Fic: Reconciling Hollywood - Jensen/Misha, NC-17 - prologue
Prologue
July 2008
He's only been on set for a couple of weeks. Given the screen time this entails for Castiel, he's really only been on set a few days. Officially. Unofficially, he's found himself pulled in on quite a few of his supposed days off. He could head home to LA, but there's no point really when he'll just have to turn around and get back on a plane in a week. Plus, they've put him up in a pretty nice hotel, so it's not exactly a chore. And seeing as he's in the city, well - a costume check here, makeup tests there, signing this, picking up that - he's been on the set 4 days out of 7 nearly every week since he began.
It's given him a fair amount of time to acclimatise, to creep silently around and get a feel for the set and the crew. He's only going to be around for a few episodes, but if anything, that makes him want to understand more rather than less. It's an opportunity to learn even more than it's one to pad the resume. He has nothing to lose and unlike some other sets, this one is a blast. The creative vibe appeals to him in ways that working on 24 or ER never even came close to. This isn't Hollywood; this is Vancouver, and amazingly, everyone seems to want to be here - from the stars down to the set-dressers. It's refreshingly non-jaded and the enthusiasm everyone brings to the simple act of creation nourishes his soul.
It's why he became an actor, after all. To create.
Jared is pretty fucking funny. He hasn't had any scenes with him yet, but strangely, that seems to have no effect on how much time he's spent with him. Jared had loped up to him the first day he'd arrived and pulled him into a ridiculous hug like they were long lost friends, stage cried "It's my Angel!" and burst into uproarious laughter. Misha had been grinning in seconds and hamming it up with him in minutes. Jared was his kind of person - fucking insane and unafraid to behave like a kid because age decreed it inappropriate.
Jensen had been quieter, more reserved. He held back and watched Jared maul him with a bemused smile. 'Don't mind Jared. He's just five.'
When Misha replied gravely that he himself was rarely much past six, Jensen had laughed, soft and throatily, and Misha could instantly tell that while Jared was the kind of guy he loved to hang around with, Jensen was the kind he liked to fuck.
Not that he thought that was about to happen. Two and a half weeks in and Misha's pretty sure Jensen doesn't swing that way. Or at least, he doesn't swing Misha's way. The protective glances thrown Jared's way make him wonder. Despite the early success at making Jensen laugh, he's not managed much of an impression since.
Jensen's nice enough, absolutely. Always checking he's good, pointing him in the direction of the right people and trailers; being a perfect Texan gentleman, Misha assumes.
But that's it, nothing more. There's no banter or teasing the way he secretly observes Jensen and Jared sharing in their down time between takes. No arm slung over his shoulder or scripts run through together. No going out of the way to talk when there's no reason to. Just cordial good behaviour when it can't be avoided.
Secretly, he's starting to think that maybe Jensen's a bit of a jerk.
He's been on other sets before, many of them actually, where the show was well established and the main actors insular and dismissive of guest cast. Where the leads have snubbed him and not bothered to learn his name, nationality or face. And while he doesn't exactly get that impression of Jensen, can't fault him on his manners, he also knows he hasn't been truly accepted. He doubts an offer is coming.
Which is a pity, he thinks, as he prepares for episode two of the season, because on screen they have some pretty fucking epic chemistry.
It's palpable, is what it is. Dean's anger at the angel is a slow burn of bass. Misha feels it in his bones when Jensen drops his voice, tries to match the gravel that flew out of Misha's mouth unbidden when Castiel started to speak. The anger Dean has, the resentment and pain is amazing, and the flash of fire in Jensen's eyes when they're filming is just this side shy of too intense for an audience.
And fuck but does Misha love it. It's a tease, a flirt, sex in vowels and growls. And he's not above playing to it, not until a director or producer tells him to cut it out and tone it down. They haven't and so he continues. Goads Jensen with his resonance and steps just that inch too close, another until he feels Jensen's breath, Dean's words, puff against his lips.
He's a professional and he's working. But Misha knows himself well enough to admit that if he didn't have to work on remembering lines and hitting marks, he'd not have enough distraction to keep himself from getting hard. As it is, it's a struggle.
When Cas pushes Dean just that step too far, when Jensen's eyes glitter sharp and dangerous, Misha wants nothing more than to keep on pushing. See what it would take to get Dean to fall away and Jensen to push back.
Preferably up against a wall.
But then the director yells "Cut!" and Dean is gone, Jensen blinking and turning away. Resetting, calculating, picking up a script. The tension is gone. At the end of the day the most Misha gets is a 'See you tomorrow, Misha.' He watches Jensen extricate himself as quickly as he can, sees the smile that lights up when Jared comes into view.
It's probably a little unfair that he thinks Jensen's a dick. But to have that chemistry on screen and have none of it translate off, even in friendship? An offer of a beer or an invitation to lounge in a comfortable trailer and watch the game? The contrast is so sharp it smarts. So he does what he always does, shrugs and places Jensen into the pile of people he doesn't need to worry about or get to know and enjoys Jared's friendlier confrontations. Ignores the way Jensen shuts up the second Jared's insanity falls on Misha. It's not his problem and he'll be done soon anyway. Live and let be miserable.
Which is why, two days later after filming the scene at Bobby's for the end of episode two, when Misha has said goodbye to the crew, nodded at Jensen and headed out back to grab his things from the guest trailer, he's rather surprised to find Jensen slide up beside him, grab his wrist and yank him in the direction of his own trailer.
He doesn't even have a chance to process, not that he would - he's much more a 'go with the flow, analyse the shit out of it later' kind of guy - but some advance notice might have been nice, he thinks, as Jensen pulls him up the steps and into his trailer without a word. Slams him up against the door in the dark.
"Jensen, what-" he starts, but Jensen stops him by crushing his mouth to Misha's. It's quite effective as it turns out.
It comes out of nowhere, but Misha's not a fucking idiot. He opens his mouth and lets him in immediately, finds Jensen's hips and pulls him in hard.
Jensen's breathing is harsh and quick, his tongue slick and his hands hot where they slide under the trench-coat and yank the too large shirt out of Misha's pants. It's frantic and rushed and hot as all hell, even if Misha can barely see Jensen in the moonlight filtering in through the trailer's tiny windows.
Jensen pulls back, nipping at Misha's mouth in a way so unexpectedly intimate and exposed that Misha doesn't even know what to do with it. So he chooses instead to slide his hands up under Jensen's t-shirt, Dean's t-shirt, press his palms to Jensen's flesh and follow ribs back to shoulder blades, spine and dip and ass and fuck, yes he thinks as he digs his fingertips into Jensen's ass, pulls him in and grinds his hardening cock into Jensen's pelvis.
He's slammed back pretty roughly into the trailer door for his trouble, Jensen's fingers hot and insistent under his own shirt, fingertips clenching into the soft skin of his sides. Jensen groans and Misha can feel the answering hardness pressing achingly against his leg.
There's a sudden influx of colder air as Jensen pulls back from him, then the pressure of hands on his crotch, rubbing the ache of him and Misha's keening low and deep in his throat. His hips thrust into Jensen's hand of their own accord, not that Misha's about to stop them, not when Jensen's fingers are on his belt, Castiel's belt, sliding and clinking and zipping and then just there, burning in their grip around him through the soft cotton of his underwear. Misha let's his head fall back with a thud against the flimsy faux-wood of the door as Jensen begins to pull and pet and knead him with his hand. Jensen's mouth finds its way to his exposed throat and teeth are biting down on the tendons of his neck, mouthing and tonguing and nipping just hard enough to hurt but not to leave marks.
The frustration and anger and tension of the last few days, the suddenness of the onslaught and the fact that hey, Jensen is fucking insanely fuckable, combine and undo, and his hips are jerking in tiny little hiccups and Jensen only moves faster, harder, rougher. Goads him and works him until it's too much and Misha is coming hard and painfully fast inside his underwear.
Jensen's weight as he presses against him keeps him up, allows him a moment to breathe and regain equilibrium.
It's not until Jensen moves abortively against his thigh that he remembers it's only polite to return a favour. He kisses Jensen's mouth, wishes he could see if his lips are swollen, if they're dark and pink and wet, before he shimmies out from under him. He turns Jensen quickly, presses him back against the wall and drops to his knees on the dirty floor.
Misha doesn't waste any time, popping the button of Jensen's jeans and lowering the zip as fast as he can carefully manage. Jensen's breath gasps quick on the intake as Misha pulls down the band of his briefs and levers Jensen's cock out. It's hot and broad against his palm and again, he wishes he had a better visual than the silver-lit outline he gets. He can feel though, and smell and taste, and all of those things tell him he wants Jensen against his tongue. Wants to suck and coax and blow until Jensen's spilling down his throat.
And so he does.
Jensen writhes above him as Misha tastes and licks, hollows his cheeks and pulls him in against the flat of his tongue. Misha feels his lips stretch around the width, gauges girth with his mouth and length with the back of his throat. Soft moans are spilling from Jensen's mouth and spurring him on, teasing and pulling until the moans increase in speed and intensity, punctuated with gasps and flutters of muscle under Misha's palm where it's pressed flat to Jensen's stomach in anchor.
Too quickly, it's over, Jensen's hands flying to Misha's head, tangling in his hair and holding him still as he thrusts in again and again. Jensen's biting back a cry and spurting hot and salty against the back of Misha's tongue, trickling down his throat.
They stay there in the dark breathing and thrumming and growing cool in the chill of the air-conditioning. Eventually Misha rises, kisses the taste of Jensen into Jensen's mouth for a long minute, sedate and slow.
The moment pulls tight and threatens to break and Misha senses it's time for an exit. He does himself up and Jensen slides away into the trailer. He pauses, hand on the door and tries to make Jensen out in the dark but he can't. When he isn't stopped he slips out into the night, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stands in the dark a moment longer, a little stunned and a lot spent. His head is too muddled to attempt coherent thought, but deep down he suspects there's churning and doubt going through it. How could there not be?
When the light inside flickers on warm and bright, spilling out into the dark Vancouver night, Misha shakes himself and hurries to his trailer to collect his shit before calling a cab.
It's not until much later, when he's lying boneless and shower-warm in his hotel bed, that he realises Jensen never said a word.
Jensen doesn't meet his eye the next day and Misha is disappointed, but he gets it. He's there, he's fresh meat and Jensen is a guy so pretty that it makes sense he's used to taking what he wants when he wants it. It just happened to be Misha for a few insanely hot minutes.
It makes him angry to be used so fucking easily, even if he was totally on board at the time. He decides Jensen really is a dick; young Hollywood royalty with pockets of cash and eyes too big for their brains. They never talk about it, and it never happens again, which confirms to Misha that he was just new and convenient - and that's all it was.
Time passes, episodes go on, more get added and he almost forgets. Jensen isn't a bad guy. It turns out he just needs time to get comfortable with an interloper in the midst. They become friends. Good friends. And Misha puts Jensen's behaviour, the cold freeze and snap thaw, down to a dick move by an okay guy. It's cool, if slightly disappointing. But people often are.
He moves on.
* * *
chapter one
July 2008
He's only been on set for a couple of weeks. Given the screen time this entails for Castiel, he's really only been on set a few days. Officially. Unofficially, he's found himself pulled in on quite a few of his supposed days off. He could head home to LA, but there's no point really when he'll just have to turn around and get back on a plane in a week. Plus, they've put him up in a pretty nice hotel, so it's not exactly a chore. And seeing as he's in the city, well - a costume check here, makeup tests there, signing this, picking up that - he's been on the set 4 days out of 7 nearly every week since he began.
It's given him a fair amount of time to acclimatise, to creep silently around and get a feel for the set and the crew. He's only going to be around for a few episodes, but if anything, that makes him want to understand more rather than less. It's an opportunity to learn even more than it's one to pad the resume. He has nothing to lose and unlike some other sets, this one is a blast. The creative vibe appeals to him in ways that working on 24 or ER never even came close to. This isn't Hollywood; this is Vancouver, and amazingly, everyone seems to want to be here - from the stars down to the set-dressers. It's refreshingly non-jaded and the enthusiasm everyone brings to the simple act of creation nourishes his soul.
It's why he became an actor, after all. To create.
Jared is pretty fucking funny. He hasn't had any scenes with him yet, but strangely, that seems to have no effect on how much time he's spent with him. Jared had loped up to him the first day he'd arrived and pulled him into a ridiculous hug like they were long lost friends, stage cried "It's my Angel!" and burst into uproarious laughter. Misha had been grinning in seconds and hamming it up with him in minutes. Jared was his kind of person - fucking insane and unafraid to behave like a kid because age decreed it inappropriate.
Jensen had been quieter, more reserved. He held back and watched Jared maul him with a bemused smile. 'Don't mind Jared. He's just five.'
When Misha replied gravely that he himself was rarely much past six, Jensen had laughed, soft and throatily, and Misha could instantly tell that while Jared was the kind of guy he loved to hang around with, Jensen was the kind he liked to fuck.
Not that he thought that was about to happen. Two and a half weeks in and Misha's pretty sure Jensen doesn't swing that way. Or at least, he doesn't swing Misha's way. The protective glances thrown Jared's way make him wonder. Despite the early success at making Jensen laugh, he's not managed much of an impression since.
Jensen's nice enough, absolutely. Always checking he's good, pointing him in the direction of the right people and trailers; being a perfect Texan gentleman, Misha assumes.
But that's it, nothing more. There's no banter or teasing the way he secretly observes Jensen and Jared sharing in their down time between takes. No arm slung over his shoulder or scripts run through together. No going out of the way to talk when there's no reason to. Just cordial good behaviour when it can't be avoided.
Secretly, he's starting to think that maybe Jensen's a bit of a jerk.
He's been on other sets before, many of them actually, where the show was well established and the main actors insular and dismissive of guest cast. Where the leads have snubbed him and not bothered to learn his name, nationality or face. And while he doesn't exactly get that impression of Jensen, can't fault him on his manners, he also knows he hasn't been truly accepted. He doubts an offer is coming.
Which is a pity, he thinks, as he prepares for episode two of the season, because on screen they have some pretty fucking epic chemistry.
It's palpable, is what it is. Dean's anger at the angel is a slow burn of bass. Misha feels it in his bones when Jensen drops his voice, tries to match the gravel that flew out of Misha's mouth unbidden when Castiel started to speak. The anger Dean has, the resentment and pain is amazing, and the flash of fire in Jensen's eyes when they're filming is just this side shy of too intense for an audience.
And fuck but does Misha love it. It's a tease, a flirt, sex in vowels and growls. And he's not above playing to it, not until a director or producer tells him to cut it out and tone it down. They haven't and so he continues. Goads Jensen with his resonance and steps just that inch too close, another until he feels Jensen's breath, Dean's words, puff against his lips.
He's a professional and he's working. But Misha knows himself well enough to admit that if he didn't have to work on remembering lines and hitting marks, he'd not have enough distraction to keep himself from getting hard. As it is, it's a struggle.
When Cas pushes Dean just that step too far, when Jensen's eyes glitter sharp and dangerous, Misha wants nothing more than to keep on pushing. See what it would take to get Dean to fall away and Jensen to push back.
Preferably up against a wall.
But then the director yells "Cut!" and Dean is gone, Jensen blinking and turning away. Resetting, calculating, picking up a script. The tension is gone. At the end of the day the most Misha gets is a 'See you tomorrow, Misha.' He watches Jensen extricate himself as quickly as he can, sees the smile that lights up when Jared comes into view.
It's probably a little unfair that he thinks Jensen's a dick. But to have that chemistry on screen and have none of it translate off, even in friendship? An offer of a beer or an invitation to lounge in a comfortable trailer and watch the game? The contrast is so sharp it smarts. So he does what he always does, shrugs and places Jensen into the pile of people he doesn't need to worry about or get to know and enjoys Jared's friendlier confrontations. Ignores the way Jensen shuts up the second Jared's insanity falls on Misha. It's not his problem and he'll be done soon anyway. Live and let be miserable.
Which is why, two days later after filming the scene at Bobby's for the end of episode two, when Misha has said goodbye to the crew, nodded at Jensen and headed out back to grab his things from the guest trailer, he's rather surprised to find Jensen slide up beside him, grab his wrist and yank him in the direction of his own trailer.
He doesn't even have a chance to process, not that he would - he's much more a 'go with the flow, analyse the shit out of it later' kind of guy - but some advance notice might have been nice, he thinks, as Jensen pulls him up the steps and into his trailer without a word. Slams him up against the door in the dark.
"Jensen, what-" he starts, but Jensen stops him by crushing his mouth to Misha's. It's quite effective as it turns out.
It comes out of nowhere, but Misha's not a fucking idiot. He opens his mouth and lets him in immediately, finds Jensen's hips and pulls him in hard.
Jensen's breathing is harsh and quick, his tongue slick and his hands hot where they slide under the trench-coat and yank the too large shirt out of Misha's pants. It's frantic and rushed and hot as all hell, even if Misha can barely see Jensen in the moonlight filtering in through the trailer's tiny windows.
Jensen pulls back, nipping at Misha's mouth in a way so unexpectedly intimate and exposed that Misha doesn't even know what to do with it. So he chooses instead to slide his hands up under Jensen's t-shirt, Dean's t-shirt, press his palms to Jensen's flesh and follow ribs back to shoulder blades, spine and dip and ass and fuck, yes he thinks as he digs his fingertips into Jensen's ass, pulls him in and grinds his hardening cock into Jensen's pelvis.
He's slammed back pretty roughly into the trailer door for his trouble, Jensen's fingers hot and insistent under his own shirt, fingertips clenching into the soft skin of his sides. Jensen groans and Misha can feel the answering hardness pressing achingly against his leg.
There's a sudden influx of colder air as Jensen pulls back from him, then the pressure of hands on his crotch, rubbing the ache of him and Misha's keening low and deep in his throat. His hips thrust into Jensen's hand of their own accord, not that Misha's about to stop them, not when Jensen's fingers are on his belt, Castiel's belt, sliding and clinking and zipping and then just there, burning in their grip around him through the soft cotton of his underwear. Misha let's his head fall back with a thud against the flimsy faux-wood of the door as Jensen begins to pull and pet and knead him with his hand. Jensen's mouth finds its way to his exposed throat and teeth are biting down on the tendons of his neck, mouthing and tonguing and nipping just hard enough to hurt but not to leave marks.
The frustration and anger and tension of the last few days, the suddenness of the onslaught and the fact that hey, Jensen is fucking insanely fuckable, combine and undo, and his hips are jerking in tiny little hiccups and Jensen only moves faster, harder, rougher. Goads him and works him until it's too much and Misha is coming hard and painfully fast inside his underwear.
Jensen's weight as he presses against him keeps him up, allows him a moment to breathe and regain equilibrium.
It's not until Jensen moves abortively against his thigh that he remembers it's only polite to return a favour. He kisses Jensen's mouth, wishes he could see if his lips are swollen, if they're dark and pink and wet, before he shimmies out from under him. He turns Jensen quickly, presses him back against the wall and drops to his knees on the dirty floor.
Misha doesn't waste any time, popping the button of Jensen's jeans and lowering the zip as fast as he can carefully manage. Jensen's breath gasps quick on the intake as Misha pulls down the band of his briefs and levers Jensen's cock out. It's hot and broad against his palm and again, he wishes he had a better visual than the silver-lit outline he gets. He can feel though, and smell and taste, and all of those things tell him he wants Jensen against his tongue. Wants to suck and coax and blow until Jensen's spilling down his throat.
And so he does.
Jensen writhes above him as Misha tastes and licks, hollows his cheeks and pulls him in against the flat of his tongue. Misha feels his lips stretch around the width, gauges girth with his mouth and length with the back of his throat. Soft moans are spilling from Jensen's mouth and spurring him on, teasing and pulling until the moans increase in speed and intensity, punctuated with gasps and flutters of muscle under Misha's palm where it's pressed flat to Jensen's stomach in anchor.
Too quickly, it's over, Jensen's hands flying to Misha's head, tangling in his hair and holding him still as he thrusts in again and again. Jensen's biting back a cry and spurting hot and salty against the back of Misha's tongue, trickling down his throat.
They stay there in the dark breathing and thrumming and growing cool in the chill of the air-conditioning. Eventually Misha rises, kisses the taste of Jensen into Jensen's mouth for a long minute, sedate and slow.
The moment pulls tight and threatens to break and Misha senses it's time for an exit. He does himself up and Jensen slides away into the trailer. He pauses, hand on the door and tries to make Jensen out in the dark but he can't. When he isn't stopped he slips out into the night, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stands in the dark a moment longer, a little stunned and a lot spent. His head is too muddled to attempt coherent thought, but deep down he suspects there's churning and doubt going through it. How could there not be?
When the light inside flickers on warm and bright, spilling out into the dark Vancouver night, Misha shakes himself and hurries to his trailer to collect his shit before calling a cab.
It's not until much later, when he's lying boneless and shower-warm in his hotel bed, that he realises Jensen never said a word.
Jensen doesn't meet his eye the next day and Misha is disappointed, but he gets it. He's there, he's fresh meat and Jensen is a guy so pretty that it makes sense he's used to taking what he wants when he wants it. It just happened to be Misha for a few insanely hot minutes.
It makes him angry to be used so fucking easily, even if he was totally on board at the time. He decides Jensen really is a dick; young Hollywood royalty with pockets of cash and eyes too big for their brains. They never talk about it, and it never happens again, which confirms to Misha that he was just new and convenient - and that's all it was.
Time passes, episodes go on, more get added and he almost forgets. Jensen isn't a bad guy. It turns out he just needs time to get comfortable with an interloper in the midst. They become friends. Good friends. And Misha puts Jensen's behaviour, the cold freeze and snap thaw, down to a dick move by an okay guy. It's cool, if slightly disappointing. But people often are.
He moves on.
* * *
chapter one