Fic: Reconciling Hollywood - Jensen/Misha, NC-17 - chapter four
Four
Misha is sitting down to coffee, black and bitter, spreading the morning paper over the table, the still unsigned contract buried under newsprint and the smell of ink when Jensen calls for a third time.
It's only been a day since the park and he isn't expecting to hear from Jensen again so soon, but he can't deny that when he pulls the phone out from under the broadsheets he's not entirely upset at having his peaceful breakfast interrupted. Secretly, he's a little bit pleased.
"Mister Jensen," he answers, settles the phone into the palm of his hand, picks up the coffee cup in his other.
"Hi," Jensen says and he sounds sleepy and soft. It absolutely does not make Misha think about what Jensen might be like to wake up to. At all.
"Bored again?" he asks when nothing more seems to be forthcoming. He sips at his coffee carefully so as not to burn his tongue.
Jensen chuckles. "Not exactly, but I was wondering if you'd wanna come to a premiere thing I said I'd go to tonight. Last minute cancellation."
Misha licks coffee off his lip. He highly doubts that it's a 'last minute cancellation'. Much more likely is that Jensen can't find anyone else to go with given his other half being away. Still. It's the thought that counts.
He has to admit, he's kind of curious to see more of Jensen outside of filming and conventions. The glimpses he's had over the last couple of days are tantalizing, and he never could resist figuring out a new puzzle. Especially one he thought he'd placed the last piece in over a year ago. There is, as far as he's concerned, nothing sexier than being proven wrong when you're dead set sure you're right.
But there's no need to be mature about it.
"Couldn't get a prom date?"
"Fuck you, man," Jensen huffs, but there's no malice in it. "Thought it might be something you'd enjoy."
"You know Jensen, it'd be much easier if you just admitted that you wanted me. We could stop playing all the coy cat and mouse games," he says, holds his breath to see if the sarcasm plays or pierces.
"Funny, Collins. Funny. In or out?"
Misha grins; he's so totally in. "Pick me up. And if you're lucky I won't wear heels that make me taller than you."
"As long as you're wearing clothes, Misha? I'm not going to complain." Jensen's voice comes deadpan down the line.
Misha feels the laughter bubbling up his throat, silent but more genuine for it. "When do I need to be pretty by?"
"I'll swing by around 6. Oh and there's a thing afterwards that might be cool. See how we go."
Misha has no idea what such a thing might be, but he finds he agrees with the sentiment. They'll see how they go.
Disconnecting the call and swallowing down the last of his coffee, he folds up the newspaper and gives the contracts underneath a contemplative glance, a maybe, before he heads to the bedroom to find his running gear. It's a fucking gorgeous morning out there and he damn well needs to be in it.
* * *
He's surprised when Jensen picks him up with a driver. As he slides into the backseat of the towncar next to him he remarks as such. Well okay, he may also put it in terms of prom dates and limos. Jensen just tells him to shut the hell up.
Which Misha can appreciate. He likes it when people don't let him get away with crap. As long as it remains novel and not modus operandi.
They chat on the short trip into the city, Jensen talking about his parents and siblings and the phone call he got while trying to get ready. The aversion of World War III.
Misha knows who all the players are, of course, it's not like Jensen doesn't talk about personal things on set. Still, something feels strangely different about the intimacy of the moment. And it takes Misha most of the car ride to realise that it's because he's hearing it unedited. Not the continuation of a story started with Jared, nor annotated by Jared himself - already in on the details as if they were his own family. And considering how long those two had been living in each other's pockets, Misha supposes they probably are.
A brief thought flits through his head that it's either awesome to be trusted with primary details or insulting to be substitute-Jared. He isn't sure which it is, evidence that his image of 'Jensen' has been severely fucked with in the last week and a bit. It's both intriguing and unsettling, so he pushes the thought away.
When they pull up outside of the Landmark's Regent Theatre in Westwood Misha is once again surprised. Firstly, that Jensen has effectively just done a huge circle around Los Angeles to pick him up and bring him back to his neck of the woods and secondly, that they aren't at some swanky red-carpet blockbuster event. If they're at the Regent then it's going to be something independent. Something artsy. Foreign. Something, in other words, that Misha might have a fair chance of enjoying.
The world premiere of Loot had been at the Regent, almost two years ago to the day, and Misha has always had a slight soft spot for it because of that.
It is however, a premiere, and so there is, in point of fact, a red carpet, but it's shallow and small, and the people Misha can see wandering up it are unknown. Not that he's very good at picking out celebrities anyway, he doesn't watch enough to memorize them and his facial recognition is screwed up enough that even if he does, he doesn't trust the name that flits past to match the image.
Still. He's fairly certain none of the people currently in his field of vision are a Brad or an Angelina. Not that it's stopping the small but persistent handful of photographers snapping away at anything that moves. In the land of celebrity it pays to shoot now, ask questions later. So to speak.
One of the least interesting parts of the ‘job’ as far as Misha is concerned is pandering to celebrity. And while he doesn't exactly like doing all the ridiculous publicity - he recognises it for what it is: a means to an end to get to things he does want to do - he pretty much feels it's intrusive and stupid. He can handle a red carpet, no sweat, he just obfuscates and charms. Doesn't mean he won't feel like a right moron at the end though.
Pulling his jacket straight, he falls into line beside Jensen as they make their way to the security guys and the cordon. Jensen pulls out tickets and they’re waved through with nothing more than a nod. Jensen’s been doing this much longer than he has, or at least, with a lot more recognition involved, and so Misha is expecting that he’ll at least do some of the rope line. He’s resigned himself to the fact.
But that isn’t what happens.
They’re only a few feet onto the carpet when Jensen looks up towards the front of the line and smiles broadly, teeth dazzling in the spotlights. He waves an enthusiastic greeting and with a quick glance back at Misha to make sure he’s following he heads quickly up the line, dodging behind the people currently ensnared like krill to the sea urchins of greedy reporters on the rocks. Misha keeps in step with Jensen, trying not to bump into people as they hurry towards whoever it is that Jensen’s seen at the end of the line.
He hears at least one reporter call out Jensen’s name, but Jensen just glances over with a promised “Be right back.” The guy calls again, but quickly turns to the fresh meat behind them.
When they reach the end of the carpeting, Jensen ducks in through the doors and the sudden darkness of the theatre lobby, quieter and less frenetic, despite the amount of people milling about. There’s no one waiting to catch up with them though. Jensen stops and turns to Misha, grinning.
“Old trick I learned from an anti-social friend once. Gets you through the line without being hassled or pissing off paparazzi.”
“Dude,” is all Misha can think to say, at once impressed and somewhat turned on by the devious turn Jensen’s nature has just taken.
Jensen winks. “You can thank me later. C’mon. Let’s get something to drink.”
* * *
The movie turns out to be pretty good, although Misha is sure that if someone asked him to recount the plot there’d be some pretty sizeable gaps in his rendition. It isn't that the movie is boring, far from it, it's heart wrenching and well-directed and the lead actress is extremely attractive in a non-Hollywood way and not at all bad at acting.
It's just that every now and again Misha’s attention wanders to Jensen sitting beside him. Perhaps more again than now. The heat radiating off his thigh where it almost brushes his. The way his fingers curl over the arm rest and he grips tighter unconsciously in the sad parts. The way the movie light flickers in his eyes if Misha glances out of the corner of his own.
If it isn't for the thought that Jensen might snatch his hand back, Misha is almost tempted to try something. Maybe just run a finger down the outside seam of Jensen’s jeans or accidentally brush arms along the armrest.
He doesn’t though, because in the back of his head he’s pretty sure it would be unwanted. After all, if Jensen had been amenable to more than a quick fuck, well, he would have acted like it two years ago. If he’d wanted something more, there were 24 months in which he could have made a move, suggested that an advance wouldn’t be turned down.
He hadn’t.
So Misha keeps his hands to himself. He tries not to feel like a fool for even contemplating it. Though of course, if it weren't for the fact that Jensen had been the one to drag him into his trailer and pull an orgasm out of him with nothing more than his hand on Misha’s cock, and mouth on his neck, well, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even be contemplating a repeat performance of the night right now either.
Whatever. If Jensen is going to be a dick about that then he certainly isn't going to be putting himself through the embarrassment a second time. A quick fuck is all well and good one time, but twice and he’d start to feel used.
When the credits roll and the lights come up, he’s almost convinced himself that he isn’t actually interested in Jensen anyway. Until he turns to say something and finds Jensen staring at him contemplatively, eyes shadowed and body angled toward him.
“What’d you think?” Jensen asks.
“Good,” Misha affirms, hopes Jensen doesn't quiz him on specifics.
Jensen smiles softly. “Worth being my prom date for a night?”
Misha laughs, “Yes. It was worth being your Sasquatch.”
Jensen’s brow furrows. “Jared?”
“I assume you’d normally be doing this stuff with Jared is all,” Misha says.
Jensen just looks at him, pauses a millisecond too long in which Misha thinks shit though he doesn't even know why, before he says “No. Jared would never let me drag him to a movie like this. He’d never be able to sit still through it.”
“Oh,” Misha says. He doesn’t know what else to say, senses that something has shifted, that somehow he’s said the wrong thing.
“You aren't the replacement, Misha,” Jensen says, turns away to stare at the credits still rolling on the screen.
“I just meant,” he begins, but Jensen turns back to him, smile suddenly in place and slightly wrong.
“Forget about it. I know what you meant. How about we go to the club?”
Misha wants to say no. It’s not his scene, it’s never been his scene and never will. But he knows he’s fucked up somewhere, though he can’t imagine how. And Jensen has already proven himself twice in the last three days, surely he deserves the benefit of the doubt?
Plus, he kind of wants to follow him. Just a little.
Misha nods. “Okay, sure.”
Jensen's smile widens, though it still seems to twist strangely. He pushes up out of his seat. “Awesome. Let’s get outta here.”
And so they do, Jensen walking on ahead quickly, Misha trailing a half step behind.
* * *
chapter five
Misha is sitting down to coffee, black and bitter, spreading the morning paper over the table, the still unsigned contract buried under newsprint and the smell of ink when Jensen calls for a third time.
It's only been a day since the park and he isn't expecting to hear from Jensen again so soon, but he can't deny that when he pulls the phone out from under the broadsheets he's not entirely upset at having his peaceful breakfast interrupted. Secretly, he's a little bit pleased.
"Mister Jensen," he answers, settles the phone into the palm of his hand, picks up the coffee cup in his other.
"Hi," Jensen says and he sounds sleepy and soft. It absolutely does not make Misha think about what Jensen might be like to wake up to. At all.
"Bored again?" he asks when nothing more seems to be forthcoming. He sips at his coffee carefully so as not to burn his tongue.
Jensen chuckles. "Not exactly, but I was wondering if you'd wanna come to a premiere thing I said I'd go to tonight. Last minute cancellation."
Misha licks coffee off his lip. He highly doubts that it's a 'last minute cancellation'. Much more likely is that Jensen can't find anyone else to go with given his other half being away. Still. It's the thought that counts.
He has to admit, he's kind of curious to see more of Jensen outside of filming and conventions. The glimpses he's had over the last couple of days are tantalizing, and he never could resist figuring out a new puzzle. Especially one he thought he'd placed the last piece in over a year ago. There is, as far as he's concerned, nothing sexier than being proven wrong when you're dead set sure you're right.
But there's no need to be mature about it.
"Couldn't get a prom date?"
"Fuck you, man," Jensen huffs, but there's no malice in it. "Thought it might be something you'd enjoy."
"You know Jensen, it'd be much easier if you just admitted that you wanted me. We could stop playing all the coy cat and mouse games," he says, holds his breath to see if the sarcasm plays or pierces.
"Funny, Collins. Funny. In or out?"
Misha grins; he's so totally in. "Pick me up. And if you're lucky I won't wear heels that make me taller than you."
"As long as you're wearing clothes, Misha? I'm not going to complain." Jensen's voice comes deadpan down the line.
Misha feels the laughter bubbling up his throat, silent but more genuine for it. "When do I need to be pretty by?"
"I'll swing by around 6. Oh and there's a thing afterwards that might be cool. See how we go."
Misha has no idea what such a thing might be, but he finds he agrees with the sentiment. They'll see how they go.
Disconnecting the call and swallowing down the last of his coffee, he folds up the newspaper and gives the contracts underneath a contemplative glance, a maybe, before he heads to the bedroom to find his running gear. It's a fucking gorgeous morning out there and he damn well needs to be in it.
* * *
He's surprised when Jensen picks him up with a driver. As he slides into the backseat of the towncar next to him he remarks as such. Well okay, he may also put it in terms of prom dates and limos. Jensen just tells him to shut the hell up.
Which Misha can appreciate. He likes it when people don't let him get away with crap. As long as it remains novel and not modus operandi.
They chat on the short trip into the city, Jensen talking about his parents and siblings and the phone call he got while trying to get ready. The aversion of World War III.
Misha knows who all the players are, of course, it's not like Jensen doesn't talk about personal things on set. Still, something feels strangely different about the intimacy of the moment. And it takes Misha most of the car ride to realise that it's because he's hearing it unedited. Not the continuation of a story started with Jared, nor annotated by Jared himself - already in on the details as if they were his own family. And considering how long those two had been living in each other's pockets, Misha supposes they probably are.
A brief thought flits through his head that it's either awesome to be trusted with primary details or insulting to be substitute-Jared. He isn't sure which it is, evidence that his image of 'Jensen' has been severely fucked with in the last week and a bit. It's both intriguing and unsettling, so he pushes the thought away.
When they pull up outside of the Landmark's Regent Theatre in Westwood Misha is once again surprised. Firstly, that Jensen has effectively just done a huge circle around Los Angeles to pick him up and bring him back to his neck of the woods and secondly, that they aren't at some swanky red-carpet blockbuster event. If they're at the Regent then it's going to be something independent. Something artsy. Foreign. Something, in other words, that Misha might have a fair chance of enjoying.
The world premiere of Loot had been at the Regent, almost two years ago to the day, and Misha has always had a slight soft spot for it because of that.
It is however, a premiere, and so there is, in point of fact, a red carpet, but it's shallow and small, and the people Misha can see wandering up it are unknown. Not that he's very good at picking out celebrities anyway, he doesn't watch enough to memorize them and his facial recognition is screwed up enough that even if he does, he doesn't trust the name that flits past to match the image.
Still. He's fairly certain none of the people currently in his field of vision are a Brad or an Angelina. Not that it's stopping the small but persistent handful of photographers snapping away at anything that moves. In the land of celebrity it pays to shoot now, ask questions later. So to speak.
One of the least interesting parts of the ‘job’ as far as Misha is concerned is pandering to celebrity. And while he doesn't exactly like doing all the ridiculous publicity - he recognises it for what it is: a means to an end to get to things he does want to do - he pretty much feels it's intrusive and stupid. He can handle a red carpet, no sweat, he just obfuscates and charms. Doesn't mean he won't feel like a right moron at the end though.
Pulling his jacket straight, he falls into line beside Jensen as they make their way to the security guys and the cordon. Jensen pulls out tickets and they’re waved through with nothing more than a nod. Jensen’s been doing this much longer than he has, or at least, with a lot more recognition involved, and so Misha is expecting that he’ll at least do some of the rope line. He’s resigned himself to the fact.
But that isn’t what happens.
They’re only a few feet onto the carpet when Jensen looks up towards the front of the line and smiles broadly, teeth dazzling in the spotlights. He waves an enthusiastic greeting and with a quick glance back at Misha to make sure he’s following he heads quickly up the line, dodging behind the people currently ensnared like krill to the sea urchins of greedy reporters on the rocks. Misha keeps in step with Jensen, trying not to bump into people as they hurry towards whoever it is that Jensen’s seen at the end of the line.
He hears at least one reporter call out Jensen’s name, but Jensen just glances over with a promised “Be right back.” The guy calls again, but quickly turns to the fresh meat behind them.
When they reach the end of the carpeting, Jensen ducks in through the doors and the sudden darkness of the theatre lobby, quieter and less frenetic, despite the amount of people milling about. There’s no one waiting to catch up with them though. Jensen stops and turns to Misha, grinning.
“Old trick I learned from an anti-social friend once. Gets you through the line without being hassled or pissing off paparazzi.”
“Dude,” is all Misha can think to say, at once impressed and somewhat turned on by the devious turn Jensen’s nature has just taken.
Jensen winks. “You can thank me later. C’mon. Let’s get something to drink.”
* * *
The movie turns out to be pretty good, although Misha is sure that if someone asked him to recount the plot there’d be some pretty sizeable gaps in his rendition. It isn't that the movie is boring, far from it, it's heart wrenching and well-directed and the lead actress is extremely attractive in a non-Hollywood way and not at all bad at acting.
It's just that every now and again Misha’s attention wanders to Jensen sitting beside him. Perhaps more again than now. The heat radiating off his thigh where it almost brushes his. The way his fingers curl over the arm rest and he grips tighter unconsciously in the sad parts. The way the movie light flickers in his eyes if Misha glances out of the corner of his own.
If it isn't for the thought that Jensen might snatch his hand back, Misha is almost tempted to try something. Maybe just run a finger down the outside seam of Jensen’s jeans or accidentally brush arms along the armrest.
He doesn’t though, because in the back of his head he’s pretty sure it would be unwanted. After all, if Jensen had been amenable to more than a quick fuck, well, he would have acted like it two years ago. If he’d wanted something more, there were 24 months in which he could have made a move, suggested that an advance wouldn’t be turned down.
He hadn’t.
So Misha keeps his hands to himself. He tries not to feel like a fool for even contemplating it. Though of course, if it weren't for the fact that Jensen had been the one to drag him into his trailer and pull an orgasm out of him with nothing more than his hand on Misha’s cock, and mouth on his neck, well, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even be contemplating a repeat performance of the night right now either.
Whatever. If Jensen is going to be a dick about that then he certainly isn't going to be putting himself through the embarrassment a second time. A quick fuck is all well and good one time, but twice and he’d start to feel used.
When the credits roll and the lights come up, he’s almost convinced himself that he isn’t actually interested in Jensen anyway. Until he turns to say something and finds Jensen staring at him contemplatively, eyes shadowed and body angled toward him.
“What’d you think?” Jensen asks.
“Good,” Misha affirms, hopes Jensen doesn't quiz him on specifics.
Jensen smiles softly. “Worth being my prom date for a night?”
Misha laughs, “Yes. It was worth being your Sasquatch.”
Jensen’s brow furrows. “Jared?”
“I assume you’d normally be doing this stuff with Jared is all,” Misha says.
Jensen just looks at him, pauses a millisecond too long in which Misha thinks shit though he doesn't even know why, before he says “No. Jared would never let me drag him to a movie like this. He’d never be able to sit still through it.”
“Oh,” Misha says. He doesn’t know what else to say, senses that something has shifted, that somehow he’s said the wrong thing.
“You aren't the replacement, Misha,” Jensen says, turns away to stare at the credits still rolling on the screen.
“I just meant,” he begins, but Jensen turns back to him, smile suddenly in place and slightly wrong.
“Forget about it. I know what you meant. How about we go to the club?”
Misha wants to say no. It’s not his scene, it’s never been his scene and never will. But he knows he’s fucked up somewhere, though he can’t imagine how. And Jensen has already proven himself twice in the last three days, surely he deserves the benefit of the doubt?
Plus, he kind of wants to follow him. Just a little.
Misha nods. “Okay, sure.”
Jensen's smile widens, though it still seems to twist strangely. He pushes up out of his seat. “Awesome. Let’s get outta here.”
And so they do, Jensen walking on ahead quickly, Misha trailing a half step behind.
* * *
chapter five