Title: A Sort of Fairy Tale
Chapter: Nine: Tongue
Fandom: SPN RPS
Word Count: 1300
Summary: Misha loves Jensen. Jensen is … getting there.
Chapter nine summary: He wants to kiss him, he wants to write a story on the roof of Jensen’s mouth with his tongue.
Notes: Thank you to for beta.
day nine: gender
Their trailers aren’t big, but no one uses them much anyway. They change clothes, they grab catnaps, they play a little Nintendo or revel in a few minutes to read when the weather is too bad to film.
Every trailer has a small bed at one end, and Jensen’s is neatly made. Misha looks at it and looks at Jensen, and places Mort the pony on the little kitchen table. “Guard pony.”
“I thought you’d like him.”
“C’mere,” Jensen says but comes to Misha himself, takes his face in both hands and looks at him intently before he dips his head and kisses Misha’s mouth. Misha’s hands go to Jensen’s hips and pull him closer — slender hips and waist, and those arms, that chest — he can touch Jensen anywhere, everywhere, and Misha realizes he doesn’t want to hesitate a second longer.
He takes hold of Jensen’s flannel shirt and yanks. Jensen pulls back to grin at him. “Forceful.”
“We only have an hour,” Misha reminds him as he pulls the shirt off Jensen’s arms. The t-shirt goes next as Jensen raises his arms without being asked. “We can be slow later.”
“Saturday night,” Jensen murmurs. “And we’ll spend Sunday in bed.”
“That sounds perfect.” He kisses Jensen, hands on his chest, and then slides down to kneel at his feet. Jensen has that “what the hell?” look again but it’s tempered with affection and warmth, and Misha just smiles. He unties Jensen’s boots and takes them off, and then the thick cotton socks. He traces his fingertips over Jensen’s instep and Jensen shivers.
“We only have an hour,” Jensen says, breathless.
“It’ll be a good hour.” Misha takes hold of Jensen’s hips; he’s staring straight at the bulge in Jensen’s jeans that has been tantalizing him since they left the set. He rubs his hands up Jensen’s thighs and Jensen tilts back his head and groans. Misha unzips his jeans, and tugs them and the grey heather boxers beneath down to Jensen’s feet, and Jensen steps out of them, holding Misha’s shoulder for balance.
Misha kneels up and grasps Jensen’s hips again. Jensen trembles with anticipation. His hand brushes into Misha’s hair.
Misha licks him into his mouth simply, no messing around, he needs this, he needs Jensen at his most human and raw. Above him Jensen breathes, “Misha,” and his hand curls around the back of Misha’s head. Misha holds him tight — his hands scrabble at Jensen’s ass (why do people always talk about Jared’s ass? Jensen’s is just as taut, just as temptingly curving) as Jensen’s hips begin to rock.
It’s not until Jensen’s legs start to shake that Misha pulls off, and Jensen gives him a darkly lust-addled look as he tries to pull Misha’s head back into place. Misha shakes his head. “I want you to fuck me and there isn’t time to wait.”
He uses Jensen as a counterbalance to stand, and Jensen still has that dazed look as Misha directs him back to the narrow bed. He goes down easily, limbs splaying out like a virgin on a slab, but he finally seems to get it when Misha climbs on top of him.
“Costume.” Jensen tugs on Misha’s tie.
“You want me naked, take off my clothes,” Misha says reasonably, and Jensen kisses him, distracting him with his lush mouth, as Jensen rids him of tie and raincoat and suit jacket.
“Too many clothes,” Jensen reproaches him as he pulls the button-down shirt over Misha’s head, not bothering with undoing many of the buttons.
“Next season Cas will wear nothing but sweat pants and a Body by Gold’s t-shirt,” says Misha and Jensen is laughing as he kisses him again.
“Or nothing. He should be naked — beyond modesty like Doctor Manhattan.” Jensen pushes Misha onto his back and the wingtips thunk to the floor as Jensen tosses them over his shoulder.
“The censors will love that,” Misha breathes, his hips arching up to Jensen’s hands. He groans when Jensen licks his stomach as he tugs the zipper of Misha’s trousers down click by click.
“We can excuse it as fine art,” Jensen says as he gets on his knees and yanks off Misha’s pants. Misha laughs and kicks them off the last few inches, not really helping, and Jensen is smiling again as he lies himself between Misha’s thighs. He holds Misha’s gaze as he runs a deliberate tongue up the length of Misha’s dick. Misha watches for as long as he can, until he has to turn his face away to keep himself from coming at the sight of Jensen’s lips around his cock, the feel of Jensen’s tongue sliding wetly over his flesh.
“Too beautiful.” He shoves a hand into Jensen’s hair and massages his scalp as Jensen licks up his body and into his mouth. He winds an arm around Jensen’s neck as they kiss, urgent and greedy, and dances his fingers over Jensen’s skin to the hot length of his cock. Jensen shivers and nips at Misha’s lip when Misha touches the wet head.
“Sure you want to just jump right in to fucking?” Jensen whispers against his cheek. “There’s lots of stuff we can do instead.”
Misha shakes his head vigorously, one leg already poised to go over Jensen’s shoulder. “Only if you don’t have a condom.”
“Pfft. I’m a modern guy.” He kisses Misha’s calf and leaves the bed just long enough to get one from the tiny trailer bathroom, and gives it to Misha when he returns. Misha sits and licks his lips; he has to concentrate to keep his hands from trembling as he unrolls the condom carefully onto Jensen’s prick and settles it into place. Jensen barely breathes, kneeling in front of him, and he holds Misha by the back of his head and kisses him with an open mouth.
He stops kissing Misha to lubricate his fingers and push him flat. He opens Misha carefully, stopping every time Misha inhales too hard or shivers too deeply, until finally Misha tugs on his shoulders and says “Now,” and pulls Jensen on top of him. Misha kisses him and tells him again, “Now,” as his legs bracket Jensen’s hips.
“God, you’re perfect,” Jensen whispers, eyes enormous and jade-dark. His back is shivering as he pushes carefully into Misha, and his slow pace would make Misha laugh if he weren’t busy groaning.
He moves a thigh over Jensen’s shoulder once he knows he can take Jensen deeper, and while it’s harder to kiss Jensen like this (and he wants to kiss him, he wants to write a story on the roof of Jensen’s mouth with his tongue) it’s all right because Jensen is kissing his chest and up his neck and whispering the only nickname Misha wants to hear, “Darlin’, darlin’.”
He thinks he might combust when Jensen finally takes his cock in a long-fingered hand. Some other time he’ll keep control, some other time he’ll make it last — Misha thrusts a hand into Jensen’s hand and shoves his hips to match Jensen’s rhythm, and when he comes Jensen lowers his leg and holds him in both arms and kisses him until both their shaking stops.
The makeup girls don’t comment on the stubble burn and love bites they both have mysteriously acquired, or on the fact that Misha smells like Jensen’s soap.
There wasn’t time to talk — only time to grab a quick shower and get back to the soundstage, wolf down lunch and be on their marks for the next scene. Misha thinks talking will have to take place eventually — and probably soon, though at this point Misha thinks the conversation will be nothing more than, “I’m yours now,” and “I’m yours too.”
He looks at Jensen, unable to hide the want in his eyes, and when Jensen notices him he doesn’t bother to hide the warmth in his.
I need to feel young again, I need to be bold
And start using my tongue again
They can laugh as they cry
They can cut till I bleed
But I ain’t losing ‘cos this one’s for me
♪ “Tongue”—Bell X1