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What If?

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Before Jensen answered the knock at the door, he knew it would be Misha.

“I can’t believe you told them my story, man.  You set me up.”

The way Misha shrugs and grins would be infuriating if it didn’t make Jensen want to fuck the smug right out of the bastard.  Misha strips out of his vest and makes himself at home on a chair in Jensen’s room, denim clad legs spread suggestively.  He unbuttons the top button of his shirt and gives Jensen a challenging smile.

“What are you gonna do about it, Jen?”

They have a sort of deal.  They usually save this shit for when they’re far away from the public eye.  Cons are risky.  You just never know who might be lurking around the corner with a camera.  Jensen runs his hand through his short hair, watches as Misha rubs his hands up and down those muscular thighs.  He’s baring his throat to Jensen, head tipped back against the chair and eyes half-lidded, licking then biting then licking again at his lips.

How the fuck is Jensen supposed to ignore this kind of display?  He’s only a man.

“Jesus, Misha.  Look at you all spread out like a warm breakfast.”  He closes the distance quickly, a cat who’s decided on his mouse, and with a hand on either arm of the chair he moves in until they’re almost nose to nose.  Misha’s eyes go wide, leaving only a thin ring of blue and his breath catches when Jensen growls,  “I’ll show you what I’m gonna do about it.”

The way Misha whimpers when Jensen bites his bottom lip sends a bolt of want to his groin, Jensen knows he’s done for.  There will be no saving this for another day.  Misha tries to grab Jensen’s hair and pull him into a kiss, but Jensen’s not having any of that.  He grabs Misha’s wrists and pins them as he sucks and drags his teeth on Misha’s lip.

When he shifts forward, pushing Misha deeper into the chair with a knee between his legs, Misha starts to squirm.  He’s trying to back away from Jensen, trying to talk, but Jensen decides this is when he deserves that kiss he wanted so badly.  Misha’s lips are pliant and wet, and Jensen will never get over the way he kisses back with his whole body.  It’s a quick kiss, intense and pointed and it leaves both men breathless when Jensen breaks away.

“C’mon, don’t fuckin’ tease. Shit, you know you wanna fuck me.  Do it.  Come on.  What are you waiting for?”

Misha sounds desperate and Jensen can feel his body quivering.  He releases Misha’s wrists and reaches for the buttons of his shirt instead, moving surely down the line of them until Misha’ chest is bare.  He leans down and nudges one side of the shirt away, bites down hard just behind Misha’s nipple and savors the the way the smugness seems to fly out the window as Misha bows up and starts to plead.

“OW, fuck!  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry, okay, is that what you want to hear?  That fucking..  augh..  God..  that’s..  it..  fuck.. yessss..  nghnnn..”  Misha’s protest slides into a whimper that could only be pleasure as Jensen sucks at the hardness of his rough nipple.  Jensen’s cock is so hard he aches from belly to knees and he knows Misha must be, too.  “Please I can’t take it I’m sorry just lets fuck God that’s so fucking good where did you even learn to.. “

Jensen chuckles and releases his prize to slide his tongue over and around the sensitized flesh.  Misha is panting and writhing and trying to grab Jensen’s hair again and promising a never-ending blow job or a trip to Mars or pretty much anything else that’ll move Jensen to give him what he wants.  Jensen has no such intention, however.  He claws at the waistband of Misha’s jeans, unbuttoning them to reveal the orange underwear beneath.

“Orange?  Really?”

He looks up, amused.  Misha’s face goes pink when he opens his eyes to see Jensen staring at him.  He starts to stutter something but quickly gives up and blushes a deeper shade of pink, shrugging his shoulders a little and looking away.  Jensen doesn’t give him time to wallow in his embarrassment before he’s got thumbs hooked in those orange underwear.

“Lift up your hips.”

Misha growls and it’s a good thing Jensen’s immune to his glaring after all these years because if looks could kill, he’d have long since been dead.  Misha lifts his hips, though, and Jensen peels his jeans and underwear down, leaving his cock standing straight up his stomach, long and thick and leaking.  Jensen’s mouth waters from the sight and he kneels in front of Misha.

When Misha realizes he’s not going to get what he wants, he whimpers and closes his eyes, his body going slack against the chair.  Jensen feels a surge of pride that he can have that kind effect before he’s even done anything to Misha.  He expects nothing less than the way Misha changes tactics and grabs at his head while shoving his narrow hips up lewdly.

“Ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Jensen has always admired the way Misha is never willing to give up control of the situation easily; it’s more fun when it’s a challenge.  He grabs Misha’s hips, thumbs digging in just inside his hipbones and pins his ass back to the chair.  He looks up to see that Misha is holding his breath, anticipation written on every feature of his angular face.

“Guess not,” Jensen agrees amiably, leaning forward to swirl his tongue around the head of Misha’s cock.  Misha jerks and hisses and Jensen, ready to get to the good part, keeps right on going until he feels the slick skin teasing his the back of his throat.  The way Misha is writhing makes Jensen’s dick jump and throb painfully in his too-tight-for-this-nonsense jeans.  He moans around Misha’s cock and sucks as hard as he can, sending his prey jerking all over again and gasping for air.

“Fucking hell what are you doing my God that’s so..  shitshit what are you..” 

Misha’s broken whimpers make Jensen squirm and he starts to bob up and down Misha’s cock fast and tight, teasing the head ever so slightly into his throat on a swallow every now and again.  He can tell Misha’s trying to keep himself some semblance of together between the curses and pleas.  Jensen’s hands slide on Misha’s sweaty hips and when he loses his grip, Misha is quick to thrust his hips up.  Jensen swallows reflexively but can’t help gagging a little when Misha pushes into his throat.

“Yes, yes, God, yes just like that, fuck that’s so good.  Your mouth, Jen.  You’ve got the best mouth.  The best..  I..”

Jensen regains the upper hand with a palm pressed flat into Misha’s stomach.  He can feel Misha’s muscles tensing and releasing, straining under his touch.  Lust clouds Jensen’s vision as he looks up at Misha’s face pulled taut and just on the edge of completely losing his shit.  When Jensen swirls his tongue and barely drags his teeth, he knows he’s won.  With his other hand, Jensen fumbles at the button of his own jeans, cursing internally that he chose this skin tight pair.

He turns his head this way and that, sucking Misha for all he’s worth while Misha fights to shove into his throat again and curses his very existence for being “such a fuckin’ tease what did I ever do to you”.  When Jensen finally gets his own jeans pushed out of the way, the relief of the slightly chilled room air on his cock is like heaven.  Misha has long fingers wrapped around the back of Jensen’s skull and Jensen lets him have his way, finally.

Misha pulls Jensen down with a savage grunt and arches up, pushing into his throat and grinding so deep it brings tears to Jensen’s eyes.  “Fuck so good, yeah, swallow, do that thing you do with your..  oh, fuck, yeah, that thing, shit..”

Jensen’s got his hand wrapped around his cock tighter than is comfortable, stroking furiously.  He closes his eyes and listens as Misha goes on praising his mouth and throat.  He struggles up for the odd breath until Misha’s cock goes impossibly hard and he feels the hot, salt-bitter spill of come down his throat.  He chokes as he tries to swallow and breathe at the same time, his own cock twitching on the edge of orgasm.

With the way Misha is squirming and carrying on, Jensen is close behind him.  His hips jerk forward as he fucks into his fist, humping the air on his knees in front of Misha.  He pulls off Misha’s cock, panting and swallowing the last of the come he managed to catch even as he feels the electric need wrapping around his spine and whiting out his vision.  His cock pulses and thick come spurts onto his thigh, soaking into the denim of his jeans.  His fingers are coated and he jerks himself through with the slickness, body trembling with release of the tension of playing to crowds all day.

Jensen too shaky to stay upright, suddenly exhausted, so he pulls away and flops heavily onto his back on the thick carpet.  It feels so hot in the room it’s hard to breathe and all he can hear is his own heart pounding and Misha’s harsh, ragged breaths and soft little pleased moans.  When Jensen opens his eyes, Misha is watching him.  He looks a hell of a lot less smug than he did when he got here, his dark hair sticking up all over the place and his body relaxed and sinking into the chair.  There’s still a hint of a smirk on his face and he looks deep in thought.

“They know, you know.”

Jensen doesn’t follow, it’s hard to think about anything at the moment.  He wipes his sticky hand on his jeans then reaches up to wipe Misha’s come off his chin, trying to find an answer though he’s not sure what the question even is.  He gives up, drops his arms to the floor and blinks. 

“What the fuck are you talking about, MIsha?”

Misha laughs and Jensen feels like he’s missing something obvious.

“The fans, man.  You think they don’t know about us?  They call it cockles.”