Straight to Video
So, I cheated a little bit. So far I've been finishing up old WIPs in my folder, but this is the last one. I started it when I read an interview somewhere in which Misha said he's scared of horror movies. Credit for the title goes to super_seme04, I kept it because MSI makes me lol. For day 3 of mmom
Straight to Video
NC-17 | Jensen/Misha | ~800 words
The boys have a movie night.
Warnings: RPF
"Seriously, dude, this isn't even scary," Jensen feels the need to point out. Again.
Misha glares at him, his eyes momentarily going from comically wide to narrowed then back again in about a second, because Misha can't seem to tear his eyes off of the screen long enough to give Jensen a proper glare. "Shut up."
Jensen rolls his eyes, taking an exasperated sip of his beer. They're watching The Ring. Two. As in the least scary scary movie Jensen has ever seen. Sure, there's creepy effects and shit, but it also has rampaging deer, and that's only a scary thought if you're driving in the middle of the woods somewhere with a creepy and obviously possessed child and not, say, on Jensen's couch watching TV with all the lights on.
"You wuss."
Misha ignores Jensen in favor of worrying the tip of his beer bottle with his teeth, his bottom lip catching on the edge and plumping around it.
Well, that's distracting.
Jensen inches himself forward on the couch, slouching back for a better view. He has one eye on the screen, where creepy kid is taking pictures of himself; one on Misha, the white points of his teeth stark against his lower lip as he raises his bottle a little higher, like he's trying to hide behind it.
"This cannot be freaking you out that much," Jensen sighs.
"Fuck you," Misha snaps, not looking at Jensen. He must be scared if his reply was only two syllables. He bites onto the edge of the bottle and Jensen can almost hear the soft clink of his teeth on the glass. Jensen has officially lost all track of the movie.
“Y’know,” he says, and he’s palming himself through his jeans like a horny teenager. “I could distract you.”
Misha doesn’t look away from the screen while he hits Jensen in the chest with a couch pillow. Undeterred, Jensen presses the heel of his hand down, the pressure making his eyelids flutter a bit. One of Misha’s hands is wrapped anxiously around the bottle, those slim fingers spread almost obscenely over brown glass. Jensen’s dick is pressing against his zipper as he strokes himself through his jeans.
Somehow Misha always does this to him, makes him lose any sense of decency he has. That and a few beers and here they are, Jensen playing with himself during movie night. He almost feels ashamed until he notices the way Misha’s eyes keep flicking between him and the screen.
It’s nice to have the upper hand for once. Slowly, so slow he can hear every individual snap, Jensen pulls his zipper down. He sighs in relief; his pants were getting way too tight. He pretends not to notice Misha staring at him from the corner of his eyes and pulls cock out of the confine of his boxers. The shape of his hand feels different without the blurring texture of denim, and the callous where his thumb meets his palm is really fucking nice for this.
Misha isn’t even pretending to watch the movie anymore, his whole body rotated half toward Jensen, his mouth slightly open and his eyes half lidded.
“Do I have your attention?” Jensen asks, with a whole lot more bravado than he feels. He’s not exactly a virgin, but he’s never put on a show for someone like this. Misha’s very fucking presence has the same effect as tequila.
“My interest is piqued,” Misha says in that way of his that is usually frustratingly vague when he doesn’t lick his lips at the end of it, tasting the words and seeming dissatisfied that they’re not something else. Jensen grins, letting himself slouch back, pushing his hips forward on the couch as his head goes back. He feels hot, Misha’s gaze like pinpricks of heat where it lands.
Misha’s leaning over him, resting his forehead against Jensen’s. He threads their fingers together, and the feeling of Misha’s smooth fingers between Jensen’s rough ones over his cock makes him shudder and Misha swallows it down, breathing in Jensen’s air.
It’s almost too close, feels almost too open, and this is how Misha always gets him, by doing something so weird and intimate and terrifyingly sexy that Jensen has no idea how to react but just let Misha do what he wants. And what he wants seems to be to drag their fingers over Jensen’s dick as slowly as possible until he goes crazy. His other hand is clenched in Misha’s shirt, pulling him closer and closer. He smells good and he’s warm and he’s everywhere, blotting out everything else until, shivering, Jensen comes, a achingly slow wave of pleasure passing through him.
“Jesus,” Jensen says. Misha tilts his head forward, brushing their lips together.
The television shrieks.
“Fuck,” Misha says, whipping around, his eyes wide and Jensen laughs until his stomach hurts.
~
Straight to Video
NC-17 | Jensen/Misha | ~800 words
The boys have a movie night.
Warnings: RPF
"Seriously, dude, this isn't even scary," Jensen feels the need to point out. Again.
Misha glares at him, his eyes momentarily going from comically wide to narrowed then back again in about a second, because Misha can't seem to tear his eyes off of the screen long enough to give Jensen a proper glare. "Shut up."
Jensen rolls his eyes, taking an exasperated sip of his beer. They're watching The Ring. Two. As in the least scary scary movie Jensen has ever seen. Sure, there's creepy effects and shit, but it also has rampaging deer, and that's only a scary thought if you're driving in the middle of the woods somewhere with a creepy and obviously possessed child and not, say, on Jensen's couch watching TV with all the lights on.
"You wuss."
Misha ignores Jensen in favor of worrying the tip of his beer bottle with his teeth, his bottom lip catching on the edge and plumping around it.
Well, that's distracting.
Jensen inches himself forward on the couch, slouching back for a better view. He has one eye on the screen, where creepy kid is taking pictures of himself; one on Misha, the white points of his teeth stark against his lower lip as he raises his bottle a little higher, like he's trying to hide behind it.
"This cannot be freaking you out that much," Jensen sighs.
"Fuck you," Misha snaps, not looking at Jensen. He must be scared if his reply was only two syllables. He bites onto the edge of the bottle and Jensen can almost hear the soft clink of his teeth on the glass. Jensen has officially lost all track of the movie.
“Y’know,” he says, and he’s palming himself through his jeans like a horny teenager. “I could distract you.”
Misha doesn’t look away from the screen while he hits Jensen in the chest with a couch pillow. Undeterred, Jensen presses the heel of his hand down, the pressure making his eyelids flutter a bit. One of Misha’s hands is wrapped anxiously around the bottle, those slim fingers spread almost obscenely over brown glass. Jensen’s dick is pressing against his zipper as he strokes himself through his jeans.
Somehow Misha always does this to him, makes him lose any sense of decency he has. That and a few beers and here they are, Jensen playing with himself during movie night. He almost feels ashamed until he notices the way Misha’s eyes keep flicking between him and the screen.
It’s nice to have the upper hand for once. Slowly, so slow he can hear every individual snap, Jensen pulls his zipper down. He sighs in relief; his pants were getting way too tight. He pretends not to notice Misha staring at him from the corner of his eyes and pulls cock out of the confine of his boxers. The shape of his hand feels different without the blurring texture of denim, and the callous where his thumb meets his palm is really fucking nice for this.
Misha isn’t even pretending to watch the movie anymore, his whole body rotated half toward Jensen, his mouth slightly open and his eyes half lidded.
“Do I have your attention?” Jensen asks, with a whole lot more bravado than he feels. He’s not exactly a virgin, but he’s never put on a show for someone like this. Misha’s very fucking presence has the same effect as tequila.
“My interest is piqued,” Misha says in that way of his that is usually frustratingly vague when he doesn’t lick his lips at the end of it, tasting the words and seeming dissatisfied that they’re not something else. Jensen grins, letting himself slouch back, pushing his hips forward on the couch as his head goes back. He feels hot, Misha’s gaze like pinpricks of heat where it lands.
Misha’s leaning over him, resting his forehead against Jensen’s. He threads their fingers together, and the feeling of Misha’s smooth fingers between Jensen’s rough ones over his cock makes him shudder and Misha swallows it down, breathing in Jensen’s air.
It’s almost too close, feels almost too open, and this is how Misha always gets him, by doing something so weird and intimate and terrifyingly sexy that Jensen has no idea how to react but just let Misha do what he wants. And what he wants seems to be to drag their fingers over Jensen’s dick as slowly as possible until he goes crazy. His other hand is clenched in Misha’s shirt, pulling him closer and closer. He smells good and he’s warm and he’s everywhere, blotting out everything else until, shivering, Jensen comes, a achingly slow wave of pleasure passing through him.
“Jesus,” Jensen says. Misha tilts his head forward, brushing their lips together.
The television shrieks.
“Fuck,” Misha says, whipping around, his eyes wide and Jensen laughs until his stomach hurts.
~