It started with a text
Hey! I had fun last night, but I think you and I would be better off as friends. What do you think?
Jensen stares at his phone, tries not to let it seem too obvious for the co-worker to his right, then pockets it again. With a shake of his head, he pulls it out again and types out a reply.
J: Hello. Who are you? I didn’t go on a date yesterday. Please check the number.
Unknown: So your name is not Chris?
For a second, Jensen thinks about his friend Chris, but then again, there are a lot of people out there named Chris.
J: No, my name is Jensen. Dude must've given you the wrong number.
Unknown: Apparently. Hi Jensen, I'm Misha.
J: Hey. Seems like that date really sucked.
Unknown: Seems like. I hate it when that happens.
Jensen can't help but smile to himself. Then he saves the number under 'Misha'.
J: What were you doing?
Misha: Dinner, then bowling. It was fun, I wasn't lying, but... you know how sometimes that spark is there and sometimes it isn't?
J: I know. What kind of guy takes a girl out for bowling, anyway?
M: Girls like bowling, too, you know. Besides, I'm a guy.
J: Whoops. Sorry, I assumed you're a girl because of your name.
M: wait a sec.
After half a minute, Jensen's phone vibrates again.
M: <attached picture>
Jensen loads the image and stares in surprise at the image of a guy with dark stubble, messy dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. The smile on his face is a bit lopsided, but draws attention to his full, plush lips. In short, he's beautiful. Jensen swallows heavily.
J: Alright, I believe that you're a guy.
M: I have the equipment to prove it, too, but I didn't want to send you surprise dick pics if you're at work. Plus, that's like first base without a date.
At that, Jensen can't help but snort from suppressed laughter.
J: I am at work, btw, so thanks for sparing me the dick pics.
M: I wouldn't know if you were even interested. So is Jensen a guy's name?
J: Yes. I happen to be a guy. You want a picture?
M: I don't have trust issues, but I'm curious.
Jensen looks around so no one sees him, then shoots a selfie with a friendly smile.
J: There you go. <attached picture>
M: Okay. Wow. Hey there, handsome.
J: Also, generally speaking, I'm interested in dick pictures. I'm gay.
M: What a crazy random happenstance.
Jensen doesn't really know what to reply to that, so he continues his work, with the image of a pretty blue-eyed guy in the back of his mind.
M: Oh my god.
M: Do you see that guy on The Voice? He's ridiculous.
J: I was just watching that. He's good.
M: Hate the song, though.
J: God yes.
J: Man, I just noticed how rusty I am.
M: At what?
J: Went to play pool with some colleagues. I swear, there was a time when I was way better than today.
M: You need more practice playing with your balls?
J: Did you just...
J: I won't answer that.
M: Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. Just teasing.
J: Yeah, yeah. It's alright.
M: Hey, do you plan on watching Pride? The movie?
J: I wanted to, but none of my friends are interested. So, meh.
M: Hm. I wanted to watch it on Monday, matinee.
J: Don't spoil me then, and have fun!
M: Do you think we could um – how do I put this – I don't know, if we both watched it at the same time, then we could talk about it later? So we each go on our own, but it doesn't matter.
J: That's... not even a bad idea. When on Monday will you be watching?
M: Around 3 p.m., earliest show.
J: Alright, I'll see how that matches my cinema's plan.
They end up watching and texting through the movie, since they’re both alone in the theater, and Jensen has more fun doing that than he would've had going with a straight friend. Misha is genuinely funny, and Jensen is glad he's alone in his apartment later, because he's laughing into his phone every few minutes, and anybody else would think he's a crazy person.
J: Help, I'm going on a blind date, and I don't know what to wear. <attached picture1> <attached picture2>
M: The maroon one looks hot as hell. And with the light blue jeans... perfect fit. The other outfit is cute, but a little hobo-ish.
J: Hey, I happen to like wearing plaid.
M: Unless you're going lumberjacking for that date, no.
J: … no.
M: Where are you going?
J: Dinner and a movie. His pick, I don't know anything about the restaurant or the movie.
M: Report tomorrow?
J: You bet.
M: Have fun. Stay safe. Use a condom.
J: Worst. Date. Ever.
J: Wanted to take me to the steakhouse that I know, for a fact, serves the worst shoe soles in town. I didn't protest, which in hindsight, I should've. Now I'm busy puking my guts out.
M: Whoa. Sorry to hear that. Hope you get better soon. And the movie?
J: He was the chick flick kind of guy.
M: Oh God, no.
J: And he groped me. Like we're in high school.
M: I can hear you rolling your eyes.
J: It was pathetic! And then I told him to stop, maybe a bit too loud, and we didn't talk for the rest of the evening. I'm glad I drove there on my own.
M: Wow, awkward. Sorry to hear that, Jay.
M: Are you...?
J: I was in the bathroom, yes, worshipping the gods of porcelain.
M: Sorry you had such a bad evening.
J: Just so you're prepared for your next one. Don't make the mistakes he made.
M: I'll keep that it mind. So what’re you gonna do for the rest of the day? Assuming you don't have to work on Saturdays.
J: Nah, I'm a bank clerk. We don't work on Saturdays. I think I'll just lie here, pity myself some more – due to the fact that my first chance to get laid in months thankfully drove off on his own yesterday – and watch some Walking Dead.
M: Good series. You do that.
Misha checks in on him every hour or so, and Jensen smiles at every little message, no matter how inane it is. 'Burnt the spaghetti sauce, jfc.' 'My neighbor listens to Celine Dion. She does that sometimes, but guess what song it is? Yes, that one. Kill me.' 'Gonna go on a run now.' 'Back home and dripping wet. Rain. Ugh.'
Jensen takes it all in, bathes in the attention, and goes to make himself some soup.
Two weeks later, Jensen's phone rings.
Jensen is actually kind of surprised that it vibrates more than that one, short time that is so trademark for Whatsapp.
When Misha's picture – the one he first sent Jensen – smiles at him from the screen, he almost drops his phone. There's not a second's hesitation before he picks up, though.
Misha's voice is a bit raspy, but altogether a round and warm timbre that makes Jensen's heart do funny things.
“Hey, uh. Since when are you calling?” Jensen realizes he sounds tense, so he leans back on his couch, tells himself to not take this as the big deal that it is.
“Since it's Friday night, and I just had a glass of wine, alone,” Misha answers, amused and cheeky and hitting all of Jensen's buttons. “And I thought, who is better to call than that guy I've been texting for weeks and always wanted to call, but never dared to?”
“That so,” Jensen muses as he fumbles with the remote to shut off his TV. “And, what do you say? Now that we're speaking.”
“I like your voice,” Misha says, “Rich and deep and--”
He clears his throat to cover up the fact that he interrupted himself mid-sentence.
“What else?” Jensen edges him on. “C'mon, I know you wanted to add something there.”
“I'm not sure you want to hear it.”
It's silent for a second or two, then Misha sighs. “What I was going to say is... rich and deep and like you could read the phonebook to me, and I'd still get off on it.”
Jensen is speechless, but ultimately charmed. “You know, we could test that theory. Just, what do I do if I don't even own a phonebook? Talk google to you?”
Misha chuckles, a sound that sends shivers down Jensen's spine, makes heat pool deep in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me stuff about you that I don't know yet.”
“What do you want to know? Because there's a lot you already know,” Jensen thinks back to the three months of writing back and forth on a daily basis, and can hardly think about anything that they haven't talked about. Except sex. Which is what Misha is playing at. Which Jensen knows, but he loves to tease Misha.
“I don't know anything about what you like in bed,” Misha states, plain and simple.
“True,” Jensen smirks.
“So, we’re really doing this, huh?”
“Why not? It's not like I've got anything planned tonight. I was sitting on my couch, alone, with a bottle of beer and watching TV.”
“Hm,” Misha says, and some rustling on the other side of the line gives away that he's shifting his position. Jensen wonders if he's got one hand down the front of his pants, just like he itches to do. “You sometimes watch porn on that couch?”
“Not really. I do that on my laptop.”
“I prefer that too,” Misha replies, and involuntary or not, but his voice has dropped a notch – and that, on the other hand, goes straight to Jensen's already half-hard cock. “Do you like something specific?”
“Not really. I watch a bit of everything, whatever I'm in the mood for.”
“What would you be in the mood for today?” Misha asks, his voice amused and a little short of breath.
“I guess something simple. A guy jerking off, you know, those 'just woke up horny' videos with a naked guy in bed, stroking his cock... I like those.”
A soft, suppressed sound escapes the speaker, and Jensen chuckles before he finally asks, “Have you got your hand in your pants?”
“Well, uh, technically,” Misha huffs, “No. Are you asking if I've got my dick in my hand? Yes.”
“From the waist down.”
“Alright,” Jensen nods to himself, then holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder. He opens both his belt and the button of his jeans, and if those sounds don't give him away yet, it's the zipper that does. After pushing the clothes off his feet, he kicks them to the floor.
“Yes,” Jensen confirms.
“Stroke your cock for me, please.”
“How?” Jensen asks, circling the base with his thumb and middle finger, using the index finger to stroke up his shaft, tease it, watching as a pearl of pre-come forms on the tip.
Misha chuckles, breathless, and Jensen tightens his grip in order to compose himself.
“Make it slow, gentle. Are you cut?”
“Then be careful with the head, don't stimulate it too much yet.”
Jensen follows his instructions and moans, can't help it. “How about you?”
“What about me?” Misha sounds tense, and Jensen hears him take a deep breath. “God, Jay, you should hear your voice. Almost made me--”
He breaks off, and Jensen laughs quietly to himself. “Good to know. I just wanted to know if you're cut or uncut.”
“Nice, I like that. How about you just roll your foreskin over the tip a few times? Slow, and only to the half,” Jensen smirks.
Misha groans into his phone and for a second, Jensen thinks he might lose it.
“So tell me,” Misha says eventually, after a few long moments of heavy breathing. “What do you like? How do you like to get fucked?”
“Who says I want to be the one who gets fucked?” Jensen chuckles.
“Oh, just a feeling.”
Jensen surrenders. “Alright, yes. You're right. I like to get fucked, and I like it when someone tells me what to do. But I don't want to be the one who does all the work.”
“So, let's say... cowboy position, you riding me, except that I'm holding your hips in place and I fuck you from below?” Misha suggests.
Jensen stops his strokes up his cock, grips tight around the base to hold off his orgasm. “God, I love that.”
“Or how about classic face-to-face, you on your back, my knees underneath you, holding you up while I fuck you nice and slow and deep?”
“Misha,” Jensen whimpers, because it's almost too much. The image, the accuracy with which Misha guesses what Jensen likes.
Nonetheless, he starts jerking his cock again, harsh, rough strokes, because he's itching and he's horny and he needs Misha--
“Me fucking you from behind, on all fours, your ass in the air and my hand around your dick, stroking you quick and fast until you can't help but come?”
Jensen shudders, from deep within, something raw and powerful uncurling in his stomach, and then he's coming with a long, unabashed growl, doesn't hold back, doesn't silence himself, just lets Misha hear what he did to him. The streaks of his own come hit his chest, his good work shirt, and the rest drops over his fingers, but he's rarely felt so good after an orgasm.
“Just so you know, you just made me come all over myself, and I'm still shaking,” Jensen chuckles. “Do you have any idea how you just ticked off all my boxes? God yes, I'd want to do that with you. I want you to fuck me, nice and hard until I can't sit or walk straight the day after. Want to wake you up with my mouth around your cock, suck you off for a nice start to the day-”
It's Misha this time, groaning into the phone, obviously hitting his climax.
“Wow,” he says afterwards.
“I have to meet you,” Jensen answers, still trying to regain his breath.
“Where do you live? And how have we never discussed this before?”
“It never came up. I live in Austin, Texas.”
For a long moment, it's quiet. Eventually, Misha states, “No fucking way.”
Jensen sits up at that. “Where do you live?”
“287 Richardson Drive, Apartment 5C.”
“Stay right where you are,” Jensen says and gets up, reaching for his car keys. He's only drunk half a beer, he's fine. “That is, if you want me to come over?”
“Of course, dumbass. Hurry up!”