Jensen has never been more sore in his life than waking up after his first night with Misha.
Sure, he's taken tumbles before – he had been a kid once, with an older brother – so cracked bones and bruises and scrapes were kind of the norm. He'd even partaken in his fair share of rough sex. But there is nothing that could have prepared him for Misha's hard, hot, take-no-prisoners style of fucking.
Misha is by no means a large man – he doesn't bulge with muscle and he isn't ripped like Jared. He doesn't even have the broad-shoulders and height that can give Jensen an edge in a physical combat. There isn't a spare inch of fat on the man, though, and that means that what he does have is pure muscle. Sleek, smooth, like a mountain cat, Misha is a force to be reckoned with when he puts that muscle to good use.
And God, does he. It's like he…Jensen can't really describe it. It's like Misha just has this force that's outside his beguilingly small body. Like he has this ability to force submission and compliance with just a look, a touch, a well-timed sigh or growl. Or maybe that's just Jensen. Sometimes, when all of Misha's focus is on him, he feels like he's just about to burst into flames from the heat and sheer focus, and he's pretty damn okay with that.
Which brings him back to thoughts about that first night. Jensen sighs contentedly, wincing when his muscles stretch and he reaches his arms above his head, back arching like a cat just until his spine cracks, and he sags back down with another sigh. His thighs and ass ache in the best way possible, his body cocooned in that kind of sleep-heat that makes getting up and leaving the bed impossible.
It doesn't surprise Jensen that Misha is not in the bed with him – the man is an early riser if ever Jensen saw one. Probably has been doing yoga on the roof and heralding the morn, or something. He seems like the kind of guy that would do that too.
The smell of coffee, despite the warm bed and pleasant, bone-deep satisfaction he can feel through his body, rouses Jensen enough to convince him that getting up might be worth it. He rolls more than climbs out of bed, literally not getting to his feet until one leg falls off the side, sending another painful twinge through his body, and he stifles a small hiss, picking himself up and standing.
He stumbles to Misha's en-suite, shoving the shower on as hot as he can take it, and lets the water pressure work out what the awesome night's sleep and frantic fucking hadn't.
He feels the sticky-dry crust of lube on the insides of his thighs and grimaces, his mouth twisting at the first negative after-effect of last night makes itself known. The hot water is steadily washing it away and, combined with Misha's apple-and-vanilla (seriously?) scented body wash, Jensen washes it away quickly.
He smiles when he hears the door to the bathroom open again, the gentle 'snick' of a turning handle followed soon after by feet on the linoleum. He rubs a hand across his chest, eyes falling closed and inhaling the scent of Misha's body wash, humming softly and playing oblivious when the shower curtain gets pushed aside long enough for a second body to step in behind him.
"You're doing that wrong," comes Misha's voice, low and raspy like he hasn't quite woken up yet or he's playing Castiel, sending a small shiver down Jensen's spine. Though the shower is hotter than Hell, he can feel Misha's body heat like a separate entity, just barely away from touching his back. He imagines Misha's eyes are raking over him in that powerful, focused way of his, taking in the faint finger-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs, the curve of his ass, the dip of his spine and how the water falls in small rivulets down his shoulders.
Jensen scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "There's a way to shower wrong?" he asks, barely disguised amusement in his voice, wondering what Misha could mean.
"First," Misha answers, voice dropping down at least a few tones and Jensen stiffens slightly, shivering when he hears it getting closer, feels the ghost of Misha's breath against the back of his neck, the man still not touching him, "you're doing it in the wrong order." The snap-click of a bottle being opened, Jensen's body tightening in remembrance of another sound very much like it being made last night. Jensen bites his lower lip, feeling his cock hardening between his legs. "Shampoo first. Everyone knows that."
He's smiling – Jensen can feel it in the curve of his mouth when Misha finally touches him, plasters himself along the younger man's broad, muscled back. His hands are slick with water and what Jensen assumes is shampoo as he reaches up, cups the base of Jensen's skull with his hands before pushing all the way up, into his hair, his fingers starting to lather the shampoo in.
Despite himself, Jensen feels himself go boneless, hands falling away from himself, forgetting their task, as he tilts his head back and lets himself revel in the feeling of Misha's capable hands threading their way into his hair, careful and gentle.
For a long moment, they just stand there, together, Misha humming a tuneless song as he gently shampoos Jensen's hair, before pushing the younger man's head forward and under the spray, careful not to let any get in Jensen's eyes, as he leans forward, plastering himself to the other man's back to direct the flow of the water.
"Showering unsupervised was the second thing," Misha says, answering a question Jensen hadn't realized he'd intended to ask. "I think it should be illegal. Too many people have accidents in the shower."
Jensen laughs, before remembering the flow of water and shutting his mouth before any soap and water can get in. "That so?" he asks, tilting his head so the threat is done, quirking a brow over his shoulder at Misha.
The man's dark hair is damp from stray water droplets, thin curls sticking to his forehead and neck where the rest is fluffy, bed head still at its best. His eyes, though, are bright and focused, blue, deep and sharp, fixed on Jensen's face. His normally pale skin is heat-flushed from the shower, chest, neck and cheeks stained with the pretty red flush. His lips still look swollen and downright kissable, and Jensen turns around, nosing at Misha's mouth until he gets the older man to open for him, tongue sliding in, quick and dirty, before he grins, resting their foreheads together.
"I don't know," he says, one shoulder rising in a shrug as Misha fixes that powerful gaze on him. "I think you're just using it as an excuse to get laid."
Misha's mouth quirks up, one side higher than the other, dirty and knowing, and his eyes flash just a shade darker. Jensen shivers without quite knowing why. "Baby," Misha growls, voice gravel-rough and hands flattening, hot and wide, over the spurs of the younger man's hips, pulling him closer, eyes lowering to half-mast as he bites at Jensen's jaw lightly, "if I wanted your ass, I wouldn't need to make an excuse."
And the sound Jensen lets out at that definitely isn't a mewl. What? It isn't.
His arms go around Misha's shoulders in response to being pulled closer, shuddering when his hard-on comes into contact with the slippery-wet smooth plane of Misha's stomach. The older man's smirk grows, like he's just proven something, and he tilts his head up for another kiss. Jensen meets him, their mouths sliding, slick from the heated water, together in a mesh of teeth and tongues, Jensen's hands tangling in the damp, dark strands of Misha's hair, his body arching close when he feels Misha's own arousal pressing against his thigh.
"Mmm…" Misha pulls away, eyes closed, and nudges at Jensen's jaw, forcing the younger man to turn his head to one side. "You smell like me," he notes, able to pick up the subtle scent of his body wash on Jensen, and the younger man chuckles a little nervously.
"Yeah, well, I…" He coughs, swallowing, running a sheepish hand through his hair, eyes downcast. "You had nothing else so -."
"No excuses," Misha interrupts, voice hard, powerful, leaving nothing but obedience as an option. "I don't want excuses, Jensen. I like it."
Green eyes flash to blue. "You do?"
"Very much," comes the reply, a small smirk followed by a lick of lips as Misha continues to nose at Jensen's neck, baring white teeth and a questing tongue against the fresh, smooth flesh. How badly he wants to bite and mark – but he can't. Not while the possibility of a shirtless scene still lingers for Dean. Come hiatus, though… "Turn around, Jensen."
There it is – that tone, his eyes – nothing left but total obedience. And why would Jensen refuse? With the way Misha's looking at him – like he wants to eat him alive – Jensen feels a hard jolt of arousal curl around his spine and squeeze. The shower's still beating down on him, hot and hard and relaxing and his entire body is pliant and obedient as Misha's hands them both around, facing away from the fall of the water, and pushes Jensen down to his knees.
Jensen feels another kind of warmth settle when he realizes that Misha turned him away from the water, so it wouldn't be spraying in their faces. He smiles, but Misha's body is taking the brunt of the pressure now and without it Jensen shivers, goosebumps rising on his skin in response to the cold. He makes a soft sound, arching back, seeking the warm of Misha's body or the water. There is a small pool in the bottom of the tub and he curls his fingers in it, head hanging down.
Thighs press between his, making him spread as much as he can in the limited space. The hard, unyielding plastic is uncomfortable on his joints, but then Misha's hands are soothing and gentle on his back, slick with water, running up and down his spine and spreading the heat of the shower over his skin.
"Hush, Jensen," Misha whispers, almost too softly to hear, prompting Jensen to close his mouth – he hadn't even been realizing he'd been making noise, but as the low, breathy whimpers and 'please's stop, he realizes they must have been coming from him. His face flushes with more than just the heat of the shower. "Be still for me, baby."
Jensen presses his lips together, closing his eyes when he hears the snap-click of another bottle, before the scent of apples and vanilla explodes anew in the air. He gasps, realizing Misha's intent a split second before there is a touch, barely-there, against his sore opening. He mewls, rocking, going down to his elbows because his arms are shaking so much, he's not sure he can hold himself up properly.
He aches in the best way when Misha slides his first slick finger in. No prep, so hesitance. Misha's touch is like a live wire connected straight to Jensen's cock and it twitches painfully in response to the touch inside. He hasn't even hit anything vital – certainly not that one spot last night that had had Jensen's vision whiting out and Misha's name a loud cry on his lips.
His body tenses up when Misha pulls the finger out, coming back with another. This time he waits, plays, sliding, teasing around Jensen's opening with deft, knowing fingers, lightly calloused from his carpentry and climbing. The rough-drag combined with the slick has Jensen biting his lip, fighting to remain silent, body arching in a sinuous curve as he tries to fuck back against Misha's fingers, wanting them deeper, wanting them in.
He is a step from begging when Misha pushes back in, causing Jensen's body to tighten, his body milking what it has and aching for more. He had never thought that sex could be so desperate, but here, he feels like Misha could just smile at him the right way and he would jump the man, tearing at clothes and biting too hard in the need to have him now, now, now.
"Misha -." He jerks off, shoulders dipping when Misha's fingers curve, touch, press. Jensen's orgasm takes him by surprise, ripping through his body like shrapnel, leaving him panting and gasping hard, shuddering in the aftershocks. Misha is still fucking him with his fingers – slow, deep drags against Jensen's inner walls, and he swears he can hear the bastard smirk.
"So pretty, baby," Misha purrs, leaning down, plastering his body to Jensen's back and dragging his free hand through Jensen's damp hair, pulling his back far enough that he can bite at the side of Jensen's throat, light enough that he knows no bruise will linger there. "Such a good little cockslut, aren't you? Or I suppose finger-slut would be more appropriate here…"
"God, shut up," Jensen mutters, blushing and ducking his head, and Misha chuckles, placing another kiss to the back of his neck.
"Shh, Jensen," he says, pulling his fingers out suddenly enough to make the younger man gasp, sliding his hands down Jensen's flanks as he moves to position himself, the fat head of his cock resting just against Jensen's opening. "Just means I'll have to wring another out of you. I like it when you come on my cock alone, like last night."
Jensen blushes harder, but any retort he might have said is lost when Misha begins to push in, breaching and splitting him open in a mesh of pleasurestretchheat, and Jensen moans, muscles tensing, tightening up to force Misha out and then to welcome him in, earning a low growl from the older man as he mounts his lover.
"Perfect," Misha growls out, low and breathy and sounding very close to out of control. His hands tighten and that is the only warning Jensen gets before the first, hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside of Jensen's tight, hot channel. "So tight, Jensen. God, I wish I could…" Whatever he might have said is lost in another low grunt as he thrusts again, perfect slide-drag of his cock inside Jensen's fucked-out body sending almost painful-hot shocks of pleasure through Jensen. It hurts, but it feels really good, too, and he moans once more when Misha bottoms out, brushing against the spot inside that makes Jensen shudder and tremble and whine like an animal.
"Shh, baby, just lemme…" Misha growls again – a low sound Jensen feels at the sensitive dip of his spine, making him mewl and arch and shudder again, fingers curling in the bottom of the bathtub, before Misha shifts his hold, leaning up, and fucks into Jensen hard – a rough, fast thrust that makes Jensen whine as that deep-seated ache blossoms once more. But the new position means the angle against his prostate is better and so the pain has a wonderful counter-feeling to it, pleasure ripping through him as fast as lightning. Jensen chokes, cock twitching as Misha does it again, and again, until, unbelievably, Jensen feels himself hardening like he's a teenager once more.
He pants, his head sagging down, shoulders dipped, and grinds back against Misha on every hilting, trying to take him deeper – it feels so good, so unbelievable like Jensen is dreaming. But Misha's hands and his cock are very real and Jensen can feel that whiting-out behind his eyes happening again.
"Misha," he groans, wanting to get a hand free to jack himself off, but he can't get the leverage and Misha doesn't seem to be in the mood to lend a guy a hand. "Please. Come on."
"Almost…" Misha trails off, growling low again, and Jensen sighs, closing his eyes when he feels Misha dig in deep, nails biting down on sensitive skin, grinding as far as he can go, before slick heat starts to fill Jensen as Misha comes. His body sags, feels like something has been satisfied even if his own need is throbbing between his legs, painful and in need of relief. He arches back, so satisfied as to almost be purring, and waits for Misha to soften and pull out.
He does, suddenly, earning a small yelp from Jensen – a louder one when the young man finds himself suddenly on his back, just out of reach of the spray of the shower, so that he can't sit up without getting a faceful. His hands fly to Misha's head, the first thing he touches, grabbing.
"So sorry about that," comes Misha's almost too-smug voice, and he can feel the other actor's hands trip over his skin, the spurs of his hips and the curves of his thighs, closer, between, where he is still sensitive and needing. He gasps when Misha's fingers encircle him, jacking him slowly. "A gentleman always waits. I'll have to find a way to make it up to you."
"Oh, fuck," Jensen cries out, arching his back, and Misha lowers his mouth to Jensen's straining cock and gets to work doing just that.