annundriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
annundriel) wrote2011-01-04 12:59 am
annundriel) wrote2011-01-04 12:59 am
SPN RPS Fic: Ornamentation, Jensen/Misha (R)
Ornamentation
Jensen/Misha
R
550
Jensen's bracelets hide a multitude of sins.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aldehyde, who linked to this picture of pouty!Jensen where I got completely distracted by his jewelry and wrists.
Misha watches Jensen out of the corner of his eye, watches him turn and share a laugh with Jared, watches him face forward and smile at fans. Takes in the strong curve of Jensen’s neck when Jensen leans his head back, stretching, or takes a pull from the bottle of water he keeps by his feet.
He does this all subtly, of course. He has to. He knows what the fans are like.
It doesn’t keep him from missing a thing, though.
Like the way Jensen’s eyes flicker toward Misha every now and then, or the way his shoulders stiffen when Misha leans around him to trade insults with Jared. Misha doesn’t miss the way Jensen’s breath hitches or the way he shifts his thighs beneath the cover of the table. And he definitely, definitely does not miss the way Jensen can’t stop fidgeting with the beads wrapped around his right wrist, the wrist closest to Misha.
Sure, Jensen laughs and smiles and does his thing, but Misha watches Jensen’s fingers drift to those beads and he knows that Jensen’s mind is elsewhere. That Jensen’s back in Misha’s hotel room, spread across Misha’s bed, wrists pinned under Misha’s hands as Misha kisses him and takes and takes and takes.
Jensen had woken up with bruises there, bruises that Misha had pressed kisses to in the weak, early morning light filtering through the curtains. Misha had kissed and licked, nipped and sucked, had darkened the marks around Jensen’s wrists with his lips and teeth as Jensen breathed heavily, the fingers of his free hand sliding through Misha’s hair.
Jensen had come like that—Misha’s mouth on Jensen’s pinned wrist, his hand on Jensen’s cock—and Misha had felt powerful. He’d moved to Jensen’s mouth, kissing him as he thrust against Jensen’s hip, his stomach, cock sliding through Jensen’s come.
They’d made a mess of each other and then washed it all away, everything but the marks left on Jensen’s wrists.
If Misha were to actually look, he’s sure he would see the dark hint of them under the bracelets Jensen had slid on. He’d fumbled with one, holding his arm out for Misha’s help when he couldn’t quite fasten it, and shuddered when Misha’s fingers brushed his skin.
Misha had smirked and kissed him, promised him later.
Jensen’s only inches away now, and Misha can feel the heat coming off him in waves. He watches Jensen’s fingers drift to his wrist again, and feels the longing to touch twitch in his own. Wonders if he can get Jensen alone for a few minutes, maybe tucked behind an ice machine somewhere, a men’s restroom. He’d crowd Jensen against the wall then, hold him in place with his hips and his hands. He’d press Jensen’s arm against some questionable wallpaper or drab tile, mouth at those beads that taste like wood and metal and sweat and Jensen. He’d lick between them to the skin beneath and feel Jensen harden, hear Jensen’s breath catch as he tasted Jensen’s racing pulse beneath his lips.
Misha wonders if he can make Jensen come like that and glances over to only to catch Jensen’s eye. Misha winks, and Jensen flushes and looks away, shifting carefully in his seat.
Challenge accepted, Misha thinks, and starts planning their escape.
Jensen/Misha
R
550
Jensen's bracelets hide a multitude of sins.
For
aldehyde, who linked to this picture of pouty!Jensen where I got completely distracted by his jewelry and wrists.Misha watches Jensen out of the corner of his eye, watches him turn and share a laugh with Jared, watches him face forward and smile at fans. Takes in the strong curve of Jensen’s neck when Jensen leans his head back, stretching, or takes a pull from the bottle of water he keeps by his feet.
He does this all subtly, of course. He has to. He knows what the fans are like.
It doesn’t keep him from missing a thing, though.
Like the way Jensen’s eyes flicker toward Misha every now and then, or the way his shoulders stiffen when Misha leans around him to trade insults with Jared. Misha doesn’t miss the way Jensen’s breath hitches or the way he shifts his thighs beneath the cover of the table. And he definitely, definitely does not miss the way Jensen can’t stop fidgeting with the beads wrapped around his right wrist, the wrist closest to Misha.
Sure, Jensen laughs and smiles and does his thing, but Misha watches Jensen’s fingers drift to those beads and he knows that Jensen’s mind is elsewhere. That Jensen’s back in Misha’s hotel room, spread across Misha’s bed, wrists pinned under Misha’s hands as Misha kisses him and takes and takes and takes.
Jensen had woken up with bruises there, bruises that Misha had pressed kisses to in the weak, early morning light filtering through the curtains. Misha had kissed and licked, nipped and sucked, had darkened the marks around Jensen’s wrists with his lips and teeth as Jensen breathed heavily, the fingers of his free hand sliding through Misha’s hair.
Jensen had come like that—Misha’s mouth on Jensen’s pinned wrist, his hand on Jensen’s cock—and Misha had felt powerful. He’d moved to Jensen’s mouth, kissing him as he thrust against Jensen’s hip, his stomach, cock sliding through Jensen’s come.
They’d made a mess of each other and then washed it all away, everything but the marks left on Jensen’s wrists.
If Misha were to actually look, he’s sure he would see the dark hint of them under the bracelets Jensen had slid on. He’d fumbled with one, holding his arm out for Misha’s help when he couldn’t quite fasten it, and shuddered when Misha’s fingers brushed his skin.
Misha had smirked and kissed him, promised him later.
Jensen’s only inches away now, and Misha can feel the heat coming off him in waves. He watches Jensen’s fingers drift to his wrist again, and feels the longing to touch twitch in his own. Wonders if he can get Jensen alone for a few minutes, maybe tucked behind an ice machine somewhere, a men’s restroom. He’d crowd Jensen against the wall then, hold him in place with his hips and his hands. He’d press Jensen’s arm against some questionable wallpaper or drab tile, mouth at those beads that taste like wood and metal and sweat and Jensen. He’d lick between them to the skin beneath and feel Jensen harden, hear Jensen’s breath catch as he tasted Jensen’s racing pulse beneath his lips.
Misha wonders if he can make Jensen come like that and glances over to only to catch Jensen’s eye. Misha winks, and Jensen flushes and looks away, shifting carefully in his seat.
Challenge accepted, Misha thinks, and starts planning their escape.
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