“I’m not this Jensen guy.”
Misha looked him up and down for what was probably the hundredth time that day. “Really? Because that ass begs to differ.” His eyes lingered on Dean’s groin a moment. “And I’m certainly familiar with that dick.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably, covering himself. “Not cool. I’m seriously not that guy. I’m Dean.” He searched the set for someone to save him, Sam about twenty feet away but completely oblivious to his plight.
The man looked at him very seriously. “Okay. I believe you.” He grabbed Dean by the wrist and started leading him away. “Come with me.” Before Dean could protest, he was already past the point of his small space of familiarity. Sam still didn’t notice.
Dean ended up letting himself be dragged to an abandoned Impala. Although that part bothered him. An abandoned Impala. That just wasn’t right.
“Dean, I think I might be falling…” Misha was using the deeper, Castiel voice that Dean was so used to as he shrugged off his trench coat, tossing it over the car. He wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck, hips pushing Dean’s, pinning him against the Impala. “Think you can catch me?”
The Winchester placed his hands on Misha’s chest, applying gentle pressure and hoping the actor would give up before he gave in. He had fucked Cas, forever ago, and he had to admit that he’d like to do it again. This was pretty damn close—probably as close as he’d get nowadays. He knew that the angel had his angel business, even if he did hate all of those other winged dicks. He could feel Misha’s warm breath softly ghosting across his face, just like Cas—always so close that Dean could hardly bare it after he’d had his hands all over that lithe body that he knew to be so supernaturally strong yet gave in so willingly to his touch.
“This isn’t a game, okay? My name is Dean Winchester, not Jensen Ackles.” His gaze flickered from Misha’s eyes to his lips.
“Prove it,” the man whispered, bright blue eyes staring into Dean’s.
The hunter’s fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, gripping tightly and pulling him in to forfeit any personal space he had left, closing that ever smaller distance between their lips. It was hard and aggressive and not at all what Misha expected, but definitely what he liked. At least Dean was pretty sure that was the case based on the initial stiffness and now the way those hips were grinding into his.
Misha broke away, letting go of his companion. He grinned, an expression Dean was very unused to seeing that face make. “I guess I was wrong. Jen never takes the lead.” He backed up a step and began yanking off Dean’s jacket and button-up. “Although this,” he threw the clothing to the ground, pushing up the left sleeve of the hunter’s T-shirt, “would be much more definitive.” His grin faded, but only for a moment. He suddenly seemed very excited.
Dean watched as the actor stared at the mark Castiel had left on him in complete fascination. “Oh, yeah. That.”
The other man glanced up from it several times to Dean’s face, smile growing larger and larger.
Misha tentatively placed his hand over it, fitting perfectly into the print. He could feel the hunter quiver ever so slightly under his touch. “Interesting.” Now he only ran his fingertips over it, lightly teasing the mark.
“What…what are you doing?” Dean couldn’t explain why his body was reacting the way it was, like he had no control over himself. Pamela had touched, Anna had touched it—during sex, no less—and it never had this kind of effect—like heat coursing through him, shooting down to his dick.
“I’m…” Misha slid his hand back over the mark, his other on Dean’s hip, pressing him back against the car, “experimenting.”
The hunter opened his mouth to speak but he forgot immediately what he had wanted to express as a gasp made its way past his lips.
Fingers sliding down Dean’s arm to his wrist, and then down to gently squeeze his hand, Misha allowed him a second to think a bit more clearly. “Now, do you want to see how this goes? I certainly do…” His hand hovered over the mark and he bit his lip, the temptation of what it was doing to the other man far too great. He pushed his groin to Dean’s, feeling his dick pressed against the hunter’s, but managing to keep their upper bodies apart. He really was giving him a choice, he was just already pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.
Dean dropped his head, staring downwards, incidentally at the body half-pressed to his. “Look, I…” he started, and Misha rolled his hips, eliciting a groan. He was silent for a second before looking into those eyes, his breathing harsh and heavy. “Fuck it.” He placed his hands on the man’s hips, “Got condoms?”
“Fuck condoms. I’ve got lube.” He leaned in to nip at the skin below Dean’s jaw, hand slipping down into the man’s jeans for only a second. “I’m about to do this with a fictional character,” he chuckled, and followed it quickly with a furtive whisper into Dean’s ear, “The real question is who’s getting fucked.”
The Winchester had assumed it would be him fucking his fake angel. He hadn’t even considered the fact that maybe Misha was usually on top, despite his take charge attitude and actions. He didn’t need to say anything though.
“It’s fine.” Misha pulled the handle of the driver’s side, opening the door while turning the two of them around. “I forgot how uncomfortable Dean is with his sexuality. Kripke didn’t even include the scene where he takes Castiel’s virginity in the final script, thought it might be hard to believe.” The other man was wide-eyed and suddenly nervous. Misha gripped him by the mark, voice commanding what was once again a quivering, shuddering, malleable man beneath his touch, “Fuck me.”
In seconds, he had the driver’s seat slid as far back as it would go and Dean was pretty sure his seat couldn’t usually do that so well. “I—”
“Shut up. You’re ruining it.” Misha pulled Dean’s shirt off over his head. He rubbed his thumb over a dusky pink nipple as he kissed the tattoo. “I had forgotten about this…” His mouth made its way up Dean’s collarbone, his throat, up behind his ear, “This is how it’s going to go,” his fingers traced the hand print marring what was otherwise indistinguishable from Jensen’s shoulder, “you,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of lube, “are going to,” he placed the lube in Dean’s hand, undoing and ripping out his belt, “get your pants off and get in the car.”
Dean’s mouth hung open, staring at Misha for a second before starting on his jeans, lube in hand. Misha was waiting impatiently, already naked and completely unabashed, as the hunter finished undressing. He snatched the bottle back from Dean and poured some into his hand.
There was no time for the other man to ask what next as the actor grabbed his dick, stroking him and slicking it up. He hissed at the cool touch, but pushed towards the warm grip Misha had on him, only to lose it a moment later, left hard and wanting.
“Get in the car.” Misha gripped his shoulder and pushed him into the seat, following him in and sliding over him, straddling Dean’s thighs. He closed the door, wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, threading his fingers through the dark blonde hair, pressing his mouth to Dean’s—forcing it open to allow his tongue entry, tangling with the hunter’s. He pushed his ass towards Dean’s dick, rubbing against him.
Dean moaned at the friction, bucking his hips up. “Fuck, please…” he managed out and Misha grinned down at him. “I bet I can get you to beg a lot more than that,” he whispered, hand moving from Dean’s hair to his shoulder.
“Not fair—” The Winchester trailed off into a groan, arching his hips feverishly upward as Misha’s hand found and perfectly fit the hand print.
Misha pushed himself onto Dean’s cock, rocking his hips to angle himself perfecly and letting out a gasp when he did. “I just couldn’t help myself,” he explained, slightly breathless. “I wanted to torture you a little longer,” he raised himself up, “but I wanted it too much.” His hips slid back down onto Dean’s cock.
The hunter thrust into him, tight heat surrounding his dick, as Misha’s fingers outlined the mark, supporting himself with his other hand, fingers splayed across Dean’s chest, continuing the rhythmic motion his hips couldn’t help starting. He rode the writhing body under him, loving the way Dean would buck wildly and moan whenever he’d slide his fingers fully to their premade places. His mouth worked on Dean’s throat, licking and sucking and nibbling at the flesh it found.
Dean hated the lack of control, gripping Misha’s hips for dear life and remembering the uncertainty in Castiel’s eyes as he looked up into the confident blue above him, then squeezing his eyes tightly shut—they had slipped into the back seat what was now years ago, Cas had grasped desperately at Dean, anywhere he could, not knowing how to express his wants and mewling so as not to make enough noise to arouse suspicion.
Misha was not so unnoticeable, groans reverberating through the car, having to leave the mark alone finally in order to grip the door for more support as he slammed himself down with more frequency and force, Dean opened his eyes, brought back to the now by the feeling that was swelling through his stomach and groin. He grabbed Misha’s cock as it bobbed between them in the tight space of the car and began fisting it with the timing of the other man’s hips that his rose to meet with each thrust. The man who looked so much alike and yet so different from his angel was staring down at him, seeing him so similarly—as the man who looked like his lover but with so many more scars—leaning in again to kiss the hunter, groaning into his mouth, so close. As he felt himself about to tumble over the edge, he gripped the angel’s mark, pulling Dean with him as he came, thrusting into Dean’s hand and down on his cock.
Dean held onto his hips as tightly as he could, helpless to the overwhelming sensations, spilling himself into Misha. “Fuck,” he bit Misha’s lower lip as the other man continued sliding up and down on him, slowing and halting as the calm overtook them, both breathing heavily against the other’s mouth.
Dean grabbed the ridiculous shirt Misha had been wearing under the costume and cleaned up his sticky chest and stomach, the other man finally slipping off of him, opening the door and sliding out. “Well, fuck!” The voice was surprisingly loud to the Winchester as he gathered his clothes, having gotten as un-sticky as he was going to, unable to find one of his socks, but sensing that Sam should probably be searching for him now and therefore abandoning any thought of a thorough search.
“I’m ten fucking minutes late.” Somehow Misha was almost fully dressed, readjusting his tie and grabbing the trench coat, as Dean had only just managed to pull on his jeans, scrambling to get fully out of the car. “Uh, what?”
“Well, this was fun,” Misha pulled him in by the belt loops and kissed him, going for the mark one last time and making Dean shiver. “See you later…or never. Whichever.” He turned and headed out.
Dean slammed the car door closed. “Hey!” he called out after the actor, who glanced back at him, “Don’t you want to know how I got here? Where that Jensen guy is?”
“Maybe later,” Misha responded, making his way toward the set—Dean assumed.
The Winchester finished dressing as he watched him round a corner, out of sight. He shook his head, “Always disappearing.” He headed back in the direction where he had last seen Sam, hearing his brother calling for him as he got closer.
“Dean!” Sam seemed to sigh in relief.
“Couldn’t keep it low key, could you?” the older Winchester grumbled as he pulled his behemoth of a brother towards his fake trailer, the people around them staring.
“Where were you?”
“Researching our roles.” Sam looked perplexed, but mostly pretty pissed. They arrived at the trailer door and Dean grinned, “It’s a very active position.” He winked.
“Ew, dude,” grossed out face taking the place of pissed. “Do actors have groupies? Did you fuck a groupie?” It was mostly rhetorical.
“A lady never kisses and tells, Sammy,” he yanked open the trailer door with a flourish and waved his brother inside. “Let’s just say it was, uh, heavenly.” He was met with a disgusted sound from Sam as he went through the doorway, Dean grinning harder. Now to make real progress on getting home.
He did wonder about Misha a little after that, but mostly about Cas and how he wished things could go back to how they used to be.