It’s all CPR and recovery position. Not that Jensen isn’t keen on learning about positions if there’s something for him in it. And when his office manager popped up all perky and enthusiastic and promised free coffee and doughnuts if he went along in her place to the mandatory training, the idea of a favor owed seemed like a good one at the time.
That was until he met the trainer.
Well. They met in the elevator on the way to the conference room first. Jensen had forgotten a folder in his car and had to go all the way down to the garage to pick it up, and by the time he’d retrieved it and climbed back into the elevator he’d realized he was going to be late for the CPR class. He was still grumbling and cursing when a stranger stepped aboard the elevator, and handsome as he was, he was still the nearest available target.
“Managers, man. I swear,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t get paid without ‘em.”
The man’s eyes -- bright rims of blue around black centers -- darted toward him. “Which is why I don’t have one,” he said.
Jensen took this as permission to let his glance linger a little longer. He liked what he saw. The stranger was dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, with dark stubble highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw. Jensen could make out the flex of muscles, not built within an inch of their life with weightlifting, but lean and toned, when the man shifted against the wall of the elevator. The stranger didn’t seem to mind the scrutiny either, the pink tip of his tongue dipping out to moisten his lips.
That was worth watching.
The elevator ride ended too soon and Jensen did the awkward “you first” dance as they made the way along the hallway. He had that inevitable sinking feeling in his belly as both he and the stranger paused by the conference room door. He let the stranger go in first.
There was a good chance that perhaps the guy was new to the company and that would explain why Jensen didn’t know him. That’s what he told himself as he followed the man into the room. Or perhaps the company was merely hosting the course. Perhaps the man was from a neighbouring office. Or a different branch. Jensen knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. He closed the door behind himself to hear the man clapping his hands together to catch everybody’s attention.
“Hello. If you’d like to take a seat, we can get started.”
Jensen could feel those eyes on him again, clear as a touch, and he realized he was the only one left standing -- dumbly, by the door. His cheeks felt hot as he slunk to a seat on the side, and almost immediately the man waved him over. “Come on, we met in the elevator, we’re good friends. Come sit a little closer.” He was grinning so broadly Jensen was a bit afraid his face might break open. Avoiding eye contact, he followed instructions.
Mercifully, the teacher stopped focusing on him and surveyed the room. “So. First Aid. Who here has taken a course in first aid before?” A few hands went up. “Who here always wanted to?” One or two hands. “And who’s here because of some god-awful management training course and would rather be playing solitaire on their computer?” Good-natured laughter rose up from the group, but Jensen shrank in his seat. He couldn’t help feeling like this guy was calling him out.
But the teacher didn’t call him on it. “Well, no matter why you’re here, I’ll try to make this as enlightening and pain-free as possible. Though I can’t guarantee there won’t be some rug burns involved. My name is Misha, and I’ll be your instructor.”
Jensen sat back in his seat. He could feel the eyes of other people in the room asking why he was there instead of Sam. And then there was the way that Misha kept looking at him, eyes flicking back to pay Jensen back for the way he’d let his eyes sweep over him in the elevator. And then there was his folder. He might need to take notes, so he should keep it in his lap. But keeping it in his lap suggested he was... that the interest that Misha had shown in him was having an effect.
Everyone remembered Jeff the Perv being caught masturbating in the bathroom, after all.
In the end, Jensen settled for dropping the notebook on the floor and leaning forward. It would be for the best to keep his head down for the duration. He sat through Misha’s opening narration, focusing on either the beige carpet or the occasional slide Misha slung up to highlight his points. Jensen felt a little like he was being patronised. It all seemed to be common sense so far. He bit his tongue at the stupid questions the blond guy from Accounting kept asking and tried to stop his attention from wandering too far.
Misha was a decent presenter, unlike some of the “experts” the company was prone to bringing in. He kept the pace up, kept moving around the room, didn’t read out all the slides. Jensen might catch him looking in his direction a little too often for his complete comfort but he was starting to relax by the time Misha got through the whole how to approach a casualty spiel.
Then it all went to shit. Misha dropped his pointer directly in front of Jensen and suddenly there was no safe place for his eyes to land. He didn’t bend over, but got down on his knees to scoop it up off the floor -- pausing there, meeting Jensen’s eyes, a grin teasing at the corners of his mouth. It would be so easy to just lean forward, to reach out with a fingertip and touch his jaw, trace the curve of that impudent grin. For a moment Jensen was suspended in time, nobody alive around him, just staring. Lips; wild, promising eyes; the upward jut of his chin and the miles of open skin that stretched below, neck and shoulders bare and flushed. And when Misha moved to straighten up, he kept his eyes fixed on Jensen, as broad shoulders and muscled chest and slender waist unfolded inch by inch in front of Jensen’s face.
Jensen shifted in his seat, Misha caught the motion, and his grin widened just a little. “So,” he said. “My friend from the elevator. How would you like to be today’s first lucky victim?”
Jensen paused. Misha upped the ante by holding out his hand. To everyone else in the room, a friendly gesture to help him from his seat; to Jensen, and undoubtedly to Misha too, a challenge. Jensen gazed at his palm a second (those wide, long fingers... how they must look curled, clenched, taut...) and then met his eyes defiantly, rising from his seat without the benefit of a helping hand.
“What was your name again?” Misha’s tone was so low, Jensen wasn’t sure anyone else was meant to hear.
“Not again,” Jensen said. His own voice was uncooperative, rumbling low and husky in his throat. “I didn’t say.”
Misha’s lips twitched. He still had his hand out, as though expecting a handshake. “Will you say now?”
Jensen took a breath. “Jensen.”
“Jensen, I’m Misha.”
“You mentioned--” But then Misha had grabbed his hand and was shaking it vigorously, and heat plunged through Jensen’s wrist, raced up his arm and very nearly drowned him. He could feel each one of Misha’s fingers, long and articulated, pressing indentations into his hand he wasn’t sure he’d ever be rid of. And then Misha dropped his hand, and he was untouched and weirdly cold again.
Misha turned to the class. “So, our friend Jensen is going to help me out today by being my glamorous assistant.”
Jensen rolled his eyes to avoid seeing any of the glares from his colleagues. He focused on Misha instead, which was perhaps something of a problem because Misha looked a little gleeful. There was something puckish about his expression.
“Lie down for me, Jensen. Flat on your back.” Misha pointed to the ground. His words were perfectly innocent, but the way his eyes flashed dark was anything but. Jensen attempted to be graceful as he lay down flat. The beige carpet was more comfortable than it looked.
Misha knelt beside him, knees snugged up close to Jensen’s side. He laid his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, petting slightly. Jensen tensed involuntarily before relaxing under the touch. Warmth seemed to radiate from Misha’s hand, through Jensen’s shirt and throughout his torso. He tuned back into Misha’s words in order to avoid letting his imagination running away from him.
“The recovery position is to help your casualty maintain an airway. Even if they don’t seem to be having breathing difficulties, it’s probably a good idea.” Misha’s hand shifted to the back of Jensen’s neck, tilting his head back. Jensen couldn’t help but think that he’d given blow jobs in that position...
“First step, check your casualty’s pockets. Not for loose change-” Misha matched action to instruction and patted along Jensen’s side, letting his thumbs rest at the top of Jensen’s hip bones. Jensen lost track of the rest of the explanation as Misha brought his knee up, flung one of his arms above his head. Instead Jensen watched the way Misha’s eyes darted across his body, the way his hands lingered to press his limbs into position.
Misha’s full attention returned to him. He was still maintaining a professional, detached demeanour. Anyone not as close as Jensen was would merely see a man who was enthusiastic and determined to ensure a high quality of presentation. Jensen could see the way Misha’s breathing had quickened slightly, the way his tongue dipped out with ever increasing frequency. “Now, Jensen. I need you to try and go all floppy.”
That instruction was definitely being ignored by a very particular part of his anatomy. Jensen let out a deep breath and allowed Misha to pull him onto his side. Misha was still kneeling by Jensen’s side and his eyes were drawn to the vee of his legs, the way his jeans stretched across shapely thighs. Jensen was glad he was facing away from the rest of the room all of a sudden.
“Okay! Pair up and I’ll keep Jensen. He can practice on me now.” The last was said in a lower register, voice dipping into gravel and rust. Jensen felt a shudder up his spine.
“Don’t you have to, uh--” Jensen waved his hand vaguely. “Teach?”
“I will. I’m just teaching you first.” Misha stretched out on the floor in the same position Jensen had taken earlier. Horizontal and limp, he looked almost innocent, just a big stretched-out landscape of beautiful man there for Jensen to explore and enjoy. For an instant, Jensen allowed himself to glance at the crux of his thighs, where the denim was taut, and a rush of crazy heat went through him when he thought he could make out the outline of a bulge there.
“Come on, Jensen,” Misha murmured through half-lidded eyes. “The recovery position.”
Jensen didn’t think he’d ever recover from this. He drew up close to Misha, tried to echo his movements. His hands came down on Misha’s sides gingerly, meaning to check his pockets, and Misha swallowed, his muscles shifting and tensing beneath Jensen’s touch. He took in a breath that rasped a bit on its way in, and his eyes caught Jensen’s. They were dark with tension and -- if that slight motion in Jensen’s peripheral vision was any indication -- maybe not a little bit of lust.
Misha rose up on one elbow, leaned toward Jensen. “You’re a natural,” he said. His hair had gone mussed and fuzzy from lying on the floor, and his head flopped to the side casually, as though he were half-asleep. “I might have to give you some private lessons.”
“I--” Jensen frowned. He didn’t know what to say to this almost-certainly-a-pass, especially in front of a roomful of reluctantly practicing office workers. “Are you-- um.”
Misha’s hand brushed over Jensen’s knee. “Let’s talk later,” he murmured, the gravel of his voice overlaid with rich honey. Jensen was sure his poor dress pants wouldn’t survive the afternoon if he spent one more minute this close to Misha. He got to his feet, but not before he found the strength to nod.
If someone asked Jensen later about the CPR course, he was sure he’d be able to describe in detail every time Misha swept his hands though his neatly ordered hair, twisting it into wilder spikes. Or maybe recount the way Misha’s fingers danced whenever he was describing something gruesome. Actual first aid? It was probably a good thing that Misha doled out handouts on a regular basis.
Because Jensen was so focused on Misha he missed the way the time flew past. Normally these training days seemed to stretch minutes into hours. Instead, this day was on fast forward. Misha drew his hands together, smiling around the room and Jensen was sure he wasn’t imagining the way Misha lingered on him.
“Lunch time. And then more putting theory into practice.” Misha stood back to let the others spill out of the room, chattering. Jensen kept his seat. He watched Misha stretch his arms up to the ceiling, t-shirt rising up and revealing a flash of belly, a glimpse of dark hair, sharp hip bones. Jensen froze in place.
Misha came back to standing slowly, eyes meeting Jensen’s. A lazy smile spread across his face, eyes half closing. “Lunch. You should eat. And hydrate. Keep up your strength.”
Jensen’s imagination provided all the things he would need his strength for. To lick every inch of Misha’s neck, map Misha’s chest with his fingertips. Swallow down his cock. Some of his imaginings must have been showing on his face. Misha’s smooth, collected facade faltered and he came close to Jensen, stood within the spread of his knees.
They were alone in the room and the door was shut firm against the outside world.
“You hungry?” Misha asked. His voice was loud enough to send jitters running through Jensen. How could he be that confident, that innocently friendly, after what Jensen knew -- or strongly suspected -- he was feeling? Jensen himself was having trouble even sitting up straight. With the curious blue eyes focused on him, he wasn’t sure his heart remembered how to beat.
“I’ll survive,” he said.
Misha tilted his head. “Because I was going to suggest if you wanted something to eat,” he said, and his voice trailed into a guttural scrape of sound. His hand reached out and paused less than a fingertip’s breadth from Jensen’s chest.
There was no mistaking the innuendo that time, and if Jensen had any doubt, it was erased in the momentary dip downward of Misha’s gaze into the narrowing canyon between them. “That doesn’t exactly count as hydrating,” Jensen said, finding a smile was easier to reach for than he’d anticipated.
“True.” Misha bit his lip, and the strain and sudden flush of his mouth under the bite made Jensen want to lean in and lick over the surface of his teeth, suck on his mouth until he’d pulled that trapped lower lip free.
He spoke to keep from exploding into a million pieces. “Look, uh, Misha. We just met-- I mean, I don’t even know your last name--”
“Collins,” Misha said, absent-mindedly, and made contact, fingertips pressing five sudden dull points into Jensen’s chest.
“Right,” Jensen’s tongue dropped heavily in his mouth. There went that excuse. “Uh--”
Misha paused, face inches from Jensen’s, those five fingers of fire still radiating heat. He took his time to search Jensen’s expression, eyes darting like he was counting freckles. There was a question in his eyes, a way out if Jensen really wasn’t sure about seizing the day and all. Then again, life is short.
Jensen captured Misha’s hand against his chest when he started to move away and clumsily swiped his mouth across Misha’s. It wasn’t the most memorable of first kisses, too hard, lips not quite ready. Misha didn’t seem to mind, especially not when Jensen stood up to put them both on relatively equal footing. He let his other hand wind around Jensen’s waist, drawing him close and snugging their hips together. Jensen used his free hand to cup Misha’s jaw, positioning his head just so. The second kiss was more successful. Actually, compared to the first, there were no real grounds to call the first a kiss at all.
Misha’s mouth parted eagerly under Jensen’s and they battled, back and forth, lips, tongue, hands pulling and pressing and being lost in each other. Jensen had to draw back for air, knowing he was breathing heavily. The way Misha’s lips were red and kiss-debauched made him dip back for another taste, which led to another and another and then suddenly he was walking backwards until he hit the wall.
The pressure in his pants was growing as Misha writhed against him. There was no other word for the roll of his hips, driving a similar firm length along Jensen’s thigh. Jensen was just holding on for the ride. He couldn’t stop the little whimper that escaped him when Misha drew back, opening a chasm between them.
“Misha?” Jensen knew he was begging, but it had been a while. A long while. And if he was doing this, he was going all in.
Misha dropped his head back, drawing Jensen’s lower lip between his teeth as he pulled back once more. Then his hands busied themselves at Jensen’s belt, fumbling it open. Jensen tried to return the favour but mainly seemed to be getting in the way. Finally, he sighed in relief as Misha freed his cock from its cloth prison and lined up his dick alongside Jensen’s. The next roll of his hips sent a wave of electricity through Jensen. Misha’s cock radiated heat into him as they crested together, and Jensen’s head tipped back involuntarily, a shaky breath and half-voiced moan finding their way free as his legs trembled and he tried to keep his balance intact. Even the wall didn’t seem solid enough to hold him up, not against this riptide of heat.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was sounding warnings. There’s just this thin wall between you and the whole office, it was saying. A thin wall and you’ve just bumped hard against it, and now you’re moaning... But Misha had taken advantage of his tipped-back head to lick at his neck and was sucking welts into it, and the moans just kept coming, higher and louder as Jensen’s fingers scrabbled to find a hold in Misha’s belt loops, hauling him in further and harder for each crest of their hips together. He leaned forward again, caught Misha’s mouth with his, and breathed raggedly into it. “We could get caught,” he murmured, thinking he really ought to care more about that fact.
Misha smiled against his mouth. “Caught doing what? We’re just practicing CPR.”
“Because you always practice CPR up against a wall.”
“You wanna lie down again?” Misha’s hand returned to his cock, pushed them together and stroked upward so fast and with so much friction that Jensen could only gasp in return. Actually, he did want to lie down, but only if he could have Misha on top of him. Riding him, pumping hard, or on all fours, pink lips nuzzling the base of his cock...
The images were enough that Jensen could feel his cock hardening and he knew he was ready to come. Part of his brain was a little embarrassed that he was going to shoot off that quickly but that feeling was wiped out by the white lust that swept through his veins. Misha collapsed against him a moment later, panting wetly against Jensen’s neck.
Misha let out a strangled laugh before pulling back. The cold air on Jensen’s exposed cock made him shiver before Misha handed him a white cloth. Looking closer after he wiped himself down and tucked himself away, Jensen realised that he was holding a triangular bandage. The sort of thing he was going to need to use to make dressings and slings with.
He was never going to be able to look at one again without a twinge of desire.
Misha fetched him a coffee from the back of the room and they sat down, letting their breathing return to normal. Jensen was sure that evidence of the deed would be there for any of the others to read and he was a little worried about that. But mostly he felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he leaned against Misha, feeling the warmth of his body every place they touched.
“So,” Misha said, touching his coffee cup against Jensen’s briefly.
“So?” Jensen’s brow rose. They broke into mirroring smiles.
“I don’t know your last name,” Misha pointed out.
“Oh.” It took Jensen a minute to remember he actually had to answer. “Ackles.”
“That’s a weird name.”
“No weirder than Misha,” Jensen countered, and then blushed. “Hey, what-- what exactly are we doing?” He met Misha’s eyes, and the electric tingle of whatever was between them plunged down to his toes. Swallowing, he took a breath. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Do you regret it?”
Jensen’s headshake turned into an all-over shiver as the events of a few minutes ago replayed in his head on fast-forward. Misha’s kiss, his body against Jensen’s, his hand, oh God that bandage afterward-- “No.”
Misha leaned in and pressed his forehead against Jensen’s. “Can we do it again?”’
The door clicked a warning an instant before it opened, and by then Jensen had motored backward, putting a respectable difference between himself and Misha. Misha’s gaze was still fixed on him, his eyes still twinkling, and Jensen watched the returning students’ faces as the room filled up again, certain their secret was out in the open for anyone to guess. What’s more, his stomach was starting to grumble, and he realized ruefully he’d managed to work up an appetite.
“You all right there, Ackles?” Misha flipped him another one of those lazy, sated grins at the rumble and wandered over to the table he’d dumped his messenger bag on. He raked in it before coming up with a red apple which he threw underarm to Jensen. Jensen only managed to get his hand up in time to catch it. It was followed by some kind of cereal bar. For a moment, Jensen thought he’d rather have a doughnut but then he caught Misha’s eye.
The rest of the eager attendees started to trail in through the open door. Jensen bit into the apple to avoid having to speak to anyone else although the ripe flesh made him choke a little. Misha broke off his conversation and came to stand by Jensen, snagging a bottle of water on the way.
“Need me to demonstrate how to deal with choking?” Misha asked. There was a titter from the gaggle of chattering girls.
“Stupid-” Jensen cut off his self-deprecation and returned Misha’s grin with a smirk of his own. “Just thinking I should be the one to give an apple to the teacher and all.”
The whole tease worked. Misha’s eyes were fixed to his hand as Jensen brought the apple to his mouth again, bit down firmly and made a soft sound of satisfaction. Misha swallowed, dryly, coughing a little. He leaned close to Jensen’s ear.
“It’s fine. You can give me something later.” With that final tease, Misha straightened, pointedly focusing his eyes on Jensen’s crotch for a moment before spinning to face the rest of the room and clapping his hands together to bring the class to order.
Jensen sat back in his chair, casually crossing his leg over his knee to hide the tightness in his pants once more. Fuck. Misha was going to get him into real trouble.
Luckily, Misha darkened the room to show a video about dealing with trauma priorities. Of course the fucker sat next to Jensen, all hot and breathing in the near dark. Jensen had the odd disconnect of watching the dry-voiced presenter explain exactly what was expected of a first aider at an accident scene (accompanied by the ridiculous out-of-date graphics) whilst he was simultaneously aware of the heat that seemed to radiate from Misha’s skin, of every deep breath and subtle shift. Jensen let his hand drop by his side and before he knew it there was a thumb caressing his, tracing the line of each finger in turn and dropping seductively into the valleys between them, until Jensen was following the movement and feeling his heart rise and plummet again with each swoop of Misha’s soft thumbpad.
Jensen wanted to drop to his knees and bury his head between Misha’s legs in full view of everybody in the room. God, he was completely gone, absolutely lost in how badly he wanted Misha. He couldn’t ever remember being this hungry for someone, and he was sure he’d never gotten hard again this quickly. Yeah, he was hard again, the patient movement of Misha’s finger against his hand turning him volcanic inside. He tried to breathe normally and ended up sounding like an asthmatic.
Misha’s hand slipped away from him and Jensen had to fight the urge to grab for it. He gulped in air and rubbed his eyes as the lights went up again. But Misha was back in nonchalant teacher mode, grinning as he rose to his feet and stretched out -- arms over his head, T-shirt riding up to show just a peek of stomach. Jensen had to swallow his heart to keep it from bursting out of his throat (and to keep other things from bursting out of his pants). “So,” Misha said in a lazy, pleasant drawl. “Now’s the time when you get to mummify each other.”
He strolled to his bag and pulled out packs of bandages, distributing them evenly on the desk. “We’re going to pair up again, I’ll show you each technique and then you’ll have a chance to try it on your partner. Let’s mix things up this time, try and choose a partner you weren’t with before. No, I’m not trying to make you all friends, but it’s good if you know how to work with more than one body type.”
Jensen ended up face to face with a brown-haired woman he occasionally nodded to in the elevator. He was certain she was eyeing him either speculatively or suspiciously but ignored it long enough to unfurl the off-white bandage from its deceptively tiny packet.
“Bigger than it looks,” Jensen blurted out, without thinking about it. The woman’s eyebrow raised and Jensen could almost see her biting back a ‘that’s what she said’ response. He fussed with the bandage for a while, following the instructions projected onto the screen for folding it into a long bandage.
The woman followed suit, chattering away about how great Misha was and how this course was so much more fun than her last training and just how much fun all this bandaging and rolling around on the floor really was. Jensen nodded along, glad she’d taken the burden of conversation away from him. He was ready to suggest that they move to making slings when there was a knock at the door. His partner let out a huge sigh as a kid looking barely old enough to shave stuck his head round the door. The guy’s beseeching eyes sought out the woman.
“Sorry to leave you in the lurch, partner,” she said, before heading towards the door with a face like thunder. Jensen patted the bandage on the table in front of him, suddenly lost. The rest of the participants were busy bandaging and rolling and gabbing, and Jensen was stuck partnerless with a good ten minutes left before Misha was likely to call time. He sat back, heaving a sigh, and looked up toward the front of the room, where Misha was allowing a young man with the fresh face of an intern to practice on him.
Jensen’s eyes fell to the man’s hands as he cradled Misha’s arm to his chest. Misha was watching him intently, occasionally murmuring an instruction, and the young man would nod, serious and clear-eyed, his fingers moving nimbly as he tightened the bandage and patted Misha’s arm to ensure its tightness. Bent like that, Misha’s arm was taut, the bulge of one bicep just large enough to be noticeable. A prickle of resentment stung Jensen as he watched, and he started to imagine scenarios, possibilities. What if Misha were propositioning this guy rather than instructing him? What if Jensen was just his lunchtime fling, and Misha was already interested in the next, cutest thing? Or what if this intern was just that much more attractive than Jensen? Misha’s gaze was too steady to be casual. He was either the consummate professional, or Jensen had been very mistaken about the fire that had ripped through them earlier. Maybe Misha was just that sexy, and Jensen could have been anybody.
Why should I even care? Jensen thought, scowling. I don’t even know this guy. And Misha hadn’t made any promises to him. But whether or not Misha was just a shameless player, Jensen was smitten with him, and possessive want was burning in his gut now. If he’d wanted to drop to his knees for Misha a few minutes ago, now he wanted to force Misha down instead, make Misha beg for him. The erection that he’d just managed to tame returned with a fury, and Jensen sat forward and tried to adjust it out of sight without drawing suspicion. Fat chance.
Misha’s eyes fell on him abruptly, and Jensen froze. In that half-second of eye contact, Jensen was sure Misha was reading his mind, picking up on all his suspicions and thoughts and fantasies at once. He tried and failed to tear his own gaze away.
Then Misha broke into a casual smile. In an instant the weight of his gaze lifted, and Jensen felt as though he’d broken the surface of the ocean. His breath came faster and easier than it did just a moment ago.
“Left by your lonesome,” Misha said sunnily. “That’s no good.”
“Um,” Jensen said, ever his eloquent self.
“Tell you what, after we’re done here, stay five minutes and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Jensen felt his stomach do a slow somersault. He could feel the sweat gathering at his hairline just at the idea of being alone in the room with Misha again. Misha seemed to feel something of his urgency too, judging by the way he had the room clear of bandages and everyone back in their chairs, filling out the expected evaluation form. Jensen didn’t escape that, although he did have to stifle a chuckle at the “Rate Your Instructor” question. How would ‘sexy as hell and gives great handjobs’ go down? There was a moment where Jensen’s pen actually hesitated over the comment box before he drew a line through it and handed it over.
His colleagues didn’t linger - getting paid for a full day but skipping out an hour early was probably the most benefit they would see out of this training day. Jensen watched them go, telepathically urging them to move faster, stop talking and just GET OUT.
Finally, Misha closed the door firmly behind the blond guy from Accounting and turned to face Jensen.
“Time for some more lessons, Mr Ackles?” Even Jensen had no trouble identifying that as a line. Misha made a face - half grimace, half grin - and flicked a bandage out of the pile. “C’mere.”
Jensen couldn’t maintain his distance anymore. He crossed the space between them in a few strides, ending up toe to toe with Misha, sharing the very air he was breathing. “Hi,” Jensen got out of his suddenly tight throat.
Misha placed his hands on Jensen’s shoulders and spun him around so Jensen’s back was to his chest. A sudden flash of being bent over, gripping the table in front of him and holding on for the ride seemed to be all Jensen could think of. Instead Misha stepped up close behind him, arms wrapping around and guiding Jensen’s right arm across his chest.
“People always break their dominant arm. I think I remember you being right-handed?” Misha’s whispered words left no doubt in Jensen’s mind that their earlier activities would be resumed sooner rather than later. Jensen nodded as Misha draped the bandage around his arm, drawing the ends together. “Then you tie them in a reef knot. You good with knots, Jensen?”
“I was a boy scout,” Jensen replied, rather smugly as Misha’s hips shot forward, brushing against his ass. “Reef, slip, square lashing. I can tie anything up six ways to Sunday.” Misha’s breathing seemed quicker, deeper, but Jensen kept his eyes forward.
Then Misha’s hand drew up around his body, cupped his cheek and turned Jensen’s face to the side. Jensen leaned back against Misha’s chest and let the closeness seep in, soft little puffs of breath buffeting against his cheek and escaping his own nostrils. Misha licked his lips, the first nervous motion Jensen had seen from him, and that instant of vulnerability broke down the last of his control. He leaned in and kissed Misha, hard at first but then tapering off into something slower, something soft and searching, his tongue flickering out for tiny tastes and retreating again. When they broke apart, they were both quiet, breathing hard, half-smiling.
“I could feel you watching me,” Misha said, his voice low. “The whole time I was working with that guy and I was trying my best to stay professional.”
“Professional, right.” Jensen gave a soft snort. “Holding my hand during the video.”
“Wasn’t my whole hand.” Misha was trying his best to look indignant, but the attempt crumpled before Jensen’s eyes, and he smiled ruefully. “You were there, and nobody could see, and...” He reached forward to ruffle Jensen’s hair. “I just wanted to touch you.”
Jensen’s arm strained in the sling. “Want to touch you now.”
“Mm-mm.” Misha shook his head. “Not till we’re done practicing.” He placed another kiss, a burning seal, on Jensen’s mouth. Jensen was still tasting it as Misha finished up the knot.
Jensen helped Misha down to his car, unsure of what to offer next. Misha surprised him by dumping the bandages and spare handouts in the trunk and topping them off with his messenger bag.
“Dinner?” Misha said, poking the trailing ends of bandages in before he closed the trunk. “We could...”
Jensen was nodding before Misha could finish his statement. “I’d love to.” Jensen paused then. “I don’t usually do this.” He waved his hand to indicate Misha and himself.
“Do first aid?” Misha asked, jokingly.
“Random hookups. At work. Or anywhere. I don’t.” Jensen drew in a shuddering breath. “Bad breakup, long-term relationship. I’m good. It needed to be over long before it was. Just- I’m not saying no. But.” Awkward silence fell.
Then Jensen felt Misha arms wrap around him, a kiss placed on his cheek. “I don’t tend to pick up guys at seminars either. But seizing the moment is my kind of philosophy. Carpe diem.”
“Okay.” Jensen didn’t know quite how to continue. He wanted to go with Misha. His dick was well on board with the idea of fucking Misha and/or being fucked. Or both. His stupid conscience wouldn’t let go quite so easily.
“Jensen Ackles, will you do me the pleasure of joining me for a meal. For the purposes of getting to know each other a little better.” Misha ran his hand down over Jensen’s arm. Jensen knew he wanted to keep touching.
“Yeah.” He coughed. “You could come back to mine for take-out.” The offer was a peace offering, a declaration of intentions. Jensen knew it had been accepted in the spirit it was intended when Misha kissed him again.
“I would, but I have to let my cat out.” Misha laughed at himself, shaking his head at the stupidity of the excuse. Then his eyes sought Jensen’s again, dark and intent. “Come to mine.”
Misha’s house was pretty much as Jensen had expected it: edges softened by a little neglect, a little wildness. The aforementioned cat didn’t seem all that interested in going out, first twining around Misha’s ankles and then evading his hands to wrap around Jensen’s, purring ferociously. Misha wandered into the house, kicking off his shoes and dumping his bag in the narrow hallway, while Jensen was held prisoner. The cat only let off when Jensen heard a cabinet open and a tin opener start. Then the cat was like a streak of furry lightning.
Jensen took off his own shoes and padded through the house in the direction Misha had taken. There were a lot of books - on all sorts of subjects - mixed in with DVDs and artifacts ranging from Mickey Mouse ears to replica Easter Island heads scattered on the bookshelves that lined the main wall in the next room. The house seemed an extension of Misha - full of things Jensen wanted to find out about.
He was contemplating a print Misha had hanging above the TV unit when the man himself came through from the kitchen, arms full of cat. “This is Yinkin.”
The cat was an unimpressed looking skinny grey thing who used Misha’s arms as a springboard to launch him or herself towards Jensen, luckily without claws unsheathed. He scrabbled to catch it, shuddering a little in relief when he didn’t drop the cat. Of course, that was when it got awkward.
Misha met his eyes. The sheer want of lust was there from earlier but there was also perhaps the start of something else: a soft smile at seeing Jensen cope with the wriggling bag of fur in his arms, a re-appraisal at seeing Jensen here in his house. Jensen placed the cat on the sofa, throat a little dry.
“So, um. Hi.” Jensen didn’t know how to say ‘I would like to have the sex now’ but that was probably hinting towards it.
Misha blinked slowly, eyelashes fanning on his cheeks. Jensen had the urge to stroke along the soft shadowy line they made, cup Misha’s cheek, draw him into a kiss. Then he realised that would probably be a more successful hint as to what they could and should and would be doing.
Misha’s lips parted under his, eager once more, determined to give way to the very tip of Jensen’s tongue. While Jensen had his hands loose around Misha’s waist, Misha had grabbed Jensen’s face, holding it on the borderline of tightly. Jensen was breathing heavily when they parted. He wondered if he should suggest moving to the sofa, necking like teenagers. He glanced over to see the cat watching them, the tip of its tail twitching slightly from side to side.
Jensen started. “God, for a second I thought the cat said that.”
Misha’s fingers slid down his neck, caressing his skin, and Jensen was wracked by a sudden shudder. “Is that a yes?”
Jensen kissed him soundly. “No to the talking cat. Yes to you.”
Another kiss, Misha humming into his lips and setting Jensen’s nerves aflame with the vibrations, and Jensen was being led by the hand down a hall and into a surprisingly uncluttered bedroom. There were still books and trinkets everywhere, but hampers hid any dirty clothes, and the whole room smelled of lavender air fresheners. One window was open to let the fresh air in, but Misha let go of his hand to quickly cross the room to close it.
“Taking pity on the neighbors,” he explained with a shrug, and the implications for just how much noise he planned to make were as big a turn-on to Jensen as his kiss-flushed lips and the desire in his eyes.
Jensen couldn’t have kept away from him for another second if he tried. He closed the gap between them, pushed Misha against that just-closed window, and kissed him with unabashed hunger. Nipping at Misha’s lips, sliding a leg between his and pressing their chests together, even cuffing Misha’s wrist and pinning it up to the glass to leave a smearing print there -- it all happened with alarming speed and Jensen would be afraid for his own self-control if Misha’s moans weren’t ringing in his ears, if Misha’s leg didn’t come forward and hook around Jensen’s ankle, making him stumble forward and tangle them up even further.
“Fuck,” Misha whispered into his mouth, and Jensen thought he’d explode with just the force of the word. “Point of a bedroom is... shit....... the bed.”
Heart pounding, Jensen managed to nod and grin. He yanked Misha forward off the wall and tumbled backward onto Misha’s bed, balance and judgment gone, just trusting he’d be caught. The springs bounced beneath him, and he found himself staring upward into a skyful of Misha, gorgeous face and skin and strong, lithe muscles bearing down on him. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life.
Misha seemed to be equally ready to move whatever this was forward. He stripped off his shirt, stretching above Jensen, whose eyes took in the toned muscles, the fair skin, the sprinkle of freckles emphasising a path from neck to navel. Jensen couldn’t help the way his hips rose off the bed, thrusting up towards Misha. Misha, who seemed completely and utterly aware of the effect he was having on Jensen as he stripped off his pants and socks, ending up in only his boxers.
Jensen sat up, grabbed Misha and pulled him close, thighs bracketing Jensen’s hips. He could feel Misha’s warmth through his pants but there was something delicious about being fully clothed with a hot, nearly naked, eager man with his eyes firmly fixed on Jensen’s. It was almost too much to handle as Jensen trailed his fingertips up Misha’s side, feeling Misha shiver under him. He used the hand to draw Misha against his chest, capturing his mouth again. Misha came without protest, willingly. And Jensen could feel the proof of his interest hard against the place where his own shirt had ridden up. Then Misha’s hands slid up his chest to the base of his throat, fingers curling around his shoulders on the inner edge of his collarbone, as Misha licked into his mouth, long sweeps on tongue that made Jensen groan and open his mouth wider to the assault. His own noises were ringing in his ears, pornographic and untamed. His hips jerked upward, finding a crevice between Misha’s leg that hit him all the right ways, and he rocked into it as the kiss went on.
“Jensen,” Misha whispered into his mouth. “Want you.”
“Fuck.” Jensen’s vision was full of stars. “Fuck, yes.”
“Want to ride you.” Misha sounded possessed, the words coming breathy into Jensen’s mouth. His hard-on was riding up against Jensen’s pelvis and his stomach and his limbs were starting to tremble with want. It was the first Jensen had seen him lose control, and the sight was too intoxicating to let go of.
Jensen shook his head. “No way,” he said. “You’ve had too much control today. I’m riding you.”
Misha whimpered and tucked his head into Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen rolled him over onto his back in one emphatic push.
Now he had Misha below him, nearly naked, looking up at him with passion-glazed eyes and parted lips, and Jensen wished he could take a picture in his head, just keep this instant in his memory forever. His blood was pumping fast, thrilling with the rush of power, and Jensen could think of a million and a half things he could do right now. Which one first?
He started by pulling off his own clothes, suddenly desperate to feel Misha wholly against him. Jensen didn’t even stop with his own underwear, shoving it down and biting back a gasp as the cool air hit his cock. Misha seemed to be taking Jensen’s instructions seriously, holding on to the sheets instead of palming his own erection. His eyes drank in Jensen, flitting from chest to mouth, to eyes. Jensen couldn’t help pressing forward to kiss, to connect once more with Misha. It was almost enough to rut against him, let his body take over.
But it had been so long since he’d been fucked.
Jensen ignored Misha’s groan of protest as he pulled free of the kiss. Instead a chuckle rose up in his throat as Misha’s protest turned to pleasure when Jensen began to work his way down Misha’s jaw, teeth nipping at his five o’clock shadow before working their way down. Misha didn’t hold back and he let the volume of his groans, moans and litany of encouragement increase and increase. Jensen was so glad Misha had shut the window although he was rather worried that the cat was going to break the door down or something as Misha let out a particularly loud groan when Jensen licked over his nipple.
Jensen hesitated for a moment before biting down gently. Normally he’d get to know a partner a little more before he let out his slightly dirtier side. But being as he’d basically engaged in public sex earlier, maybe it was fair to Misha to hint at what lay deep in the recesses of Jensen’s mind. For the way Misha reacted - cock jerking against his hip, back arching - Jensen reckoned he might have more than met his match. He licked over to soothe the hurt, tongue lapping over the freckle he’d noticed earlier before using his tongue, teeth and mouth to leave tiny red marks all the way down to the waistband of Misha’s boxers.
Time to get them off. Literally. Figuratively. Fuck it. In all senses of the word. Jensen manoeuvred off the flimsy cloth, finally taking in Misha in all his glory. His cock bounced against his stomach, red bleeding to purple and Jensen’s mouth began to water. Jensen might have been the one on top, but he had no control at that moment. He pressed his lips against the crown, sucked the head in, and washed his tongue over the smooth surface, delighting in the texture and heat, in the slight smear of salty liquid and most of all in the way Misha grabbed both sides of the bed and pistoned his hips upward to try to get more of Jensen’s mouth around him. God, in another time Jensen would want nothing more than to take him in, to suck him down and let Misha fuck his face, to feel the tickle of Misha’s cockhead against his soft palate. Another time, yeah, but not now. It took real control to pull himself off, but for now Jensen would have to be satisfied with just a taste.
He glanced upward. Sometime before they’d tumbled onto the bed together, Misha had pulled a bottle of lube from a drawer in his nightstand that now lay open. Jensen would have to climb back up his body in order to get it, and a wicked idea occurred to him that lit up his whole face with a smile.
Misha, watching him, frowned. “What’s that face for?” His hips were still jerking up into the air, looking for friction and heat that Jensen was no longer providing. Jensen stole his words away with another soft kiss to the head of his cock, then crawled forward over his body, dragging his own erection up the center of Misha’s chest and stifling a groan at the feeling of it.
In a moment it was clear what he wanted, and Misha’s hands came up to claw at his hipbone as Jensen thrust his cock toward Misha’s face. He reached for the lube, held it tight and then arched up, head flying back, at the first soft warm lick of Misha’s tongue against his head. “Fuck...”
Misha opened his mouth, let Jensen’s cock slide against the flat of his tongue, and closed his lips around the shaft. Humming loudly, sending sweet vibrations up through Jensen’s spine, he sucked hungrily. Jensen rocked forward, bouncing just slightly into Misha’s mouth, and let Misha envelop him in wet heat. Every time he looked down, the sight of Misha’s lips stretched around his cock made him rear back again, his chin tipping toward the ceiling as he breathed raggedly. Misha’s fingers scrabbled at his hipbones, guiding him up and down, encouraging him.
As if the close of Misha’s lips around his cock gave him courage, Jensen reached for the lube, spilling the cool liquid over his fingers. This he was used to at least, having coped at home alone for a little too long. There, however, he didn’t have the half-shut gleam of a pair of blue eyes watching his every move with intent while he spread his legs even wider, placed his clean hand on the headboard and reached around to slip a finger, then two in, stretching and twisting, ignoring the twinge in his wrist. Jensen couldn’t help his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, especially when Misha lifted his head and took more of his cock into his throat.
Then one of Misha’s fingers was running around his stretched rim, smoothing along the sensitive skin. Jensen froze, unable to do more than breath as Misha eased his finger in, letting Jensen’s cock slip free from his red swollen lips as he carefully pressed up inside. It was almost too much and he had to hold tight to the headboard too tightly, feeling the bite of the wood into his palm to distract from the intensity of the stretch. He rode their joined fingers for a long moment, trying to steer their tips towards the place he just knew would send him over the edge. The angle wasn’t quite right, though.
Jensen looked down at Misha, who was grinning a little smugly at the frustrated expression on Jensen’s face. Then he withdrew his finger.
“Thought you were gonna ride me, cowboy.” Misha brought both his hands up and crossed them behind his head. Jensen focused on his wicked grin instead. “Cause I could always get myself going and make you watch instead.”
Jensen was lost for a moment, too strung out on need and want to really process Misha’s words. How the hell could he still talk when his cock - Jensen turned around to check it - was still angrily erect, all thick and... Wait a moment.
“Cowboy?” Jensen thought that was something of a challenge. Or maybe even a subtle hint for later. “Well-” Jensen let his drawl slip through his usually controlled and clipped vowels. “Normally I just keep the hat for special occasions.” Misha’s hips jerked and the smug expression vanished, leaving Misha’s mouth either gaping in shock or anticipation. Jensen dropped a kiss on that mouth, tasting his own bitter taste, before moving down to rub the crease of his ass along Misha’s cock, feeling it catch on his hole.
Misha nodded, wordless.
“I got the boots-” A tease. “And the coat.” Then Jensen grabbed at Misha’s cock, lining him up. He took his time sliding down. “Don’t tend to need to wear much else usually.” The feel of Misha stretching him wide was enough to drive the rest of the words from his mind. Not that Misha looked any more capable of understanding, judging by the glazed look on his face, the way he was biting at his lip to control himself, stop himself from fucking up into Jensen. His eyes weren’t blue anymore but near black instead. Jensen rocked experimentally, feeling the way Misha’s cock pressed against what seemed like every nerve ending in his body. The moan that ripped from Misha’s throat made Jensen grin in triumph. Control.
Oh, God, but the way Misha’s cock was lying inside him, the sweet push against his prostate, the buzzing burning feeling of his body taking Misha in. Who had control here? Jensen was pushing down against Misha without even trying, grabbing Misha’s shoulders and raking his nails down to cuff his hands against the hard press of his biceps. He was fucking himself on Misha’s cock harder with each moment, the drag and press never enough to satisfy him, his body burning for more. “Fuck,” he was muttering, low and tremulous. “Fuck, Misha.”
And Misha was still training his eyes on him, his lips pushing out a whispered few words-- “Christ, you should see yourself--” before his eyelashes fluttered and he lay back on the pillow. His hands slid up Jensen’s thighs and caught hold of his cock, circling it. Jensen had very nearly forgotten about his own cock, amid the intense deep-seated sensation that was turning everything below his waist to fire, but the sudden grab had him thrusting desperately into Misha’s interlocked hands, dimly aware that he was babbling, pleading for more.
Misha’s thumbs rose in tandem to brush against his cockhead, and Jensen lost it. Stars flashing across his vision, he reared forward on Misha, coming hard in a series of convulsions that ripped shout after shout from his lungs and left him breathless. He shuddered, body erupting in goosebumps, and fell forward, panting, painting kisses on Misha’s chest and stomach and interlacing his fingers with Misha’s sticky ones.
“Holy God,” he murmured. “Can’t remember the last time I came that hard.”
“Jensen...” Misha was pleading with him, fingers squeezing his hard. His hips rocked up under Jensen’s, trying to recapture a rhythm. Jensen smiled down at him and began to follow, breathing long and deep to stay loose. He was still convulsing, muscle contractions deep inside him, uncontrollable, and with each clench Misha keened and dug his fingernails into Jensen’s palm.
One final keen of frustration and Misha let go of his hand, propped himself up on the bed, and, with a fierce expression, locked eyes with Jensen and rose to a sitting position. Jensen gasped and hooked one arm around Misha’s neck to stay balanced, the fullness almost unbearable as Misha’s angle within him changed, his body wanting only to lock down, to fight.
But his mind, Jesus his mind and his heart wanted nothing more than to see the purpose on Misha’s face explode into ecstasy. Jensen bit his lip and inhaled. And as soon as he was settled, the low dim warmth of Misha’s cock became comfortable again, and faded into the background amid the sudden nearness of their bodies. Misha’s chest against his, his breath in the hollow of Jensen’s neck, the ruffle of matted hair against Jensen’s fingertips.
And then Misha growled, nipped at his jaw, and grabbed both of Jensen’s arms, forcing them down and behind his back. “Come on, cowboy,” Misha whispered into his mouth. “Ride.”
Jensen’s exhaustion drained away at the words. Moaning low in his throat, Jensen leaned forward and kissed the demands from Misha’s lips, his leg muscles tightening as he began to bounce and rock on Misha’s lap. Using the security of his pinned arms as leverage, Jensen let Misha hold him in balance and place and just let loose, riding Misha as hard and as fast as he could.
“Holy fuck,” Misha whispered, urgent, and the bright black of his pupils glittered. Jensen could see reflections of himself there, chest rising and falling as he rode, and heat flooded him. His cock twitched even as it lay limply against his thigh, slick with his come, and Jensen had the sudden vision of what might happen after dinner, and after that, and tomorrow and the next day. This wasn’t going to end with a one-night-stand. Jensen knew that with perfect clarity, and he arched forward, pressing hard against Misha and kissing him, wanting to be as connected as he could.
Misha shouted into the kiss, teeth coming down to graze against Jensen’s lower lip, and hands tightening around Jensen’s wrists in warning. He erupted into violent shaking as his orgasm overtook him, whole body falling prey to shudders that seemed to go on forever. He pressed forward, kissing Jensen as hard as he could through the whole thing, and when he finally let go, his face was full of stunned wonder. He looked almost like a child. Affection flooded Jensen, and he negotiated himself off Misha’s cock, rocked forward onto all fours, and laid a chaste kiss on his mouth.
“You OK?” he murmured, watching another shudder of pleasure course through Misha’s body and fade away.
Misha looked softer now, hair twisted up every which way, body lax and loose. Jensen liked the look of Misha like this too - fierceness and determination replaced by something vulnerable. Jensen dipped down for another kiss. Instead of the usual lassitude that normally overtook him after an orgasm, there was a nervous energy running under his skin. It made him want to keep going. On the other hand, Misha looked ready to roll under the blankets and drift off, his lips barely responding to Jensen’s kisses.
Jensen’s impression was confirmed when Misha let out a yawn. “Do you want to watch a movie? Or something. A drink?” Misha’s attempt to keep his eyes open when they seemed determined to flutter shut amused Jensen greatly.
“Hey.” He kept his voice soft and soothing as Misha seemed to drift off. “If you don’t mind, I can grab something.”
Misha mumbled something that might have been “Help yourself” and followed it with a soft snore. Jensen shook his head. He’d kinda hoped to get to know Misha a little better. Although considering how fucking good he felt, maybe the sex had been the best of all his ideas today. Jensen tugged the sheets up around Misha, letting his hand stroke through the mess of his hair. He’d need to play with it more later, judging by the way Misha unconsciously leaned into the touch. Then Jensen pulled on his t-shirt and tugged on his jeans before carefully opening the door and padding barefoot through to the kitchen.
The cat followed him.
It watched him.
Jensen watched the cat, feeling a little judged, before he opened the fridge. When he looked to check where Misha kept his glasses, the cat was beside him on the counter, lean, grey and watching. “Mmrow.”
Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Jensen wondered if he was supposed to push the cat off the counter or talk to it or even feed it. The cat - what the hell had Misha called it? - jumped down of its own accord and wandered through the open bedroom door. Jensen shrugged and poured the juice he’d been reaching for. Jensen took the opportunity to resume his examination of the book shelves, the walls, the whole space. Anything to tell him more about Misha. He’d pretty much exhausted speculating over the eclectic DVD collection when Misha wandered through, barefooted and rumpled, smiling.
“Didn’t mean to do that,” Misha said, looking all kinds of embarrassed.
Jensen leaned back on his hands, watching Misha and smiling. He liked this guy and he liked that this guy obviously trusted him enough to fall asleep on him. “You were cute.”
Misha’s cheeks darkened even more. “Haven’t really had anyone else around for some time. Kinda forgot.”
Jensen shrugged, happy enough for the topic to be forgotten. He wouldn’t mind a little kissing to make up for it. And maybe some food. His stomach rumbled as if on cue.
“Chinese? Pizza? There’s this Thai place?” Misha pulled menus out of a drawer as Jensen clambered to his feet. He felt the stretch of muscles long unused and enjoyed the slight burn and pull. Misha stopped looking at the menus to watch Jensen stretching his arms towards the ceiling. Jensen kept his eyes fixed on Misha as he came close, wrapping his arms around Misha and dropping a kiss on sleep dry lips. Misha leaned closer, warm and soft.
“Whatever you like,” Jensen said. “Just as long as you don’t mind me staying around a bit longer.”
“Stay for as long as you want.” A flash of the cocky Misha slipped out again. Jensen slapped his hand gently against Misha’s ass and Misha pressed against him a little closer. “And we can get to that too.”
Jensen liked the sound of that.