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annundrielOne Track Mind
Jensen/Misha
NC-17
2075
Jensen finds Castiel's voice distracting.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oddlyfamiliar, who made me do it. I hope you like it! Thanks go to krystalicekitsu for cheering me on and perfumaniac for helping me make it better. <3
Jensen retreats to his trailer as quickly as possible, taking deep gulps of cool, crisp night air. His cheeks feel flushed and his heart thumps rapidly in his chest. It leaves him feeling jittery and tingling, on edge. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hopes no one he passes notices that he’s hard.
It’s all fucking Misha’s fault, Jensen thinks, fumbling with the trailer door before he gets it open, stepping inside where it’s warm. Fucking Misha with his fucking voice. He leans back against the closed door and presses the heel of his hand hard against his fly, tries to press down the feeling swirling in his gut, the memory of Misha’s voice, of Castiel’s voice curling in his ear.
It doesn’t work; the sound clings to him like smoke.
There’s a knock on the door, and Jensen feels it vibrating against his back. “Jensen?”
His hand flies from his dick as though he’s been electrified. Of course Misha would decide to follow him, of course.
“What?” he growls, stepping away from the door as Misha pulls it open and sticks his head in. He’s still in costume and his hair looks like someone’s been running their fingers through it. Jensen likes the longer hair better, he does, but it makes Misha look like sex on legs, like quick tumbles and long weekends. It’s distracting.
“Where’s the fire, Jen?” His voice is back to normal, higher pitched, less filled with filthy promise. “You took off kind of quickly there.” Misha lets the door swing shut behind him, leans a hip against the counter. His lips quirk at the corners. “Something come up?”
Bastard.
Glowering, Jensen shrugs out of his coat—Dean’s coat—and tosses it over the back of a chair. He’s not doing this, not now. He doesn’t have the patience. He just wants to get Misha gone so he can take care of business and go home, shuck off Dean’s cares as best he can. Grab a beer and put up his feet, push Misha from his mind.
“Yeah,” Jensen snaps. “Maybe something did. So if you don’t mind—” He gestures to the door. “You can let yourself out. I have things to take care of.”
He goes to move past Misha, eyes on the back of his trailer where he can get some privacy, but Misha’s hand is on his wrist and Misha’s stepping into Jensen’s space, crowding him until his knees hit the sofa that runs along one wall.
“Jensen,” he says, and his voice isn’t quite one or the other. It’s some no man’s land in between that Jensen doesn’t quite know what to do with.
“Let go.”
Misha doesn’t. He stands his ground, leans in closer. Jensen can feel the heat coming off of him, the warm puffs of his breath. “You know, Jen, I never figured you to be as blind as you are pretty.”
He looks down at Misha’s hand on his wrist, up at Misha’s face, his wide eyes, and can’t quite bring himself to pull away.
“Or as slow.”
Misha’s voice rubs across his skin in all the right ways and Jensen shudders, isn’t quite sure what Misha’s getting at until Misha tugs at his wrist, presses Jensen’s hand against the front of his pants. Jensen can feel him, hard and hot beneath the layers of his clothes. His fingers flex against Misha’s dick and he blinks at him, mouth falling open.
“Yeah,” Misha says. “Now you’re getting the picture.” The grip Misha has on his wrist tightens, and suddenly Misha’s there, mouth stopping anything Jensen might say. It’s probably for the best. Jensen would much rather hear Misha anyway.
“You’re an idiot, Jensen,” Misha says between biting, sliding kisses.
Jensen palms Misha’s cock through his pants, fingers tracing the shape of it, drawing a groan from Misha that goes straight to Jensen’s balls. “Insults,” Jensen pants. “Really? You think that’ll get you in my pants?”
Misha nips at Jensen’s bottom lip, slides his tongue along the sting. “Your hand is already on my cock, so yeah.” He pulls back far enough to grin at Jensen. “I think it will.”
“Shut up,” Jensen growls and takes Misha’s mouth again, squeezing Misha’s cock briefly before he pulls away, hands sliding to Misha’s hips.
“Oh, I don’t think you really want tha—”
Misha staggers as Jensen spins them, clinging to Jensen’s shoulders until Jensen pushes him down onto the sofa.
Misha blinks up at him from the cushions, eyes lingering on Jensen’s dick. He licks his lips. “Something you want, Jensen?”
Jensen looks down at Misha’s upturned face, takes in the flushed rise of his cheekbones, the dark mess of hair, those eyes and that mouth and, fuck, maybe he has been an idiot.
“Yeah,” Jensen says, “there’s something I want.”
Misha smirks. “Are you going to tell me?” He leans in to nuzzle at Jensen’s cock. “Or am I going to have to guess?”
Jensen doesn’t answer. Shaking his head, he reaches for Misha, fingers tangling in his hair, and toys with the button of his jeans with his free hand before thumbing it open. His hands tremble on his zipper—finally, finally—and Misha must notice because he sits back and pushes Jensen’s hands out of the way to work Jensen’s fly open himself.
He gets it undone easily, the ends of his fingers brushing against Jensen. Misha tugs at the band of Jensen’s underwear, pulls them over Jensen’s cock, down his thighs along with his jeans and pulls Jensen forward between his knees. Misha’s eyes flick up to his, wide and dark and blue, and Jensen’s heart stutters in his chest.
And then Misha’s hand is wrapped around the base of Jensen’s cock and his mouth is on the head and it’s all Jensen can do to hang on. To sink his fingers in that hair the way he’s been imagining since he first saw Misha in costume, all rumpled collar and mussed hair. When they leave here, Misha’s hair will be Jensen’s doing, his and no one else’s.
Misha rolls his tongue over the tip of Jensen’s cock, presses his lips beneath the head. He licks and sucks along the shaft until he reaches his hand, then turns his head and works his way back up. Jensen tries to keep his grip loose, his fingers relaxed, but it’s so damn hard when Misha’s lips are stretched pink around him and he’s looking up at Jensen through dark lashes.
Jensen wants to move, wants to fist his hands in Misha’s hair and take. It’s an effort to hold himself steady; his thighs twitch with it.
Misha’s free hand comes up to stroke Jensen’s thigh, fingers brushing the hair back against the grain. Pressing his palm against Jensen’s skin, Misha pulls off with a slick sound. “You can if you want,” he says, voice gone thick. Deep and rough like it is when he’s in character. Only this time it isn’t just Misha putting on a voice. This time, Jensen has a hand in this, too.
“What?”
Leaning in, Misha mouths at Jensen’s balls, presses that voice right up against him. “Fuck my mouth,” he says. “You don’t have to be so careful.”
He lowers himself on Jensen’s cock, swallows him down as he looks up, and that’s all it takes, Jensen needs no more permission than that.
Starting off slowly, Jensen works his cock in and out of Misha’s mouth, unable to look away from the slow, wet slide of it as it disappears between Misha’s lips. He’s grateful for Misha’s hand around him, the other a steadying presence on Jensen’s thigh as Misha swallows around him, working his tongue against Jensen.
Jensen pulls back, slides back in a little faster, a little harder, holds Misha still with both hands in Misha’s hair.
Not that Misha’s trying to get away. There’s spit on Misha’s chin and his breath is coming fast and harsh, but he’s looking up at Jensen like there’s no place that he’d rather be, making these noises around Jensen’s cock like he’s wanted this as long as Jensen has, like he’s as desperate for it.
No, he’s definitely not trying to get away.
Jensen thrusts into Misha’s mouth, only going as far as Misha’s hand around his cock lets him. Misha lets go when Jensen’s hips swing back, hand sneaking beneath the hem of Jensen’s shirt. His nails scrape lightly up Jensen’s stomach and chest, fingers finding one of Jensen’s nipples. Jensen’s breath stutters and he thrusts back into that perfect heat, Misha taking him all of the way down.
“Fuck!” Jensen swears, and that’s all the warning either of them get before Jensen’s coming, shooting into Misha’s mouth. He watches Misha’s face as Misha swallows Jensen’s come, as Misha pulls back to lick at his lips, at Jensen’s cock. Jensen loosens his hold on Misha’s hair, slides his fingers across Misha’s flushed cheeks and over his slick lips, traces their shape at the corners.
Misha smirks, smug and happy, as he catches his breath, turning to suck Jensen’s fingers into his mouth.
Jensen groans and drops to his knees, his legs unable to hold him any longer. He licks into Misha’s mouth, tastes himself there, sharp on Misha’s tongue. “Jesus, Misha,” he breathes.
Misha’s teeth are sharp against Jensen’s bottom lip, his tongue clever. “Just Misha is fine.”
Jensen snorts, but pushes Misha back against the couch, working frantically at the fly of his pants. Misha’s own fingers join his, undoing the buckle of his belt. It doesn’t take long before Misha’s cock is out, hard and curving against the black of his pants, the stark white of his shirt. The picture Misha makes, rumpled and flushed and wanting, legs spread wide to accommodate Jensen as he lounges back in Jensen’s trailer…
It isn’t something Jensen’s going to forget for a very long time.
“Well?”
There’s that voice again. Jensen can’t help but wonder if that’s what Cas would sound like, if Dean would feel the same tug in his balls that Jensen does at the tone of that voice, the rough command of it.
He thinks Dean might.
Leaning in, Jensen licks up the underside of Misha’s cock, taking his time. He keeps his eyes on Misha’s face, his parted lips and blown pupils. Misha’s hands twitch restlessly on his thighs, and Jensen wishes Misha would touch him again. He doesn’t want to wait, so he reaches out himself, threads their fingers together as he wraps his lips around the head of Misha’s cock. He sucks and—
Misha comes with a long, low groan that Jensen’s sure he’ll feel vibrating through his bones for days.
Jensen catches Misha’s come on his tongue, swallows what he can. Does his best to keep any off of Misha’s clothing. Costume might kill Misha for bringing back Castiel’s costume with come stains.
When he looks up, Misha’s watching him, face mostly unreadable. He looks softer around the edges, tired, calm. More calm than Jensen’s used to seeing him. It’s a good look for him—though Jensen’s starting to realize most looks are—and Jensen finds himself wishing they were someplace else, at his place or Misha’s. Someplace with a good bed where he could drag Misha between the sheets, see what other sounds, what other looks he can get out of him.
See if he can’t reproduce this one, where Misha’s looking at him like this might be the start of something new and wonderful and surprising.
“So,” Jensen says, fingers pressing against the back of Misha’s hand. “You’re telling me that if I had just…groped you in the Impala, you would’ve been fine with that?”
Misha blinks at him and then smiles, lips full and used. “You were never going to grope me in the Impala.” He squeezes Jensen’s hand. “But yes, I would’ve been more than fine.”
“Shit.” Jensen chuckles and feels the remaining tension gathered in his chest loosen. “I guess we’ll have to work overtime to fix this.” He leans down and sucks lightly at Misha’s spent cock, thrills at the way Misha hisses. “Back at my place.”
“Damn,” Misha answers, and there’s that voice again, that Cas voice, not quite as steady as it’s probably meant to be. He smirks, and it seems a little shaky, too. “If we leave now we could start tonight.”
Grinning, Jensen stands and pulls Misha to his feet.
Jensen/Misha
NC-17
2075
Jensen finds Castiel's voice distracting.
For
oddlyfamiliar, who made me do it. I hope you like it! Thanks go to krystalicekitsu for cheering me on and perfumaniac for helping me make it better. <3Jensen retreats to his trailer as quickly as possible, taking deep gulps of cool, crisp night air. His cheeks feel flushed and his heart thumps rapidly in his chest. It leaves him feeling jittery and tingling, on edge. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hopes no one he passes notices that he’s hard.
It’s all fucking Misha’s fault, Jensen thinks, fumbling with the trailer door before he gets it open, stepping inside where it’s warm. Fucking Misha with his fucking voice. He leans back against the closed door and presses the heel of his hand hard against his fly, tries to press down the feeling swirling in his gut, the memory of Misha’s voice, of Castiel’s voice curling in his ear.
It doesn’t work; the sound clings to him like smoke.
There’s a knock on the door, and Jensen feels it vibrating against his back. “Jensen?”
His hand flies from his dick as though he’s been electrified. Of course Misha would decide to follow him, of course.
“What?” he growls, stepping away from the door as Misha pulls it open and sticks his head in. He’s still in costume and his hair looks like someone’s been running their fingers through it. Jensen likes the longer hair better, he does, but it makes Misha look like sex on legs, like quick tumbles and long weekends. It’s distracting.
“Where’s the fire, Jen?” His voice is back to normal, higher pitched, less filled with filthy promise. “You took off kind of quickly there.” Misha lets the door swing shut behind him, leans a hip against the counter. His lips quirk at the corners. “Something come up?”
Bastard.
Glowering, Jensen shrugs out of his coat—Dean’s coat—and tosses it over the back of a chair. He’s not doing this, not now. He doesn’t have the patience. He just wants to get Misha gone so he can take care of business and go home, shuck off Dean’s cares as best he can. Grab a beer and put up his feet, push Misha from his mind.
“Yeah,” Jensen snaps. “Maybe something did. So if you don’t mind—” He gestures to the door. “You can let yourself out. I have things to take care of.”
He goes to move past Misha, eyes on the back of his trailer where he can get some privacy, but Misha’s hand is on his wrist and Misha’s stepping into Jensen’s space, crowding him until his knees hit the sofa that runs along one wall.
“Jensen,” he says, and his voice isn’t quite one or the other. It’s some no man’s land in between that Jensen doesn’t quite know what to do with.
“Let go.”
Misha doesn’t. He stands his ground, leans in closer. Jensen can feel the heat coming off of him, the warm puffs of his breath. “You know, Jen, I never figured you to be as blind as you are pretty.”
He looks down at Misha’s hand on his wrist, up at Misha’s face, his wide eyes, and can’t quite bring himself to pull away.
“Or as slow.”
Misha’s voice rubs across his skin in all the right ways and Jensen shudders, isn’t quite sure what Misha’s getting at until Misha tugs at his wrist, presses Jensen’s hand against the front of his pants. Jensen can feel him, hard and hot beneath the layers of his clothes. His fingers flex against Misha’s dick and he blinks at him, mouth falling open.
“Yeah,” Misha says. “Now you’re getting the picture.” The grip Misha has on his wrist tightens, and suddenly Misha’s there, mouth stopping anything Jensen might say. It’s probably for the best. Jensen would much rather hear Misha anyway.
“You’re an idiot, Jensen,” Misha says between biting, sliding kisses.
Jensen palms Misha’s cock through his pants, fingers tracing the shape of it, drawing a groan from Misha that goes straight to Jensen’s balls. “Insults,” Jensen pants. “Really? You think that’ll get you in my pants?”
Misha nips at Jensen’s bottom lip, slides his tongue along the sting. “Your hand is already on my cock, so yeah.” He pulls back far enough to grin at Jensen. “I think it will.”
“Shut up,” Jensen growls and takes Misha’s mouth again, squeezing Misha’s cock briefly before he pulls away, hands sliding to Misha’s hips.
“Oh, I don’t think you really want tha—”
Misha staggers as Jensen spins them, clinging to Jensen’s shoulders until Jensen pushes him down onto the sofa.
Misha blinks up at him from the cushions, eyes lingering on Jensen’s dick. He licks his lips. “Something you want, Jensen?”
Jensen looks down at Misha’s upturned face, takes in the flushed rise of his cheekbones, the dark mess of hair, those eyes and that mouth and, fuck, maybe he has been an idiot.
“Yeah,” Jensen says, “there’s something I want.”
Misha smirks. “Are you going to tell me?” He leans in to nuzzle at Jensen’s cock. “Or am I going to have to guess?”
Jensen doesn’t answer. Shaking his head, he reaches for Misha, fingers tangling in his hair, and toys with the button of his jeans with his free hand before thumbing it open. His hands tremble on his zipper—finally, finally—and Misha must notice because he sits back and pushes Jensen’s hands out of the way to work Jensen’s fly open himself.
He gets it undone easily, the ends of his fingers brushing against Jensen. Misha tugs at the band of Jensen’s underwear, pulls them over Jensen’s cock, down his thighs along with his jeans and pulls Jensen forward between his knees. Misha’s eyes flick up to his, wide and dark and blue, and Jensen’s heart stutters in his chest.
And then Misha’s hand is wrapped around the base of Jensen’s cock and his mouth is on the head and it’s all Jensen can do to hang on. To sink his fingers in that hair the way he’s been imagining since he first saw Misha in costume, all rumpled collar and mussed hair. When they leave here, Misha’s hair will be Jensen’s doing, his and no one else’s.
Misha rolls his tongue over the tip of Jensen’s cock, presses his lips beneath the head. He licks and sucks along the shaft until he reaches his hand, then turns his head and works his way back up. Jensen tries to keep his grip loose, his fingers relaxed, but it’s so damn hard when Misha’s lips are stretched pink around him and he’s looking up at Jensen through dark lashes.
Jensen wants to move, wants to fist his hands in Misha’s hair and take. It’s an effort to hold himself steady; his thighs twitch with it.
Misha’s free hand comes up to stroke Jensen’s thigh, fingers brushing the hair back against the grain. Pressing his palm against Jensen’s skin, Misha pulls off with a slick sound. “You can if you want,” he says, voice gone thick. Deep and rough like it is when he’s in character. Only this time it isn’t just Misha putting on a voice. This time, Jensen has a hand in this, too.
“What?”
Leaning in, Misha mouths at Jensen’s balls, presses that voice right up against him. “Fuck my mouth,” he says. “You don’t have to be so careful.”
He lowers himself on Jensen’s cock, swallows him down as he looks up, and that’s all it takes, Jensen needs no more permission than that.
Starting off slowly, Jensen works his cock in and out of Misha’s mouth, unable to look away from the slow, wet slide of it as it disappears between Misha’s lips. He’s grateful for Misha’s hand around him, the other a steadying presence on Jensen’s thigh as Misha swallows around him, working his tongue against Jensen.
Jensen pulls back, slides back in a little faster, a little harder, holds Misha still with both hands in Misha’s hair.
Not that Misha’s trying to get away. There’s spit on Misha’s chin and his breath is coming fast and harsh, but he’s looking up at Jensen like there’s no place that he’d rather be, making these noises around Jensen’s cock like he’s wanted this as long as Jensen has, like he’s as desperate for it.
No, he’s definitely not trying to get away.
Jensen thrusts into Misha’s mouth, only going as far as Misha’s hand around his cock lets him. Misha lets go when Jensen’s hips swing back, hand sneaking beneath the hem of Jensen’s shirt. His nails scrape lightly up Jensen’s stomach and chest, fingers finding one of Jensen’s nipples. Jensen’s breath stutters and he thrusts back into that perfect heat, Misha taking him all of the way down.
“Fuck!” Jensen swears, and that’s all the warning either of them get before Jensen’s coming, shooting into Misha’s mouth. He watches Misha’s face as Misha swallows Jensen’s come, as Misha pulls back to lick at his lips, at Jensen’s cock. Jensen loosens his hold on Misha’s hair, slides his fingers across Misha’s flushed cheeks and over his slick lips, traces their shape at the corners.
Misha smirks, smug and happy, as he catches his breath, turning to suck Jensen’s fingers into his mouth.
Jensen groans and drops to his knees, his legs unable to hold him any longer. He licks into Misha’s mouth, tastes himself there, sharp on Misha’s tongue. “Jesus, Misha,” he breathes.
Misha’s teeth are sharp against Jensen’s bottom lip, his tongue clever. “Just Misha is fine.”
Jensen snorts, but pushes Misha back against the couch, working frantically at the fly of his pants. Misha’s own fingers join his, undoing the buckle of his belt. It doesn’t take long before Misha’s cock is out, hard and curving against the black of his pants, the stark white of his shirt. The picture Misha makes, rumpled and flushed and wanting, legs spread wide to accommodate Jensen as he lounges back in Jensen’s trailer…
It isn’t something Jensen’s going to forget for a very long time.
“Well?”
There’s that voice again. Jensen can’t help but wonder if that’s what Cas would sound like, if Dean would feel the same tug in his balls that Jensen does at the tone of that voice, the rough command of it.
He thinks Dean might.
Leaning in, Jensen licks up the underside of Misha’s cock, taking his time. He keeps his eyes on Misha’s face, his parted lips and blown pupils. Misha’s hands twitch restlessly on his thighs, and Jensen wishes Misha would touch him again. He doesn’t want to wait, so he reaches out himself, threads their fingers together as he wraps his lips around the head of Misha’s cock. He sucks and—
Misha comes with a long, low groan that Jensen’s sure he’ll feel vibrating through his bones for days.
Jensen catches Misha’s come on his tongue, swallows what he can. Does his best to keep any off of Misha’s clothing. Costume might kill Misha for bringing back Castiel’s costume with come stains.
When he looks up, Misha’s watching him, face mostly unreadable. He looks softer around the edges, tired, calm. More calm than Jensen’s used to seeing him. It’s a good look for him—though Jensen’s starting to realize most looks are—and Jensen finds himself wishing they were someplace else, at his place or Misha’s. Someplace with a good bed where he could drag Misha between the sheets, see what other sounds, what other looks he can get out of him.
See if he can’t reproduce this one, where Misha’s looking at him like this might be the start of something new and wonderful and surprising.
“So,” Jensen says, fingers pressing against the back of Misha’s hand. “You’re telling me that if I had just…groped you in the Impala, you would’ve been fine with that?”
Misha blinks at him and then smiles, lips full and used. “You were never going to grope me in the Impala.” He squeezes Jensen’s hand. “But yes, I would’ve been more than fine.”
“Shit.” Jensen chuckles and feels the remaining tension gathered in his chest loosen. “I guess we’ll have to work overtime to fix this.” He leans down and sucks lightly at Misha’s spent cock, thrills at the way Misha hisses. “Back at my place.”
“Damn,” Misha answers, and there’s that voice again, that Cas voice, not quite as steady as it’s probably meant to be. He smirks, and it seems a little shaky, too. “If we leave now we could start tonight.”
Grinning, Jensen stands and pulls Misha to his feet.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-21 05:41 pm (UTC)