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Striking the Denim Matchbox

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They toppled inside Jensen’s well-lit trailer, laughing. They’d been laughing for what felt like hours - and that probably wasn’t even that far from the truth. Filming had taken up most of the night, but even at 2am, 3am maybe, they were still grasping at each other’s sleeves and trying their best to stand upright.

This was what it was like every night. Breathless and aching, because they couldn’t stop. Making each other laugh was what it came down to, this friendship. This relationship. Fuck knew what they were to each other. They couldn’t call each other ‘just friends’ any more, even though they tried.

It wasn’t like something had happened between them, or anything. Things were always happening. But it changed so much and so fast - they got closer by the day sometimes. Right now they were only pawing at shirt collars, gasping for air, pushing against Jensen’s kitchenette cabinets for balance. Just friends.

Misha had laughed for so long and so hard that he’d drained all energy from himself. And yet, being with Jensen, he just kept laughing. It was meant to stop, and they were meant to let their laughs rattle out into silence, shove at the other man’s chest and pull a beer out of the mini-fridge, but it was impossible.

Jensen only had to look Misha in the eye to set him off again, a new firecracker in a box of firecrackers. Fuses lighting more fuses. Exhaustion didn’t even factor in any more.

“Oh shit―!” Jensen almost broke the toaster as he shoved past, gasping, his bowed legs shaking.

Misha offered a careful “Whoa―” but he was only interrupted by Jensen’s bark of renewed amusement. Misha giggled again, unable to help himself.

Jensen slung a hand over Misha’s shoulder to keep himself standing, and Misha couldn’t care less whether or not he would rip his shirt. He’d done it before. Jensen was weak-legged and grabby when he had laughed for this long. Misha wished he could see through his teary eyes and properly admire the sight of Jensen’s flushed cheeks; he was prettier than usual when he was hysterical.

“God. God, Mish, c’mere... Hahaaaa, fuckin’... Jesus, I can’t―”

Jensen tugged on Misha’s shirt to get him to follow, and Misha could just about figure out that Jen was heading for the bed - he was going to lie down, lest he collapse completely, and Misha wasn’t going to stop him. It might save one or both of them a head injury, since the border of cupboards was quite close to where the two of them wobbled about.

Halfway there, Jensen managed a rasping, shivering breath, and for a moment, Misha thought he was going to calm down and bring some sanity to their interactions, but Misha only got a single second to breathe before Jensen headbutted him, falling into him with a helpless whine of laughter.

“Oh gooosh― BAHahaha...!”

Guffawing for absolutely no reason, Misha shoved Jensen down onto his bed. He intended to make him take deep breaths and ease up before he had an aneurysm, but goddamn it - Jensen pulled him down.

Misha landed on top of him with a hefty grunt, and Jensen yelped with another childish laugh. Misha could see his freckles practically glowing with mirth, eyes hidden by those ridiculously well-balanced eye wrinkles. Jensen writhed backward on the bed, wheezing like a strangled seal, or something similar. Misha was dizzy and had no breath left in him at all, sniggering as he curved down and huffed against Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen’s shaky hand cupped Misha’s hair from the back, fingers curling, almost scratching his scalp. When Misha peeked at his face, Jensen’s eyes were running with tears. Misha could feel he was kinda hard in his jeans, too. That wasn’t new; once they’d actually gotten to the ‘friend’ part of their whatever-it-was-ship, it hadn’t taken Misha long to realise that when he made Jensen laugh, Jensen reacted in ways he didn’t react when, say, Jared would make him laugh. Maybe that was why Misha loved it so much.

Fuck, he was going to pass out if he didn’t breathe soon. All he could do was act boneless, flopped over Jensen’s body, heaving and trembling as Jensen laughed on his cheek. Misha bit down on Jensen’s t-shirt, grinning so much that he imagined he was actually grimacing instead.

“Need’ta...” Jensen shuddered, head rolling back into the comforter. “Miiish...”

“Can’t - breathe,” Misha replied, knowing he was probably in an equally bad state as Jensen. “Oh god, can’tbreathe, can’tbreathe! Haah!”

Jensen grabbed the back of Misha’s neck, stroking him, playing and tugging hard at the soft curls of hair which he had insisted Misha didn’t cut because he liked them. Misha’s right hand stroked Jensen’s inner bicep, desperately trying to quiet the painful outbursts that wouldn’t stop. They weren’t drunk on anything but enthusiasm. They did this to each other, and it was no doubt the best part of their ...ship.

Misha forced himself to take control of his hysteria, quashing it for the sake of consciousness. As always, laughter bred more laughter, but Jensen had stopped yelping and wheezing, so he couldn’t egg Misha on any more. So long as Misha didn’t look him in the eye, he’d be golden.

Misha finally took a near-normal breath, air rushing to the bottom of his lungs. He let it out against Jensen’s neck, still grinning. He may have moaned a little he exhaled, purely from the relief of having his brain cells back.

He rested his chin on Jensen’s warm shoulder, bleary gaze on the wrinkles of the beige blanket as he waited for Jensen to finally stop chuckling. It took a few seconds for Misha to realise that Jensen wasn’t laughing at all any more.

Misha ducked his head back, poking out his tongue to part his lips. He was kneeling with his legs either side of Jensen’s hips, and only pulled back enough to see Jen’s face.

Jensen was looking at him with a slightly fearful expression. The laugh went right out of Misha, and he blinked. “What, what’s wrong?” He grinned. “Too much for you? Did I win?”

Jensen licked his lower lip, eyes darting between each of Misha’s. “You’re, uh... you’re right on top of me.”

Misha looked down, but couldn’t see beyond where their t-shirts squashed at their chests. He glanced back and met Jensen’s eye. All right, so Jen didn’t want to be this close. That was cool. Misha lifted his pelvis and shifted back in order to move away, but immediately, Jensen slapped his hands around Misha’s hips to keep him there, taking in a short, sharp breath.

Misha squinted, looking carefully at Jensen. He had questions to ask, but Jensen’s face answered them all. He was scared, sure, but there was also longing, and pleading, and a plain and basic ‘I wanna be touched’.

Misha knew it would have come to this at some point. Guess it was happening tonight.

Misha licked his lips again, calculating Jensen’s every reaction as he lay back down again. Crotches together, chests together. Jensen’s erection wasn’t subtle any more. He felt fucking huge through the material of Misha’s jeans, pressed between his parted thighs.

There was surprise in Jensen’s eyes, surprised Misha was agreeing to this. Misha didn’t stop the smug reaction that showed on his face; Jensen actually wanted the weight on him, the muscle that pinned him down.

Misha had to check he wasn’t pushing, however. In his lowest, most secretive voice, he asked, “You’re sure?”

Jensen’s mouth vaguely formed a word, silent. But then he sank his lower lip under his teeth, and nodded, eyes closed. “Mm-hm.”

Misha let out a breath that poured from his lips in a whisp, finding he was a little bit scared, too. This was where it all changed, where the moments they had together became more than laughter and touches, more than personable closeness. This was... special.

He lifted himself only a short way, enough that he could slink his hand between their bodies to reach his belt buckle. He was hardening in anticipation, and he made to free himself before it got too difficult to do.

Jensen grabbed his wrist.

Misha’s eyes flicked up to meet Jensen’s, sure he’d changed his mind. Jensen was shaking his head.

“Tap out?” Misha asked, ready to pull back and save his friend from doing something he wasn’t ready to do.

Jensen didn’t let go of his wrist, though, still thinking. His mouth opened, and he smiled, gorgeous without meaning to be. Then the smile wilted, but didn’t fade completely. He let go of Misha’s wrist. “Just... maybe, uhm...”

Misha smirked. Without any elaboration needed, he rocked forward, shoving his hips down against Jensen’s crotch. Jensen gasped quietly, eyes wide, hips bucking up in reaction. He was tense. Misha humped down again - and just like that, Jensen fell apart, relaxing into the bed, trying to spread his legs, making a breathy, needy noise.

“There you go,” Misha encouraged. “How is that?”

Jensen nodded, sighing, seemingly lost for coherent thought.

Stroking the hot fabric of Jensen’s slender thigh, Misha raised each of his knees off the bed in turn so Jensen could move to bracket him. Now Misha’s boots were dangling off the side of the bed, legs straight, and all the weight of his back and hips was resting down on Jensen’s groin, a position which made Misha surge with power, thrusting into his friend with a biting force.

Jensen gave a long, drawn-out yelp of what was partially surprise, a sound which Misha wanted to eat up, swallow with a kiss - but they weren’t there yet, they weren’t at kissing. They were at dry-humping, at mapping each other’s cocks by the feel of strained denim alone. Even this sent red-hot pleasure through Misha’s body, waves of feeling. Oh, it was good.

Jensen’s hands both rested behind Misha’s neck, his eyes dark and set fully on Misha’s. Misha looked at him for a few seconds, astounded with how this was actually happening, then looked away.

He couldn’t look at Jen, couldn’t hold his eye while he rutted against him. When he looked at Jensen usually, it was all for the laughter, always intense and fun - and on occasion, because they were acting out their scripts and the camera was rolling. But now Jensen was looking at him in a way that said very little about pure human hunger, but spoke volumes about adoration, tenderness and will. It wasn’t a joke any more.

Jensen pulled Misha’s head down lower, murmuring little moaning sounds against his cheek. Teeth touched stubble, lips grazed eyelashes. Misha could feel Jensen’s warm breath on him, and fuck everything, that sent shivers down his spine. Proper, electrifying shivers. He fucked harder, groaning out a broken, gritty noise.

Breathy whispers, “Mmm... Mish... Oh my god. Oh my god...”

Misha smiled, moaning against Jensen’s shoulder. He was wet in his jeans, pre-come soaking his boxers already. Denim and belt clips were grating, and made the worst kinds of sounds, but under and through that, Misha felt the thickness of Jensen’s cock, hard for him. He could only guess to say that Jensen was leaking in his underwear, too.

“You’re good?” Misha checked, open mouth on Jensen’s ear. “Feel okay?”

Jensen nodded. “Yeah. Y-yeah, fuck.” He head tipped forward so he could see what was happening between his legs. Misha heard him licking his lips. Whatever Jensen saw down there, he liked it; he bucked his hips, spreading his legs some more, and moaned loudly, right into Misha’s ear. Misha thrilled at the sound, loving that Jensen was a real moaner. He’d always known, really.

Nose pressed to Misha’s cheek, Jensen muttered, “Auh, fuck... Mishaaa... Fuck me...”

Misha considered unbuckling again, but knew Jensen wasn’t up for that outside of those quiet pleadings. Tonight, the most they were going to get was damp underwear. Misha was even looking forward to washing up after, because he’d be dealing with the aftermath of something that Jen did to him. That was the best part, having Jen under his hands, under his body. At last.

Jensen laughed, head falling back to the bed, chin jutting into the air. He groaned with his mouth open, eyes shut, hands tight in Misha’s hair. Jensen started rolling his hips up, meeting each of Misha’s thrusts with one of equal force. Misha didn’t have to look to know that Jensen had planted his boots on the bed, using his own weight to pummel Misha’s groin with a denim-juddering sex craze.

“Ah!” Misha gasped out, eyes losing focus for a moment. He tried to form words but could only mouth shapes, weight on his hands, one hand easing up to stroke Jensen’s hair off his forehead. Mouth agape, Misha tumbled forward, ramming Jensen’s body with renewed force and desire.

His nostrils were flaring, his skin was roaring hot under his t-shirt. He was fucking sweating, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it; he was going to see this out to the end fully-clothed, he swore to himself. Come in his pants, yeah. Jen would have him make a mess, like another fucking prank. Jizz himself.

Jensen snarled at him, legs wrapping around Misha’s hips, tightening so Misha couldn’t do anything but hump, no longer disconnecting from Jensen’s heat at all before rolling inwards again. The look on Jen’s face was insane - unmistakably joyous, even if he had something animalistic in his eye. He was ravaging Misha as much as Misha had thought he was ravaging Jen, maybe even more so. They were wild for it, gasping hard.

Jensen whined, mouth shut, the smallest noises escaping; “Mmmh! Mmh! Mmmm!” He was a tiny wildcat, purring with claws outstretched. Holding Misha’s head, breathing in his face.

“So fuckin’ hard,” Jensen breathed, red on his cheeks. “Just do it, ah, fuck...”

Misha started humping short and fast, wanting to change it up a bit. Denim made him sore, the tightness of it made him angry. God, he just wanted to make Jen scream, make him blush when he next saw Misha’s face. Whet his appetite, perhaps.

Misha had fantasised enough about pulling Jensen into a trailer at break time for a quickie, but he’d thought about other things, too. Slow, gentle games, ones that would start with laughter. Ones that always ended with cuddling, because he knew the things Jen didn’t tell anyone.

Jensen kept to himself, and there were so few people he’d go to in the middle of the night for comfort, and there were even fewer people he would go to and ask for more. One bed would be empty, another would sleep two.

(Just friends. Just sleep.)

Tonight, the bed that sometimes went empty was rocking instead, thumping the end of the trailer. Misha couldn’t care less if someone noticed - they’d call it wrestling, because it had been true all the other times. But this time they were playing a new game.

Jensen cried out, almost wailing, his body curving into Misha’s from below. “Ye-eh-hes!”

Misha laughed out loud, beaming at the enjoyment on Jensen’s face. “You love it?”

“Yes!” Jensen gasped, grinning as he frowned, panting, holding Misha’s head with one hand while the other gripped Misha’s bicep. “Fuck! Yesyesyes...”

“Want to go harder?”

Jensen nodded. “Mmmyeah-kay.”

Misha grabbed Jensen’s thighs and hauled them up, pushing them down again, knees almost to Jensen’s ears. The shock on Jensen’s face was enough to make Misha laugh again - not hysterical this time, but warm, adoring. He rocked against Jensen’s ass, pretending he was fucking him naked, cock sliding inside.

Jensen whimpered, unable to move aside from bumping up and down, rubbing himself on Misha’s unbelievably tight jeans. The friction was amazing, rough and kinda dirty. Misha thought he was leaking through the front of his pants, erection caught up in the dip of his right hip.

“Mish... Mish - I can’t, not like this...”


Jensen’s eyes searched Misha’s quickly, wetting his lust-swollen lips with his tongue. “Can’t feel you right. Wanna rub right on you. Like...” He was blushing. Holy shit, that was precious. “Fuck, I can’t―”

Misha let Jensen’s thighs down, instead putting a hand firmly on Jensen’s massive bulge. With a devilish smirk, Misha met Jensen’s eye and held it as he pushed. Jensen took in a terribly shaky breath, almost like he was about to sneeze, but then he shut his eyes and moaned like a motherfucking porn star, a warbling, keening yowl that was nothing short of spectacular. It was terrifying - the sound of it shot Misha to fifteen on a scale of ten, and he fell forward, wanting to bite that pretty noise right out of the air.

He fucked down so hard he saw stars, and he knew Jensen felt that; Misha put all his weight into the thrusts, bumping thighs, muscle, hardness and bold movements. One of Jensen’s hands was creeping under Misha’s shirt, fingers sliding in the sweat of his lower back. Misha was frustrated by how smoothly it stroked; he wanted those fucking perfect fingers on his cock, maybe in his mouth.

But he exercised all his restraint: Jensen was nearly innocent to these things. He’d told Misha he thought about men, and thought about him like this, and he wanted to try it, but he found it so hard to trust. Misha wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d promised Jensen long ago that if and when they got here, he wouldn’t tell a soul. Telling other people would come in time. Confessing their mutual love to the fans had been a running joke for years - the masses would never know the reality of it when it finally happened.

And it was happening. It was happening on instinct and fueled by destructive passion; Jensen was mewling or whimpering, making some pathetic and unabashedly hot noise. Misha watched his lips, thinking about kissing, thinking about tasting Jensen’s saliva and finding out how his tongue felt against his own. But he didn’t dare; Jensen may have been underneath, and Misha may have been the one moulding to his body with total control, but everything was going to be Jensen’s call.

Misha was up for anything, but Jensen needed patience, and guidance. Misha entertained the thought that he was perfect for Jen at least once a day; he’d offer him anything he needed, without question or complaint.

Jensen was open-mouthed now, moaning deeply under his breath. His eyes didn’t leave Misha’s, and Misha fucked into him without mercy; brutal. There was no laughter in sight, but Misha didn’t look away from Jensen, gradually becoming unafraid of how honest this moment was. What they were doing was serious. It had never been a joke. They laughed together, but it worked so well between them because they had a connection. Misha knew he could only strengthen this connection, riding into Jensen with their eyes locked. Sharing breaths in the space between their mouths. Watching each other, taking each other higher.

Jensen slipped his hand into Misha’s and held it without Misha really noticing. He compensated for the lost support with his other forearm, pushing into the bed, and with his hips, grinding so hard he thought he might wear through the denim. For sure, there was a wet patch on his jeans, which caught on Jensen’s thigh, tacky and hot.

Jensen looked delirious, his eyes unfocusing and refocusing every few seconds. His cheeks were pink as anything, his breath ragged and unsteady. Misha lifted their joined hands and rested them beside Jensen’s face, fingers reaching between Jensen’s so he could stroke his cheek. Hot, hot skin. Smooth, until he touched stubble. Misha smiled, bristling the texture with his thumb.

Jensen bit his lip, recognisable softness in his gaze. Misha didn’t slow his punishing thrusts, but wished he could. He wished he could slow right down, make love to Jensen slowly, kiss him. Tell him how he felt about him, even though he already knew. But Misha couldn’t do that, not least because Jen looked like he was about to come, and Misha wasn’t one to make him suffer any longer than he needed to. One day he wanted to play with him and make him beg, but not tonight.

Misha’s thumb stroked Jensen’s hand, soothing. He kissed the back of Jensen’s hand, since he couldn’t kiss anything else. He nuzzled his hand too, smiling, because he loved how fucking sweetly Jensen looked back at him. Jensen didn’t need to say anything either; that look said it all.

“Close?” Misha gasped, huffing against Jensen’s cheek. “You gonna?”

Jensen nodded hastily. “Uuhh-mhm-hhh...”

Misha laughed, humping and humping as he nosed at Jensen’s burning cheek, lips dragging on the stubble. Panting, he thought aloud, “What kind of noise would you make when you come, I wonder?”

Jensen smirked, shoving Misha’s head away with a chuckle. “Fuck off.”

Grinning hugely, Misha set the tip of his nose against Jensen’s, bouncing them side-to-side as their bodies’ movements made them shake. Eyes on Jensen’s, Misha whispered, “Never.”

Jensen closed his eyes and turned his head, putting his lips on Misha’s. It was chaste and unexpected, and only lasted a moment before Misha broke the kiss, eyes searching Jensen’s face in his surprise. “Wh―?”

Jensen grinned lopsidedly, eyes ablaze. Misha found the back of his head grabbed by Jensen’s hand, and his mouth smushed back to Jensen’s lips. Misha parted his lips right away, moaning hard as he felt tongue slip inside, wet and hot and glorious. He closed their mouths together, turning his face to the right, nudging lips in kisses, kisses, kisses. Tiny and testing, eyes shut to savour them.

But then Jensen barked against Misha’s jaw, “Shit! Misha, Misha, oh my god... oh, oh my god...” Misha watched hungrily, devouring the sight of Jensen losing control, sweat on his forehead, eyes slitted and dark like a demon’s, lips wet, so wet. He whimpered, and writhed under Misha, still pushing out a breathless, garbled string of words; “Ohhh-hh! MishaMisha... Mi-sh-oh-hhh... yes!yes!YES!Misha... Oh! ...Nnnmmm-mmm-mm...”

Misha was smiling, enraptured by the sight of Jensen experiencing orgasm at his cause, under him, with Misha’s own name on his lips. Once the fury of the moment passed into quiet for Jensen, Misha watched him settle, watched his eyes close, his jaw fall slack, his gasps turning to sighs.

Slowly, his eyes opened again, and Misha caught his gaze immediately. Jensen looked happy.

Their mouths sank together, Misha swallowing to absorb the taste of it, the feel of Jensen’s lips. He wanted this, and he had it; he loved Jensen and he had him. Everything was good.

Jensen’s hand massaged Misha’s ass now, all the attention passed to him. Misha felt amazing, both by the second-hand glow of Jensen post-orgasm, but also by the way Jensen touched him. Fingers pressed between Misha’s buttocks, not quite able to finger his hole, but Misha appreciated the sentiment. He’d once offhandedly told a drunken Jensen that he liked that, and somehow Jensen remembered. Perhaps it was only natural to want to touch there, but Misha loved that Jensen tried.

Jensen rubbed his lower back, letting the t-shirt ride up high. Misha kept rocking, far more gently than before. Jensen’s softness made him go easy, and their continued eye contact was even more intimate than it had been. Jensen gave soft sighs, each with a pleased smile. He was satisfied, and Misha delighted in seeing that. He only ached for his own release, now.

It took a few minutes - things had become rhythmic for the first time, and Misha couldn’t build to his peak quite as furiously as before. Jensen was squirming in what Misha thought might have been discomfort, but it was so difficult to stop...

“Mish,” Jensen finally whispered, “That - it hurts.”

Misha grunted as he pulled off, wincing at the firm throb his cock gave. “Sorry,” he muttered, flicking Jensen a soft look.

“New position?” Jensen offered hopefully, eyes bright. “How about, uh...?” He tilted his head suggestively, and while Misha wasn’t sure what he intended, he wriggled back to give Jensen room to move.

Jensen let out a breath and tucked his legs against his chest in order to escape Misha’s bulk, then rolled over and adjusted himself. He was on his knees, facing away from Misha, his ass in the air. He sighed against the bedspread, spreading his legs a little further.

Misha, excited somehow by this display, slid a hand over Jensen’s rump. He gave an experimental slap, and his cock pulsed when Jensen humped the air, letting out a low murmur.

Shifting on his knees until he was positioned at Jensen’s rear, Misha then slowly - ever so slowly - started to rub against Jensen. Jensen moaned with pleasure, rumbling deep. Misha got off on that, just the fact that Jen liked this position, was probably thinking about Misha filling him up completely with his slick cock, sinking as deep as Misha’s hips.

Oohhh, that’s perfect, that’s perfect,” Jensen purred, sinking even lower towards the bed, knees so far apart he may as well have been humping a pillow.

Misha considered how crazy it was that they were still fully dressed - sweat stuck to his shirt, clinging to the denim behind his knees; Jensen’s come was probably bleeding through his boxers already. Boots were far too hot. And yet there was something good about it, somehow still providing them modesty, even though they’d seen each other naked before. There might still be an out for Jensen, if he never wanted to call what they had anything but ‘just friends’. They weren’t fucking for real, just kinda... falling together, accidentally making each other tip over the edge. Messing about.

Misha leaned down and covered Jensen, still grinding smoothly into his ass. He kissed the back of Jensen’s neck, where the skin was scalding hot, soft hairs bristling his lips. Jensen moaned into the bed again, fingers clenching and unclenching gently.

Misha stroked Jensen’s thigh, caressing the thick muscle. His cock yearned for release more than ever, but he wanted to drag this out. It was blissful to have Jensen so compliant, have him this close without worrying it was too much.

Jensen stopped him after another few minutes, however; he made a discomfited sound, turned his head. “Misha, this ain’t working right...”

“You don’t like it?”

Jensen seemed to stumble on a thought. “I - I can’t see you.”

Misha smiled widely, something warm blossoming in his chest. “Turn over, then.”

Jensen did so straight away, sighing as he lay back, one arm raised to guide Misha back down. Jensen’s muscular arms surrounded him in a hug, his beautiful musky scent filling Misha’s senses and making him even more desperate to come. Jensen kissed the side of his face, once, then again. Then his mouth found its way to Misha’s, and Misha sighed as they kissed. He cooed under his breath, so in love with how this felt. He loved how Jensen kissed, passionate yet tender. Smooth as silk, the two of them were as synchronised as the moon and a water tide.

Misha gasped into the kiss when he felt Jensen’s hand on his buckle. The affectionate mouthing paused for the moment Misha needed to look Jensen in the eye and ask for the second time tonight, “Are you sure?”

Jensen’s gaze dipped to Misha’s lips, then back to his eyes. His fingers stopped their fiddling, and he swallowed. Then he shook his head.

Misha slid his hand to take Jensen’s hand away from his crotch, eyes never breaking contact. “If you’re not completely sure, don’t. I don’t want you to regret this.”

Jensen managed a small, thankful smile. Misha kissed the smile, because he liked that he knew what it meant.

In the few minutes that followed, Misha let Jensen lie back against his arm, Misha’s body against Jensen’s but not atop it. He undid his own belt and touched himself, watching Jensen’s face as Jensen watched him. It didn’t matter that the only touching Jensen was doing was holding Misha’s other hand; Misha was getting off on watching him anyway. Even the way he blinked was attractive. Misha nibbled his eyelashes, since Jensen didn’t stop him.

Jensen’s gaze fell to Misha’s cock a few times, but aside from the soft, pleased sound he made, he didn’t have much of a reaction to seeing Misha tugging on himself. Misha got the impression Jensen was really only in this because Misha was cuddling him, bodies entwined. Jensen liked this part the best, Misha knew that much.

Misha didn’t exactly reach his peak, but swooped down into it. Something fantastic possessed him for a single fleeting moment. Fuck, it was good. He held Jensen’s gaze and moaned while he came, spilling his load with a vocal huff over Jensen’s tummy; he had specifically pulled up Jensen’s t-shirt so he could come there.

Jensen didn’t seem bothered by the mess on his skin, even though Misha hadn’t asked if he could do that. Jensen licked his lips, touching the wet shine with a tentative finger. Misha kissed him, distracting him away; Jensen took the bait, rolling over and lying spread-legged over Misha’s middle as Misha lay flat on his back.

Jensen grinned, tossing his chin to the side and back again. “Goddamn... Ha. That was hot as hell, Mish.”

Misha pursed his lips, rubbing Jensen’s demined thighs. He eyed Jensen’s t-shirt, which was damp with semen now. “Which part?” His eyes darted up to Jensen’s. “That last part, or―”

“All of it,” Jensen murmured, eyes kept low, watching Misha’s lips. Jensen licked his own, and Misha’s eyes tracked the pink flash of tongue. “We should... uh...” he cleared his throat, “do that again. Sometime.”

Misha nodded, hands wrapping over Jensen’s wide hips, squeezing. He looked good, kneeling over Misha, almost blotting out the light from the ceiling. His grin was cheeky enough that Misha wanted to either punch him or fuck his mouth. Or... maybe kiss him.

He brought Jensen down by the front of his shirt, tucking his hand behind his neck so he could put their lips together. Jensen sighed slowly, eyelashes sweeping Misha’s cheek.

When they parted, Jensen smiled again. Misha didn’t think either of them would ever stop smiling, not when they could have each other like this.

“I’m down for that,” Misha said, glad he could say it. “Maybe with fewer clothes.”

Jensen sniggered, and flopped over beside Misha, shaking the mattress. He rolled onto his back, and was still beaming when he looked at Misha from a foot away. “Or maybe with more clothes. Maybe in a parka and mittens? Huh?”

Misha was stumped for a second, mind empty of comebacks - but then Jensen burst into a hearty laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Gotcha. Man, you are too easy.” He winked, showing his teeth. “Next time, I’m wearing Dean’s costume.”

Misha frowned. “But they don’t let us take those―”

“Gotcha again. You sick pervert, Dean ain’t banging you anytime this century. Angels only.” His grin was massive, and Misha could only watch it in wonder. Jensen looked happier and more relaxed then Misha had seen him in months, and he couldn’t quite believe he’d played a part in achieving that. Wrapped up in that feeling, he didn’t resist the urge to lean over to plant his mouth on Jen’s.

They held that position for a long while, breathing against each other.

When Misha lifted his face, he kissed the tip of Jensen’s nose. “Joke all you want, Jen,” he said softly, winking. He kissed his lips again, then smiled and pulled away. “Some things aren’t a joke, you know that. But those same things...” he shrugged playfully, “they’re worth smiling about no matter what.”

He could tell by Jensen’s subtle smile alone that he knew Misha wasn’t talking about the wet patches on his clothes, but about being with him.

“Thanks,” Jensen said.

Misha blinked slowly, squeezing his hand. “You’re welcome.”

They settled down to rest, and with their hands linked and Jensen’s cheek on Misha’s chest, they smiled at each other.

It wasn’t the same as laughter. But it was just as wonderful.

~ end ~