FIC: Under His Skin (CWRPS AU, Jensen/Misha, NC-17, 2/2)
Part One
Jensen didn't ask anyone else to come with him, even though he could have. Chris would've come without question, even though he would've given Jensen shit about it. Jared would've taken some convincing, but he would've kept his mouth shut. Sandy would've come but she would've wanted to make an outing of it, especially since Sophia was a friend of hers. And Danny would've come, but she would've wanted to know why, and of all of them she was the most likely to get it out of him.
None of those were the experience Jensen wanted to have.
It wasn't a spur of the moment decision by any means. There were a lot of things that Jensen was willing to do to get Misha's attention, but permanently marking himself wasn't one of them. This was something he'd been thinking about for a long time. Something to both mark the end of his undergrad years and the beginning of the rest of his life. Something he wanted to experience. That didn't mean that Misha's words hadn't influenced him, they just weren't the sum total of his choice.
Sophia's hands were gentle as she prepared him, Jensen straddling the chair, wrapping his arms around the back.
"I'm not even sure what this is," she said, the click of the razor against the countertop louder in his ears than her question. "Who did the design for you?"
"A friend in my human anatomy class," he said, trying to relax into his position. "It's an extended muscle cell. Glamorous, I know."
"It's pretty," she said. "No, it's... I like it. It's interesting."
She didn't talk much after that, and Jensen didn't listen much. Instead, all of his attention became focused on the burning needles against his skin, the gentle swipes of her hand over the ink, the humming beneath his skin that started in his shoulder blade and went everywhere.
He could feel sparks of pleasure-pain in his neck, his hands, his thighs, everywhere his nerves ran, echoing the gun at his shoulder. He'd learned everything he could about it but still couldn't have known what this would be like.
Imagining Misha in this same position, feeling these same things, was what put him over the edge. After that, he couldn't pretend the entire process wasn't making him achingly hard, pressed awkwardly against the back of the chair.
"Don't squirm, Jensen," said Sophia gently, like she knew what he was going through down there. "Do you need a break?"
"No," he said, though he took a moment to adjust himself. "I'm fine. I'm good."
She waited another moment then started again, and Jensen retreated back inside his own head, letting the fantasy spiral out unabashedly this time. He didn't have the language to describe what he was feeling, that was something he didn't ever think he'd have, but he'd know it when he heard it. He'd know it.
"Just a little longer," murmured Sophia, but Jensen wasn't all there, not until she stopped for real, cleaning his skin one last time. "Do you want to see?"
Jensen actually shivered as he opened his eyes, his whole body finally allowed to react to the relentless sensation. "Jesus," he murmured, taking a moment to actually answer her. "Yeah. Yeah, let me see it."
She angled the mirrors just right, and aside from the reddening of the skin, the faint trace of blood, it was perfect.
"Thanks," he said softly, squirming a little in his seat again, rubbing up against the vinyl but not getting any relief. "That's... thanks Sophia. That's just what I wanted."
She gave his other shoulder another gentle pat. "Just let me cover it up and you'll be good to go," she said, and Jensen closed his eyes for another moment as she did, coming entirely back to himself. "All right, put your shirt back on."
He did, slowly, the tape on his shoulder blade pulling faintly on his skin, heightening the already-intense reaction of his nervous system.
"Can I, uh, use your washroom before I go," he finally asked.
"Lotion's on top of the towel dispenser," said Sophia, not even making a big deal out of it. That didn't mean Jensen wasn't embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to stop.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a hiss at the pressure against his raw shoulder. But fuck, his cock liked that too, straining against his jeans even harder. He was practically just going to have to touch it to come but he took a few deep breaths first, pressing his palms flat against the door and savoring the moment.
He unbuttoned slowly, unzipped, pressed the heel of his hand hard against his cock. But fuck, there was no way to draw this out now. He closed his eyes and shoved his underwear out of the way and tugged hard and fast, pushing his shirt up just in time to come all over his stomach.
It didn't make the feelings go away entirely, but at least it took the edge off. Enough that he could take himself out of there like a normal human being.
Next time he did this, he definitely wasn't doing it alone.
:::
Jensen saw Chris for five minutes in the morning, Sandy in passing in the student union, Jared in the hallway of the Sampson Building and Danneel not at all. He didn't know how finals had crept up on him like that, but between class and yoga and the community garden and, oh, everything else he actually liked to do, the time just slipped right past him.
His head was just too full of molecular biology and physiology and continuum mechanics to worry about much other than surviving the semester.
Which was probably why, when he looked at his Contemporary American Poetry final, it was like looking at an exam written in a foreign language.
"You'd better put out, Professor Collins," he muttered to himself and dove right in. There was no going back now, after all, and if he couldn't impress then at least he could look competent.
He felt a phantom twinge in his back when he got to the last section and realized Misha had used a familiar passage for analysis.
Light me on fire. Bleed yourself under my skin.
Jensen was pretty sure he aced that bit.
He didn't look Misha in the eye as he handed his test booklet in and left the examination room, but he felt like Misha's eyes were on him. He wanted to look back but he still had the rest of the examination period to get through and if there was ever a time when he didn't need the distraction this was it.
Just another week and he'd be done.
:::
Professor Misha Collins' office really was in the basement, his name hand-written on a piece of notebook paper and tacked up with scotch tape, in contrast to the dignified nameplates that adorned the other doors.
Jensen stood next to the office and scanned the bulletin board until he spotted the list of grades for his particular course. He couldn't help smiling when he tracked down his own name. Not that it was great - in fact, it was going to drag his GPA down a little - but he'd made it through and he thought he might even have gotten something out of it.
"Are you done now?" said Misha, suddenly appearing in the doorway and leaning against his doorframe."
"Finished this morning," said Jensen, licking his lips and taking a step back from the bulletin board. "I'm pretty sure I won't be seeing those grades for at least a week, though; you're just a keener. So, uh. You got office hours for a while yet?"
Misha shook his head. "Maybe another ten minutes in case someone comes by, and I've already finished all my grading. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No, no," said Jensen. In fact, he was never taking another poetry class ever again. "I was just... wondering if you wanted to go get a drink. You know... celebrate the end of the semester."
"Of course," said Misha, a lot more easily than Jensen had been anticipating. He'd even prepared a bunch of convincing arguments in his head on the way over. "Just let me clean up and lock the office."
Jensen had spent weeks trying to get Misha to notice him, to think of him as something other than his student. And now that it was all over, now that Jensen was finished not only Misha's class but all of his classes, it was time to find out if it worked.
"O'Reilly's on campus all right with you?" he asked while Misha's key was still in the lock. "My roommate borrowed my truck to take some girl out."
"I never mind going some place they already know my name," said Misha, finally looking up and smiling. "I think I did most of my grading in there first semester, until they posted pictures of it in the faculty lounge."
"Did you look all disreputable?"
"Apparently," said Misha, shaking his head. "I had to find another place off campus where they wouldn't judge me quite so much."
O'Reilly's was in the student union building, second floor across from the sorry excuse for a pool hall, and it wasn't really one of Jensen's hangouts but he knew it well enough. There weren't a whole lot of drinking holes quite that close to his classes, which was when he needed them most. It was quiet enough in the middle of the afternoon, even during finals, for them to find a corner with some privacy.
"I wasn't actually sure you drank," admitted Jensen, glad to have a beer in his hands.
Misha seemed amused by that. "Really? You didn't think I drank?"
"Well, you know," he said, attempting to keep his foot out of the vicinity of his mouth. "For a while I wasn't sure you ate meat, either."
His lips definitely twitched that time. "I guess the fried chicken I ate in the middle of class that one day probably tipped you off on that one," he said.
"It was definitely a clue," said Jensen. "I'm sure it was free range, though."
"It was definitely free range," said Misha, raising his mug to Jensen. "To surviving the year. Your last and my first."
"To surviving the year," said Jensen whole-heartedly. Which wasn't actually his last, technically, but he'd worry about that later. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the moment.
Conversation was easy after that, and easier after the second beer, even if Jensen felt like he was still holding back some of the things he really wanted to say. He wasn't entirely sure it was clear this was even supposed to be a date until out of the blue Misha asked him on another one.
"Listen, there's going to be an open reading by some local poets at the Earth Mother Cafe on tomorrow," he said. "You know, Cortese, Aycox, a few others. Don't suppose you'd be interested in going?"
"You going to be reading anything of yours?" said Jensen. As if he was even considering saying no.
"Not this time," said Misha. "Are you saying that would be a deciding factor for you?"
"Well, no," he had to admit, grinning into the last of his beer. "But it would've been a perk. Okay, sure. Yes. I'd love to go."
Now he just had to figure out how to explain to his roommates that he was going to a poetry reading without them laughing in his face. And also figure out how he was going to get through the parts where Misha wasn't reading.
The pleasure on Misha's face, much more open - more vulnerable - than anything Jensen had seen since the semester started, made agreeing to sit through a poetry reading worth it.
:::
Jensen, to his credit, did not fall asleep. In fact, he was confident he did a fairly reasonable facsimile of being interested in the reading. At least he didn't have to feign interest in his drink.
Afterwards, Misha asked him up to his apartment for coffee, and Jensen had been around the block enough times to know exactly what that meant. Thank God. His very careful and methodical absorption of all things Misha Collins hadn't been in vain.
"Excuse the mess," he said, flipping on a light. "It's mostly my roommate's, because apparently taking the bigger bedroom still doesn't mean she's capable of containing her things in it."
"She's not home?"
"Visiting her parents for the week," he said. "I definitely didn't invite you up here to be subjected to her third degree."
"Oh yeah?" said Jensen, stepping over a pair of discarded heels. "Then what did you invite me up here for?"
"Something I think we've both been thinking about for a while," said Misha, reaching for Jensen's hand and tugging him right past the kitchen, coffee forgotten. "I'm not wrong, am I?"
"Jesus, no," said Jensen. "You are definitely not wrong."
They didn't make it all the way to the bedroom, instead ending up pressed up against the wall in the hallway, his shirt clenched in Misha's hand and Misha's lips pressed up just in front of his ear.
"I can feel you breathing," he said, letting go of Jensen's shirt to slip his hand up underneath it. "Here. And here. And here. Harder and faster, faster and harder."
Jensen closed his eyes and leaned in closer, Misha's fingertips pressing harder into him. His skin tingled around them, his nerves sparking hard.
"Take this off," he said, suddenly clutching Jensen's shirt from the inside. "Show me, Jensen. Show me."
He almost couldn't for a moment, weak against the onslaught of Misha's voice, but a command to get naked was one Jensen almost never ignored. He stripped his shirt off, dropping it on top of another pair of discarded shoes, and went for his jeans, too, before Misha stopped him.
"No, that's mine," he said, gripping Jensen's hands with his own, his lips still so close to Jensen's ear. "I get to discover that."
"I got so hard in your class," Jensen blurted out, letting Misha pull his hands away, press them back against the wall.
Neither one of them said anything for a while as Misha returned to his jeans, fondled, unzipped, slowly pushed them out of the way. He mouthed the skin of Jensen's neck, hot and wet, breathing against him as Jensen's pants fell to his knees.
This his mouth moved back to suck on Jenson's earlobe before he said, "Yeah, I know," and slipped his hand into Jensen's boxers.
Jensen was rendered inarticulate for a few moments, at least one of his many bathroom fantasies suddenly coming true, and when he did find his voice again all he used it for was to gasp and moan as Misha pushed him up against the wall and finally fucking touched him.
"Tell me how much you want it, Jensen," Misha says, his hand wrapped around Jensen's cock. "Talk to me."
Jensen stuttered over his first few words, trying to figure out what Misha wanted him to say. "Just like that," he got out finally. "Yeah... yeah... right there."
His hand moved smooth and slow, half the speed of Jensen's breathing, and he needed more. "But how?" Misha said, licking his throat in one long swipe. "Hard? Soft? Fast? Slow? Do you like it when it hurts? Do you like it when someone fingers you? Do you like it when my thumb does this?"
Jensen hissed and blurted out, "Yes!" Yes to all of them, yes to everything. Yes to anything Misha wanted to do. He tried to talk, he did, he tried to say what Misha wanted to hear, but what came out was inarticulate, all "yes" and "please" and "god" and "fuck".
"Tell me, Jensen," said Misha, moving harder and faster, moving Jensen's underwear right out of the way and putting some muscle into it, taking him hard. "Tell me how much you want to come."
Jensen didn't tell him so much as showed him, crying out involuntarily as he came all over both of them, his head knocking back against the wall hard enough that he didn't know if the stars were from the bang or the orgasm or both.
"God you're hot," said Misha, and smeared his hand over Jensen's stomach for a moment before finally leaning in and kissing him hard and deep, like he was staking his claim.
They did make it into the bedroom after that, and it was either very late at night or very early the next morning when Jensen finally headed back to his own house. Jensen liked him, and he enjoyed himself, but he still drove home feeling a more than faint sense of dissatisfaction, and he didn't know if it was the residual awkwardness of his first time with someone, or if it was something more.
:::
"So he wasn't great in bed," said Chris. "That's all this moping is about? All it takes is a little practice and you'll get there."
"No!" said Jensen. "No, that's not what I'm saying. He was great. God, he was fucking mind-blowing. He just asked for things that--"
Chris raised both his eyebrows at him. "You telling me you don't know how to say no?"
"No!" said Jensen, running both hands through his hair in aggravation. "That's not what I'm... maybe I was just expecting it to be different."
"You wanted fireworks. Serenades. Simultaneous orgasms."
"I just wanted to be myself."
Chris fell silent then, the only noise the sound of him screwing the cap off a bottle of tequila. "Well then, Jenny, that's a problem," he said finally. "And it's not gonna go away without you doing something about it."
"I wanted that to be me, though."
"Did you?" said Chris. "Seems to me like if you wanted that to be you, it would be."
"He's amazing, Chris," said Jensen. "I want this to work. I just want to be with him."
"So what are you going to do the next time he asks you to a poetry reading?" said Chris. "Or, I don't know, a chamber orchestra? Or asks you to chain yourself to a tree?"
"He's not going to ask me to chain myself to a tree."
"You know what I mean, Jensen. What are you going to do? Keep faking it?"
"I'm not faking anything. I’m just trying to develop an interest."
"Hey, I'm not discouraging you from broadening your horizons," said Chris, "even though the last time I let you do that, you went and decided you didn't like pussy. I'm saying it shouldn't be all work. You like this guy, right?"
"Obviously," said Jensen.
"So maybe, just maybe, he actually likes you too. And not because of your sudden interest in meditation and granola and political rallies."
"He can't," said Jensen. "He doesn't know me."
"Well then, Jenny, that's a problem too." He poured two shots of tequila and slid one over. "Just tell me you're not blowing us off for this weekend. We've been planning this for weeks."
"What? No. God, no," said Jensen. "I'm gonna need this weekend just to feel like myself again."
"Drink your shot and think real hard about what you just said," said Chris, nodding at his drink. He waited a moment then shot his own back, but whenever Jensen thought about it his usual cool reason was short circuited by Misha's voice and his mind and his smile and, now that he had some more evidence, his hands and his mouth.
"What you need to do is you need to suck it up and ask him to come with you to me and Steve's show next week, let him see you with your friends," said Chris. "You really think you're going to spend the rest of your life pretending to be someone you're not?"
"He's interested in me this way, Chris. I'm not changing, I'm just expanding."
"Love you like a brother, Jensen, but you're a real idiot sometimes."
:::
Misha didn't say anything about the truck Jensen picked him up in, but Jensen couldn't miss him checking it out and wondered just what he was thinking about it, whether or not he was judging him for it.
"This isn't too early for you, is it?" said Misha when they were on their way. "I can't always make it work, with my schedule, but I feel like getting a workout at dawn really starts the day out right."
Jensen sipped his coffee and didn't answer either way.
Yoga. No, not just yoga, yoga class. At six in the morning. Jensen was either insane or he was in love with the guy. And Misha was obviously really into this whole thing. No, not just into it, he was good. Jensen hadn't even been sure that real people's bodies could move that way.
It was supposed to be a fairly basic class, obviously far beneath Misha's skill level, but Jensen struggled right from the start. When their instructor did something Jensen deemed physically impossible he rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and made a series of uncharitable faces as he tried to imitate her anyway. He didn't realize Misha was watching him until it was too late.
"This isn't really your thing, is it, Jensen?"
Jensen was reluctant to admit it, but finally he just sighed and untangled his body. He wasn't sure how he'd even managed to get it in that position to begin with; maybe he was actually getting better at this whole flexibility thing than he thought.
"I'm trying new things lately," he said, which was the absolute truth. It just avoided the question of why. Misha looked at him for a few moments, then took his arm and led him to the edge of the room, away from the curious gazes of the other students.
"A lot of new things?" he said. "Things like poetry and yoga and tofu and, I don't know, guys?"
"Hey, no, I've always been gay," said Jensen quickly. "Guys are definitely not a new thing to me."
"But the rest?"
Jensen's friends, it turned out, really were a lot smarter about people than he was. And maybe there really were limits to how far you could stretch your interests before you were trying to become someone else entirely.
"Look," he said, "I studied biomechanics. I do computer modeling of bone stress for fun. Tonight me and my buddies are going to have a few beers at a country bar, then tomorrow we're going to take my beat-up pickup out to the lake, where I'll probably get drunk, get a sunburn out in the canoe, and help make a ridiculously large bonfire on the shore for no other reason than we like to watch things burn. I don't really read much poetry and I don't eat organic and I just really don't talk during sex. This is me. This is what I'm like, and I'm sorry I ever tried to be anything else."
But Misha didn't look put off at all. "You like canoeing?"
"What?" said Jensen, wondering if Misha even heard a word he said. "Yeah. My dad used to take me out."
"Me too," said Misha. "We should go some time."
"Seriously?" said Jensen. "You did hear what I just said, right?"
"Every word of it," said Misha. "Look, you're obviously interested in me in spite of the fact that I do read poetry for fun, and meditate in inappropriate places, and apparently do a lot of other things that you're just not that into. You could've said something sooner if you weren't having a good time."
"I'm an idiot," said Jensen. "And I'm not just saying that. My roommates are always telling me I'm stupid about people, and they're not wrong. I am."
"You did make this a little more complicated than it needed to be," said Misha. "But there must've been something that made you even try in the first place."
Jensen looked him up and down. "Well, obviously, yes," he said. "Do we have to... okay, I feel like enough of an idiot right now. I was trying to make you notice me, all right?"
"You think I didn't notice you in my class? Look at you."
"Yeah," said Jensen quietly. "Yeah, people do notice me like that."
"And maybe you weren't exactly my star student, but you were definitely one of the most interesting people," he added. "Right from the first day of class. As far as I was concerned, we've been dancing around this thing between us for weeks now."
"You never said anything."
"I was teaching you," said Misha. "Or trying to, anyway. Why did you take my poetry class, Jensen? I checked out your transcripts. Top of your class. That C+ I gave you didn't do you any favors."
"Solid B," Jensen corrected him, "after the extra credit assignments." Which wasn't much better, but it was enough for him to consider the class a success on multiple levels. "Okay, see, I've been accepted to the School of Physical Therapy for the fall. I just felt like I needed to be a little more well rounded to go into a field where I actually do have to deal with people. All they require is intro psych and I did that freshman year but... I wanted to be better. And then... then I saw you and you were teaching that class and it fit into my schedule."
"You were willing to take a B on your transcript just to take my class?"
"Well, it did make me hard," muttered Jensen, staring at his uncomfortably bare feet, "so it wasn't all bad."
He wasn't sure whether Misha's abrupt laugh was amused or outraged. "You do realize that if you hadn't taken my class and had just asked me out, we could've been doing this four or five months sooner, right?"
"That... no, that hadn't actually occurred to me," admitted Jensen. But the thing was, it wouldn't have happened that way, not with him. If he hadn't convinced himself to take the course, they might never have spoken at all. "You wouldn't have known I was alive."
"You seem really sure about that," said Misha. "You seem really sure that somehow you're possible to miss."
"No, people notice me," said Jensen. "People notice me all right. But not people like you."
Misha nodded his head slowly, not quite looking at Jensen, not quite looking at anything, really. Jensen tried to read him, but he really was bad at it, bad at body language, bad at figuring out what anyone was thinking, ever.
"Look," he said finally, as the silence grew more and more awkward. "Do you need a ride home? I can at least give you a ride home."
"How about this," said Misha finally. "How about you give me a chance to actually get to know you before you write this whole thing off as a failed experiment?"
"I... are you sure about that?"
Are you sure about that? Honestly, if Jensen didn't kick himself for that one he should start getting someone to do the kicking for him, because he so clearly deserved it.
"I like you," said Misha. "Of course I want to know you."
And maybe it really was as simple as that.
:::
Jared was up front helping Chris and Steve haul shit so Danneel and Sandy were on their own to stake out a table big enough for everyone. They waved Jensen over as soon as he stepped in the door, but took another moment to realize Misha was with him; Jensen could see the change in their expressions as soon as they did.
"Don't let them scare you off," said Jensen. "They're all pretty curious about this thing we've got going on."
"If I haven't been scared off already, I doubt your friends could do it," said Misha. "Though, pre-emptively, I issue you the same warning about mine."
"They anything like you?"
"They're a lot like me," said Misha.
"Then I think I'll like them just fine," said Jensen, taking Misha's hand very deliberately and leading him to the back of the club. "Danny. Sandy. This is--"
"Professor Collins," said Sandy mischievously, sliding over one seat to make room for the both of them.
Misha put his hand over his face and shook his head, but Jensen just laughed. It felt good.
"How about we stick with Misha," he said, "since none of you are my students, thank God."
"Oh, but you like students," said Sandy relentlessly. "Don't you?"
"Former students," said Misha firmly, not missing the fact that her lips were twitching as she said it. "I'm extremely fond of former students."
Oh, Jensen was going to get hell from his roommates for the next while, and most of it he probably deserved. But he didn't miss that they were making room for Misha more than just at the table.
Jared joined them once the stage was set up, and as Chris and Steve played - neither one of them missed that Misha had joined the table either; Jensen just considered himself lucky that there hadn't been a completely inappropriate song dedication - Jensen pressed up close to Misha and just enjoyed the fact that it felt right. It felt real, finally.
"So you're the one who's had Jenny running around like he lost his head lately," said Chris as he finally joined them, his version of a friendly greeting. Jensen figured he deserved that, too.
"Oh, has he?" said Misha. "Do tell."
"He studied poetry."
"--bought a yoga mat--"
"--brought a plant to school--"
"--has anyone else seen that tattoo--"
"--and the garden--"
"--I don't even know what Burning Man is--"
"--I totally caught him bent over in the living room--"
"I'm never speaking to any of you ever again," Jensen proclaimed. Misha, on the other hand, was laughing too hard to respond. "Seriously. Never."
"Aw, you love us," said Danneel. "You love us because we accept your painful lack of social skills."
"Yes, but with this face, who needs social skills?" said Sandy, squeezing his cheeks together.
Jensen tried not to react, but the look Misha gave him at that - appraising, with a tiny smile - said maybe he understood a little better than Jensen thought why Jensen had been trying so hard.
"Speaking of my complete lack of social skills," said Jensen as Misha squeezed the inside of his thigh. "We're gonna head out now."
"Yeah, I just bet," muttered Chris into his beer, earning himself an elbow in the side from Steve.
"You eat meat, don't you, Misha?"
Jensen choked on the last of his beer and Steve had to clamp a hand over Chris's mouth to keep him from responding. Misha at least had the composure to answer.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do."
"Good," said Danneel shamelessly. "Jared lost a bet so he has to make bacon and eggs for all in the morning. I assume you'll be there."
"I hate you all," muttered Jensen.
"That is the plan," said Misha, meeting Danneel's eyes without flinching. "We'll try not to keep you up."
"Like hell we won't," said Jensen, then took Misha's hand again and led him back out to the truck before anyone could say anything else.
:::
"I'd give you the grand tour," said Jensen, leaving the lights off as they went, "but frankly the only thing I want to show you right now is my bedroom, and that's up here."
"Pretty sure the tour can wait," said Misha, stopping him halfway up the stairs to kiss him up against he wall, give him a quick grope. "We have lots of time for that."
"Lots of time," said Jensen, tugging Misha back to kiss him again before they made it up the rest of the stairs. "I'm on the right." But he was the one who got there first, pushed the door open with his shoulder and shut it again with his foot before stripping his shirt off and tossing it aside. Stripping down wasn't a production, they didn't take it slow, just left a trail of discarded clothing between the door and the bed.
"Since you're not much for talking," said Misha, his hands roaming all over, feeling like they were everywhere at once, "how about if I tell you not to talk at all?" Jensen hadn't even known it was possible to get harder than he already was until that moment. "Just let me do all the talking."
"I'm pretty good with my mouth," Jensen did say, while he still could. "When it's not busy talking."
He liked to think, feeling the way Misha suddenly rocked his hips against him, that they were even after that.
"I want to see all of you," said Misha, starting at Jensen's hairline, kissing him there and then moving south, over his jaw, over his shoulders, down over his chest pausing only to nibble his nipples to tight, aching peaks. Jensen sucked in harsh breaths and resisted saying any of the many one-syllable words that crossed his mind. "I want to know it all, Jensen. Don't ever doubt that I want to know what you are."
He moved to Jensen's waist, skimmed over his groin, kissed down his legs and then flipped him over so quickly and smoothly that Jensen barely had time to gasp.
He started at the top again, at the nape of Jensen's neck, then paused at his shoulders.
"This really is new," he breathed, running his fingers over Jensen's vivid tattoo. I wanted to experience it, Jensen thought, and the act of not saying it out loud sent a little thrilling shiver through him. And then another when Misha licked the skin there, grinding his hips into Jensen's thigh.
It was both a disappointment and a relief when he finally moved on, explored Jensen's back with his hands, lingered over the curves of his ass, kissed the backs of his knees, his calves, his ankles.
"Turn over," he said, and hovered as he let Jensen shift himself this time, sprawling on his back in the middle of the bed.
"I don't think there are words in this language to describe how much I want you to fuck me," said Misha, pinning Jensen to the bed with his hands and straddling him there. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and refused to be responsible for the noises that he choked out at that.
"I've been thinking about it all day," Misha said, leaning forward to pinch Jensen's already-sensitive nipples to hardness again. "I've been thinking about it all month. I've been thinking about what your cock would look like out of your jeans, whether the outline did it justice at all. I thought about it when I fingered myself, thought about how big it would be, how hard it would be."
Jensen couldn't open his eyes or he was going to come all over both of them, he was sure of it. His thighs were tense, shaking, even as Misha stroked his hands over them, then before he knew it Jensen felt a condom being rolled onto him.
"Don't say a word," said Misha, and Jensen bit down on his lip so hard he was surprised it didn't draw blood. "Look at me."
Jensen wanted to say he couldn't, he couldn't look, but when he didn't let himself give in to the words he found it was easier to pry them open, to be watching as Misha sank down onto him. He arched back impossibly far, braced on his knees, and if Jensen weren't so astonished by the position he probably would've lost it right there.
"God," said Misha, his voice softer now, his breathing harder. "Stretched. Full of you. Full of you." If he didn't know better Jensen would've thought he got even deeper as Misha moved, braced himself on one hand, started riding him hard. He couldn't say anything but that didn't mean he couldn't reach out, wrap a hand around Misha's cock, start thrusting up into him.
"Yes," said Misha. "Do that. Do that. Keep doing that until we fall apart." Jensen wanted to, God he wanted to, he wanted this fucking glorious feeling to never end, but when Misha finally leaned forward again he couldn't help himself, he rolled them over and pressed his toes against the end of the bed and started thrusting into him with all he had.
Misha just rolled with it, pulling his legs up and wide and letting Jensen in, letting him in as hard and far as he wanted. He reached up and gripped the headboard and gasped a few times, desperate for air, before speaking again.
"Fuck," he said, the word hard and sharp. One leg fell over Jensen's shoulder with unnatural ease and he grabbed Misha's cock again with the arm he wasn't using to brace himself, jacking it hard and smooth, nothing pretty, trying to get him to come before Jensen couldn't hold out anymore.
It was a hard won battle but Jensen got there in the end, Misha losing his words as he gasped and came all over Jensen's hand, all over his chest, all over them both. Jensen didn't give him a chance to come down before letting go, bracing himself with both arms and thrusting two, three, four more times before coming to the sound of Misha's soft, breathy, "Do it."
He shuddered hard and pressed his forehead to Misha's shoulder and only lifted his head again when he feel like he could breathe, felt like he could see something other than sparks in front of his eyes.
"You don't like talking," said Misha, breathless, head still tilted back and hands gripping the headboard, "but you sure like it when someone else does."
"I like it when you do," said Jensen as they finally separated from one another, blankets on the floor and sheets askew and bodies slick with sweat. "Wow. Jesus. Holy shit. I don't even know how you...."
"That's the thing about yoga. It's great for the flexibility."
Jensen definitely had a whole new appreciation for the art after that.
"If I stick with the yoga, can I drop the community garden?" said Jensen. "Seriously, I’m a black thumb. You have no idea."
Misha laughed and rolled onto his side, running his fingers down Jensen's chest. "Yeah," he said, "I'm pretty sure we can work this thing of ours out."
Jensen didn't ask anyone else to come with him, even though he could have. Chris would've come without question, even though he would've given Jensen shit about it. Jared would've taken some convincing, but he would've kept his mouth shut. Sandy would've come but she would've wanted to make an outing of it, especially since Sophia was a friend of hers. And Danny would've come, but she would've wanted to know why, and of all of them she was the most likely to get it out of him.
None of those were the experience Jensen wanted to have.
It wasn't a spur of the moment decision by any means. There were a lot of things that Jensen was willing to do to get Misha's attention, but permanently marking himself wasn't one of them. This was something he'd been thinking about for a long time. Something to both mark the end of his undergrad years and the beginning of the rest of his life. Something he wanted to experience. That didn't mean that Misha's words hadn't influenced him, they just weren't the sum total of his choice.
Sophia's hands were gentle as she prepared him, Jensen straddling the chair, wrapping his arms around the back.
"I'm not even sure what this is," she said, the click of the razor against the countertop louder in his ears than her question. "Who did the design for you?"
"A friend in my human anatomy class," he said, trying to relax into his position. "It's an extended muscle cell. Glamorous, I know."
"It's pretty," she said. "No, it's... I like it. It's interesting."
She didn't talk much after that, and Jensen didn't listen much. Instead, all of his attention became focused on the burning needles against his skin, the gentle swipes of her hand over the ink, the humming beneath his skin that started in his shoulder blade and went everywhere.
He could feel sparks of pleasure-pain in his neck, his hands, his thighs, everywhere his nerves ran, echoing the gun at his shoulder. He'd learned everything he could about it but still couldn't have known what this would be like.
Imagining Misha in this same position, feeling these same things, was what put him over the edge. After that, he couldn't pretend the entire process wasn't making him achingly hard, pressed awkwardly against the back of the chair.
"Don't squirm, Jensen," said Sophia gently, like she knew what he was going through down there. "Do you need a break?"
"No," he said, though he took a moment to adjust himself. "I'm fine. I'm good."
She waited another moment then started again, and Jensen retreated back inside his own head, letting the fantasy spiral out unabashedly this time. He didn't have the language to describe what he was feeling, that was something he didn't ever think he'd have, but he'd know it when he heard it. He'd know it.
"Just a little longer," murmured Sophia, but Jensen wasn't all there, not until she stopped for real, cleaning his skin one last time. "Do you want to see?"
Jensen actually shivered as he opened his eyes, his whole body finally allowed to react to the relentless sensation. "Jesus," he murmured, taking a moment to actually answer her. "Yeah. Yeah, let me see it."
She angled the mirrors just right, and aside from the reddening of the skin, the faint trace of blood, it was perfect.
"Thanks," he said softly, squirming a little in his seat again, rubbing up against the vinyl but not getting any relief. "That's... thanks Sophia. That's just what I wanted."
She gave his other shoulder another gentle pat. "Just let me cover it up and you'll be good to go," she said, and Jensen closed his eyes for another moment as she did, coming entirely back to himself. "All right, put your shirt back on."
He did, slowly, the tape on his shoulder blade pulling faintly on his skin, heightening the already-intense reaction of his nervous system.
"Can I, uh, use your washroom before I go," he finally asked.
"Lotion's on top of the towel dispenser," said Sophia, not even making a big deal out of it. That didn't mean Jensen wasn't embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to stop.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a hiss at the pressure against his raw shoulder. But fuck, his cock liked that too, straining against his jeans even harder. He was practically just going to have to touch it to come but he took a few deep breaths first, pressing his palms flat against the door and savoring the moment.
He unbuttoned slowly, unzipped, pressed the heel of his hand hard against his cock. But fuck, there was no way to draw this out now. He closed his eyes and shoved his underwear out of the way and tugged hard and fast, pushing his shirt up just in time to come all over his stomach.
It didn't make the feelings go away entirely, but at least it took the edge off. Enough that he could take himself out of there like a normal human being.
Next time he did this, he definitely wasn't doing it alone.
:::
Jensen saw Chris for five minutes in the morning, Sandy in passing in the student union, Jared in the hallway of the Sampson Building and Danneel not at all. He didn't know how finals had crept up on him like that, but between class and yoga and the community garden and, oh, everything else he actually liked to do, the time just slipped right past him.
His head was just too full of molecular biology and physiology and continuum mechanics to worry about much other than surviving the semester.
Which was probably why, when he looked at his Contemporary American Poetry final, it was like looking at an exam written in a foreign language.
"You'd better put out, Professor Collins," he muttered to himself and dove right in. There was no going back now, after all, and if he couldn't impress then at least he could look competent.
He felt a phantom twinge in his back when he got to the last section and realized Misha had used a familiar passage for analysis.
Light me on fire. Bleed yourself under my skin.
Jensen was pretty sure he aced that bit.
He didn't look Misha in the eye as he handed his test booklet in and left the examination room, but he felt like Misha's eyes were on him. He wanted to look back but he still had the rest of the examination period to get through and if there was ever a time when he didn't need the distraction this was it.
Just another week and he'd be done.
:::
Professor Misha Collins' office really was in the basement, his name hand-written on a piece of notebook paper and tacked up with scotch tape, in contrast to the dignified nameplates that adorned the other doors.
Jensen stood next to the office and scanned the bulletin board until he spotted the list of grades for his particular course. He couldn't help smiling when he tracked down his own name. Not that it was great - in fact, it was going to drag his GPA down a little - but he'd made it through and he thought he might even have gotten something out of it.
"Are you done now?" said Misha, suddenly appearing in the doorway and leaning against his doorframe."
"Finished this morning," said Jensen, licking his lips and taking a step back from the bulletin board. "I'm pretty sure I won't be seeing those grades for at least a week, though; you're just a keener. So, uh. You got office hours for a while yet?"
Misha shook his head. "Maybe another ten minutes in case someone comes by, and I've already finished all my grading. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No, no," said Jensen. In fact, he was never taking another poetry class ever again. "I was just... wondering if you wanted to go get a drink. You know... celebrate the end of the semester."
"Of course," said Misha, a lot more easily than Jensen had been anticipating. He'd even prepared a bunch of convincing arguments in his head on the way over. "Just let me clean up and lock the office."
Jensen had spent weeks trying to get Misha to notice him, to think of him as something other than his student. And now that it was all over, now that Jensen was finished not only Misha's class but all of his classes, it was time to find out if it worked.
"O'Reilly's on campus all right with you?" he asked while Misha's key was still in the lock. "My roommate borrowed my truck to take some girl out."
"I never mind going some place they already know my name," said Misha, finally looking up and smiling. "I think I did most of my grading in there first semester, until they posted pictures of it in the faculty lounge."
"Did you look all disreputable?"
"Apparently," said Misha, shaking his head. "I had to find another place off campus where they wouldn't judge me quite so much."
O'Reilly's was in the student union building, second floor across from the sorry excuse for a pool hall, and it wasn't really one of Jensen's hangouts but he knew it well enough. There weren't a whole lot of drinking holes quite that close to his classes, which was when he needed them most. It was quiet enough in the middle of the afternoon, even during finals, for them to find a corner with some privacy.
"I wasn't actually sure you drank," admitted Jensen, glad to have a beer in his hands.
Misha seemed amused by that. "Really? You didn't think I drank?"
"Well, you know," he said, attempting to keep his foot out of the vicinity of his mouth. "For a while I wasn't sure you ate meat, either."
His lips definitely twitched that time. "I guess the fried chicken I ate in the middle of class that one day probably tipped you off on that one," he said.
"It was definitely a clue," said Jensen. "I'm sure it was free range, though."
"It was definitely free range," said Misha, raising his mug to Jensen. "To surviving the year. Your last and my first."
"To surviving the year," said Jensen whole-heartedly. Which wasn't actually his last, technically, but he'd worry about that later. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the moment.
Conversation was easy after that, and easier after the second beer, even if Jensen felt like he was still holding back some of the things he really wanted to say. He wasn't entirely sure it was clear this was even supposed to be a date until out of the blue Misha asked him on another one.
"Listen, there's going to be an open reading by some local poets at the Earth Mother Cafe on tomorrow," he said. "You know, Cortese, Aycox, a few others. Don't suppose you'd be interested in going?"
"You going to be reading anything of yours?" said Jensen. As if he was even considering saying no.
"Not this time," said Misha. "Are you saying that would be a deciding factor for you?"
"Well, no," he had to admit, grinning into the last of his beer. "But it would've been a perk. Okay, sure. Yes. I'd love to go."
Now he just had to figure out how to explain to his roommates that he was going to a poetry reading without them laughing in his face. And also figure out how he was going to get through the parts where Misha wasn't reading.
The pleasure on Misha's face, much more open - more vulnerable - than anything Jensen had seen since the semester started, made agreeing to sit through a poetry reading worth it.
:::
Jensen, to his credit, did not fall asleep. In fact, he was confident he did a fairly reasonable facsimile of being interested in the reading. At least he didn't have to feign interest in his drink.
Afterwards, Misha asked him up to his apartment for coffee, and Jensen had been around the block enough times to know exactly what that meant. Thank God. His very careful and methodical absorption of all things Misha Collins hadn't been in vain.
"Excuse the mess," he said, flipping on a light. "It's mostly my roommate's, because apparently taking the bigger bedroom still doesn't mean she's capable of containing her things in it."
"She's not home?"
"Visiting her parents for the week," he said. "I definitely didn't invite you up here to be subjected to her third degree."
"Oh yeah?" said Jensen, stepping over a pair of discarded heels. "Then what did you invite me up here for?"
"Something I think we've both been thinking about for a while," said Misha, reaching for Jensen's hand and tugging him right past the kitchen, coffee forgotten. "I'm not wrong, am I?"
"Jesus, no," said Jensen. "You are definitely not wrong."
They didn't make it all the way to the bedroom, instead ending up pressed up against the wall in the hallway, his shirt clenched in Misha's hand and Misha's lips pressed up just in front of his ear.
"I can feel you breathing," he said, letting go of Jensen's shirt to slip his hand up underneath it. "Here. And here. And here. Harder and faster, faster and harder."
Jensen closed his eyes and leaned in closer, Misha's fingertips pressing harder into him. His skin tingled around them, his nerves sparking hard.
"Take this off," he said, suddenly clutching Jensen's shirt from the inside. "Show me, Jensen. Show me."
He almost couldn't for a moment, weak against the onslaught of Misha's voice, but a command to get naked was one Jensen almost never ignored. He stripped his shirt off, dropping it on top of another pair of discarded shoes, and went for his jeans, too, before Misha stopped him.
"No, that's mine," he said, gripping Jensen's hands with his own, his lips still so close to Jensen's ear. "I get to discover that."
"I got so hard in your class," Jensen blurted out, letting Misha pull his hands away, press them back against the wall.
Neither one of them said anything for a while as Misha returned to his jeans, fondled, unzipped, slowly pushed them out of the way. He mouthed the skin of Jensen's neck, hot and wet, breathing against him as Jensen's pants fell to his knees.
This his mouth moved back to suck on Jenson's earlobe before he said, "Yeah, I know," and slipped his hand into Jensen's boxers.
Jensen was rendered inarticulate for a few moments, at least one of his many bathroom fantasies suddenly coming true, and when he did find his voice again all he used it for was to gasp and moan as Misha pushed him up against the wall and finally fucking touched him.
"Tell me how much you want it, Jensen," Misha says, his hand wrapped around Jensen's cock. "Talk to me."
Jensen stuttered over his first few words, trying to figure out what Misha wanted him to say. "Just like that," he got out finally. "Yeah... yeah... right there."
His hand moved smooth and slow, half the speed of Jensen's breathing, and he needed more. "But how?" Misha said, licking his throat in one long swipe. "Hard? Soft? Fast? Slow? Do you like it when it hurts? Do you like it when someone fingers you? Do you like it when my thumb does this?"
Jensen hissed and blurted out, "Yes!" Yes to all of them, yes to everything. Yes to anything Misha wanted to do. He tried to talk, he did, he tried to say what Misha wanted to hear, but what came out was inarticulate, all "yes" and "please" and "god" and "fuck".
"Tell me, Jensen," said Misha, moving harder and faster, moving Jensen's underwear right out of the way and putting some muscle into it, taking him hard. "Tell me how much you want to come."
Jensen didn't tell him so much as showed him, crying out involuntarily as he came all over both of them, his head knocking back against the wall hard enough that he didn't know if the stars were from the bang or the orgasm or both.
"God you're hot," said Misha, and smeared his hand over Jensen's stomach for a moment before finally leaning in and kissing him hard and deep, like he was staking his claim.
They did make it into the bedroom after that, and it was either very late at night or very early the next morning when Jensen finally headed back to his own house. Jensen liked him, and he enjoyed himself, but he still drove home feeling a more than faint sense of dissatisfaction, and he didn't know if it was the residual awkwardness of his first time with someone, or if it was something more.
:::
"So he wasn't great in bed," said Chris. "That's all this moping is about? All it takes is a little practice and you'll get there."
"No!" said Jensen. "No, that's not what I'm saying. He was great. God, he was fucking mind-blowing. He just asked for things that--"
Chris raised both his eyebrows at him. "You telling me you don't know how to say no?"
"No!" said Jensen, running both hands through his hair in aggravation. "That's not what I'm... maybe I was just expecting it to be different."
"You wanted fireworks. Serenades. Simultaneous orgasms."
"I just wanted to be myself."
Chris fell silent then, the only noise the sound of him screwing the cap off a bottle of tequila. "Well then, Jenny, that's a problem," he said finally. "And it's not gonna go away without you doing something about it."
"I wanted that to be me, though."
"Did you?" said Chris. "Seems to me like if you wanted that to be you, it would be."
"He's amazing, Chris," said Jensen. "I want this to work. I just want to be with him."
"So what are you going to do the next time he asks you to a poetry reading?" said Chris. "Or, I don't know, a chamber orchestra? Or asks you to chain yourself to a tree?"
"He's not going to ask me to chain myself to a tree."
"You know what I mean, Jensen. What are you going to do? Keep faking it?"
"I'm not faking anything. I’m just trying to develop an interest."
"Hey, I'm not discouraging you from broadening your horizons," said Chris, "even though the last time I let you do that, you went and decided you didn't like pussy. I'm saying it shouldn't be all work. You like this guy, right?"
"Obviously," said Jensen.
"So maybe, just maybe, he actually likes you too. And not because of your sudden interest in meditation and granola and political rallies."
"He can't," said Jensen. "He doesn't know me."
"Well then, Jenny, that's a problem too." He poured two shots of tequila and slid one over. "Just tell me you're not blowing us off for this weekend. We've been planning this for weeks."
"What? No. God, no," said Jensen. "I'm gonna need this weekend just to feel like myself again."
"Drink your shot and think real hard about what you just said," said Chris, nodding at his drink. He waited a moment then shot his own back, but whenever Jensen thought about it his usual cool reason was short circuited by Misha's voice and his mind and his smile and, now that he had some more evidence, his hands and his mouth.
"What you need to do is you need to suck it up and ask him to come with you to me and Steve's show next week, let him see you with your friends," said Chris. "You really think you're going to spend the rest of your life pretending to be someone you're not?"
"He's interested in me this way, Chris. I'm not changing, I'm just expanding."
"Love you like a brother, Jensen, but you're a real idiot sometimes."
:::
Misha didn't say anything about the truck Jensen picked him up in, but Jensen couldn't miss him checking it out and wondered just what he was thinking about it, whether or not he was judging him for it.
"This isn't too early for you, is it?" said Misha when they were on their way. "I can't always make it work, with my schedule, but I feel like getting a workout at dawn really starts the day out right."
Jensen sipped his coffee and didn't answer either way.
Yoga. No, not just yoga, yoga class. At six in the morning. Jensen was either insane or he was in love with the guy. And Misha was obviously really into this whole thing. No, not just into it, he was good. Jensen hadn't even been sure that real people's bodies could move that way.
It was supposed to be a fairly basic class, obviously far beneath Misha's skill level, but Jensen struggled right from the start. When their instructor did something Jensen deemed physically impossible he rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and made a series of uncharitable faces as he tried to imitate her anyway. He didn't realize Misha was watching him until it was too late.
"This isn't really your thing, is it, Jensen?"
Jensen was reluctant to admit it, but finally he just sighed and untangled his body. He wasn't sure how he'd even managed to get it in that position to begin with; maybe he was actually getting better at this whole flexibility thing than he thought.
"I'm trying new things lately," he said, which was the absolute truth. It just avoided the question of why. Misha looked at him for a few moments, then took his arm and led him to the edge of the room, away from the curious gazes of the other students.
"A lot of new things?" he said. "Things like poetry and yoga and tofu and, I don't know, guys?"
"Hey, no, I've always been gay," said Jensen quickly. "Guys are definitely not a new thing to me."
"But the rest?"
Jensen's friends, it turned out, really were a lot smarter about people than he was. And maybe there really were limits to how far you could stretch your interests before you were trying to become someone else entirely.
"Look," he said, "I studied biomechanics. I do computer modeling of bone stress for fun. Tonight me and my buddies are going to have a few beers at a country bar, then tomorrow we're going to take my beat-up pickup out to the lake, where I'll probably get drunk, get a sunburn out in the canoe, and help make a ridiculously large bonfire on the shore for no other reason than we like to watch things burn. I don't really read much poetry and I don't eat organic and I just really don't talk during sex. This is me. This is what I'm like, and I'm sorry I ever tried to be anything else."
But Misha didn't look put off at all. "You like canoeing?"
"What?" said Jensen, wondering if Misha even heard a word he said. "Yeah. My dad used to take me out."
"Me too," said Misha. "We should go some time."
"Seriously?" said Jensen. "You did hear what I just said, right?"
"Every word of it," said Misha. "Look, you're obviously interested in me in spite of the fact that I do read poetry for fun, and meditate in inappropriate places, and apparently do a lot of other things that you're just not that into. You could've said something sooner if you weren't having a good time."
"I'm an idiot," said Jensen. "And I'm not just saying that. My roommates are always telling me I'm stupid about people, and they're not wrong. I am."
"You did make this a little more complicated than it needed to be," said Misha. "But there must've been something that made you even try in the first place."
Jensen looked him up and down. "Well, obviously, yes," he said. "Do we have to... okay, I feel like enough of an idiot right now. I was trying to make you notice me, all right?"
"You think I didn't notice you in my class? Look at you."
"Yeah," said Jensen quietly. "Yeah, people do notice me like that."
"And maybe you weren't exactly my star student, but you were definitely one of the most interesting people," he added. "Right from the first day of class. As far as I was concerned, we've been dancing around this thing between us for weeks now."
"You never said anything."
"I was teaching you," said Misha. "Or trying to, anyway. Why did you take my poetry class, Jensen? I checked out your transcripts. Top of your class. That C+ I gave you didn't do you any favors."
"Solid B," Jensen corrected him, "after the extra credit assignments." Which wasn't much better, but it was enough for him to consider the class a success on multiple levels. "Okay, see, I've been accepted to the School of Physical Therapy for the fall. I just felt like I needed to be a little more well rounded to go into a field where I actually do have to deal with people. All they require is intro psych and I did that freshman year but... I wanted to be better. And then... then I saw you and you were teaching that class and it fit into my schedule."
"You were willing to take a B on your transcript just to take my class?"
"Well, it did make me hard," muttered Jensen, staring at his uncomfortably bare feet, "so it wasn't all bad."
He wasn't sure whether Misha's abrupt laugh was amused or outraged. "You do realize that if you hadn't taken my class and had just asked me out, we could've been doing this four or five months sooner, right?"
"That... no, that hadn't actually occurred to me," admitted Jensen. But the thing was, it wouldn't have happened that way, not with him. If he hadn't convinced himself to take the course, they might never have spoken at all. "You wouldn't have known I was alive."
"You seem really sure about that," said Misha. "You seem really sure that somehow you're possible to miss."
"No, people notice me," said Jensen. "People notice me all right. But not people like you."
Misha nodded his head slowly, not quite looking at Jensen, not quite looking at anything, really. Jensen tried to read him, but he really was bad at it, bad at body language, bad at figuring out what anyone was thinking, ever.
"Look," he said finally, as the silence grew more and more awkward. "Do you need a ride home? I can at least give you a ride home."
"How about this," said Misha finally. "How about you give me a chance to actually get to know you before you write this whole thing off as a failed experiment?"
"I... are you sure about that?"
Are you sure about that? Honestly, if Jensen didn't kick himself for that one he should start getting someone to do the kicking for him, because he so clearly deserved it.
"I like you," said Misha. "Of course I want to know you."
And maybe it really was as simple as that.
:::
Jared was up front helping Chris and Steve haul shit so Danneel and Sandy were on their own to stake out a table big enough for everyone. They waved Jensen over as soon as he stepped in the door, but took another moment to realize Misha was with him; Jensen could see the change in their expressions as soon as they did.
"Don't let them scare you off," said Jensen. "They're all pretty curious about this thing we've got going on."
"If I haven't been scared off already, I doubt your friends could do it," said Misha. "Though, pre-emptively, I issue you the same warning about mine."
"They anything like you?"
"They're a lot like me," said Misha.
"Then I think I'll like them just fine," said Jensen, taking Misha's hand very deliberately and leading him to the back of the club. "Danny. Sandy. This is--"
"Professor Collins," said Sandy mischievously, sliding over one seat to make room for the both of them.
Misha put his hand over his face and shook his head, but Jensen just laughed. It felt good.
"How about we stick with Misha," he said, "since none of you are my students, thank God."
"Oh, but you like students," said Sandy relentlessly. "Don't you?"
"Former students," said Misha firmly, not missing the fact that her lips were twitching as she said it. "I'm extremely fond of former students."
Oh, Jensen was going to get hell from his roommates for the next while, and most of it he probably deserved. But he didn't miss that they were making room for Misha more than just at the table.
Jared joined them once the stage was set up, and as Chris and Steve played - neither one of them missed that Misha had joined the table either; Jensen just considered himself lucky that there hadn't been a completely inappropriate song dedication - Jensen pressed up close to Misha and just enjoyed the fact that it felt right. It felt real, finally.
"So you're the one who's had Jenny running around like he lost his head lately," said Chris as he finally joined them, his version of a friendly greeting. Jensen figured he deserved that, too.
"Oh, has he?" said Misha. "Do tell."
"He studied poetry."
"--bought a yoga mat--"
"--brought a plant to school--"
"--has anyone else seen that tattoo--"
"--and the garden--"
"--I don't even know what Burning Man is--"
"--I totally caught him bent over in the living room--"
"I'm never speaking to any of you ever again," Jensen proclaimed. Misha, on the other hand, was laughing too hard to respond. "Seriously. Never."
"Aw, you love us," said Danneel. "You love us because we accept your painful lack of social skills."
"Yes, but with this face, who needs social skills?" said Sandy, squeezing his cheeks together.
Jensen tried not to react, but the look Misha gave him at that - appraising, with a tiny smile - said maybe he understood a little better than Jensen thought why Jensen had been trying so hard.
"Speaking of my complete lack of social skills," said Jensen as Misha squeezed the inside of his thigh. "We're gonna head out now."
"Yeah, I just bet," muttered Chris into his beer, earning himself an elbow in the side from Steve.
"You eat meat, don't you, Misha?"
Jensen choked on the last of his beer and Steve had to clamp a hand over Chris's mouth to keep him from responding. Misha at least had the composure to answer.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do."
"Good," said Danneel shamelessly. "Jared lost a bet so he has to make bacon and eggs for all in the morning. I assume you'll be there."
"I hate you all," muttered Jensen.
"That is the plan," said Misha, meeting Danneel's eyes without flinching. "We'll try not to keep you up."
"Like hell we won't," said Jensen, then took Misha's hand again and led him back out to the truck before anyone could say anything else.
:::
"I'd give you the grand tour," said Jensen, leaving the lights off as they went, "but frankly the only thing I want to show you right now is my bedroom, and that's up here."
"Pretty sure the tour can wait," said Misha, stopping him halfway up the stairs to kiss him up against he wall, give him a quick grope. "We have lots of time for that."
"Lots of time," said Jensen, tugging Misha back to kiss him again before they made it up the rest of the stairs. "I'm on the right." But he was the one who got there first, pushed the door open with his shoulder and shut it again with his foot before stripping his shirt off and tossing it aside. Stripping down wasn't a production, they didn't take it slow, just left a trail of discarded clothing between the door and the bed.
"Since you're not much for talking," said Misha, his hands roaming all over, feeling like they were everywhere at once, "how about if I tell you not to talk at all?" Jensen hadn't even known it was possible to get harder than he already was until that moment. "Just let me do all the talking."
"I'm pretty good with my mouth," Jensen did say, while he still could. "When it's not busy talking."
He liked to think, feeling the way Misha suddenly rocked his hips against him, that they were even after that.
"I want to see all of you," said Misha, starting at Jensen's hairline, kissing him there and then moving south, over his jaw, over his shoulders, down over his chest pausing only to nibble his nipples to tight, aching peaks. Jensen sucked in harsh breaths and resisted saying any of the many one-syllable words that crossed his mind. "I want to know it all, Jensen. Don't ever doubt that I want to know what you are."
He moved to Jensen's waist, skimmed over his groin, kissed down his legs and then flipped him over so quickly and smoothly that Jensen barely had time to gasp.
He started at the top again, at the nape of Jensen's neck, then paused at his shoulders.
"This really is new," he breathed, running his fingers over Jensen's vivid tattoo. I wanted to experience it, Jensen thought, and the act of not saying it out loud sent a little thrilling shiver through him. And then another when Misha licked the skin there, grinding his hips into Jensen's thigh.
It was both a disappointment and a relief when he finally moved on, explored Jensen's back with his hands, lingered over the curves of his ass, kissed the backs of his knees, his calves, his ankles.
"Turn over," he said, and hovered as he let Jensen shift himself this time, sprawling on his back in the middle of the bed.
"I don't think there are words in this language to describe how much I want you to fuck me," said Misha, pinning Jensen to the bed with his hands and straddling him there. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and refused to be responsible for the noises that he choked out at that.
"I've been thinking about it all day," Misha said, leaning forward to pinch Jensen's already-sensitive nipples to hardness again. "I've been thinking about it all month. I've been thinking about what your cock would look like out of your jeans, whether the outline did it justice at all. I thought about it when I fingered myself, thought about how big it would be, how hard it would be."
Jensen couldn't open his eyes or he was going to come all over both of them, he was sure of it. His thighs were tense, shaking, even as Misha stroked his hands over them, then before he knew it Jensen felt a condom being rolled onto him.
"Don't say a word," said Misha, and Jensen bit down on his lip so hard he was surprised it didn't draw blood. "Look at me."
Jensen wanted to say he couldn't, he couldn't look, but when he didn't let himself give in to the words he found it was easier to pry them open, to be watching as Misha sank down onto him. He arched back impossibly far, braced on his knees, and if Jensen weren't so astonished by the position he probably would've lost it right there.
"God," said Misha, his voice softer now, his breathing harder. "Stretched. Full of you. Full of you." If he didn't know better Jensen would've thought he got even deeper as Misha moved, braced himself on one hand, started riding him hard. He couldn't say anything but that didn't mean he couldn't reach out, wrap a hand around Misha's cock, start thrusting up into him.
"Yes," said Misha. "Do that. Do that. Keep doing that until we fall apart." Jensen wanted to, God he wanted to, he wanted this fucking glorious feeling to never end, but when Misha finally leaned forward again he couldn't help himself, he rolled them over and pressed his toes against the end of the bed and started thrusting into him with all he had.
Misha just rolled with it, pulling his legs up and wide and letting Jensen in, letting him in as hard and far as he wanted. He reached up and gripped the headboard and gasped a few times, desperate for air, before speaking again.
"Fuck," he said, the word hard and sharp. One leg fell over Jensen's shoulder with unnatural ease and he grabbed Misha's cock again with the arm he wasn't using to brace himself, jacking it hard and smooth, nothing pretty, trying to get him to come before Jensen couldn't hold out anymore.
It was a hard won battle but Jensen got there in the end, Misha losing his words as he gasped and came all over Jensen's hand, all over his chest, all over them both. Jensen didn't give him a chance to come down before letting go, bracing himself with both arms and thrusting two, three, four more times before coming to the sound of Misha's soft, breathy, "Do it."
He shuddered hard and pressed his forehead to Misha's shoulder and only lifted his head again when he feel like he could breathe, felt like he could see something other than sparks in front of his eyes.
"You don't like talking," said Misha, breathless, head still tilted back and hands gripping the headboard, "but you sure like it when someone else does."
"I like it when you do," said Jensen as they finally separated from one another, blankets on the floor and sheets askew and bodies slick with sweat. "Wow. Jesus. Holy shit. I don't even know how you...."
"That's the thing about yoga. It's great for the flexibility."
Jensen definitely had a whole new appreciation for the art after that.
"If I stick with the yoga, can I drop the community garden?" said Jensen. "Seriously, I’m a black thumb. You have no idea."
Misha laughed and rolled onto his side, running his fingers down Jensen's chest. "Yeah," he said, "I'm pretty sure we can work this thing of ours out."