okay, man?"
Great. Now Jensen takes the time to be inquisitive.
"Yeah fine...Sorry. In the middle of something. I'll catch you at 2, k?"
He barely waits for Jensen's stuttered answer before he hits his thumb against the screen to end the call and he flings his phone down somewhere into the cushions. The groan that rips from his vocal cords is startlingly loud in the apartment, but he doesn't care. There's no one around to hear it.
Misha tightens his grip and begins to stroke in earnest, hips jerking up into his fist and his breath coming out in mewling moaning sighs. So close, so fucking close.
The twist of his wrist on the upswing, the sliding circle of his thumb and index finger around the sensitive skin between head and shaft is what does him in, and he comes with a groan, messy and hot over his hand and thigh and the inside of his sweats.
It's fucking glorious.
Though kinda gross too he decides as he comes down off the high and realises he is going to have to move off the couch after all unless he wants to sit around in the cold wet patch he's made of his pants.
Oh well. It was worth it.
He extracts his hand from his sweats, wipes the come off the back of his knuckles along the leg. He has to wash them anyway. He's just about to muster the energy to lever himself up off the couch and hit the shower when he notices the screen of his phone where it's nestled into the cushions.
Specifically, the green bar across the top that indicates that the call has not been hung up.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Perhaps it's just the call on his end though. Perhaps Jensen hung up when the conversation clearly finished. It's what any normal person would do, right?
Tentatively Misha picks up the phone, slides the plastic close to his ear and bleats out a very small, "Jen?"
There's no sound, and Misha is about to breathe a sigh of relief and thank every god he knows in existence. Only then he catches it. Or rather, he hears the catch. The catch in Jensen's throat and the strangled moan that can only be the noise that Jensen makes when he comes. Can not be anything else. Especially with the garbled, "Fuck, Misha," that follows on its heels.
Panicking Misha swipes his thumb across the phone and watches the green bar turn red. Somehow he knows that Jensen heard him say his name, knows it's what Jensen heard before he came. Knows that Jensen knows he knows.
Fuck.
Monday is gonna be awkward.
* * *
Jensen's POV: Friday
Author: qthelights
Pairing: Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1312
Disclaimer: Not mine, Didn't happen.
Summary: Misha winds down after a long week.
Notes: Written for Day 2 of mmom
He's been on set all week, and really, he doesn't know how Jensen and Jared manage it. Granted, there's a lot of sitting around, but it's busy sitting around. There are always things to think about. How you're gonna play the next scene, what the lines are for the one after that.
It feels like he hasn't had a moment to himself all week.
Which is why, an hour after flinging his satchel inside the door and his keys on the table, he is happily melded into the couch with a beer and a well-thumbed book. And he does not plan on moving. For the entire weekend.
But relaxation isn't coming. If he goes to sleep now, he'll fuck up his already fucked up sleep schedule, it's way too early in the evening. It's too early to eat, and frankly, just the thought of looking in the fridge to find something to cook is way too much trouble to consider.
Around the time he finds he's read the same paragraph three times and is still no closer to understanding what the hell it's on about he gives up the pretence and sets the book aside.
There's only one way to calm the jittery flickers of synaptic firing that are going on within his overstressed muscles. Well, one way that doesn't involve him moving from the couch, anyway.
He braces a bare foot up on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, the other flat on the carpeted floor. Slouches down into the cushions and slips his hand down to the waistband of the sweats he'd slid into earlier, pushes his fingers underneath the cotton. With a brief blunt scratch of his fingernails through the coarse hair there he wraps his palm around his soft cock.
Yes. This is exactly what he needs.
With a sigh Misha lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch, closes his eyes and lets his mind drift, following the sensuous feelings of arousal that begin to pool as he works himself to hardness. The flesh under his fingers becomes taut and the hardness fills his grip. And given that there is no one around, that he isn't on set any longer and has no potentially embarrassing interruptions imminent, he lets himself go.
Allows his breathing to shallow out and whisper past his lips in little puffs of air in time with the stroking of his hand. Allows the soft moan that builds in his chest to skitter up his throat and escape into the quiet of the living room.
Fuck yes.
He could make this better, he could go find lube or porn, but really... He's close enough as it is, and he really doesn't give a fuck if it isn't the most elegant hand-job of all time, if he might end up a little chafed afterwards. Besides, there is already pre-come beading and he allows the circle of his hand to slip up and over, the head of his cock disappearing through his fingers. And then down again in a long stroke, swiping the pre-come in the wake of his hand.
When his fucking phone rings, vibrating on the seat cushion next to him, he fully intends to ignore it. But the caller Id flashes up "Jensen" and something compels him to pause. Jensen doesn't often call him. Especially not when they've spent all day together on set. It might be important, right?
Probably not as important as the cock in his hand or the pretty awesome orgasm he is working his way towards, the orgasm he really fucking needs. But still.
Knowing better, he swipes the thumb of his unoccupied hand across the touch pad and lifts the phone to his ear.
"Jensen?" he queries, tries not to sound frustrated. Tries not to sound like he is currently jacking himself off. The thought somehow makes things worse, his dick giving a jumpy twitch under his fingers. Shit.
"Misha?" Jensen's voice is warm in his ear. "Hey man, I was just wondering if you wanted to come round for a beer tomorrow. Jared has some half-assed idea that bonding and booze is in order."
"Um." He does a quick run through of his plans for the weekend, keeps his hand working himself slowly. Really, his plans only involved staying where he is on the couch. But he should probably play at being sociable. Stupid societal norms. "Yeah, sure," he replies, tightens his hold on his cock with a barely repressed shudder. He isn't going to last.
"Cool, well come over any time. Game's at 2." Jensen's voice is a low rumble in his ear, and Misha's ashamed, only not really, to admit that it sends frissons of want down his abs like electricity.
"Uh huh, yup." It's not his most elegant sentence. But it's better than the moan that he's constricting down into his chest, forcing his diaphragm to cling onto lest it find its way out and down the phone line.
There's a pause on the other end, and Misha bites his lip, wants to roll his eyes and growl at Jensen to get on with it.
"Er... you okay, man?"
Great. Now Jensen takes the time to be inquisitive.
"Yeah fine...Sorry. In the middle of something. I'll catch you at 2, k?"
He barely waits for Jensen's stuttered answer before he hits his thumb against the screen to end the call and he flings his phone down somewhere into the cushions. The groan that rips from his vocal cords is startlingly loud in the apartment, but he doesn't care. There's no one around to hear it.
Misha tightens his grip and begins to stroke in earnest, hips jerking up into his fist and his breath coming out in mewling moaning sighs. So close, so fucking close.
The twist of his wrist on the upswing, the sliding circle of his thumb and index finger around the sensitive skin between head and shaft is what does him in, and he comes with a groan, messy and hot over his hand and thigh and the inside of his sweats.
It's fucking glorious.
Though kinda gross too he decides as he comes down off the high and realises he is going to have to move off the couch after all unless he wants to sit around in the cold wet patch he's made of his pants.
Oh well. It was worth it.
He extracts his hand from his sweats, wipes the come off the back of his knuckles along the leg. He has to wash them anyway. He's just about to muster the energy to lever himself up off the couch and hit the shower when he notices the screen of his phone where it's nestled into the cushions.
Specifically, the green bar across the top that indicates that the call has not been hung up.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Perhaps it's just the call on his end though. Perhaps Jensen hung up when the conversation clearly finished. It's what any normal person would do, right?
Tentatively Misha picks up the phone, slides the plastic close to his ear and bleats out a very small, "Jen?"
There's no sound, and Misha is about to breathe a sigh of relief and thank every god he knows in existence. Only then he catches it. Or rather, he hears the catch. The catch in Jensen's throat and the strangled moan that can only be the noise that Jensen makes when he comes. Can not be anything else. Especially with the garbled, "Fuck, Misha," that follows on its heels.
Panicking Misha swipes his thumb across the phone and watches the green bar turn red. Somehow he knows that Jensen heard him say his name, knows it's what Jensen heard before he came. Knows that Jensen knows he knows.
Fuck.
Monday is gonna be awkward.
* * *
Jensen's POV: Friday