Jensen doesn’t talk to his housemate a lot.
Sure, they greet each other when they run into one another. They sit down at least once a month to discuss issues that arise in their two-person household. But other than that?
They each have their own bedroom, they have a two-week rotation schedule on who cleans the bathroom, as established in their first week of sharing, and they each have their own shelves in the kitchen.
It’s okay, though. He doesn’t mind—usually when he gets back from his classes, it’s late and he just wants to wind down and then go to sleep. He’s pretty sure Misha doesn’t mind the lack of contact either. Whenever Misha’s at home (and he isn’t often), he’s either cooking up some concoction in the kitchen (Jensen’s tasted some of it and usually it’s pretty good—though, not always), or he is sat at his computer, photoshopping with a frown on his face.
When they do eat together, they barely talk. They eat the way two young guys eat: A lot, and messily. Misha burps unashamedly, and Jensen—though generally more reserved—laughs at him.
That’s the full extent of their relationship.
Sometimes Jensen allows Misha to take pictures of him.
He doesn’t like to flaunt with his body too much—except yeah, yeah he also kind of does. He wants to be an actor, which means that there’s a part of him that loves the attention. Something inherent to the job.
Misha’s directions are gentle, and Jensen feels like he’s being treated like a skittish horse. That’s okay too, though, because he’s not sure what he would’ve done if Misha had gone full-on eccentric on him. Jensen’s seen the guy with his friends, and regardless of enjoying some attention, that’s a bit too much for him.
He likes the pictures Misha takes though. They’re good enough to put together a small portfolio, to apply for modeling jobs with when he’s low on cash and really needs something to eat. Maybe he’ll even share some with Misha. Or buy him a six-pack.
Jensen is lying on his stomach on his bed, trying to learn his lines for a sketch he has to perform with classmates later this week, when a knock comes to his door.
“Come on in,” he shouts, and Misha peers around the door.
“You busy?” he asks and Jensen shakes his head.
“You read my note?” he asks. Jensen left a note on the fridge saying that he needs some new headshots to put on his student card in school.
“That’s why I’m here,” Misha grins at him. “Can I take some more pictures though? We have to do black and white shots for an assignment, figured you’d be up for that.”
“’Sure,” Jensen nods, getting up from the bed. “Where do you want me.”
Misha looks around for a moment, walks further into Jensen’s room and opens the curtains. He stares some more, takes a look into the living room, and then says, “I think here would be best. The lighting is good, and your wall is the only one in the house that’s white, apart from the bathroom.”
Jensen doesn’t ask what the difference is between a white wall and broken white, but if this is better for Misha, he’s perfectly content to get back on his bed. “Should I change, or-?” he asks, and Misha shakes his head.
He’s wearing a black shirt and track pants which must be okay—is okay, if Misha tells him so. His pants are more comfortable than jeans, and even though it feels a little strange to keep them on while taking serious pictures, Jensen really can’t be bothered to get up and change them.
He waits patiently while Misha goes and gets his photography gear, and then watches as he sets it up.
“You done?” he asks eventually, and Misha nods, looking through the lens of his photo camera. “How do you want me to sit?”
“Prop yourself up against the headboard,” Misha tells him. “Look neutral.”
Jensen tries, he does, but it’s kind of difficult when Misha keeps frowning. It makes him want to burst out in nervous laughter, which on its turn makes Misha frown harder, until Jensen can’t stand it anymore and starts to giggle.
“Relax your face,” Misha tells him, and Jensen snorts, “You should relax yours.”
After that, the frown is gone and it becomes much easier for Jensen to focus now that the setting feels more professional.
Sometimes Misha quietly says, “Smile more,” or “Don’t frown,” or even, “Lick your lips.” Jensen is, overall, pretty relaxed, and then Misha tells him, “Try something more seducing.”
Jensen doesn’t like seductive. It makes him feel like the center of attention in a bad way, like the pretty boy who abuses his good looks to make people do things for him, so he goes over the top. Gives Misha a pout and a wink, and Misha starts to laugh.
“That’s not seductive,” he says, “That’s moronic. Seductive is-“ and he proceeds to give Jensen an imitation of himself, duckface and all, rather than something to score a hot woman with.
“Ah come on, dude,” Jensen laughs along, “Seductive is stupid.”
“I still want you to try,” Misha shrugs and keeps clicking away on his camera. “Just pretend I’m a gorgeous lady.”
And Jensen tries to do just that, he really does, but Misha is right there, taking up all of his attention. Besides, even though Jensen sees himself as straight, Misha definitely is not unattractive, so Jensen puts himself to it.
“That’s good,” Misha nods, and when Jensen pulls down the collar of his shirt and bites on his lip, Misha asks, “Perhaps take off the shirt?”
That’s not something Jensen would ordinarily do this easily, but he’s getting kind of warm from all the focus he has to put into posing (and that’s it, really, he thinks) so he chucks it away.
“Lean your head back against the wall,” Misha says, and Jensen almost raises his eyebrows because Misha’s voice is rougher than it was before. It stirs something hot in the pit of his stomach, but he ignores it in favor of posing.
Misha looks over his camera and studies the way Jensen is sitting. “Maybe slide down a little further?” he says. “Only if you’re okay with some of your chest getting on the picture as well, but I think it would be-“
Jensen slides down before Misha has finished talking. His heart is beating far too fast, and he doesn’t want to think too closely about why that is. Fuck, he’s been living with the guy for nearly a year now—though, to be fair, this is the most spontaneous interaction they’ve had so far. Probably the longest, too, apart from watching movies in their living room—but even then they barely talk.
He gets the gist of it though. Sexy posing. He can do that. He’s had girlfriends, he’s played roles where he had to be like this. It’s no different to do it in front of a camera, he tells himself (even if it’s a little, doing it in front of Misha).
“Can you spread your legs a little?” Misha says as he walks a little to the side, and Jensen doesn’t comment on it—the same thrill he felt earlier spreading further through his body and settling pleasantly in his limbs.
He lies down then, on his side and with one foot flat on the bed, and it’s a pose suggestive enough that even his own body responds to it. Jensen can feel his dick start to swell and, after one look at Misha—who is starting to look pretty flushed as he takes pictures of Jensen—decides that he doesn’t give a fuck. It’s not like he and Misha are going to become friends, they hardly even talk to each other. If he messes things up here, he can always move out—something he’s been thinking about for a while anyway.
“This okay?” he asks, sliding a hand down his chest until it rests on his thigh. It highlights the slowly growing bulge between his legs, and by now he can see that Misha is getting hard too, the faint outline of his erection visible in his jeans.
“Yeah,” Misha licks his lips after he says it and then kneels next to the bed, taking shots that seem mostly focused on Jensen’s hips. “Push your pants down a little,” he says after a while. “Maybe your underwear too.”
Jensen lifts his hips and slips both garments down to the base of his cock, the upper half of the dark V of hair visible. He can hear Misha’s breathing, loud in the room, almost as loud as his own. His heart is beating frantically by now and—God, he hasn’t let himself think about a guy like this in years, but he wants to kiss Misha.
He doesn’t, though. What he does is let Misha take several more pictures and, although he enjoys being told what to do, he also likes challenging other people, so he cups his cock with his hand and turns onto his back. It feels great, to finally put some pressure on his erection, and even better because Misha is still watching—is still taking pictures, though much less now.
“Take off your pants,” Misha says then, and fuck, his voice is hoarse and low and it sends shivers through Jensen’s body. His cock is tenting in his boxers when he kicks his pants onto the floor, and he spreads his legs a little further. “Touch yourself.”
Jensen starts to jerk off, hand moving slowly inside his underwear. He’s staring straight at Misha, who keeps taking pictures until Jensen lifts his hips again and slips off his boxers as well. Misha makes a choking sound, his hand pressing against the front of his jeans, camera forgotten around his neck.
“Come here,” Jensen says, stretching out his hand. He’s so goddamn horny, and now that he’s looked at Misha better he has realized that he looks far, far better than Jensen initially gave him credit for.
Misha puts the camera aside on Jensen’s desk, barely looking at it as he stumbles forwards onto the bed, legs on either side of Jensen as he leans down and presses their mouths together. Jensen threads his hands in Misha’s hair, keeping him close as he deepens the kiss.
His hips are bucking up and he can feel precome slick against his stomach, but when he reaches down to jerk off Misha swats his hand away. “Not yet,” he breathes into Jensen’s mouth before he pushes himself up and pulls off his shirt.
Jensen had no idea his housemate was so fucking--sculpted. It astounds him and Misha laughs, a little awkwardly perhaps, before he unbuttons his jeans. Jensen watches the way Misha gets back off the bed to push his pants teasingly down his legs. He’d touch himself again, but Misha told him not to and the head rush that idea—being at someone else’s mercy—causes is incredible.
“Misha-“ he says hoarsely, unsure of what should follow, and Misha grins at him before joining him on the bed again.
“I’d take pictures of you like this, you know?” he says, gently biting on Jensen’s earlobe. “Naked, and hard, and-“ he slides his hand down Jensen’s side, cold enough to let him shiver, “So fucking willing. God. You love being told what to do, don’t you?”
Jensen all but bucks up into the touch, wanting—no, needing more friction from Misha. He won’t touch him though and he groans, frustrated.
“Answer me,” Misha whispers, “And I’ll touch you.” He looks at Jensen for a moment and then repeats his question. “You like being told what to do.”
Jensen nods, closing his eyes as he fists the sheets. Misha sits down on his hips, rubbing his balls against his cock, and it’s different from anything he’s ever felt but—but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Far from it, in fact.
And Misha is right, he really is. When he’s being told what to do, he doesn’t worry. It gives him something to put his mind to, and that puts him at ease. More than when he has to come up with something himself.
He puts his own hands on Misha’s thighs, firmly rubbing his thumbs against their soft skin and slightly coarser hairs, and watches how it makes Misha’s mouth fall open.
Jensen wants to kiss him again. He wants to kiss him, wrap his arms around him, and move together until they come. His mouth is dry with want when he pushes himself up off the bed and wraps his arms around Misha’s waist, turning his face up so they can kiss. Misha’s onto him immediately, his hands tugging at Jensen’s hair as he forces him to lie back down on the bed. Their cocks rub together and Jensen moans when Misha starts to move against him, slow sensual movements of his hips, perfectly measured and too-much-not-enough-more.
Jensen needs more.
He’s pretty sure that Misha notices the shiver that runs through his body again, but he keeps going the way he was until Jensen can’t stop the quiet moans that fall from his lips, his fingers digging into Misha’s back.
It feels so fucking good, so great, so perfect-
Then Misha reaches down and fists their cocks together, the hot slip-and-slide of hard flesh and precome and it’s the feeling and the idea, the foreplay and the hot bursts of arousal coursing through his body, everything, that makes Jensen come.
He’s a little dizzy with it, in fact. Misha’s mouth is hot on his, warm puffs of breath on his lips in between short but wet kisses. Jensen kisses back, slower than Misha now, the edge taken off his arousal even though he’s pretty sure that he can go for another round if he is given five minutes. Misha is pushing his cock against Jensen’s stomach, rutting frantically, and Jensen takes the opportunity to feel the muscles moving in his thighs. He pushes his fingers into the soft skin of Misha’s ass, and then Misha is coming in fast spurts all over Jensen’s stomach, adding to the mess already there.
Finally Misha pushes himself off Jensen, careful to avoid his stomach while Jensen grabs tissues from his bedside drawer. He cleans himself while Misha watches, and he feels like he should be feeling far more awkward than he actually does.
“Was that your first time with a guy?” Misha asks curiously, his naked body pressed against Jensen’s now that he’s more or less dry again.
“Yeah,” he sighs, pushing a hand under his head so he can get a better look at Misha. “Yours?”
“Same,” Misha says. “I mean, I’ve kissed a few men before, but beyond that—definitely not.” He flashes a grin at Jensen and pats his thigh, “I definitely would’ve remembered if I had. You-“ he leans in to kiss Jensen, and Jensen takes a moment to kiss Misha back, “were pretty good. Perhaps even great. A tease, though, but- Mmm.“
“Yeah, I get it,” Jensen smiles back at Misha and then kisses him again.
He effortlessly pushes Misha over onto his back so he can cover his body with his own. Only now he really registers the differences in the body he’s touching—firmer muscles, sharper hips, a flat chest—but it doesn’t really change that much. Not as much as he’d expected.
Jensen can feel Misha’s pulse speed up when he grinds his hips down and teases his fingers along his thighs, his sides, and he can feel his own erection renew itself when Misha grabs his ass to force him down faster. He’d thought that being with a guy wouldn’t turn him on, or in any case not this much.
“Again?” he laughs into Misha’s mouth, and Misha nods eagerly.
“What do you want to do next?” he asks Jensen, kissing him, his hands in Jensen’s hair.
“Dunno,” Jensen mutters, grinding his hips against Misha’s again and earning a stuttering gasp. “You decide.”
“I’d say-“ Misha moans and then stills Jensen’s hips with his hands. “I’d say I want to fuck you-“ and it comes out as a breath that makes Jensen tingle all over again, “But it’s our first time.”
“So?” Jensen mutters as he pushes himself back onto the bed, still lying half on top of Misha. His dick presses firmly against Misha’s muscled thigh and it takes some effort to not dry hump him until he comes.
“So I have something else in mind,” Misha kisses him again, one hand cupping Jensen’s face while the other slips down to his cock. He cups the sensitive flesh gently and Jensen bucks into the touch, moaning when Misha refuses to put more pressure on it. “I’m pretty creative. You have to turn around, though.”
Jensen feels strangely naked with his back turned to Misha. “Do you need something?” he asks when he hears Misha fumble around in his drawer (and when did he become comfortable with other people touching his stuff?).
“Lube,” Misha says, and Jensen wonders if he’s going to fuck him after all. Maybe Misha meant just his fingers. Or—There are plenty of good uses for lube even when you’re not taking it up the ass—otherwise he wouldn’t have it. “And stop thinking so much.”
“Under my pillow,” Jensen mutters, flushing hot at the realization that now Misha probably knows he got off as recently as last night.
He gasps when Misha’s hand pushes against his butt, already slick with the lube. Misha doesn’t go as far as stick a finger in, but he makes sure to rub right against his hole until he’s moaning, pushing back because he suddenly needs more of that, cock already dripping on the sheets.
“Shh,” Misha whispers, “Not today.” And the implications of that—God.
Misha lies down behind Jensen, pressing their bodies flush together, and then he spreads Jensen’s asscheeks. It’s only then that Jensen realizes what Misha is doing and he blindly grasps back for any kind of touch—his hand comes to rest on Misha’s wrist and he grabs it.
As he starts to move, Misha drops his hand a little further until his fingertips are brushing against the head of Jensen’s cock with each trust.
“Feels so good,” Misha murmurs into Jensen’s skin, his hips trusting and his cock sliding against Jensen’s hole, catching on it sometime, making the both of them moan.
“More,” Jensen gasps, and he’s close again, already, the feather-light touches doing nothing to alleviate the building tension in his stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s squeezing around Misha and his thighs are trembling with effort to keep himself from pushing forward and into Misha’s hand. “God—Fast—Mish-“
“Gonna give you much more in a bit,” Misha continues to whisper, and then bites down into Jensen’s skin, making him yelp and his cock jump. “You liked that?”
Jensen gasps again and this time Misha’s hand swerves up to his chest, pinching one of his nipples. It elicits the same response as the bite and he can feel Misha grin against his skin.
“Misha, come on man,” he whines, though he has no idea why he doesn’t just jack off himself. Something about the idea of Misha telling him what to do gets him running hotter than ever. Okay, so, he can just-
“Almost,” Misha pants against his neck, fast hot puffs of breath. The mattress creaks in unison with their movements and the headboard thuds against the wall, but it doesn’t matter.
And then Misha’s hand curls around Jensen’s cock and starts to jerk him off, fast and good and Jensen’s orgasm is building fast in his stomach now, his balls burning as they tighten up, ready to shoot again. Then he can feel Misha’s rhythm falter a little and the head of his cock, slick with precome and lube, slips the other way and pushes against the sensitive skin behind Jensen’s balls.
Then he’s coming, harder than he thought possible after a second go, spunk landing on the bed and his chest. Some of it drips off Misha’s hand and Misha uses it to stroke him through it, still pushing his dick with short and quick thrusts between Jensen’s legs, still against that sensitive spot.
Then Misha stills behind him, and Jensen can feel the sudden bursts of liquid heat against his balls; shivers as he lifts one of his legs a little so Misha has more space to move.
They lay there for what feels like forever. The come on Jensen’s stomach and between his legs is starting to crust and crack, itching, before Misha swipes him down with a tissue and his own saliva. He’s thorough, flipping Jensen back onto his back and licking all the places that were covered in come not too long ago. Jensen grimaces down at him and Misha sighs.
“It’s not that bad, Jen,” he murmurs as he crawls back up to lie close to Jensen. “Not bad at all, in fact.”
Then he thrusts his tongue in Jensen’s mouth, and he can taste it. Or not taste-taste it, it’s more of a vague hint, something bitter-salt he only partially recognizes from when he once tried it in his teenage years.
He’s tired now, though. Between the getting up early, studying, and sex (twice!), all energy seems to have seeped out of him, so Jensen keeps the kisses light. Sometimes he suddenly notices they’re not making out anymore—especially when Misha suddenly licks at his mouth again, acting as if he can’t get enough of Jensen. And Jensen can’t help feeling happy at that idea.
He wraps his arms around Misha’s waist and then snuggles a little closer to him. Half asleep, he allows himself not to worry too much about all the implications that might hold, and drifts off.
Misha doesn’t mind anyway.