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Tied Up

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Jensen wakes up to the soft sound of Misha’s breathing, bright, early morning sun slipping through the gap where the curtains didn’t quite get closed, Misha hot against his back, crowding Jensen to the edge of the bed.

Sighing, Jensen stretches carefully, feels the delicious pull of muscle, Misha’s cock half-hard and interested—Jensen pushes back; make that definitely interested—against his ass.

Lazy morning sex. Pressed together under the sheets, a slow push and pull, warm and sleepy. Voices groggy, limbs still sore from the night before…

Yeah, Jensen could go for that.

He reaches back, arm sliding against Misha’s where it rests at his waist, to find Misha’s hip when he stops, eyes caught on the pile of clothing beside the bed, Misha’s suit, sweaty and covered with come, collecting wrinkles.

The tie shines like a beacon, red. A light that says stop but means go go go.

Jensen suddenly has a much better idea.

Misha backs off easily enough when Jensen nudges him, rolling away onto his back with a sleepy mumble. Jensen shifts to his stomach, takes a moment to watch Misha, hair a dark shock against the sheets, a pillow crease against his cheek. Not so put together now, but just as tempting. More, maybe.

Jensen watches the movement of his chest as he breathes, the steady rise and fall. Watches it, then follows it down over Misha’s stomach to the sheet that falls across Misha’s waist, obscuring Jensen’s view.

Reaching out, Jensen pushes it out of the way, uncovers Misha’s cock. He wraps his hand around it, tests the weight of it, likes the feel of it against his palm, the tips of his fingers. He strokes Misha, and Misha murmurs, hands clenching and unclenching, sliding across the sheets.

Jensen grins, shimmying downward until he’s where he wants to be. One hand around the base, Jensen presses his lips to Misha’s cock, tongue flickering out against hot skin, tasting, testing. He glances up at Misha, whose breathing remains deep, and licks again, flattens his tongue and runs it up the length of the shaft before closing his lips around the head and sucking.

Misha’s hips shift, an inquisitive moan coming from deep in his throat as he hardens against Jensen’s tongue.

They’d showered together the night before, after Jensen’s legs had stopped feeling like Jell-O, tumbling back on to mussed sheets, bodies clean. Now, Jensen tastes soap and sweat and skin, below all of that something that’s just Misha, pure and anything but simple. He chases that, sucks and licks and rides Misha’s hitches and twitches until the only thing he can taste is Misha on his tongue.

Fingers brush against Jensen’s temple, and Jensen looks up, finds Misha’s eyes open, glinting hot beneath heavy eyelids, watching him. “Fuck, Jensen,” Misha says, voice rough and filled with sleep. “Good morning to me.”

Jensen hums around him response, and Misha shifts against the sheets, spreads his legs, fingers carding through Jensen’s hair. “Good morning to you, too.”

With one last suck, one last lick, Jensen pulls off, pushes into Misha’s hand. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, watches Misha track the movement. Leaning to one side, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the jut of Misha’s hip, moves to the other side to press one to the crease of Misha’s thigh. Noses down until he’s nuzzling at Misha’s balls.

Misha spreads his legs and makes a sound that’s suspiciously like a purr, his fingers flexing against Jensen’s scalp. “Enjoyable as that is, I woke up for the main event.”

“You got somewhere else you’ve gotta be?” Jensen asks, lips brushing the base of Misha’s cock as he slides his hand up.

“Mmmm,” Misha hums, eyes searching the ceiling like his schedule might be up there. “No, not at the—”

“Close your eyes.”

Misha blinks back down at him. “What?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Humor me. Close your eyes.”

Misha stares at him, trying to figure him out. Jensen knows he won’t, though; not this time. After a moment, he closes his eyes. “I thought you liked being watched, Jensen. Semi-public sex, laying yourself out like that…all signs point to—What are you doing?”

Jensen straightens up from where he’s reaching over the edge of the bed, makes sure Misha’s eyes are still closed. “You’ll see.”

“I won’t see anything with my eyes closed.”

Running the tie through his hands, Jensen appreciates the feel of it against his skin, the smooth coolness of it as he twines it between his fingers, over his knuckles. It’s wrinkled from earlier, Jensen’s hands wrapped around it under Misha’s waistcoat. The color is rich and dark, tempting, and Jensen can’t wait to see it against Misha’s naked skin.

Unwinding it from his fingers, Jensen tilts his head, contemplates where to start, the best way to begin. He loops the skinny end of the tie around the base of Misha’s cock, wraps it around once, twice, before looping it lower around Misha’s balls.

“Jensen, what are you doing?”

He looks up to find Misha’s eyes open, focused on Jensen’s hands, his own cock, the tie running between them.

“No place else to be, right?” Jensen asks, crossing the tie over as he brings it up in a figure-eight, wrapping it over Misha’s cock again. “I plan on making the most of our morning.”

“Oh?” Misha asks, the sound turning into a moan as Jensen pulls the tie until it’s tight, secure. He doesn’t want Misha coming too soon. “Really?”

Jensen smirks when Misha’s voice rises on the last syllable, noting the way Misha’s fingers flex against the sheets but don’t actually move to stop him. He plays out more of the tie, holds it slack in his hand, appreciating the slight weight of it, the smoothness of the fabric. He winds it around Misha’s balls again and Misha’s thighs shift around him.

“And by ‘making the most of our morning,’ you mean…” Misha’s starting to sound breathless, a strained note sneaking into his voice.

Pausing, Jensen takes in his handiwork, admires the way the red of the tie stands out against Misha’s flushed skin, dark hair, its soft smoothness highlighting the rigid line of Misha’s cock. Unable to help himself, Jensen runs a finger from base to tip, enjoys the way Misha moves beneath him, straining into his touch. He runs his finger back down along hot skin, over the tight fabric of the tie to Misha’s balls, keeping his touch light.

God, it’s as good as he thought it would be.

Misha’s hand hard on Jensen’s wrist stops him, stills him as his fingers tease. “Jensen, please,” he breathes. “Get on with it.”

Jensen feels a flutter of triumph and tries not to grin because that, that sounds an awful lot like Misha close to begging.

Letting go of the end of the tie, Jensen wraps his own hand around Misha’s wrist, tugs until Misha lets go, deliberately presses Misha’s hand against the bed. “All morning,” Jensen says. “So you—” he squeezes Misha’s wrist in the circle of his fingers “—don’t touch.”

Misha sighs, but his hand stays put when Jensen lets go.

He grumbles when Jensen removes his fingers and sits back, letting go of the tie, hands slipping from Misha until he’s not touching him at all.

“’Get on with it’ is not the same thing as ‘stop entirely.’”

There’s a plaintive note to Misha’s voice. One that Jensen’s sure is accompanied by a frown, only he’s not looking. Not at Misha’s face, anyway. Instead, he’s trying to take it all in.

Misha likes to be seen. Jensen likes to look. It works out.

And look he does, takes his fill, eyes traveling over Misha’s shins, his knees and thighs, his cock and balls and hips. His fingers curled against the sheets. Jensen follows the line of Misha’s body up, over chest and nipples, arms and shoulders, past the stubble on his chin and cheeks, the pout on his lips, the sleep in his eyes, to the sex rumpled mess of his hair.

Jensen,” Misha growls, and Jensen’s eyes flicker back down, catch the tightening of Misha’s fingers against the sheets, before settling on Misha’s face, his eyes. There’s impatience there, and anticipation. Want. Need.

Misha’s a master of control, but Jensen’s got him wrapped around his finger.

It’s not the only thing he has wrapped.

Jensen smirks and wraps a hand around his own cock, enjoys the way Misha’s eyes fall to follow the movement of his hand up and down.

“Jensen, I swear to God if you don’t get on with it and—”

“And what, Misha? Suck you? Fuck you? Turn you over and wear you out? Press you into the mattress until you're biting the pillow, trying not to scream my name?” Misha’s eyes are huge, wide and blue in the morning light; his tongue slips out along his bottom lip. “Or I could leave you there, let you take care of that yourself? I know you’re more than capable.”

Misha’s body practically vibrates. “Where’s the fun in that for you?”

“I’d get to watch.” Jensen lets go of his cock, shifts forward, one hand near Misha’s hip for balance, and Misha’s eyes track him, his knees shifting against the sheets.

“Where’s the fun in that for me?”

Jensen knees closer until he’s right above Misha. With his free hand, he runs the back of his fingers up Misha’s arm. “You’d have an audience,” Jensen answers. “I know how much you like that.”

Misha shudders beneath him. “I like you more.”

What can Jensen say to that?

Misha’s pulse flutters under his skin, and Jensen wants to lean down, feel it beneath his tongue. Their breathing mingles as Jensen leans in, and he watches the way Misha’s eyelashes dip, the way the tip of his tongue presses against the corner of his mouth. He leans closer, follows that tongue with his own, revels in the easy, ready way Misha opens to him.

Jensen shifts, their cocks brushing, and Misha groans. A moment later, Jensen feels the lightest hint of Misha’s fingers against his skin, gliding over his waist, up his sides.

He nips at Misha’s lip, pulls away. “Mmm, no touching.”

Misha frowns; his bottom lip pushes out, and Jensen’s distracted by how full and pink it is.

“That’s going to make things awfully difficult,” Misha says.

Jensen smirks. “For you maybe. For me, not so much.”

He slides down Misha’s chest, pressing kisses against his skin and sucking a dark mark against the jut of Misha’s hip before ducking down further, mouth just out of reach of where they both want it.

He reaches for the lube on the nightstand, drops it on the mattress, then leans down, closes the distance between them, and takes Misha’s cock back into his mouth, tongue flat against the crown, lips slick.

Misha’s hips buck against him, wild and sudden, before Jensen’s hands find them, hold them still against the mattress. He sucks Misha down, working him with his mouth, with lips and teeth and tongue, his fingers sneaking down over the tie, past Misha’s balls to press against the soft skin behind.

Jensen,” Misha gasps, muscles straining, and Jensen pulls off with a wet sound, grinning.


Misha’s stomach twitches, his thighs tremble. Jensen watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“Would you just,” Misha starts. “I want—If you don’t—”

“You’ll what?”

Misha’s mouth drops open, a sweet invitation Jensen would take if he didn’t have other plans. Misha closes his mouth, frowns at him. “Get on with it, Jensen,” he growls.

Jensen chuckles, ducks his head, eyes dipping back to Misha’s cock, the tie wrapped there. It’s darker now, with Misha’s sweat and Jensen’s own spit.

I did that, Jensen thinks. He looks back up, through his lashes, sees Misha flushed and panting and pouting. I did all of that.

Fuck, it’s something else.

Jensen reaches for the lube, popping it open and slicking up his fingers. Ducking back down, he nuzzles at Misha’s balls, mouths at them, runs the tip of his tongue along the edge of the tie, follows the demarcation of fabric and skin around the shaft of Misha’s cock. Misha shivers under his touch when he slips his fingers downward, pressing against him, pressing into him.

Groaning, Misha widens his legs.

“Fuck, Jensen, do it, fuck me. Please.”

“Ah,” Jensen murmurs, voice muffled against the soft skin at Misha’s hip. “There’s the magic word.”

“You like it when I beg, Jensen?” Misha asks, watching Jensen as he pushes against Jensen’s fingers. “You like it when you’ve got me”—

Jensen licks a stripe up his hip, and Misha shivers, his voice wavering.

—“got me at your—your—”

“My what?”

Misha’s head drops back on the pillow. “Your mercy.”

“Mmm.” Jensen smiles against Misha’s skin, presses it there between them like a secret. “I like it when you’re spread out like this, with only me to see. I like having my fingers in you.” He presses them deeper for emphasis; Misha’s cock twitches. “I like hearing you say my name like”—a twist of fingers and Misha gasps Jensen—“like that. I like it when you fuck me. I like it when you let me fuck you.”

Misha groans when Jensen pulls away, rough words of protest falling from his lips. Jensen ignores him, sits back on his heels and reaches for the lube again, slicking his cock this time before shifting forward, shifting Misha against his thighs, pulling him until he’s lining himself up.

“I like the way you feel around me,” Jensen says. “So hot and tight. I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday, Misha. You fucking me, me fucking you. That fucking tie. You’re a goddamn distraction, and I want…” Jensen swallows, voice suddenly thick. “I want…”

Misha’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him, bright and wide and full of so much, more than Jensen was ever expecting.

“You’ve got it, Jen,” he says. “You’ve got it, just…fucking…stop talking so much and—”

Jensen pushes forward, pushes in, and the rest of Misha’s sentence is lost in a long groan as Jensen shifts Misha’s ass in his lap and slides in all of the way.

Misha’s tight around him, tight and hot and good, so good, like they were meant to fit together like this, the two of them. He takes a moment to breathe, to let Misha breathe, and then he pulls back, skin slipping against skin as Misha quakes beneath him.

He fucks Misha, smooth glides in and out, his hands on Misha’s hips, Misha’s fingers clutching the sheet beneath him, licking his lips and moaning as Jensen shifts and changes angles.

The red of the tie catches Jensen’s eye and, fuck, it’s good. As good as Jensen thought it would be when he saw it lying on the floor practically begging to be put to use, to be wrapped around Misha’s cock, his balls, to highlight and hold. Keep Misha from coming, keep him on edge, keep him right there with Jensen, focused on this thing between them.

Letting go of Misha’s hips, Jensen runs his fingers over the damp tie, feels the heat of Misha’s body through it. He presses soft fingers along the shaft—so hard—even as he thrusts his own cock deep inside Misha, over and over and—

Misha’s hand locks around his, dragging their fingers against his cock as Misha clenches around him, and suddenly Jensen’s there, right there, coming with Misha’s name on his lips, a hoarse shout into the morning-lit room.

Jensen pants, feels like he’s run a marathon, heart thudding in his chest. He stares down at Misha, at his eyes—dark and desperate—and his hands, their hands tangled together on Misha’s cock, flushed and straining and trapped in the red twist of his tie, that fucking tie. Like Misha needed to bring more attention to himself, like he needed something bright to catch Jensen’s eye.

Like Misha isn’t bright enough already.

Misha’s fingers scrabble at his, scrabble against the tie, his voice rough and wrecked and begging for Jensen to let him come, goddamnit.

Jensen grins and slaps Misha’s hand away, pulls out and ducks down. Wraps his hand around Misha’s shaft and his mouth around the head and sucks, licks and sucks, lets Misha buck against him this time. Lets him squirm as much as he wants.

And then Misha’s hands are on him. In his hair, on his shoulders, pulling and pushing, grabbing and gripping and groaning as Jensen swallows as much of him down as possible, takes him as deep as he can, all of Misha’s muscles tense as a bowstring, waiting for Jensen to release it, release him.

Jensen pulls off with an obscene pop and fingers the tie. “This what you want, Mish? Is this what you—”

Yes,” Misha growls. “Jensen, please.”

Jensen takes one last lick before he works his fingers between the tie and Misha’s skin, loosening the loops enough to relieve the pressure. He wraps his other hand around Misha’s cock, jerks him once, twice, and Misha comes with a yell.

As Misha relaxes against the mattress, breath still coming fast, Jensen presses soft kisses to the crease of his thigh, the jut of his hip, laps up a spot of come before moving back to Misha’s cock, to the tie still loosely wrapped there.

The sight of it there hits him like a punch to the gut, makes his cock twitch lazily beneath him. He presses his lips against it, can’t help but suck a fold between his lips, taste Misha there against his tongue, among the weave. He lets go, looking up when he feels Misha’s fingers against his hair, soothing and strangely insistent.

“Well?” he asks, fingertips sliding down the length of tie that didn’t get used. He plays with the pointed end, immaculate in comparison, before brushing it over the head of Misha’s cock.

Misha shivers. Jensen grins, arches an eyebrow.

Fingers resting against his ear, Misha runs a thumb over that arch, smiles down his body at Jensen.

“I think you ruined my tie.”

Jensen laughs, uses the tie to wipe at the come on Misha’s stomach.

“I guess I’ll just have to buy you a new one.”