Fic: Reconciling Hollywood - Jensen/Misha, NC-17 - chapter nine
Nine
Misha watches Jensen practically throw a wad of cash at a very grateful taxi driver before he scrambles out of the backseat to join him. Misha almost trips going up his stairs, stairs that he built himself, knows every inch of and has never ever tripped on.
Jensen's hand is at the small of his back, a hot spread of warmth through Misha's t-shirt, steadying reflexively. It's something Jensen does on set, always looking after Misha and Jared, checking they're okay, unhurt by stunts, fed, rested, keeping hydrated. It's never really occurred to Misha, until this particular moment that it's anything other than an overdeveloped sense of professional courtesy. Which of course it is. But maybe it's also something more. Maybe it speaks to how Jensen treats his friends rather than just his co-workers.
The front door has a trick to it, and Misha jiggles the knob just so, heaves at it with his hip a tad too fast and too hard, a sharp intake of breath at the sliver of pain that shoots through the bone. He doesn't care though, because as soon as he's in and the door closes behind them, he rounds and pushes Jensen back up against the hallway wall, a litter of shoes at their feet and coats closing in on both sides.
Jensen's breath is hot against his cheek, his eyes dark and glittering, caught on his and unwavering. Instead of pressing his mouth back to Jensen's, which is what he wants to do most, he pauses, body plastered against Jensen's, erection tight in his jeans and the feel of Jensen's own pushing at his thigh. "This is why turtles are better."
Jensen blinks, comically bewildered. "What?"
"Turtles," he repeats, slow, like he's talking to a child. "This is why they're better."
Jensen shakes his head, breath ghosting across Misha's lips like an oscillating fan. "Better than what?"
"Dogs."
"Seriously, Misha. What the hell?" Jensen growls, but there is too much of a laugh in it, too much breathlessness to take it as admonishment.
"Dogs get all up over you when you get home," Misha nods seriously. Jensen 'ahhs' as if this makes perfect sense, and Misha appreciates the effort, even if it's placating the insane.
He steps back, just a fraction, a swirling vacuum of cooler air rushing between their bodies. Finding Jensen's hips again he tiptoes his fingertips up Jensen's sides, a slow tease of touch.
"Dogs make it hard to do things like this," Misha says, walks his fingertips back down to the edge of Jensen's jeans. Follows the leather of Jensen's belt inwards to the buckle. They both look down to watch Misha's fingers as they coax the leather through the metal with soft metallic clanks.
"I'm pretty sure a dog wouldn't care about you undoing my belt," Jensen says, wryly.
Misha draws the zip down, can feel the heat emanating from the flesh held inside. "Maybe not," he allows. "But it's a hell of a lot of awkward when you're trying to give a blow job and there's a furry four-legged mop humping your leg."
Jensen snorts, but it turns into a strangled intake of air as Misha slips the tips of his fingers inside the mouth of the zipper, lets them touch the hot swell of Jensen's cock through his briefs. Misha watches as Jensen takes a steadying breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You better not be meaning Icarus, man."
Misha shrugs, slides his fingers in to the second knuckle to curve around Jensen. Another intake of breath, another victory. "I'm just saying. My turtles aren't getting in the way."
"Your turtles don't do anything but fight, Misha."
"Yes but-"
Jensen groans. "Are you seriously trying to hold a conversation right now?"
"You should never underestimate the power of a good conversation," Misha reprimands, can't help the smile that tucks itself into the corner of his mouth. "For instance," he says, sliding his fingers all the way into Jensen's jeans and wrapping his hand completely around Jensen's erection. "We could talk about the fact that for two years now I've been missing the way your cock felt, hot and so fucking hard, wrapped in my fingers. You know?"
"Oh god," Jensen groans. "This was a bad idea wasn't it? You're going to kill me."
"Only if you beg real purrty," Misha drawls. He crooks his index finger, lets it drag up and down the underside of Jensen's erection in a slow come-hither movement.
Jensen's eyelids flutter and he hmmms. "Keep doing that and I just might. Jesus."
"Two years, Jensen. Two years when I could have been doing just this." He gives in to the temptation, leans forward, pinning his hand and Jensen's cock between them as he sucks a pink blossom of bruise into Jensen's throat where the scruff of his almost-beard meets clean skin.
Misha feels the laugh that tremors through the skin under his lips. "Two years when I could have been laying you out, fucking you, having you, owning you..." He punctuates each phrase with a nip to Jensen's throat.
"I get it, I'm an idiot," Jensen says, but his words come out stuttered and gasped.
Misha mmm's into Jensen's neck, nips gently at the warm skin. He pulls back, freeing his arm and sliding his hand back out of Jensen's jeans.
He attempts serious for a moment, hopes that Jensen will appreciate it's genuineness. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're an idiot and not just a dick."
Jensen's mouth twists in, pinched. "I'm slightly insulted that you think I would just sleep with you like a piece of meat."
Which is fair, when all is said and done. He should have thought it through, and yet somehow, in all the time he's thought about it in the intervening years, it has never occurred to him that he might be wrong about what happened. He'd been so focused on making Jensen's behaviour into something excusable that he never considered that maybe there was nothing to excuse.
He wants to say he's sorry, but it feels too open, too soon. Even for Jensen. Hell, especially for Jensen. Instead he defaults. "If I grovel and you beg, we'll make quite the pair."
Jensen's frown eases, and he reaches forward, hands sliding around Misha's waist and pulling him in. Misha goes willingly, infinitely glad that Jensen knows him. Knows what he means to say even if he doesn't quite say it.
He hadn't even realised until now that Jensen knew him well enough do that, has done for months now.
Jensen's lips on his are chaste - closed and soft. It's sweet and Misha smiles into it, even as he presses himself close, feels Jensen's legs open enough to insinuate a thigh between them, rocks up gently into the heat.
Misha's throat vibrates over a groan, the pressure growing between his legs at the slow friction. "I don't know though, I could really go for you begging."
"Oh yeah?" Jensen murmurs, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
Misha nods, continues the undulating motion of his hips, his cock pushing into Jensen's solid stance. "Oh yeah," he nips at Jensen's bottom lip, stays a hair's breadth from his mouth. "You on your knees, hard and leaking for me? Your mouth so plump and pink, begging me to let you suck me? Yeah. That'd do it for me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Jensen says against Misha's lips, completely failing to rise to the bait, keeping them grounded and slow and not hot and hard where Misha wants them to escalate to.
He flicks his tongue at Jensen's lips, teases until Jensen opens on a smile, allows him entrance. The kiss remains soft; testing, learning. Misha learning how Jensen's mouth feels against his, the way his stubble tickles prickly soft against his lips. The way Jensen holds him firm, hands splayed along Misha's sides. The way they thrust against each other in abortive little almost-movements, not reaching for an endpoint but enjoying the ride.
When they break apart, Misha tries really hard to hide the ridiculous grin his face wants to split into. It feels right. Jensen feels right. His mouth, his body, his hands. All of it feels like a puzzle-piece clicking into place. Equilibrium righting itself where Misha hadn't even realised it was off balance.
Jensen smiles at him, his hands sliding warm and possessive around Misha's back. "As much as I enjoy your entryway and it's lack of canines...?" He trails off suggestively.
Misha laughs, the alcohol from earlier tripping his veins and making his head light and airy. "Can I show you something in 'more comfortable,' perhaps in a paisley?"
Jensen nods, presses up off the wall. His fingers wrap around Misha's wrist, a hot band of flesh.
A few stops to kiss and reacquaint on the long journey from the hall to his bedroom - they have to pass a whole two doors at least - and finally they're almost somewhere that they can be horizontal.
Jensen is visibly cataloging the room, taking in the large bed, wooden furniture, chairs and nightstands, all made with Misha's hands. The large esoteric black and whites on the wall. Twenties era lamp on the nightstand.
And then Jensen's gaze falls on the rocking chair. Misha finds himself being pulled toward it, then stood there as Jensen pops the button to his jeans, slides down the zip. Misha's waiting for the echoing feel of Jensen's fingers on his cock, but they don't come. He's about to quip, throw in a lewd remark and a wink to get the party moving along, but Jensen just looks at him, and with two hands on Misha's chest, pushes him down into the chair.
Misha feels the chair rock him backwards as Jensen crouches in front of him, situates himself between his legs. "You made this?" Jensen asks, sliding a thumb over the honeyed grain of the armrest on Misha's left.
Misha goes with the tangent. "Just something I whipped up earlier..."
Jensen looks up at him, eyes dark but glinting with moonlight from the windows. "It's really beautiful."
Which is just not something a man should be saying to another man, especially in the middle of foreplay. And Misha's about to say as much, impugn Jensen's manhood with a barb, but he doesn't get the chance.
Jensen's hands tighten on the arms of the chair and pull down, rocking the chair forward in a dangerous lurch and tipping Misha off-balance into Jensen's space. Jensen moves forward the last inch, plastering mouth to lips and his tongue darts in. Misha barely gets out a surprised grunt of air before he's swept into the heat and passion of Jensen's mouth melding into his own.
Apparently gentle is over.
Finally.
Misha's shoes dig into the carpet for purchase as Jensen keeps him tipped forwards. He finds Jensen's arms where they bracket him, grips Jensen's elbows for balance and presses forward into the wet heat.
It's not enough contact, not nearly enough, just elbows and lips and Misha wants more.
But Jensen seems unwilling to give it to him. When Misha slides his hands past Jensen's elbows, tries to grip and pull at his arms, Jensen resists, smiles into the kiss and when Misha is forced to pull back, he can see the grin too.
"What?" he asks, and it comes out a little sharper than he intends.
"You're very impatient."
"Two years, Jensen. I am many awesome things, but a saint is not one of them."
Jensen snorts, "Let it go, man."
Misha's about to protest once again, when Jensen pushes him with a hand on his chest into the seat proper, the chair rocking with his weight.
He watches, eyes adjusting in the dark, as Jensen pins him with a gaze and his fingers go to Misha's previously opened jeans. And then Jensen's finger are exactly where Misha wants them, grazing feather-light over his stomach and sliding, hot and electric, under the band of his underwear. He hisses in a breath as Jensen's fingers - so warm, so sure - slide against his aching erection and curl around his cock.
Jensen is smiling triumphantly, and it really cannot be stomached, Misha thinks. Except for the part where it absolutely can.
"That's better," Jensen murmurs softly and Misha tilts his head back against the wood of the chair, lets Jensen work at him with his hand, the chair tipping gently back and forth with the movement. It's oddly relaxing at the same time as tense, but Misha goes with it, drifts softly on the alcohol haze and is pulled back sharply with arousal in a surreal back and forth.
His attention snaps back quickly when Jensen's fingers shift, pull the elastic of his briefs out and over the jut of his cock. The material bunches tight against his balls, a persistent press adding to the building pleasure. Jensen rests a hand on one of Misha's still denim-clad thighs, the other slinking back around Misha's hip, hooking around his ass and tugging him forward.
Misha only has seconds to recognise what's about to happen before Jensen's mouth is sucking the tip of his cock into its wet heat and Misha's hips jerk haphazardly up into it. He groans, and Jensen smiles around his flesh. His tongue darts out and Misha feels it flicker against the underside of the head, a solid press and tease.
"Fuck," Misha groans, curls his fingers around the arm rests of the rocking chair and clings as his legs turn to jello and Jensen's mouth slides down further, pulls him in.
Jensen's tongue sears stripes of pleasure down the length of Misha's cock, sliding and curling, slipping up and over the head as he pulls back, lips taut around the girth. Misha's eyes are fixed on Jensen's lashes, a dark sweep of black against his skin. His eyes are closed and somehow Misha gets the impression that he's savouring him. When Jensen moans around him, the feel reverberating up his cock in a tight shiver, he's sure of it.
And then Jensen pulls back, eyes fluttering open and locking in on Misha's immediately. When Misha's about to slip out of the slick heat Jensen pulls with the hand on his ass and the chair lurches forward with him, his cock straight back into Jensen's mouth over the pillowy softness of Jensen's tongue.
The glint in Jensen's eye leaves Misha in no doubt that it's planned, and the fingers digging tightly into his ass back up the assumption. Jensen loosens his grip and the chair and Misha tip backwards once more, Misha's cock sliding almost completely free of Jensen's mouth. Almost - had Jensen not leaned in slightly, followed the movement and caught with his lips.
Jensen wraps an arm around Misha's back, the hand on Misha's thigh relocating to the chair arm and he begins to rock the chair in earnest, back and forth, forward and back, again, again, again. Misha's cock slides in and out of Jensen's mouth, the wrap of Jensen's lips. Misha's knees rub against Jensen's sides where he kneels between them, and it sends shivers of pleasure down the hypersensitive skin.
Misha moans, fights to keep his eyes open. It's too much and too random and the build of tension is tightening, fixating on its prize and ratcheting up to claim it. But it's too soon; he doesn't want it over just yet. Not after waiting this long to realise he wanted in the first place.
"Jensen," he whispers, unsure why he feels the need to keep quiet.
He presses his fingertips to Jensen's cheeks where they're hollowed around him. Pushes gently and Jensen pulls off, a string of saliva and precome connecting the tip of Misha's cock to Jensen's shiny bottom lip. Misha nearly comes at the obscene sight of it.
He reaches forward, fingers breaking the link and runs the pad of his thumb across Jensen's wet lip. He fights the surge that threatens when Jensen sucks Misha's thumb into his mouth and runs the tip of his tongue down its length. His cock jerks visibly and Misha has to close his eyes for a split second; grasp for calm.
"Jesus, Jensen. Be careful or its going to be over faster than you realise," he mutters, eyes still closed.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jensen huffs laughingly, slides his hands to Misha's thighs and rubs comfortingly over the denim.
"Mmm..." he feels somewhat centered and opens his eyes to find Jensen looking at him fondly. It's weird, how comfortable it feels and he can't help but displace, "If this is what it means to be Jared's stand in then I'm totally up for the job."
Jensen throws his head back and laughs. "Jay wishes. Besides, he'd have broken the fucking chair by now."
Misha grins, back in known territory, ignoring the fact that he's sitting inches from Jensen with his cock hard and pink between them. "I've seen Jared in the shower, he'd have broken your mouth by now."
Jensen arches an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to ask why you'd have had opportunity to see Jared in the shower."
"It's best not to" Misha agrees solemnly.
Jensen doesn't answer, instead he leans forward and licks a wet stripe up the underside of Misha's cock in admonishment and Misha decides that really, there's a time for talking and now just isn't fucking it.
He pushes out of the chair, grabs at Jensen's shoulder so as not to topple him over, extends a hand that Jensen takes. He pulls him up to his feet, captures his mouth with his own as soon as it comes into range. Jensen tastes salty, musky, like himself, and the knowledge makes him groan and push, walking Jensen backwards towards the bed.
Jensen's knees hit the mattress and he collapses down on it with a light bounce and Misha crawls over him, finds his throat and sucks on it, nibbles and licks and draws guttural sounds out of him. Jensen is pushing up at him, hips pistoning slowly, rubbing his cock against Misha's belly. He grinds down, the sensitive skin of his cock objecting to the rough material of Jensen's jeans but unable to stop.
Misha drags his mouth up the expanse of Jensen's throat, sliding around to his neck and kissing hot open kisses into the skin. Jensen squirms and breathes heavily and Misha keeps moving, finds his way to Jensen's ear, nips quickly on the earlobe before breathing hot and moist into Jensen's ear. "Can I fuck you, Jen?"
Jensen goes still for a split second beneath him and then shudders. "Yes. God yes."
Misha nods. Good. Because he really isn't sure what he would have done if Jensen had said no. There may have been tears.
Unable to spend any more time on foreplay he pulls back, levers himself off Jensen and stands back up, watches Jensen watching him as he shucks his jeans and underwear, toes them off with his shoes and socks.
"Too many clothes, Jen," Misha smirks, pulls at the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, throws it to the corner, a pink splash against the muted carpet. It doesn't escape his notice that Jensen has suddenly become 'Jen'. He'll worry about the ease of that later.
Jensen grins and sits up, makes quick work of his t-shirt and going to work on his jeans and shoes as Misha turns and rummages in the top drawer of his nightstand for lube and condoms.
When he turns back, Jensen has slid up the bed, head on one of Misha's pillows and a long, lithe body of naked and toned muscle stretched over the mattress.
Misha's had his fair share of pretty laid out for him, but this may take the cake.
He crawls back onto the bed, kisses up Jensen's thigh, and briefly sucks at the tip of Jensen's cock which twitches and leaks cool salty wetness against his tongue. He explores up over Jensen's tight stomach, tongue dipping into his navel before he draws his attention higher. Bites at Jensen's right nipple which elicits a hitched breath - he files that away - before he can't tease himself any longer, let alone Jensen, and he descends on Jensen's pink swollen lips, tongue dipping in and claiming. The kiss goes on, and Misha is loathe to stop. Were it not for the aching mess of precome that he's smearing over Jensen's hip, he probably wouldn't.
He pulls back, presses a chaste kiss to Jensen's mouth in promise before sitting, slapping lightly at Jensen's hip. "Up and over."
Jensen's eyes are hungry and dark and he doesn't say a word, just gets to his hands and knees, his back an arch of skin and serrated length of spine.
Misha can't not touch, so he does, smoothing his palm over the expanse of skin. Down the back of Jensen's neck, between his tensed shoulder blades, trails a fingertip down his spine and follows it to the end, sliding down between the cheeks. Jensen presses back against the touch and Misha chuckles, reaches for the lube.
It's cold, but Misha uses that as sensation, dribbles the viscous liquid from the bottle at the edge of Jensen's ass and watches it slither down between the crease along with Jensen's shiver. He stops its path with a finger, pushes the liquid back up and in with the tip of his finger. Jensen moans and Misha pushes in fully, slides in and all the way back out slow and teasingly. He can already tell Jensen is aroused enough not to need the prep. Still. He teases some more, curls his finger and revels in the pained Misha that hisses out of Jensen's mouth.
He acquiesces, wipes his fingers on his own stomach and reaches for the discarded condom packet. He tears it open, flicks the wrapper to the floor and rolls it on. Seconds later he's coated in more lube and reaching for Jensen's hips, settling himself to his knees behind him.
Jensen presses back against the head of him, impatient, and Misha allows it, pushes in with steady pressure until he feels the give and slides in home. The heat, the tight band holding him in place, Jensen's deep groaning into the pillow where he's fallen to his elbows.
Yeah. He isn't going to last long.
That's okay.
Gripping Jensen's hips tight he begins a slow draw back, slow push in, watching as he disappears into Jensen's body, the backs of Jensen's thighs hot against the front of his own. The soft slap of skin on skin.
So. Fucking. Good.
It's only seconds before Jensen is shifting impatiently, urging the pace faster, and Misha is happy to oblige. He leans forward, reaches around Jensen's hip and takes Jensen's cock in hand. So hot, so fucking hard. The noise that Jensen makes as he does so finds its echo in Misha's throat and he hitches his hips faster, quicker, now.
"Misha. God." Jensen groans and his back arches, pushes his cock further into Misha's hand.
He's jacking Jensen's cock, bent at an awkward angle, the wet precome slicking his hand, the hot muscle under velvety skin providing even more stimuli for his arousal-addled brain. The push of heat in his stomach is growing, spreading up the base of his spine, tightening his balls and flexing through his cock.
Jensen is moaning, a litany of swear words and gasps, Misha's own name sliding out into the dark. A sheen of sweat breaks over Jensen's back, and he's arching in sinuous curves. Misha can't take his eyes off him.
Jensen stills, pausing, gasping; a bitten back cry and he's coming over Misha's hand in spurts of white. Misha eases him through it, lets his hand go soft around Jensen's cock, sliding back and forth in the mess of come, gentling and finally pulling away at the whimper Jensen tries to swallow.
It's enough. More than enough. Misha is going to come and it's going to be good. And now.
He pulls out of Jensen, slides the condom off quickly and throws it over the side of the bed. Wraps his fist around his cock, jacks hard and quick, once, twice, three times and then he's coming with a gasp, spilling over the skin of Jensen's back in jittery bursts in tandem with the pulsing pressure between his legs.
There's moaning and it could be either of them as they both fall to the bed, a heap of sweat and limbs, come and pleasure.
"That," Misha says, gasps for breath against Jensen's neck, "was worth waiting two fucking years."
He thinks Jensen murmurs a yes. It's something positive anyway, he's sure. Pretty sure. But it's too much to ask; too raw and unsteady. So he stays quiet.
They fall asleep without bothering to clean up.
* * *
chapter ten
Misha watches Jensen practically throw a wad of cash at a very grateful taxi driver before he scrambles out of the backseat to join him. Misha almost trips going up his stairs, stairs that he built himself, knows every inch of and has never ever tripped on.
Jensen's hand is at the small of his back, a hot spread of warmth through Misha's t-shirt, steadying reflexively. It's something Jensen does on set, always looking after Misha and Jared, checking they're okay, unhurt by stunts, fed, rested, keeping hydrated. It's never really occurred to Misha, until this particular moment that it's anything other than an overdeveloped sense of professional courtesy. Which of course it is. But maybe it's also something more. Maybe it speaks to how Jensen treats his friends rather than just his co-workers.
The front door has a trick to it, and Misha jiggles the knob just so, heaves at it with his hip a tad too fast and too hard, a sharp intake of breath at the sliver of pain that shoots through the bone. He doesn't care though, because as soon as he's in and the door closes behind them, he rounds and pushes Jensen back up against the hallway wall, a litter of shoes at their feet and coats closing in on both sides.
Jensen's breath is hot against his cheek, his eyes dark and glittering, caught on his and unwavering. Instead of pressing his mouth back to Jensen's, which is what he wants to do most, he pauses, body plastered against Jensen's, erection tight in his jeans and the feel of Jensen's own pushing at his thigh. "This is why turtles are better."
Jensen blinks, comically bewildered. "What?"
"Turtles," he repeats, slow, like he's talking to a child. "This is why they're better."
Jensen shakes his head, breath ghosting across Misha's lips like an oscillating fan. "Better than what?"
"Dogs."
"Seriously, Misha. What the hell?" Jensen growls, but there is too much of a laugh in it, too much breathlessness to take it as admonishment.
"Dogs get all up over you when you get home," Misha nods seriously. Jensen 'ahhs' as if this makes perfect sense, and Misha appreciates the effort, even if it's placating the insane.
He steps back, just a fraction, a swirling vacuum of cooler air rushing between their bodies. Finding Jensen's hips again he tiptoes his fingertips up Jensen's sides, a slow tease of touch.
"Dogs make it hard to do things like this," Misha says, walks his fingertips back down to the edge of Jensen's jeans. Follows the leather of Jensen's belt inwards to the buckle. They both look down to watch Misha's fingers as they coax the leather through the metal with soft metallic clanks.
"I'm pretty sure a dog wouldn't care about you undoing my belt," Jensen says, wryly.
Misha draws the zip down, can feel the heat emanating from the flesh held inside. "Maybe not," he allows. "But it's a hell of a lot of awkward when you're trying to give a blow job and there's a furry four-legged mop humping your leg."
Jensen snorts, but it turns into a strangled intake of air as Misha slips the tips of his fingers inside the mouth of the zipper, lets them touch the hot swell of Jensen's cock through his briefs. Misha watches as Jensen takes a steadying breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You better not be meaning Icarus, man."
Misha shrugs, slides his fingers in to the second knuckle to curve around Jensen. Another intake of breath, another victory. "I'm just saying. My turtles aren't getting in the way."
"Your turtles don't do anything but fight, Misha."
"Yes but-"
Jensen groans. "Are you seriously trying to hold a conversation right now?"
"You should never underestimate the power of a good conversation," Misha reprimands, can't help the smile that tucks itself into the corner of his mouth. "For instance," he says, sliding his fingers all the way into Jensen's jeans and wrapping his hand completely around Jensen's erection. "We could talk about the fact that for two years now I've been missing the way your cock felt, hot and so fucking hard, wrapped in my fingers. You know?"
"Oh god," Jensen groans. "This was a bad idea wasn't it? You're going to kill me."
"Only if you beg real purrty," Misha drawls. He crooks his index finger, lets it drag up and down the underside of Jensen's erection in a slow come-hither movement.
Jensen's eyelids flutter and he hmmms. "Keep doing that and I just might. Jesus."
"Two years, Jensen. Two years when I could have been doing just this." He gives in to the temptation, leans forward, pinning his hand and Jensen's cock between them as he sucks a pink blossom of bruise into Jensen's throat where the scruff of his almost-beard meets clean skin.
Misha feels the laugh that tremors through the skin under his lips. "Two years when I could have been laying you out, fucking you, having you, owning you..." He punctuates each phrase with a nip to Jensen's throat.
"I get it, I'm an idiot," Jensen says, but his words come out stuttered and gasped.
Misha mmm's into Jensen's neck, nips gently at the warm skin. He pulls back, freeing his arm and sliding his hand back out of Jensen's jeans.
He attempts serious for a moment, hopes that Jensen will appreciate it's genuineness. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're an idiot and not just a dick."
Jensen's mouth twists in, pinched. "I'm slightly insulted that you think I would just sleep with you like a piece of meat."
Which is fair, when all is said and done. He should have thought it through, and yet somehow, in all the time he's thought about it in the intervening years, it has never occurred to him that he might be wrong about what happened. He'd been so focused on making Jensen's behaviour into something excusable that he never considered that maybe there was nothing to excuse.
He wants to say he's sorry, but it feels too open, too soon. Even for Jensen. Hell, especially for Jensen. Instead he defaults. "If I grovel and you beg, we'll make quite the pair."
Jensen's frown eases, and he reaches forward, hands sliding around Misha's waist and pulling him in. Misha goes willingly, infinitely glad that Jensen knows him. Knows what he means to say even if he doesn't quite say it.
He hadn't even realised until now that Jensen knew him well enough do that, has done for months now.
Jensen's lips on his are chaste - closed and soft. It's sweet and Misha smiles into it, even as he presses himself close, feels Jensen's legs open enough to insinuate a thigh between them, rocks up gently into the heat.
Misha's throat vibrates over a groan, the pressure growing between his legs at the slow friction. "I don't know though, I could really go for you begging."
"Oh yeah?" Jensen murmurs, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
Misha nods, continues the undulating motion of his hips, his cock pushing into Jensen's solid stance. "Oh yeah," he nips at Jensen's bottom lip, stays a hair's breadth from his mouth. "You on your knees, hard and leaking for me? Your mouth so plump and pink, begging me to let you suck me? Yeah. That'd do it for me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Jensen says against Misha's lips, completely failing to rise to the bait, keeping them grounded and slow and not hot and hard where Misha wants them to escalate to.
He flicks his tongue at Jensen's lips, teases until Jensen opens on a smile, allows him entrance. The kiss remains soft; testing, learning. Misha learning how Jensen's mouth feels against his, the way his stubble tickles prickly soft against his lips. The way Jensen holds him firm, hands splayed along Misha's sides. The way they thrust against each other in abortive little almost-movements, not reaching for an endpoint but enjoying the ride.
When they break apart, Misha tries really hard to hide the ridiculous grin his face wants to split into. It feels right. Jensen feels right. His mouth, his body, his hands. All of it feels like a puzzle-piece clicking into place. Equilibrium righting itself where Misha hadn't even realised it was off balance.
Jensen smiles at him, his hands sliding warm and possessive around Misha's back. "As much as I enjoy your entryway and it's lack of canines...?" He trails off suggestively.
Misha laughs, the alcohol from earlier tripping his veins and making his head light and airy. "Can I show you something in 'more comfortable,' perhaps in a paisley?"
Jensen nods, presses up off the wall. His fingers wrap around Misha's wrist, a hot band of flesh.
A few stops to kiss and reacquaint on the long journey from the hall to his bedroom - they have to pass a whole two doors at least - and finally they're almost somewhere that they can be horizontal.
Jensen is visibly cataloging the room, taking in the large bed, wooden furniture, chairs and nightstands, all made with Misha's hands. The large esoteric black and whites on the wall. Twenties era lamp on the nightstand.
And then Jensen's gaze falls on the rocking chair. Misha finds himself being pulled toward it, then stood there as Jensen pops the button to his jeans, slides down the zip. Misha's waiting for the echoing feel of Jensen's fingers on his cock, but they don't come. He's about to quip, throw in a lewd remark and a wink to get the party moving along, but Jensen just looks at him, and with two hands on Misha's chest, pushes him down into the chair.
Misha feels the chair rock him backwards as Jensen crouches in front of him, situates himself between his legs. "You made this?" Jensen asks, sliding a thumb over the honeyed grain of the armrest on Misha's left.
Misha goes with the tangent. "Just something I whipped up earlier..."
Jensen looks up at him, eyes dark but glinting with moonlight from the windows. "It's really beautiful."
Which is just not something a man should be saying to another man, especially in the middle of foreplay. And Misha's about to say as much, impugn Jensen's manhood with a barb, but he doesn't get the chance.
Jensen's hands tighten on the arms of the chair and pull down, rocking the chair forward in a dangerous lurch and tipping Misha off-balance into Jensen's space. Jensen moves forward the last inch, plastering mouth to lips and his tongue darts in. Misha barely gets out a surprised grunt of air before he's swept into the heat and passion of Jensen's mouth melding into his own.
Apparently gentle is over.
Finally.
Misha's shoes dig into the carpet for purchase as Jensen keeps him tipped forwards. He finds Jensen's arms where they bracket him, grips Jensen's elbows for balance and presses forward into the wet heat.
It's not enough contact, not nearly enough, just elbows and lips and Misha wants more.
But Jensen seems unwilling to give it to him. When Misha slides his hands past Jensen's elbows, tries to grip and pull at his arms, Jensen resists, smiles into the kiss and when Misha is forced to pull back, he can see the grin too.
"What?" he asks, and it comes out a little sharper than he intends.
"You're very impatient."
"Two years, Jensen. I am many awesome things, but a saint is not one of them."
Jensen snorts, "Let it go, man."
Misha's about to protest once again, when Jensen pushes him with a hand on his chest into the seat proper, the chair rocking with his weight.
He watches, eyes adjusting in the dark, as Jensen pins him with a gaze and his fingers go to Misha's previously opened jeans. And then Jensen's finger are exactly where Misha wants them, grazing feather-light over his stomach and sliding, hot and electric, under the band of his underwear. He hisses in a breath as Jensen's fingers - so warm, so sure - slide against his aching erection and curl around his cock.
Jensen is smiling triumphantly, and it really cannot be stomached, Misha thinks. Except for the part where it absolutely can.
"That's better," Jensen murmurs softly and Misha tilts his head back against the wood of the chair, lets Jensen work at him with his hand, the chair tipping gently back and forth with the movement. It's oddly relaxing at the same time as tense, but Misha goes with it, drifts softly on the alcohol haze and is pulled back sharply with arousal in a surreal back and forth.
His attention snaps back quickly when Jensen's fingers shift, pull the elastic of his briefs out and over the jut of his cock. The material bunches tight against his balls, a persistent press adding to the building pleasure. Jensen rests a hand on one of Misha's still denim-clad thighs, the other slinking back around Misha's hip, hooking around his ass and tugging him forward.
Misha only has seconds to recognise what's about to happen before Jensen's mouth is sucking the tip of his cock into its wet heat and Misha's hips jerk haphazardly up into it. He groans, and Jensen smiles around his flesh. His tongue darts out and Misha feels it flicker against the underside of the head, a solid press and tease.
"Fuck," Misha groans, curls his fingers around the arm rests of the rocking chair and clings as his legs turn to jello and Jensen's mouth slides down further, pulls him in.
Jensen's tongue sears stripes of pleasure down the length of Misha's cock, sliding and curling, slipping up and over the head as he pulls back, lips taut around the girth. Misha's eyes are fixed on Jensen's lashes, a dark sweep of black against his skin. His eyes are closed and somehow Misha gets the impression that he's savouring him. When Jensen moans around him, the feel reverberating up his cock in a tight shiver, he's sure of it.
And then Jensen pulls back, eyes fluttering open and locking in on Misha's immediately. When Misha's about to slip out of the slick heat Jensen pulls with the hand on his ass and the chair lurches forward with him, his cock straight back into Jensen's mouth over the pillowy softness of Jensen's tongue.
The glint in Jensen's eye leaves Misha in no doubt that it's planned, and the fingers digging tightly into his ass back up the assumption. Jensen loosens his grip and the chair and Misha tip backwards once more, Misha's cock sliding almost completely free of Jensen's mouth. Almost - had Jensen not leaned in slightly, followed the movement and caught with his lips.
Jensen wraps an arm around Misha's back, the hand on Misha's thigh relocating to the chair arm and he begins to rock the chair in earnest, back and forth, forward and back, again, again, again. Misha's cock slides in and out of Jensen's mouth, the wrap of Jensen's lips. Misha's knees rub against Jensen's sides where he kneels between them, and it sends shivers of pleasure down the hypersensitive skin.
Misha moans, fights to keep his eyes open. It's too much and too random and the build of tension is tightening, fixating on its prize and ratcheting up to claim it. But it's too soon; he doesn't want it over just yet. Not after waiting this long to realise he wanted in the first place.
"Jensen," he whispers, unsure why he feels the need to keep quiet.
He presses his fingertips to Jensen's cheeks where they're hollowed around him. Pushes gently and Jensen pulls off, a string of saliva and precome connecting the tip of Misha's cock to Jensen's shiny bottom lip. Misha nearly comes at the obscene sight of it.
He reaches forward, fingers breaking the link and runs the pad of his thumb across Jensen's wet lip. He fights the surge that threatens when Jensen sucks Misha's thumb into his mouth and runs the tip of his tongue down its length. His cock jerks visibly and Misha has to close his eyes for a split second; grasp for calm.
"Jesus, Jensen. Be careful or its going to be over faster than you realise," he mutters, eyes still closed.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jensen huffs laughingly, slides his hands to Misha's thighs and rubs comfortingly over the denim.
"Mmm..." he feels somewhat centered and opens his eyes to find Jensen looking at him fondly. It's weird, how comfortable it feels and he can't help but displace, "If this is what it means to be Jared's stand in then I'm totally up for the job."
Jensen throws his head back and laughs. "Jay wishes. Besides, he'd have broken the fucking chair by now."
Misha grins, back in known territory, ignoring the fact that he's sitting inches from Jensen with his cock hard and pink between them. "I've seen Jared in the shower, he'd have broken your mouth by now."
Jensen arches an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to ask why you'd have had opportunity to see Jared in the shower."
"It's best not to" Misha agrees solemnly.
Jensen doesn't answer, instead he leans forward and licks a wet stripe up the underside of Misha's cock in admonishment and Misha decides that really, there's a time for talking and now just isn't fucking it.
He pushes out of the chair, grabs at Jensen's shoulder so as not to topple him over, extends a hand that Jensen takes. He pulls him up to his feet, captures his mouth with his own as soon as it comes into range. Jensen tastes salty, musky, like himself, and the knowledge makes him groan and push, walking Jensen backwards towards the bed.
Jensen's knees hit the mattress and he collapses down on it with a light bounce and Misha crawls over him, finds his throat and sucks on it, nibbles and licks and draws guttural sounds out of him. Jensen is pushing up at him, hips pistoning slowly, rubbing his cock against Misha's belly. He grinds down, the sensitive skin of his cock objecting to the rough material of Jensen's jeans but unable to stop.
Misha drags his mouth up the expanse of Jensen's throat, sliding around to his neck and kissing hot open kisses into the skin. Jensen squirms and breathes heavily and Misha keeps moving, finds his way to Jensen's ear, nips quickly on the earlobe before breathing hot and moist into Jensen's ear. "Can I fuck you, Jen?"
Jensen goes still for a split second beneath him and then shudders. "Yes. God yes."
Misha nods. Good. Because he really isn't sure what he would have done if Jensen had said no. There may have been tears.
Unable to spend any more time on foreplay he pulls back, levers himself off Jensen and stands back up, watches Jensen watching him as he shucks his jeans and underwear, toes them off with his shoes and socks.
"Too many clothes, Jen," Misha smirks, pulls at the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, throws it to the corner, a pink splash against the muted carpet. It doesn't escape his notice that Jensen has suddenly become 'Jen'. He'll worry about the ease of that later.
Jensen grins and sits up, makes quick work of his t-shirt and going to work on his jeans and shoes as Misha turns and rummages in the top drawer of his nightstand for lube and condoms.
When he turns back, Jensen has slid up the bed, head on one of Misha's pillows and a long, lithe body of naked and toned muscle stretched over the mattress.
Misha's had his fair share of pretty laid out for him, but this may take the cake.
He crawls back onto the bed, kisses up Jensen's thigh, and briefly sucks at the tip of Jensen's cock which twitches and leaks cool salty wetness against his tongue. He explores up over Jensen's tight stomach, tongue dipping into his navel before he draws his attention higher. Bites at Jensen's right nipple which elicits a hitched breath - he files that away - before he can't tease himself any longer, let alone Jensen, and he descends on Jensen's pink swollen lips, tongue dipping in and claiming. The kiss goes on, and Misha is loathe to stop. Were it not for the aching mess of precome that he's smearing over Jensen's hip, he probably wouldn't.
He pulls back, presses a chaste kiss to Jensen's mouth in promise before sitting, slapping lightly at Jensen's hip. "Up and over."
Jensen's eyes are hungry and dark and he doesn't say a word, just gets to his hands and knees, his back an arch of skin and serrated length of spine.
Misha can't not touch, so he does, smoothing his palm over the expanse of skin. Down the back of Jensen's neck, between his tensed shoulder blades, trails a fingertip down his spine and follows it to the end, sliding down between the cheeks. Jensen presses back against the touch and Misha chuckles, reaches for the lube.
It's cold, but Misha uses that as sensation, dribbles the viscous liquid from the bottle at the edge of Jensen's ass and watches it slither down between the crease along with Jensen's shiver. He stops its path with a finger, pushes the liquid back up and in with the tip of his finger. Jensen moans and Misha pushes in fully, slides in and all the way back out slow and teasingly. He can already tell Jensen is aroused enough not to need the prep. Still. He teases some more, curls his finger and revels in the pained Misha that hisses out of Jensen's mouth.
He acquiesces, wipes his fingers on his own stomach and reaches for the discarded condom packet. He tears it open, flicks the wrapper to the floor and rolls it on. Seconds later he's coated in more lube and reaching for Jensen's hips, settling himself to his knees behind him.
Jensen presses back against the head of him, impatient, and Misha allows it, pushes in with steady pressure until he feels the give and slides in home. The heat, the tight band holding him in place, Jensen's deep groaning into the pillow where he's fallen to his elbows.
Yeah. He isn't going to last long.
That's okay.
Gripping Jensen's hips tight he begins a slow draw back, slow push in, watching as he disappears into Jensen's body, the backs of Jensen's thighs hot against the front of his own. The soft slap of skin on skin.
So. Fucking. Good.
It's only seconds before Jensen is shifting impatiently, urging the pace faster, and Misha is happy to oblige. He leans forward, reaches around Jensen's hip and takes Jensen's cock in hand. So hot, so fucking hard. The noise that Jensen makes as he does so finds its echo in Misha's throat and he hitches his hips faster, quicker, now.
"Misha. God." Jensen groans and his back arches, pushes his cock further into Misha's hand.
He's jacking Jensen's cock, bent at an awkward angle, the wet precome slicking his hand, the hot muscle under velvety skin providing even more stimuli for his arousal-addled brain. The push of heat in his stomach is growing, spreading up the base of his spine, tightening his balls and flexing through his cock.
Jensen is moaning, a litany of swear words and gasps, Misha's own name sliding out into the dark. A sheen of sweat breaks over Jensen's back, and he's arching in sinuous curves. Misha can't take his eyes off him.
Jensen stills, pausing, gasping; a bitten back cry and he's coming over Misha's hand in spurts of white. Misha eases him through it, lets his hand go soft around Jensen's cock, sliding back and forth in the mess of come, gentling and finally pulling away at the whimper Jensen tries to swallow.
It's enough. More than enough. Misha is going to come and it's going to be good. And now.
He pulls out of Jensen, slides the condom off quickly and throws it over the side of the bed. Wraps his fist around his cock, jacks hard and quick, once, twice, three times and then he's coming with a gasp, spilling over the skin of Jensen's back in jittery bursts in tandem with the pulsing pressure between his legs.
There's moaning and it could be either of them as they both fall to the bed, a heap of sweat and limbs, come and pleasure.
"That," Misha says, gasps for breath against Jensen's neck, "was worth waiting two fucking years."
He thinks Jensen murmurs a yes. It's something positive anyway, he's sure. Pretty sure. But it's too much to ask; too raw and unsteady. So he stays quiet.
They fall asleep without bothering to clean up.
* * *
chapter ten