Despicable Misha - Chapter 1
<< Masterpost
Being a supervillain isn't easy these days.
Misha might be able to tell you a thing or two about that.
The times where he could've just stolen the miniature Statue of Liberty from Las Vegas in broad daylight and would be considered a genius in the Evil League of Evil were most definitely over. Bigger, better, funnier is what it had to be these days, and with some political sense on top if you were good. And damn, Misha was good. Is good, he corrects himself.
“Coffee,” he tells the yellow, about three feet tall minion, who's idly playing with a roll of toilet paper at his side. “Now,” Misha adds grumpily and grabs the roll from him.
“Co-bee?” the minion asks back, seemingly confused.
“Yes, coffee.”
Babbling his usual nonsense that only Misha seems to get, the minion hurries obediently off towards the kitchen. Sometimes they're just a bit slow, those guys. Not that he ever regretted inventing the cloning machine. Just, maybe, once or twice. And never without reason.
Boogie robots were not the same as Cookie robots, but the minions had to learn that the hard way. Misha rubs his temples at the memory.
It has taken years to build up his fine little estate in the middle of suburbia. None of his neighbors would ever think that a large laboratory complex and a weapon factory are hidden beyond his darkly painted house. Not that it is any of their business anyway.
Misha sighs. Yes, the life of a supervillain isn't easy.
Mostly because of superheroes and competing supervillains.
Still, he's the best of the latter and he has to prove it. His last project - namely trying to blackmail the local government with the fact that he was able to poison the town's water supply - didn't seem very supervillain-ish at all. And it had failed because his minions had managed to take not the poison but - no, not thinking about that, Misha, you don't want to slam your head against the nearest wall. Let's just say, the people of his little town were rather delighted to find out that they could float around like balloons if they drank some of their thoroughly healthy and not poisoned water from the tap.
The Bank of Evil had given him shit to no end for that. And no further credit, which was much worse.
And if that isn't enough already, the minion bounces back into his living room right then and slams head-first into the open sarcophagus. The one with the nails in it. Maybe Misha should stuff him in there and shut it with gusto. Because right now, his coffee is spilled all over the floor beside said sarcophagus.
“Gotta do everything by myself,” Misha mumbles with frustration and grabs his freeze ray on the way to the front door. Still shaking his head, he slips into his coat, wraps his gray-black striped scarf loosely around his neck and leaves.
The way to his usual coffee shop takes merely five minutes by foot, but Misha is a villain, so damn right he's taking his plane-car-hybrid. Not the kind of hybrid that runs partly on gas and partly on batteries. Please. The kind that blows more carbon dioxide (and monoxide, deal with it) into the air per minute than a dozen hummers and a dairy herd do in a whole year.
He notices the moving truck from the corner of his eyes but can't get himself to care.
When he parks in front of the coffee shop a minute later, he makes sure to ram every car standing directly in front of it. Not just a scratch, but right out of the way. Ignoring the blaring alarms and honks, he strolls inside. Of course the coffee shop is crowded this time of the morning.
No problem for his freeze ray though. Gracefully, Misha jumps around the people, freezing each and every one of them so he can easily get to the front of the row. It's not like he's actually covering them in ice or something - please, that would A.) be an ice beam and B.) so Mystic J.
The name alone makes Misha almost roll his eyes.
The barista - a slender blonde girl - stares at him in blank shock and doesn't even try to hold onto the paper cup in her hand. A short look into it tells Misha it's simple black coffee, the way he prefers it. Black as his soul, he thinks and suppresses a snicker. Instead, he flashes the girl behind the counter a full-on grin, reaches for a packet of sugar, pours it slowly into the cup and stirs it in. Misha even throws a single cent into the tip jar beside the check register before he leaves with one last wink at the girl. The sweet taste of victory and black coffee accompany him back to his vehicle.
Damn right if a supervillain can't get a nice, good coffee in the morning. Not even Mystic J could pull off something like that, at least not the way Misha just did. Like he said, ice beam. Not nearly as cool as an actual freeze ray. He slips in behind the wheel and sets his baby on the road.
Right then, his phone rings. Misha twists his mouth up lopsidedly in an unnerved expression. Eventually, he manages to fumble it out of his coat pocket. Talking on the phone while driving - Yes, he's that evil.
“Yeah?” he answers the constant ringing.
“Misha?” a cheery female voice greets him.
He groans. “Hi, Mom.”
“So I heard you stole the pyramid this morning. Congratulations!”
“Uhm... Mom. What are you talking about? I didn't-”
“Oh, so you mean it wasn't you who stole the great Giza pyramid? Was it that great new guy then, this Mys-”
“Mom, don't say his name,” Misha grit out through his teeth.
“I'm just saying you should consider taking a leaf out of his book,” she sneers, Misha can hear it clearly in her tone.
“Mom-”
“Anyway, you better get something done.” With that, she hangs up on him.
“No, you don't-” Misha sighs and throws the phone on the passenger seat. So Mystic J stole the Giza pyramid? Damn the guy, but he's good. He's been making Misha's life worse from day to day, even more than Kapt'n Kripke does these days. Kapt'n with a K, he insists, douchebag that he is. Stupid superheroes.
Stupid other villains.
He needs a plan, Misha decides, when he turns into his driveway.
As he hauls the last of his moving boxes into his new house, Jensen begins to whistle cheerfully. His new house is great, especially since it was renovated just the way he wanted it to be, and the location can't be any more perfect. Right beside Mischievous Misha's house.
Being a supervillain is awesome these days.awesome
Especially when you're an up and coming one like Jensen. Only that he isn't as obvious with his name of choice like Misha is. With a first name like that, how could Jensen not be able to track him down? That was easier than taking candy from a baby.
There's a reason why he's Mystic J - he can still walk down the street these days and seem like a totally normal human being. Living undercover makes a lot of things easier. Jensen's house, at least the interior of it, was completely designed by himself. He made sure that his buttons for opening the elevator into the thoroughly stocked sub-basement weren't shiny red buttons that you could easily mistake for the fire alarm button.
Being an engineer with an MIT degree also has its perks. It meant you could invent buttons that only react to your own fingerprints plus a scan of your iris when you look at the tiny, tiny camera on the ceiling. Apart from those conveniently placed buttons, Jensen's house seemed completely normal. Like the house of an MIT engineer with a regular job should look like. Speaking of which, a regular job also helps to stay out of trouble. And to bridge the weeks between his plans, financially speaking. Jensen has not even once had a quarrel with the Bank of Evil.
Humming contentedly, Jensen unpacks one of the boxes containing kitchen utensils.
There's a reason he's moved here, obviously. Misha has been in the business way too long; it's time for Jensen's final strike to wipe him off the list of Jensen's contestants. His time is over. Not that he plans to murder the guy, which is so not his style, Jensen just wants him gone. And therefore, he'll be studying Misha from now on - figuring out his plans, ruining them as soon and as destructively as possible. That means he has to worm his way into Misha's life, which will be the hardest part of his plan.
When the kitchen is ready, Jensen begins to bake cookies. Not cookie robots, those are so 2010. Just plain old Hi-I'm-your-new-neighbor-and-totally-trustworthy-cookies.
Jensen knows from his research on Misha that he isn't very social, barely even lets other people into his house. Just that one giant with the floppy brown hair, whoever that is. Jensen has yet to find out.
It's not something that's going to happen in a second, Jensen knows that, it's more like a process. It'll be work, a lot of work even, getting to know Misha and getting him to trust Jensen. But at the same time, he also knows it's gonna be worth it, because he doesn't even have to make plans on his own any more - just deliberately sabotage Misha's, or, if they're good, realize them himself. Always being that one, frustrating step in front of Misha, that's the plan. It won't take too long to make Misha give up on his fruitless attempt at world domination. Jensen even considers staying in this house afterwards, because it's just that perfect. When he experimentally flicks his thumb over the underside of the kitchen counter and looks up to the lamp on the ceiling, a short tray slides out immediately. Jensen can't help but grin as he sweeps his fingers proudly over his ice beam. No one uses freeze rays these days, because - well, Misha would probably use one, ergo they're lame.
Oh, Jensen almost wallows in the sweet victory already. He pushes the button at the tray's side to let it slip back into place with a satisfied smile on his lips.
Speaking of the end of the world as everybody knows it, his cookies are ready. At least the tiny black bomb that is his egg timer says so.
Still whistling something that sounds remarkably like R.E.M., Jensen takes the cookies that will probably change the world out of the oven and places them on the windowsill to cool down. It's the window that faces Misha's house - a really cliché house, just saying. Jensen snorts unimpressed. The walls are painted in something that might have been white once and faded to a dirty gray over the years, but then again, maybe it had always been gray. Black roof tiles are covering the roof, probably made of slate or something equally dark. It's depressing, really. And it screams "supervillain!" so hard it's almost pathetic.
Someone's clearly overcompensating here.
"Yeah, this one's gonna be easy," Jensen huffs to himself. It seems like Misha just needs the final kick in the nuts to leave the stage. Or a tomato in the face, whatever. Jensen would have no problem providing either.
That is, if Kapt'n Kripke doesn't interfere. In silent anger, Jensen clenches his hands into fists, slamming one down on the kitchen counter. Damn superheroes and their superhero complexes. What kind of douchebag names himself Kapt'n Kripke - with a K - anyway? And insists on shouting a “Kripke'd!” into one's face if he managed to foil ones latest plan? As he said, douchebag. A middle-aged, increasingly balding one on top of that. Basically, Kapt'n Kripke is the definition of lame, but the guy still manages to stress the hell out of Jensen.
Anyway, there is only one last thing Jensen needs to do to get into the Evil League of Evil. Wipe Misha off the landscape.
His strategy is not yet that clear, but Jensen told himself that he would just make it up as he goes.
Misha's name might be easy to track down, but finding personal information about him is pretty hard. Not even Jensen's truly outstanding knowledge of hacking could help him there.
The only thing he could dig up was an old résumé on eBay that said Misha was able to “act on camera”. Whatever that means.
Besides, Jensen needs Misha to trust him. So, first and foremost, he was the new, very nice, very harmless neighbor.
Jensen stacks the cookies up - rainbow cookies with M&Ms of all colors mixed into the dough - and places them in a basket. After he made sure that the oven was shut off and cooling down, Jensen heads for the door to leave, making sure that his hair sits perfectly. A nice, easy smile shows on his lips, more or less involuntarily. Well, what can he say, he's looking forward to this.
However, he begins his round of introduction to the neighbors at the house on the other side, opposite of Misha's. A family is living there, as well as in the house across the street and the ones on both sides of that. The parents open the doors for him while the kids mostly hide shyly behind their legs. Jensen smiles at each of them, trades some lines of small talk with each parent, even gets some invitations for barbeques during the weekend. The neighborhood is definitely nice.
Five houses down, one to go.
When Jensen finally makes it to Misha's doorstep, he expects a lot. Which is weird, considering he's clearly the superior villain here. But, call it respect for the elders or something, Jensen is excited. He has no idea what to expect exactly, though.
The sound of the bell is harsh when he rings it. He looks up, almost disappointed to not see any crows fluttering up to the sky at the noise, which would have been just too perfectly trite. A short, rattling sound from the other side of the door tells Jensen he's being watched through the peephole. He smiles as brightly and as harmlessly as he can manage and waves at the tiny glass in the door. The moment drags on.
"Hi! It's your new neighbor!" he shouts friendly.
"Go away," a flat voice from the inside replies.
"Just here to say hello and introduce myself," Jensen explains calmly and still smiles. Make an effort, he tells himself. Smiling is not that hard.
"Not interested," Misha grumbles from behind the door.
Jensen knows he's still being watched and holds up the basket of cookies. "I brought cookies?" he offers.
Misha clears his throat. And hesitates. Gotcha.
"I was told from the other neighbors that they were in fact not that bad," Jensen winks now.
For a bad guy, he's able to be pretty nice.
Another few moments pass before the door chain is removed, sound of metal sliding against metal obvious to be heard. The first thing Jensen can see in the shadow that hides the other man are blue eyes. Intense, big, baby blue eyes. Unfortunately, they don't look very welcoming. Misha still doesn't fully open the door, but it's angled wide enough so he can stand there, covering the sight to the hallway completely. Damn. His hands are crossed in front of his slender chest and he wears a black button-down and jeans. Jensen swallows and looks back up, notices plush, full lips and tousled black hair. Double damn.
Despite the sour expression on Misha's face, Jensen is far from disappointed. He expected a lot without knowing what exactly, but he certainly didn't expect Misha to look actually quite handsome. Well, understatement.
Seems like a case where he can blatantly spin his charm on the guy to win him over. Not that Jensen has much time for dating, he is much more interested in pursuing his goal to rule the world, thankyouverymuch, but that doesn't mean he's rusty at flirting, or refraining from doing so. It still doesn't mean he'd date Misha. He's his archnemesis, for crying out loud. Well, maybe him and Kapt'n Kripke.
"Uhm..." Jensen begins and doesn't even have to pretend to stutter, "Hi, I'm Jensen Ackles. I moved in next door," he points over to his left side.
Misha frowns and leans forward to take a look at his house, obviously pleased when he sees it's just as usual as every other house on their street. “Wait here,” he says dryly before he turns around and leans the door at the frame, blocking the sight but not closing it completely. He returns with a device in his hands. A metal detector, Jensen notices quickly. “Basket,” Misha demands quietly with a wave of his hand towards said item.
Feigning confusion, Jensen holds up the cookies once more and watches as Misha scans it, eventually nodding when he seems satisfied with the result. Jensen raises an eyebrow. “And what was that about?” he grins innocently and nods at the device.
“Just checking for... you know, you can't be too careful nowadays, call it a bad experience,” Misha answers, but he doesn't seem to have opened up much. Still, he doesn't seem that suspicious anymore and tentatively reaches for a cookie.
“I get it, don't worry. My sister once pulled a prank on me and baked muffins, with a bottle cap placed in one of them just for me,” Jensen replies, joking lightly to ease the tension.
Misha munches on his cookie, but Jensen can still notice the edge of his lips twitch upwards. He doesn't answer, though.
For a villain, Misha actually looks quite adorable like this.
Jensen stares blankly at him for a second. Where the hell has that thought just come from? Inwardly, he slaps himself and pulls it back together. “So, anyway. If you need anything, feel free to ask me. Even if it's just-” Jensen leans back to take a look at the garden, which is very overgrown, the trees could use some trimming and the flowers... well, they're more brown and withered than green. “- helping you with that awfully long lawn or something,” Jensen tries to put it lightly.
“Thanks, but that won't be necessary,” Misha shakes his head.
“Hey, just sayin',” Jensen winks. “Anyway, have a nice day. I've still got tons of boxes to unpack.” And with that, he takes a step back and strolls down the patio. After half the way to the sidewalk, Jensen turns back around and finds Misha still standing in the door.
He clears his throat before he shouts, “There are still cookies left, so...?” and shakes the basket.
A moment's hesitation later, Misha quickly jumps down the few steps, like a dog for his treat. Jensen couldn't possibly grin any wider at the picture.
Misha helps himself to two more cookies. “They're pretty good, thanks,” he says, and Jensen doesn't know if he should be more surprised at the compliment or at the thanks. “Bye, um, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name-?”
“Jensen.”
“Right. Bye, Jensen.” And Misha turns on his heels and heads back to his house.
Right then, Jensen realizes that Misha hadn't really told him his name. That he knows who Misha is doesn't spare him the question. “Uhm... just a sec. What is your name?”
Misha stops to turn his head towards Jensen. His expression is unreadable. “Misha Collins. You can call me Misha.”
“Huh,” says Jensen, pretending to be surprised at the truly unusual name. “Okay. Then have a nice day, Misha.”
Still smiling, Jensen makes his way back to his own house. Even after the door is closed behind him and he's back to unpacking stuff onto his new furniture, he can't stop smiling. The music he's blowing through the stereo's speakers is far too cheerful for his usual taste, but Jensen is far from caring. He feels good, and he doesn't quite know if it's because he found a way to beat Misha or if it's just because their first meeting went so well. Either way, it's a good start for his plan.
Rule the world, that's the plan, he reminds himself.
When Jensen gets up the next morning, which is luckily a Saturday, he immediately knows he hit level 2. He practically feels that he's being watched. The little hairs on his neck are standing up and his skin is prickling while he's standing in the bathroom, putting his contacts in, and brushing his teeth. It's not a pleasant feeling, but Jensen can't help being smug about it. A small smirk settles on his lips when he idly walks downstairs, still in his cotton v-neck shirt and boxers, to grab some breakfast.
It isn't a bad sign, not at all. Misha is just checking on him, which is the next logical step.
That being said, Jensen stretches his arms towards the ceiling before he scratches at his belly, yawning as he steps into his kitchen. Misha watching him has a few minor inconveniences, though. A few things are going to be off-limits for use for the time being, mainly the buttons that hid his pretty impressive equipment, or using his instant-coffee-o-mat. Which has been his very first invention, to no surprise, as he is the kind of human being that only functions when running on just the right level of caffeine. The instant-coffee-o-mat pours a coffee faster than any of those stupid pad or capsule machines ever could, thanks to that fine little heater inside of it that runs on uranium. It also talks and throws the used coffee powder away immediately. Jensen loves the damn thing.
Right now, he is also kinda glad that it is programmed to know his habits and already begins to brew a cup for breakfast.
“Thanks, Heather,” he says and runs his hand through his unruly hair. Yes, her name is Heather, after a pretty intense discussion with a Starbucks clerk of the same name. Not that that particular conversation went well. Jensen may have made use of his ice beam at the end.
“You're welcome, Master.”
Jensen grins. Look at that, her manners also get better from day to day. Definitely more polite than her namesake. Usually she snaps a short “Your coffee, Sir,” at him and beeps as a sign that she's on idle mode again.
The first mouthful of coffee wrings out an appreciative groan from Jensen. He almost hates Misha twice as much now that he needs to put her away, at least for a few days, and has to rip out the old Senseo again. Not that it doesn't work as well, but c'mon, he has to switch it on himself.
After a short check towards Misha's house, Jensen reaches into the corner behind the coffee-o-mat and lets it disappear into the counter. A few boxes are still placed all around his house, so he searches quickly for the last one that has 'kitchen' written atop of it. It contains his old, trusty coffee machine and a few packets of coffee pads. He needed to have back up in case Heather needs to be fixed, and how would he be able to repair her without a cup of coffee nearby? Call it bad experience, but Jensen knows his shit.
The machine is set up quickly as Jensen enjoys the last cup made by his coffee-o-mat. When he is done, he switches the small radio on and begins to pour milk and flour and eggs into a wide bowl. It’s definitely a good day, and therefore there need to be pancakes.
In his mind, Jensen flips through the current contents of his house and checks if there are things he needs to replace. Considering that his sub-basement is very well hidden - he checked the houses on this street before he moved here, and not one of them, except Misha's, even has a sub-basement - and he has a strict rule that there are to be no suspicious items allowed outside the lab, so the house is pretty much clean. As long as he doesn't touch the buttons.
The pancakes are frying to a gold-brown crust in the pan and their delicious smell fills the house. Jensen hums contently and starts whistling along to the radio, which currently blasts out some AC/DC.
Jensen still manages to hear the doorbell. He quickly pours enough dough for the next pancake into the pan and hurries out to get the door.
He can see on the monitoring camera that it is Misha.
Glad that he already checked the house and is sure that everything's fine, he opens the door. “Morning, Misha,” Jensen says, smiling warmly.
“Good morning,” Misha replies, blinking in the bright morning sunlight. He wears a dark plaid shirt, top three buttons undone and revealing a clean-shaven, pale triangle of chest.
Jensen has to swallow involuntarily, but still manages to focus back on Misha's eyes. It doesn't make things much easier. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“Well, I just realized that I'm all out of coffee and wondered if you could maybe spare a coffee pad or two. I'll return them once I've been grocery shopping,” Misha tilts his head sideways as he asks.
It's just a lame excuse to come over and Jensen gets that completely. He's not about to call Misha's bluff, though, which would seem rather suspicious.
“Sure, come in,” Jensen answers instead and turns around, waving Misha in with a smile and closing the door behind him. “I was just busy making breakfast, so let me check the pancakes first?”
Misha nods shortly as he tries to take in everything around him as subtly as possible. Jensen notices it despite Misha's efforts, but doesn't let anything on. He slips past the other man to lead the way. The hallway is narrow, and for a short moment, Jensen has the fragrance of Misha's aftershave in his nose. That, and that weird personal smell everyone has. And strangely enough, Misha's is quite... appealing. Jensen sighs quietly in a fruitless attempt to clear his mind as soon as Misha can't see his face any more. Sometimes, he really has to remind himself that his new neighbor is his enemy, that he needs to find his weak spot. Not... no, not going there.
Stepping forward, Jensen enters the kitchen with Misha on his heels. It's only then that Jensen realizes he still wears the clothes he's slept in and that he hasn't even combed his hair today. When he turns his head around to take a short look at his neighbor and archenemy, Misha's eyes rest on his back, obviously amused by his appearance.
“Uhm, sorry, for the-” Jensen tugs at his soft cotton shirt, “I just got up, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“It's no problem, really,” Misha answers. And maybe Jensen imagines it, but it comes out a bit too quickly. Huh. Surely that's just him.
The pancake that's currently occupying the frying pan needs to be flipped over. Not refraining from a little show-off, Jensen grabs the handle firmly and swings the pan in a gracious curve, making the pancake fly and flip over in mid-air, before it lands back in the pan. He'd love to see Misha's face at this, but doesn't want to turn his head and make it that obvious that he wants to impress the other man. Because really.
When the pan is back on the stove, Jensen opens his kitchen cabinet to pull out the coffee pads. Picking up two, he turns back around to Misha and hands them over.
“Here you go,” Jensen says, and can't help but notice how slender Misha's fingers are when they brush his.
“Thanks,” Misha answers quietly and looks directly into Jensen's eyes. Deep blue eyes stare into Jensen's, and right then, Brian Johnson yells a well-placed “Thunderstruck!” from the radio through his kitchen.
Jensen suddenly has a very strange feeling in his stomach.
“I'll return them to you later,” Misha adds, breaking their eye contact to nod down at the pads in his hands.
“Don't bother, it's fine,” Jensen waves him off and smiles. The smile somehow is far too easy to manage.
“Then thanks again,” Misha says, and for the first time, he actually smiles back. It's just a small smile, tentative and lopsided, but it's there, and Jensen's stomach apparently makes an attempt to flip over. Jensen also notices that Misha's eyes flicker to the pancakes on the stove. He has an idea.
“Hey, I think I made too much batter anyway... you wanna stay for breakfast? I could make you a cup of coffee right here instead.”
Jensen can be nice as well. Even to his archnemesis.
Okay, well, Kapt'n Kripke is more his archnemesis than Misha. Who, by the way, stands a little lost in his kitchen, leans his back against the counter and ponders. “Look, I don't really wanna keep you-”
“No, no, it's fine, it's not a bother,” Jensen is quick to interrupt him.
“Well, if you insist.” And there's that little smile again that makes Jensen's stomach do strange things. Misha steps forward and hands the coffee pads back to him, and their fingers brush once again. Jensen feels his skin tingle where they touched.
Dammit, he really can't afford crushing on Misha. Misha, of all people.
While he quietly resumes making the pancakes and brewing a cup of coffee for his guest Jensen can't stop thinking about it. It's true, he hasn't had any hook-ups for a while. It's hard to let people into your life, even as little as a casual one-night stand, when you've got so much to hide. But that's just sexually speaking. Romantically... well, Jensen hasn't been romantically occupied with anybody ever. Again, he couldn't let anyone get that close to him, there's too much possible blackmailing stuff in his closet. Speaking of the closet, he's never really been in there, metaphorically, except for the time in high school. But well, it was high school, where everyone had tried their best to keep their head down. Otherwise, Jensen has always announced his bisexuality openly. Why limit the choice? Sometimes it's just nice to get a handjob from someone who knows the equipment.
And Misha right there... is a challenge.
Jensen can't deny that he would definitely try to hook up with him if they had met in a bar somewhere. Those blue eyes were a challenge by themselves, and Jensen should really not think how they would look up when those chapped, full lips were wrapped around his dick. Not while he's wearing only thin cotton boxers.
Not thinking about Misha is kind of impossible at the moment though.
Jensen takes a deep breath and just hopes that his boxers are loose enough to hide the fact that he's half hard. He smiles sheepishly at Misha when he puts the cup of coffee down in front of him. “Milk and sugar?”
“Just sugar, please.”
Jensen takes the box of sugar cubes to the table. “Help yourself.”
Misha's long, delicate fingers reach for only one. Jensen has to turn around again to pour the remaining dough into the pan and fry the last pancake. Simultaneously, he sets up another cup of coffee for himself. God knows he needs a second one.
He still has no idea how to not develop a crush on Misha.
The pancakes and his coffee are done, and with the cup and a plate of pancakes, he makes his way back to the table. Grabbing a second plate and a set of cutlery for Misha quickly, Jensen sits down opposite the other man.
He also just takes one cube of sugar to his coffee. No milk. Misha obviously notices, because he stares at Jensen's fingers, watches his movements closely. When he also notices that Jensen is watching him, their eyes meet over the table and both smile shortly before digging into the pancakes.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Jensen asks innocently.
“Between jobs at the moment,” Misha answers shortly.
Yeah, I bet, Jensen thinks amused. “Looking for which kind of job?” He can't help just poking him with a stick.
“Engineering would be perfect. The market seems to be tough, though.”
“Mmhhh, yes,” Jensen swallows a mouthful of admittedly awesome pancake, “I know. I actually am an engineer, you know.” He can't hide the grin spreading on his lips now. “The economy still hasn't fully recovered, which is easy to see in my company as well.”
Misha sighs quietly. “I just have to wait a bit, and we'll see,” he shrugs it off. “So, what made you move here? The job?”
“Not exactly,” Jensen replies, and really, it's hard not to snicker at the double entendre and say 'the reason is you', which would be just cheesy. And, obviously, would sound wrong. “I've lived in the city, in a small flat before, and decided that I need a bit more space. I was told this house was empty for years?”
“Yes, the former owner was a wacky old man. After he died, the heirs had a law suit over the house for years,” Misha explains.
Jensen huffs amused. “Yeah, well, and in the end they just sold it. Lucky me.”
“It's a nice neighborhood,” one corner of Misha's mouth curls upwards, yet again in that tentative way of his.
Jensen smiles back widely. “Yeah, I noticed. I'm glad I was able to move here.”
“So, you've got family? You mentioned a sister yesterday.”
“Yes, she lives a few towns over. Got an older brother, too, who lives in Texas near my parents,” Jensen spills and wonders why the hell he is telling Misha all of this. It's not even a lie. This could be dangerous, he has to watch out. “You? Where are you from?”
“Lived here for more than ten years now. I don't have much contact with my siblings, just my mom. She doesn't live around here, either.”
The fact that Misha seems comfortable enough with him and trusts him enough to let him know this makes Jensen feel quite smug. Because he knows those things are true.
Conversation flows easily with Misha, Jensen notices, although that is as personal as the topics of conversation get. They talk random stuff, politics, and actually get along just fine. It's surprising, but on the other hand - they're what they are, villains, for a reason. They work towards the same goal, so it shouldn't be that surprising that they are on the same page with almost everything. In the end, Misha and Jensen spend almost an hour at breakfast, during another cup of coffee, before Misha gets up and takes his plate to the sink.
“So, thank you very much for the breakfast, Jensen,” Misha says, turning around to Jensen.
“Sure, no problem. Thanks for the company,” Jensen smiles. “It's actually quite nice to have someone around every once in a while,” he adds, and tries not to think too much about what he just said.
“So...” Misha toes at the tiles on the floor, looking down at his shoes. “That'd mean there's... no one in your life right now?”
Huh. Now where did that one come from? Did Misha really just ask him if he was single? “No, I'm not seeing anyone right now,” Jensen answers, still quite baffled.
Misha nods in acknowledgement before he steps towards the door.
Right then, the radio switches to the news. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the ten o'clock news for you on this wonderfully sunny Saturday,” the radio host announces cheerfully. “First things first, Kapt'n Kripke has saved the day once more!”
Jensen's head snaps around in shock at those words, glaring at the small radio in the corner of his kitchen. He can see Misha standing by the door, stopped in his tracks and listening as well.
“Our superhero has once again proven why he is indeed a hero - he retrieved the stolen Giza pyramid, an act that was confirmed to have been a deed of the Mystic J.”
“No way,” escapes Jensen's lips, and he notices that Misha has said just the same words simultaneously. They share a short, amused glance.
“It was confirmed by his manager-” Jensen has to try really hard to not snort at that, “- that Kapt'n Kripke will have a short visit to Giza this afternoon, local time, to place the pyramid back where it belongs.”
Jensen has to bite his tongue to not burst into curses. How did that asshole find the shrunken pyramid in that storage hall? It was damn near impossible to track down. He had double-checked everywhere for cameras and all that. Nobody could have seen him moving that pyramid in there.
Misha huffs from the door. “Don't get me wrong, but I don't like that guy very much. I mean, it's not like the absence of the pyramid is a threat to anyone. It was just a prank, why not let that Mystic J guy have a little fun?”
And now, as much as Jensen still wants to blow Kapt'n Kripke's ass from here to the moon, he can hardly suppress a grin. Misha has his back, which is an unbelievably weird feeling. “My point exactly,” he says as flatly as possible, “Don't like the guy either.”
The news reporter is now on-air with a live interview of the damn so-called hero. “And now we've got a message from the honorable Kapt'n Kripke to whomever that Mystic J is! Kapt'n?”
“Kripkeeeeee'd!” is shouted from the radio through the kitchen.
Misha and Jensen groan unnerved, then grin at each other. It's really the first time that Jensen sees Misha's full-on grin, with his row of teeth exposed and the corners of his eyes crinkling. He is downright beautiful like this, Jensen catches himself thinking.
“Lamest catchphrase ever,” Misha rolls his eyes.
“Right? Right!” Jensen nods enthusiastically.
Misha shakes his head. “Still, I really need to get a few things done today. So, thank you again for breakfast. I guess I'll see you around?”
“Sure,” Jensen answers, then leads Misha to the door. “Thanks for visiting.”
Misha chuckles, a sound that once again stirs up that weird feeling in Jensen's stomach. “Well, I had my reasons,” he says.
“Hey, whatever you need, just stop by,” Jensen smiles, all nice guy next door.
Misha nods shortly and heads off towards his house. Jensen can see he's still smiling to himself, which makes him strangely proud. As soon as Jensen has closed the door, he leans his forehead against the cool wood. This is probably the single most inconvenient situation he's ever been in. He worked for years to get to this point. To make the Mystic J a respectable villain, build up a reputation and maybe earn a seat in the Evil League of Evil one day, and he definitely needs to get Misha off the stage for that.
And now, for the first time in what feels like forever, he is seriously pondering about putting his personal needs first. Jensen has never had to do anything like that. As a matter of course, Mystic J always came first, then his job, because it was essential to his own existence. And here Misha walks into Jensen's life with his stupidly blue eyes and messes it all up spectacularly.
Groaning once, Jensen decides he should go take a shower. There's not much to do today, just maybe unpacking the rest of the living room stuff so he can have a movie night this evening. He's really in the mood for that.
It might get his thoughts off Misha. Emphasis on the might.
Then he notices it. A small, black button on his kitchen counter. He doesn't recognize it and picks it up carefully. Well, he surely didn't unpack any clothes in the kitchen, so-
Misha.
Why hadn't he thought of it before? The coffee pads were a totally lame excuse, and he had been aware of that. He had just forgotten about it. And this is the place where Misha had been standing an hour ago.
It's a bug. Of course it's a bug. Jensen can see the tiny camera in the middle of it.
So, that's why Misha came over in the first place.
Jensen, however, decides to play along. He needs to, in order to earn Misha's trust. So now it's not only watching out for Misha spying on his house with a spyglass, it's also important to act normal when he's alone. Judged by the size of this button, though, the battery will only last for two, maybe three days. Tops.
He places it back onto the counter where Misha put it. It's surely not yet recording, Misha will switch it on as soon as he's back at home. Well, let him see how thoroughly normal Jensen is.
Jensen opens the door that leads from his kitchen to the garden to get some air into the room.
On his way upstairs, he pulls the worn t-shirt over his head, ready to throw it into the laundry basket as soon as he reaches the bathroom. Dear god, he's really looking forward to that shower now, he needs to get at least a bit of all that tension out of his system. Clean the pipes, so to speak. Maybe he can focus back on his intended goal afterwards, namely bringing Mystic J a bit further up the greasy pole.
After getting rid of his boxers as well, Jensen turns up the water faucet to warm up the water. In the meantime, he gets a fresh, fluffy towel from the cupboard and places it beside the shower cabin.
When Jensen looks back up, he sees it. The tiny, black button lays there on the floor next to the laundry basket, as if it had popped from one of his shirts. Jensen doesn't look at it for too long, that would make it suspicious, and instead gets into the shower.
For the first time, he's very aware of the fact that his shower door is made of glass. Clear glass, not the milky version. Which means the button can film him in the shower. While he's completely naked. And planning on jerking off. Jensen is not completely sure he's comfortable with that, although it's worth a thought.
While he massages the shampoo into his short, spiky hair, he sighs. It's just that he really, really wants to. That last hour had been a bit too much. He needs to get his head clear. But at the cost of Misha hearing and seeing all of it? Truth be told, he's not much of an exhibitionist. Never was. And Misha of all people?
A short look over his shoulder tells him the button is still there, on the floor. He turns around, so at least it can't get a full view of his hard-on. While he soaps his body, another idea sparks up. A dangerous one, but it sounds quite enticing.
Jensen isn't sure if he'll be able to follow through with this plan. It would be worth a try, anyway, just to troll Misha a bit.
Hey, Misha is the one who placed a bug in the home of a guy in his thirties with a very much persistent libido. He should have known what to expect.
Still, now is not the time. Jensen quickly dries himself off and ponders about his options.
He also may or may have not put up a bit of a show while he was dressing. It's not like Jensen doesn't know his body is quite presentable. He just had to suppress the dirty smirk that constantly tugged at his lips while he pulled his shirt over his head, deliberately flexing the muscles of his stomach and his bicep.
Teasing Misha, that's the plan for today. So instead of a wide, comfortable t-shirt Jensen has chosen a white one that fits just right. Meaning it shows off plenty of his muscles, stretches tight across his chest and around his arms. Quite some eye candy for Misha.
Not even Kapt'n Kripke will ruin this day for him. Although he's still an asshole.
That being said, Jensen resumes unpacking the last moving boxes, mostly unimportant stuff like his impressive DVD collection for the living room and some folders and items for his study. The afternoon passes by in no time like this and when Jensen looks at his watch after what feels like an hour, it's actually already 6 p.m. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.
“Gimme a sec, buddy,” Jensen grins and pats his belly. He finishes emptying the last of the boxes for the study and throws it into the corner where all the others are stacked. Now that everything is in place, his house is looking more and more like a real home. He didn't exactly lie to Misha - before he moved here, he had indeed lived in a cramped flat, where all of his stuff slowly but surely managed to take up all the space. He had needed to get out of there. And then he had seen this house, while he was busy researching Misha. It was perfect, in every way. The plan had already formed itself in his head back then.
For the first time in months, he feels like he can walk freely in his own four walls. Jensen is very pleased with the situation.
Time to get his plan off the ground.
He takes his time cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, just spaghetti Bolognese, and prepares a bowl of popcorn afterwards. The black button follows him everywhere. It always lays conveniently on a cupboard or shelf, where it has a perfect view on Jensen. Jensen suspects Misha to have it equipped with some kind of sticky wheels so it can climb walls, which, he has to admit, is pretty awesome. Credit where credit is due.
Jensen grabs a beer from his fridge, pops the bottle cap and takes it to the living room with the bowl of popcorn.
On his search through the DVD shelf, Jensen decides to watch the most harmless one he can manage. 'Finding Nemo', maybe? Well, that's almost too harmless. Instead, he goes for a western. There's nothing to say against a classic with Clint Eastwood. Even if it contains guns. Humming contently, Jensen pops it into the DVD player and flops down onto the couch. It's brand-new, black leather, especially bought for this house when he moved in because his old one was far too small for this living room. Jensen munches happily on his first handful of popcorn and takes a few gulps from his bottle of beer to wash it down.
He tries to scan the room quickly and as subtly as possible to spot the black button. It hides behind the corner of the TV paper on the couch table.
Oh no, if we're doing this, we'll do it right, Jensen thinks amused and reaches for the paper, just to flip through it, seemingly interested in tonight's program. When he puts the paper back, he does so by practically throwing it across the table to the other end. Now the button lays exposed right before his very eyes and won't be able to move anywhere without him noticing.
Time to start the next phase of Teasing Misha.
Jensen puts the bowl on the floor, carefully to not block the button's sight, and eases one of his hands under the waistband of his jeans. Casually, the way guys do it when they lay on the couch, all sprawled out like Jensen is right now. He takes another sip from his bottle, carefully wrapping his lips around the rim and consciously tilting his head back as he drinks.
His hand slips lower and settles right on top of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. Jensen has to shift his hips in order to lay more comfortable and spread his legs a bit wider. He is overly aware of the button, laying right there on the couch table, watching him. While still pretending to watch the movie, Jensen begins to idly massage the bulge in his boxers for a few minutes. It doesn't take him long to get fully hard. Truth is, this is his preferred way of jerking off anyway, to relax and get in the mood.
Alright. Showtime, baby, Jensen thinks and lets his hand slip free. He leans slightly upwards to pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down before he pushes both his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His hand settles at its former place, wrapped loosely around his cock and stroking slowly. The delicate friction is just the right amount of pressure that Jensen needs right now. It's not like he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Misha should be able to enjoy the show as well.
Jensen reaches up with his other hand and circles one of his nipples through the cotton of his shirt until the nub stands out hard and visible against the fabric.
It's weird to feel Misha's eyes on him like this, but Jensen can't help but be turned on by the buzz running through his veins at the thought alone. Huh. And here he thought he wasn't an exhibitionist inclined. He grips his dick just a bit harder, squeezes tight with his thumb and index finger, lingers a bit longer at the head. A drop of pre-come gets smeared under his thumb when he sweeps it over the sensitive skin. Unable to suppress a quiet moan, Jensen opens his lips and pants. His strokes on his cock start to get faster and he notices how he loses focus on putting up a show.
What if Misha touches himself right now, too? What if he enjoys it to see Jensen like this and gets in the mood as well?
The picture of Misha sitting in his observation room with his hand down his pants settles in Jensen head, not only turning him on but also encouraging him to take it slow.
After taking a deep breath, Jensen stops just for a moment, dragging it out. He grimaces, the need to finally come and relieve all the tension that has been building up ever since Misha knocked at his door this morning becoming overwhelming. Jensen groans, a bit frustrated. He only wanted to tease Misha, but now his thoughts are back on plush, full lips wrapped around his cock and swallowing him down.
“Mi-” he sighs and barely stops himself. Oh, hell no, no Freudian slip in a situation like this. Not on camera, for fuck's sake, “M-my god,” he whispers instead and hopes Misha didn't notice.
Jensen groans again and resumes jerking his hand up and down his cock, his moves quicker than before. After a few strokes, he decides to get his second hand into the game by massaging his balls. Sighing at the added pleasure, Jensen feels the orgasm he's been longing for beginning to build up in his lower abdomen, the tension spreading through his whole body, getting it ready to explode.
The hand on his balls slowly slides lower and lower, until he rubs his sac only with the heel of his hand, his fingers touching and reaching further down. Jensen finds the ring of muscle of his ass quickly and caresses it gently with the pad of his index finger. The touch on the sensitive nerve endings make him moan in pleasure, and he carefully angles his face towards the button on the table when his lips part once more. He closes his eyes, presses them shut to focus on his ministrations.
Jensen lets the tip of his finger slip into his ass, which is about as far as painlessly possible without any lube. It's still enough for his brain to wreck more havoc than it should. It apparently likes to gladly supply Jensen with some pictures of Misha, not only kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock, but also using those slender fingers of his to prepare Jensen. And at that point, Jensen's brain seems to have pretty much shut down.
Because now, Jensen sees himself pinning Misha down on the ground - okay, make that a bed - and riding his dick with deep, guttural groans dropping from his lips at every thrust that buries Misha balls-deep into him. His finger slips a bit deeper at the thought, but the slight stretching pain makes Jensen focus back on reality and not his fantasies.
He's always been comfortable with being the top. He only bottomed for people he was completely comfortable with and trusted enough to know they wouldn't screw up. As a matter of fact, that rule is based on a single event that had left its marks. As another matter of fact, Jensen had never bottomed for someone else ever since. So it's clearly a surprise that he's already cool with the idea of bottoming for Misha. Shit.
In his mind, Jensen is still riding Misha until the dark-haired man can do nothing but beg him to let him come. And that does it. Fantasizing about how Misha will look when he climaxes, how he'd screw those beautiful blue eyes shut and moan and twitch underneath Jensen, how he'd sigh and try to gasp for air afterwards…
Jensen groans, deep and uncontrolled. It takes two more, well-paced strokes and Jensen comes in long, white spurts shooting up to his chest.
His first thought after he regained his ability to breathe is that his shirt is ruined.
The second thought that hits Jensen like a brick wall is Right. Misha. A short check of the coffee table tells him that the button is still right there, that Misha has most likely seen everything the way Jensen wanted him to.
It's really not easy to not appear as smug as he feels right now.
Jensen sits up to pull his t-shirt over his head and uses it to clean himself up.
Oh, the things he'd give to see Misha's face right now.
In his house down the road, Misha gets up awkwardly from his chair. His eyes are glued to the monitor that shows Jensen, half naked sitting on the couch and wiping the come off his upper body.
Misha still can't fully comprehend what the hell just happened.
Except for Jensen just having a little fun with himself on camera, and Misha had a perfect view on every second of it.
The bulge in his pants is quite distracting, the way his cock strains against his zipper is almost painful. So yeah, what can he say. Jensen's got one nicely trained body. Misha surely wouldn't push him out of bed.
For the moment, though, he whistles for one of his minions. “Bring me some lube, it's in my room. Bedside table.”
“Luuuubyyy,” the minion confirms, nodding his head once before bouncing off down the hall.
Misha places his hand on the bulge in his jeans and rubs gently to take a bit of tension off. It doesn't help much.
Misha's eyes are still glued to the monitor of his little button bug, where Jensen's bare torso and still half-open pants are supplying some seriously awesome jerking off material.
He groans in frustration, and not all because of his current state. He knows that there are bigger problems beginning to form in his life. It's stupid, and he's in for a lot of trouble if he gives in, and Misha knows it. But damn, he needs this right now.
<< Masterpost | Chapter 2 >>
Being a supervillain isn't easy these days.
Misha might be able to tell you a thing or two about that.
The times where he could've just stolen the miniature Statue of Liberty from Las Vegas in broad daylight and would be considered a genius in the Evil League of Evil were most definitely over. Bigger, better, funnier is what it had to be these days, and with some political sense on top if you were good. And damn, Misha was good. Is good, he corrects himself.
“Coffee,” he tells the yellow, about three feet tall minion, who's idly playing with a roll of toilet paper at his side. “Now,” Misha adds grumpily and grabs the roll from him.
“Co-bee?” the minion asks back, seemingly confused.
“Yes, coffee.”
Babbling his usual nonsense that only Misha seems to get, the minion hurries obediently off towards the kitchen. Sometimes they're just a bit slow, those guys. Not that he ever regretted inventing the cloning machine. Just, maybe, once or twice. And never without reason.
Boogie robots were not the same as Cookie robots, but the minions had to learn that the hard way. Misha rubs his temples at the memory.
It has taken years to build up his fine little estate in the middle of suburbia. None of his neighbors would ever think that a large laboratory complex and a weapon factory are hidden beyond his darkly painted house. Not that it is any of their business anyway.
Misha sighs. Yes, the life of a supervillain isn't easy.
Mostly because of superheroes and competing supervillains.
Still, he's the best of the latter and he has to prove it. His last project - namely trying to blackmail the local government with the fact that he was able to poison the town's water supply - didn't seem very supervillain-ish at all. And it had failed because his minions had managed to take not the poison but - no, not thinking about that, Misha, you don't want to slam your head against the nearest wall. Let's just say, the people of his little town were rather delighted to find out that they could float around like balloons if they drank some of their thoroughly healthy and not poisoned water from the tap.
The Bank of Evil had given him shit to no end for that. And no further credit, which was much worse.
And if that isn't enough already, the minion bounces back into his living room right then and slams head-first into the open sarcophagus. The one with the nails in it. Maybe Misha should stuff him in there and shut it with gusto. Because right now, his coffee is spilled all over the floor beside said sarcophagus.
“Gotta do everything by myself,” Misha mumbles with frustration and grabs his freeze ray on the way to the front door. Still shaking his head, he slips into his coat, wraps his gray-black striped scarf loosely around his neck and leaves.
The way to his usual coffee shop takes merely five minutes by foot, but Misha is a villain, so damn right he's taking his plane-car-hybrid. Not the kind of hybrid that runs partly on gas and partly on batteries. Please. The kind that blows more carbon dioxide (and monoxide, deal with it) into the air per minute than a dozen hummers and a dairy herd do in a whole year.
He notices the moving truck from the corner of his eyes but can't get himself to care.
When he parks in front of the coffee shop a minute later, he makes sure to ram every car standing directly in front of it. Not just a scratch, but right out of the way. Ignoring the blaring alarms and honks, he strolls inside. Of course the coffee shop is crowded this time of the morning.
No problem for his freeze ray though. Gracefully, Misha jumps around the people, freezing each and every one of them so he can easily get to the front of the row. It's not like he's actually covering them in ice or something - please, that would A.) be an ice beam and B.) so Mystic J.
The name alone makes Misha almost roll his eyes.
The barista - a slender blonde girl - stares at him in blank shock and doesn't even try to hold onto the paper cup in her hand. A short look into it tells Misha it's simple black coffee, the way he prefers it. Black as his soul, he thinks and suppresses a snicker. Instead, he flashes the girl behind the counter a full-on grin, reaches for a packet of sugar, pours it slowly into the cup and stirs it in. Misha even throws a single cent into the tip jar beside the check register before he leaves with one last wink at the girl. The sweet taste of victory and black coffee accompany him back to his vehicle.
Damn right if a supervillain can't get a nice, good coffee in the morning. Not even Mystic J could pull off something like that, at least not the way Misha just did. Like he said, ice beam. Not nearly as cool as an actual freeze ray. He slips in behind the wheel and sets his baby on the road.
Right then, his phone rings. Misha twists his mouth up lopsidedly in an unnerved expression. Eventually, he manages to fumble it out of his coat pocket. Talking on the phone while driving - Yes, he's that evil.
“Yeah?” he answers the constant ringing.
“Misha?” a cheery female voice greets him.
He groans. “Hi, Mom.”
“So I heard you stole the pyramid this morning. Congratulations!”
“Uhm... Mom. What are you talking about? I didn't-”
“Oh, so you mean it wasn't you who stole the great Giza pyramid? Was it that great new guy then, this Mys-”
“Mom, don't say his name,” Misha grit out through his teeth.
“I'm just saying you should consider taking a leaf out of his book,” she sneers, Misha can hear it clearly in her tone.
“Mom-”
“Anyway, you better get something done.” With that, she hangs up on him.
“No, you don't-” Misha sighs and throws the phone on the passenger seat. So Mystic J stole the Giza pyramid? Damn the guy, but he's good. He's been making Misha's life worse from day to day, even more than Kapt'n Kripke does these days. Kapt'n with a K, he insists, douchebag that he is. Stupid superheroes.
Stupid other villains.
He needs a plan, Misha decides, when he turns into his driveway.
As he hauls the last of his moving boxes into his new house, Jensen begins to whistle cheerfully. His new house is great, especially since it was renovated just the way he wanted it to be, and the location can't be any more perfect. Right beside Mischievous Misha's house.
Being a supervillain is awesome these days.awesome
Especially when you're an up and coming one like Jensen. Only that he isn't as obvious with his name of choice like Misha is. With a first name like that, how could Jensen not be able to track him down? That was easier than taking candy from a baby.
There's a reason why he's Mystic J - he can still walk down the street these days and seem like a totally normal human being. Living undercover makes a lot of things easier. Jensen's house, at least the interior of it, was completely designed by himself. He made sure that his buttons for opening the elevator into the thoroughly stocked sub-basement weren't shiny red buttons that you could easily mistake for the fire alarm button.
Being an engineer with an MIT degree also has its perks. It meant you could invent buttons that only react to your own fingerprints plus a scan of your iris when you look at the tiny, tiny camera on the ceiling. Apart from those conveniently placed buttons, Jensen's house seemed completely normal. Like the house of an MIT engineer with a regular job should look like. Speaking of which, a regular job also helps to stay out of trouble. And to bridge the weeks between his plans, financially speaking. Jensen has not even once had a quarrel with the Bank of Evil.
Humming contentedly, Jensen unpacks one of the boxes containing kitchen utensils.
There's a reason he's moved here, obviously. Misha has been in the business way too long; it's time for Jensen's final strike to wipe him off the list of Jensen's contestants. His time is over. Not that he plans to murder the guy, which is so not his style, Jensen just wants him gone. And therefore, he'll be studying Misha from now on - figuring out his plans, ruining them as soon and as destructively as possible. That means he has to worm his way into Misha's life, which will be the hardest part of his plan.
When the kitchen is ready, Jensen begins to bake cookies. Not cookie robots, those are so 2010. Just plain old Hi-I'm-your-new-neighbor-and-totally-trustworthy-cookies.
Jensen knows from his research on Misha that he isn't very social, barely even lets other people into his house. Just that one giant with the floppy brown hair, whoever that is. Jensen has yet to find out.
It's not something that's going to happen in a second, Jensen knows that, it's more like a process. It'll be work, a lot of work even, getting to know Misha and getting him to trust Jensen. But at the same time, he also knows it's gonna be worth it, because he doesn't even have to make plans on his own any more - just deliberately sabotage Misha's, or, if they're good, realize them himself. Always being that one, frustrating step in front of Misha, that's the plan. It won't take too long to make Misha give up on his fruitless attempt at world domination. Jensen even considers staying in this house afterwards, because it's just that perfect. When he experimentally flicks his thumb over the underside of the kitchen counter and looks up to the lamp on the ceiling, a short tray slides out immediately. Jensen can't help but grin as he sweeps his fingers proudly over his ice beam. No one uses freeze rays these days, because - well, Misha would probably use one, ergo they're lame.
Oh, Jensen almost wallows in the sweet victory already. He pushes the button at the tray's side to let it slip back into place with a satisfied smile on his lips.
Speaking of the end of the world as everybody knows it, his cookies are ready. At least the tiny black bomb that is his egg timer says so.
Still whistling something that sounds remarkably like R.E.M., Jensen takes the cookies that will probably change the world out of the oven and places them on the windowsill to cool down. It's the window that faces Misha's house - a really cliché house, just saying. Jensen snorts unimpressed. The walls are painted in something that might have been white once and faded to a dirty gray over the years, but then again, maybe it had always been gray. Black roof tiles are covering the roof, probably made of slate or something equally dark. It's depressing, really. And it screams "supervillain!" so hard it's almost pathetic.
Someone's clearly overcompensating here.
"Yeah, this one's gonna be easy," Jensen huffs to himself. It seems like Misha just needs the final kick in the nuts to leave the stage. Or a tomato in the face, whatever. Jensen would have no problem providing either.
That is, if Kapt'n Kripke doesn't interfere. In silent anger, Jensen clenches his hands into fists, slamming one down on the kitchen counter. Damn superheroes and their superhero complexes. What kind of douchebag names himself Kapt'n Kripke - with a K - anyway? And insists on shouting a “Kripke'd!” into one's face if he managed to foil ones latest plan? As he said, douchebag. A middle-aged, increasingly balding one on top of that. Basically, Kapt'n Kripke is the definition of lame, but the guy still manages to stress the hell out of Jensen.
Anyway, there is only one last thing Jensen needs to do to get into the Evil League of Evil. Wipe Misha off the landscape.
His strategy is not yet that clear, but Jensen told himself that he would just make it up as he goes.
Misha's name might be easy to track down, but finding personal information about him is pretty hard. Not even Jensen's truly outstanding knowledge of hacking could help him there.
The only thing he could dig up was an old résumé on eBay that said Misha was able to “act on camera”. Whatever that means.
Besides, Jensen needs Misha to trust him. So, first and foremost, he was the new, very nice, very harmless neighbor.
Jensen stacks the cookies up - rainbow cookies with M&Ms of all colors mixed into the dough - and places them in a basket. After he made sure that the oven was shut off and cooling down, Jensen heads for the door to leave, making sure that his hair sits perfectly. A nice, easy smile shows on his lips, more or less involuntarily. Well, what can he say, he's looking forward to this.
However, he begins his round of introduction to the neighbors at the house on the other side, opposite of Misha's. A family is living there, as well as in the house across the street and the ones on both sides of that. The parents open the doors for him while the kids mostly hide shyly behind their legs. Jensen smiles at each of them, trades some lines of small talk with each parent, even gets some invitations for barbeques during the weekend. The neighborhood is definitely nice.
Five houses down, one to go.
When Jensen finally makes it to Misha's doorstep, he expects a lot. Which is weird, considering he's clearly the superior villain here. But, call it respect for the elders or something, Jensen is excited. He has no idea what to expect exactly, though.
The sound of the bell is harsh when he rings it. He looks up, almost disappointed to not see any crows fluttering up to the sky at the noise, which would have been just too perfectly trite. A short, rattling sound from the other side of the door tells Jensen he's being watched through the peephole. He smiles as brightly and as harmlessly as he can manage and waves at the tiny glass in the door. The moment drags on.
"Hi! It's your new neighbor!" he shouts friendly.
"Go away," a flat voice from the inside replies.
"Just here to say hello and introduce myself," Jensen explains calmly and still smiles. Make an effort, he tells himself. Smiling is not that hard.
"Not interested," Misha grumbles from behind the door.
Jensen knows he's still being watched and holds up the basket of cookies. "I brought cookies?" he offers.
Misha clears his throat. And hesitates. Gotcha.
"I was told from the other neighbors that they were in fact not that bad," Jensen winks now.
For a bad guy, he's able to be pretty nice.
Another few moments pass before the door chain is removed, sound of metal sliding against metal obvious to be heard. The first thing Jensen can see in the shadow that hides the other man are blue eyes. Intense, big, baby blue eyes. Unfortunately, they don't look very welcoming. Misha still doesn't fully open the door, but it's angled wide enough so he can stand there, covering the sight to the hallway completely. Damn. His hands are crossed in front of his slender chest and he wears a black button-down and jeans. Jensen swallows and looks back up, notices plush, full lips and tousled black hair. Double damn.
Despite the sour expression on Misha's face, Jensen is far from disappointed. He expected a lot without knowing what exactly, but he certainly didn't expect Misha to look actually quite handsome. Well, understatement.
Seems like a case where he can blatantly spin his charm on the guy to win him over. Not that Jensen has much time for dating, he is much more interested in pursuing his goal to rule the world, thankyouverymuch, but that doesn't mean he's rusty at flirting, or refraining from doing so. It still doesn't mean he'd date Misha. He's his archnemesis, for crying out loud. Well, maybe him and Kapt'n Kripke.
"Uhm..." Jensen begins and doesn't even have to pretend to stutter, "Hi, I'm Jensen Ackles. I moved in next door," he points over to his left side.
Misha frowns and leans forward to take a look at his house, obviously pleased when he sees it's just as usual as every other house on their street. “Wait here,” he says dryly before he turns around and leans the door at the frame, blocking the sight but not closing it completely. He returns with a device in his hands. A metal detector, Jensen notices quickly. “Basket,” Misha demands quietly with a wave of his hand towards said item.
Feigning confusion, Jensen holds up the cookies once more and watches as Misha scans it, eventually nodding when he seems satisfied with the result. Jensen raises an eyebrow. “And what was that about?” he grins innocently and nods at the device.
“Just checking for... you know, you can't be too careful nowadays, call it a bad experience,” Misha answers, but he doesn't seem to have opened up much. Still, he doesn't seem that suspicious anymore and tentatively reaches for a cookie.
“I get it, don't worry. My sister once pulled a prank on me and baked muffins, with a bottle cap placed in one of them just for me,” Jensen replies, joking lightly to ease the tension.
Misha munches on his cookie, but Jensen can still notice the edge of his lips twitch upwards. He doesn't answer, though.
For a villain, Misha actually looks quite adorable like this.
Jensen stares blankly at him for a second. Where the hell has that thought just come from? Inwardly, he slaps himself and pulls it back together. “So, anyway. If you need anything, feel free to ask me. Even if it's just-” Jensen leans back to take a look at the garden, which is very overgrown, the trees could use some trimming and the flowers... well, they're more brown and withered than green. “- helping you with that awfully long lawn or something,” Jensen tries to put it lightly.
“Thanks, but that won't be necessary,” Misha shakes his head.
“Hey, just sayin',” Jensen winks. “Anyway, have a nice day. I've still got tons of boxes to unpack.” And with that, he takes a step back and strolls down the patio. After half the way to the sidewalk, Jensen turns back around and finds Misha still standing in the door.
He clears his throat before he shouts, “There are still cookies left, so...?” and shakes the basket.
A moment's hesitation later, Misha quickly jumps down the few steps, like a dog for his treat. Jensen couldn't possibly grin any wider at the picture.
Misha helps himself to two more cookies. “They're pretty good, thanks,” he says, and Jensen doesn't know if he should be more surprised at the compliment or at the thanks. “Bye, um, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name-?”
“Jensen.”
“Right. Bye, Jensen.” And Misha turns on his heels and heads back to his house.
Right then, Jensen realizes that Misha hadn't really told him his name. That he knows who Misha is doesn't spare him the question. “Uhm... just a sec. What is your name?”
Misha stops to turn his head towards Jensen. His expression is unreadable. “Misha Collins. You can call me Misha.”
“Huh,” says Jensen, pretending to be surprised at the truly unusual name. “Okay. Then have a nice day, Misha.”
Still smiling, Jensen makes his way back to his own house. Even after the door is closed behind him and he's back to unpacking stuff onto his new furniture, he can't stop smiling. The music he's blowing through the stereo's speakers is far too cheerful for his usual taste, but Jensen is far from caring. He feels good, and he doesn't quite know if it's because he found a way to beat Misha or if it's just because their first meeting went so well. Either way, it's a good start for his plan.
Rule the world, that's the plan, he reminds himself.
When Jensen gets up the next morning, which is luckily a Saturday, he immediately knows he hit level 2. He practically feels that he's being watched. The little hairs on his neck are standing up and his skin is prickling while he's standing in the bathroom, putting his contacts in, and brushing his teeth. It's not a pleasant feeling, but Jensen can't help being smug about it. A small smirk settles on his lips when he idly walks downstairs, still in his cotton v-neck shirt and boxers, to grab some breakfast.
It isn't a bad sign, not at all. Misha is just checking on him, which is the next logical step.
That being said, Jensen stretches his arms towards the ceiling before he scratches at his belly, yawning as he steps into his kitchen. Misha watching him has a few minor inconveniences, though. A few things are going to be off-limits for use for the time being, mainly the buttons that hid his pretty impressive equipment, or using his instant-coffee-o-mat. Which has been his very first invention, to no surprise, as he is the kind of human being that only functions when running on just the right level of caffeine. The instant-coffee-o-mat pours a coffee faster than any of those stupid pad or capsule machines ever could, thanks to that fine little heater inside of it that runs on uranium. It also talks and throws the used coffee powder away immediately. Jensen loves the damn thing.
Right now, he is also kinda glad that it is programmed to know his habits and already begins to brew a cup for breakfast.
“Thanks, Heather,” he says and runs his hand through his unruly hair. Yes, her name is Heather, after a pretty intense discussion with a Starbucks clerk of the same name. Not that that particular conversation went well. Jensen may have made use of his ice beam at the end.
“You're welcome, Master.”
Jensen grins. Look at that, her manners also get better from day to day. Definitely more polite than her namesake. Usually she snaps a short “Your coffee, Sir,” at him and beeps as a sign that she's on idle mode again.
The first mouthful of coffee wrings out an appreciative groan from Jensen. He almost hates Misha twice as much now that he needs to put her away, at least for a few days, and has to rip out the old Senseo again. Not that it doesn't work as well, but c'mon, he has to switch it on himself.
After a short check towards Misha's house, Jensen reaches into the corner behind the coffee-o-mat and lets it disappear into the counter. A few boxes are still placed all around his house, so he searches quickly for the last one that has 'kitchen' written atop of it. It contains his old, trusty coffee machine and a few packets of coffee pads. He needed to have back up in case Heather needs to be fixed, and how would he be able to repair her without a cup of coffee nearby? Call it bad experience, but Jensen knows his shit.
The machine is set up quickly as Jensen enjoys the last cup made by his coffee-o-mat. When he is done, he switches the small radio on and begins to pour milk and flour and eggs into a wide bowl. It’s definitely a good day, and therefore there need to be pancakes.
In his mind, Jensen flips through the current contents of his house and checks if there are things he needs to replace. Considering that his sub-basement is very well hidden - he checked the houses on this street before he moved here, and not one of them, except Misha's, even has a sub-basement - and he has a strict rule that there are to be no suspicious items allowed outside the lab, so the house is pretty much clean. As long as he doesn't touch the buttons.
The pancakes are frying to a gold-brown crust in the pan and their delicious smell fills the house. Jensen hums contently and starts whistling along to the radio, which currently blasts out some AC/DC.
Jensen still manages to hear the doorbell. He quickly pours enough dough for the next pancake into the pan and hurries out to get the door.
He can see on the monitoring camera that it is Misha.
Glad that he already checked the house and is sure that everything's fine, he opens the door. “Morning, Misha,” Jensen says, smiling warmly.
“Good morning,” Misha replies, blinking in the bright morning sunlight. He wears a dark plaid shirt, top three buttons undone and revealing a clean-shaven, pale triangle of chest.
Jensen has to swallow involuntarily, but still manages to focus back on Misha's eyes. It doesn't make things much easier. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“Well, I just realized that I'm all out of coffee and wondered if you could maybe spare a coffee pad or two. I'll return them once I've been grocery shopping,” Misha tilts his head sideways as he asks.
It's just a lame excuse to come over and Jensen gets that completely. He's not about to call Misha's bluff, though, which would seem rather suspicious.
“Sure, come in,” Jensen answers instead and turns around, waving Misha in with a smile and closing the door behind him. “I was just busy making breakfast, so let me check the pancakes first?”
Misha nods shortly as he tries to take in everything around him as subtly as possible. Jensen notices it despite Misha's efforts, but doesn't let anything on. He slips past the other man to lead the way. The hallway is narrow, and for a short moment, Jensen has the fragrance of Misha's aftershave in his nose. That, and that weird personal smell everyone has. And strangely enough, Misha's is quite... appealing. Jensen sighs quietly in a fruitless attempt to clear his mind as soon as Misha can't see his face any more. Sometimes, he really has to remind himself that his new neighbor is his enemy, that he needs to find his weak spot. Not... no, not going there.
Stepping forward, Jensen enters the kitchen with Misha on his heels. It's only then that Jensen realizes he still wears the clothes he's slept in and that he hasn't even combed his hair today. When he turns his head around to take a short look at his neighbor and archenemy, Misha's eyes rest on his back, obviously amused by his appearance.
“Uhm, sorry, for the-” Jensen tugs at his soft cotton shirt, “I just got up, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“It's no problem, really,” Misha answers. And maybe Jensen imagines it, but it comes out a bit too quickly. Huh. Surely that's just him.
The pancake that's currently occupying the frying pan needs to be flipped over. Not refraining from a little show-off, Jensen grabs the handle firmly and swings the pan in a gracious curve, making the pancake fly and flip over in mid-air, before it lands back in the pan. He'd love to see Misha's face at this, but doesn't want to turn his head and make it that obvious that he wants to impress the other man. Because really.
When the pan is back on the stove, Jensen opens his kitchen cabinet to pull out the coffee pads. Picking up two, he turns back around to Misha and hands them over.
“Here you go,” Jensen says, and can't help but notice how slender Misha's fingers are when they brush his.
“Thanks,” Misha answers quietly and looks directly into Jensen's eyes. Deep blue eyes stare into Jensen's, and right then, Brian Johnson yells a well-placed “Thunderstruck!” from the radio through his kitchen.
Jensen suddenly has a very strange feeling in his stomach.
“I'll return them to you later,” Misha adds, breaking their eye contact to nod down at the pads in his hands.
“Don't bother, it's fine,” Jensen waves him off and smiles. The smile somehow is far too easy to manage.
“Then thanks again,” Misha says, and for the first time, he actually smiles back. It's just a small smile, tentative and lopsided, but it's there, and Jensen's stomach apparently makes an attempt to flip over. Jensen also notices that Misha's eyes flicker to the pancakes on the stove. He has an idea.
“Hey, I think I made too much batter anyway... you wanna stay for breakfast? I could make you a cup of coffee right here instead.”
Jensen can be nice as well. Even to his archnemesis.
Okay, well, Kapt'n Kripke is more his archnemesis than Misha. Who, by the way, stands a little lost in his kitchen, leans his back against the counter and ponders. “Look, I don't really wanna keep you-”
“No, no, it's fine, it's not a bother,” Jensen is quick to interrupt him.
“Well, if you insist.” And there's that little smile again that makes Jensen's stomach do strange things. Misha steps forward and hands the coffee pads back to him, and their fingers brush once again. Jensen feels his skin tingle where they touched.
Dammit, he really can't afford crushing on Misha. Misha, of all people.
While he quietly resumes making the pancakes and brewing a cup of coffee for his guest Jensen can't stop thinking about it. It's true, he hasn't had any hook-ups for a while. It's hard to let people into your life, even as little as a casual one-night stand, when you've got so much to hide. But that's just sexually speaking. Romantically... well, Jensen hasn't been romantically occupied with anybody ever. Again, he couldn't let anyone get that close to him, there's too much possible blackmailing stuff in his closet. Speaking of the closet, he's never really been in there, metaphorically, except for the time in high school. But well, it was high school, where everyone had tried their best to keep their head down. Otherwise, Jensen has always announced his bisexuality openly. Why limit the choice? Sometimes it's just nice to get a handjob from someone who knows the equipment.
And Misha right there... is a challenge.
Jensen can't deny that he would definitely try to hook up with him if they had met in a bar somewhere. Those blue eyes were a challenge by themselves, and Jensen should really not think how they would look up when those chapped, full lips were wrapped around his dick. Not while he's wearing only thin cotton boxers.
Not thinking about Misha is kind of impossible at the moment though.
Jensen takes a deep breath and just hopes that his boxers are loose enough to hide the fact that he's half hard. He smiles sheepishly at Misha when he puts the cup of coffee down in front of him. “Milk and sugar?”
“Just sugar, please.”
Jensen takes the box of sugar cubes to the table. “Help yourself.”
Misha's long, delicate fingers reach for only one. Jensen has to turn around again to pour the remaining dough into the pan and fry the last pancake. Simultaneously, he sets up another cup of coffee for himself. God knows he needs a second one.
He still has no idea how to not develop a crush on Misha.
The pancakes and his coffee are done, and with the cup and a plate of pancakes, he makes his way back to the table. Grabbing a second plate and a set of cutlery for Misha quickly, Jensen sits down opposite the other man.
He also just takes one cube of sugar to his coffee. No milk. Misha obviously notices, because he stares at Jensen's fingers, watches his movements closely. When he also notices that Jensen is watching him, their eyes meet over the table and both smile shortly before digging into the pancakes.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Jensen asks innocently.
“Between jobs at the moment,” Misha answers shortly.
Yeah, I bet, Jensen thinks amused. “Looking for which kind of job?” He can't help just poking him with a stick.
“Engineering would be perfect. The market seems to be tough, though.”
“Mmhhh, yes,” Jensen swallows a mouthful of admittedly awesome pancake, “I know. I actually am an engineer, you know.” He can't hide the grin spreading on his lips now. “The economy still hasn't fully recovered, which is easy to see in my company as well.”
Misha sighs quietly. “I just have to wait a bit, and we'll see,” he shrugs it off. “So, what made you move here? The job?”
“Not exactly,” Jensen replies, and really, it's hard not to snicker at the double entendre and say 'the reason is you', which would be just cheesy. And, obviously, would sound wrong. “I've lived in the city, in a small flat before, and decided that I need a bit more space. I was told this house was empty for years?”
“Yes, the former owner was a wacky old man. After he died, the heirs had a law suit over the house for years,” Misha explains.
Jensen huffs amused. “Yeah, well, and in the end they just sold it. Lucky me.”
“It's a nice neighborhood,” one corner of Misha's mouth curls upwards, yet again in that tentative way of his.
Jensen smiles back widely. “Yeah, I noticed. I'm glad I was able to move here.”
“So, you've got family? You mentioned a sister yesterday.”
“Yes, she lives a few towns over. Got an older brother, too, who lives in Texas near my parents,” Jensen spills and wonders why the hell he is telling Misha all of this. It's not even a lie. This could be dangerous, he has to watch out. “You? Where are you from?”
“Lived here for more than ten years now. I don't have much contact with my siblings, just my mom. She doesn't live around here, either.”
The fact that Misha seems comfortable enough with him and trusts him enough to let him know this makes Jensen feel quite smug. Because he knows those things are true.
Conversation flows easily with Misha, Jensen notices, although that is as personal as the topics of conversation get. They talk random stuff, politics, and actually get along just fine. It's surprising, but on the other hand - they're what they are, villains, for a reason. They work towards the same goal, so it shouldn't be that surprising that they are on the same page with almost everything. In the end, Misha and Jensen spend almost an hour at breakfast, during another cup of coffee, before Misha gets up and takes his plate to the sink.
“So, thank you very much for the breakfast, Jensen,” Misha says, turning around to Jensen.
“Sure, no problem. Thanks for the company,” Jensen smiles. “It's actually quite nice to have someone around every once in a while,” he adds, and tries not to think too much about what he just said.
“So...” Misha toes at the tiles on the floor, looking down at his shoes. “That'd mean there's... no one in your life right now?”
Huh. Now where did that one come from? Did Misha really just ask him if he was single? “No, I'm not seeing anyone right now,” Jensen answers, still quite baffled.
Misha nods in acknowledgement before he steps towards the door.
Right then, the radio switches to the news. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the ten o'clock news for you on this wonderfully sunny Saturday,” the radio host announces cheerfully. “First things first, Kapt'n Kripke has saved the day once more!”
Jensen's head snaps around in shock at those words, glaring at the small radio in the corner of his kitchen. He can see Misha standing by the door, stopped in his tracks and listening as well.
“Our superhero has once again proven why he is indeed a hero - he retrieved the stolen Giza pyramid, an act that was confirmed to have been a deed of the Mystic J.”
“No way,” escapes Jensen's lips, and he notices that Misha has said just the same words simultaneously. They share a short, amused glance.
“It was confirmed by his manager-” Jensen has to try really hard to not snort at that, “- that Kapt'n Kripke will have a short visit to Giza this afternoon, local time, to place the pyramid back where it belongs.”
Jensen has to bite his tongue to not burst into curses. How did that asshole find the shrunken pyramid in that storage hall? It was damn near impossible to track down. He had double-checked everywhere for cameras and all that. Nobody could have seen him moving that pyramid in there.
Misha huffs from the door. “Don't get me wrong, but I don't like that guy very much. I mean, it's not like the absence of the pyramid is a threat to anyone. It was just a prank, why not let that Mystic J guy have a little fun?”
And now, as much as Jensen still wants to blow Kapt'n Kripke's ass from here to the moon, he can hardly suppress a grin. Misha has his back, which is an unbelievably weird feeling. “My point exactly,” he says as flatly as possible, “Don't like the guy either.”
The news reporter is now on-air with a live interview of the damn so-called hero. “And now we've got a message from the honorable Kapt'n Kripke to whomever that Mystic J is! Kapt'n?”
“Kripkeeeeee'd!” is shouted from the radio through the kitchen.
Misha and Jensen groan unnerved, then grin at each other. It's really the first time that Jensen sees Misha's full-on grin, with his row of teeth exposed and the corners of his eyes crinkling. He is downright beautiful like this, Jensen catches himself thinking.
“Lamest catchphrase ever,” Misha rolls his eyes.
“Right? Right!” Jensen nods enthusiastically.
Misha shakes his head. “Still, I really need to get a few things done today. So, thank you again for breakfast. I guess I'll see you around?”
“Sure,” Jensen answers, then leads Misha to the door. “Thanks for visiting.”
Misha chuckles, a sound that once again stirs up that weird feeling in Jensen's stomach. “Well, I had my reasons,” he says.
“Hey, whatever you need, just stop by,” Jensen smiles, all nice guy next door.
Misha nods shortly and heads off towards his house. Jensen can see he's still smiling to himself, which makes him strangely proud. As soon as Jensen has closed the door, he leans his forehead against the cool wood. This is probably the single most inconvenient situation he's ever been in. He worked for years to get to this point. To make the Mystic J a respectable villain, build up a reputation and maybe earn a seat in the Evil League of Evil one day, and he definitely needs to get Misha off the stage for that.
And now, for the first time in what feels like forever, he is seriously pondering about putting his personal needs first. Jensen has never had to do anything like that. As a matter of course, Mystic J always came first, then his job, because it was essential to his own existence. And here Misha walks into Jensen's life with his stupidly blue eyes and messes it all up spectacularly.
Groaning once, Jensen decides he should go take a shower. There's not much to do today, just maybe unpacking the rest of the living room stuff so he can have a movie night this evening. He's really in the mood for that.
It might get his thoughts off Misha. Emphasis on the might.
Then he notices it. A small, black button on his kitchen counter. He doesn't recognize it and picks it up carefully. Well, he surely didn't unpack any clothes in the kitchen, so-
Misha.
Why hadn't he thought of it before? The coffee pads were a totally lame excuse, and he had been aware of that. He had just forgotten about it. And this is the place where Misha had been standing an hour ago.
It's a bug. Of course it's a bug. Jensen can see the tiny camera in the middle of it.
So, that's why Misha came over in the first place.
Jensen, however, decides to play along. He needs to, in order to earn Misha's trust. So now it's not only watching out for Misha spying on his house with a spyglass, it's also important to act normal when he's alone. Judged by the size of this button, though, the battery will only last for two, maybe three days. Tops.
He places it back onto the counter where Misha put it. It's surely not yet recording, Misha will switch it on as soon as he's back at home. Well, let him see how thoroughly normal Jensen is.
Jensen opens the door that leads from his kitchen to the garden to get some air into the room.
On his way upstairs, he pulls the worn t-shirt over his head, ready to throw it into the laundry basket as soon as he reaches the bathroom. Dear god, he's really looking forward to that shower now, he needs to get at least a bit of all that tension out of his system. Clean the pipes, so to speak. Maybe he can focus back on his intended goal afterwards, namely bringing Mystic J a bit further up the greasy pole.
After getting rid of his boxers as well, Jensen turns up the water faucet to warm up the water. In the meantime, he gets a fresh, fluffy towel from the cupboard and places it beside the shower cabin.
When Jensen looks back up, he sees it. The tiny, black button lays there on the floor next to the laundry basket, as if it had popped from one of his shirts. Jensen doesn't look at it for too long, that would make it suspicious, and instead gets into the shower.
For the first time, he's very aware of the fact that his shower door is made of glass. Clear glass, not the milky version. Which means the button can film him in the shower. While he's completely naked. And planning on jerking off. Jensen is not completely sure he's comfortable with that, although it's worth a thought.
While he massages the shampoo into his short, spiky hair, he sighs. It's just that he really, really wants to. That last hour had been a bit too much. He needs to get his head clear. But at the cost of Misha hearing and seeing all of it? Truth be told, he's not much of an exhibitionist. Never was. And Misha of all people?
A short look over his shoulder tells him the button is still there, on the floor. He turns around, so at least it can't get a full view of his hard-on. While he soaps his body, another idea sparks up. A dangerous one, but it sounds quite enticing.
Jensen isn't sure if he'll be able to follow through with this plan. It would be worth a try, anyway, just to troll Misha a bit.
Hey, Misha is the one who placed a bug in the home of a guy in his thirties with a very much persistent libido. He should have known what to expect.
Still, now is not the time. Jensen quickly dries himself off and ponders about his options.
He also may or may have not put up a bit of a show while he was dressing. It's not like Jensen doesn't know his body is quite presentable. He just had to suppress the dirty smirk that constantly tugged at his lips while he pulled his shirt over his head, deliberately flexing the muscles of his stomach and his bicep.
Teasing Misha, that's the plan for today. So instead of a wide, comfortable t-shirt Jensen has chosen a white one that fits just right. Meaning it shows off plenty of his muscles, stretches tight across his chest and around his arms. Quite some eye candy for Misha.
Not even Kapt'n Kripke will ruin this day for him. Although he's still an asshole.
That being said, Jensen resumes unpacking the last moving boxes, mostly unimportant stuff like his impressive DVD collection for the living room and some folders and items for his study. The afternoon passes by in no time like this and when Jensen looks at his watch after what feels like an hour, it's actually already 6 p.m. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.
“Gimme a sec, buddy,” Jensen grins and pats his belly. He finishes emptying the last of the boxes for the study and throws it into the corner where all the others are stacked. Now that everything is in place, his house is looking more and more like a real home. He didn't exactly lie to Misha - before he moved here, he had indeed lived in a cramped flat, where all of his stuff slowly but surely managed to take up all the space. He had needed to get out of there. And then he had seen this house, while he was busy researching Misha. It was perfect, in every way. The plan had already formed itself in his head back then.
For the first time in months, he feels like he can walk freely in his own four walls. Jensen is very pleased with the situation.
Time to get his plan off the ground.
He takes his time cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, just spaghetti Bolognese, and prepares a bowl of popcorn afterwards. The black button follows him everywhere. It always lays conveniently on a cupboard or shelf, where it has a perfect view on Jensen. Jensen suspects Misha to have it equipped with some kind of sticky wheels so it can climb walls, which, he has to admit, is pretty awesome. Credit where credit is due.
Jensen grabs a beer from his fridge, pops the bottle cap and takes it to the living room with the bowl of popcorn.
On his search through the DVD shelf, Jensen decides to watch the most harmless one he can manage. 'Finding Nemo', maybe? Well, that's almost too harmless. Instead, he goes for a western. There's nothing to say against a classic with Clint Eastwood. Even if it contains guns. Humming contently, Jensen pops it into the DVD player and flops down onto the couch. It's brand-new, black leather, especially bought for this house when he moved in because his old one was far too small for this living room. Jensen munches happily on his first handful of popcorn and takes a few gulps from his bottle of beer to wash it down.
He tries to scan the room quickly and as subtly as possible to spot the black button. It hides behind the corner of the TV paper on the couch table.
Oh no, if we're doing this, we'll do it right, Jensen thinks amused and reaches for the paper, just to flip through it, seemingly interested in tonight's program. When he puts the paper back, he does so by practically throwing it across the table to the other end. Now the button lays exposed right before his very eyes and won't be able to move anywhere without him noticing.
Time to start the next phase of Teasing Misha.
Jensen puts the bowl on the floor, carefully to not block the button's sight, and eases one of his hands under the waistband of his jeans. Casually, the way guys do it when they lay on the couch, all sprawled out like Jensen is right now. He takes another sip from his bottle, carefully wrapping his lips around the rim and consciously tilting his head back as he drinks.
His hand slips lower and settles right on top of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. Jensen has to shift his hips in order to lay more comfortable and spread his legs a bit wider. He is overly aware of the button, laying right there on the couch table, watching him. While still pretending to watch the movie, Jensen begins to idly massage the bulge in his boxers for a few minutes. It doesn't take him long to get fully hard. Truth is, this is his preferred way of jerking off anyway, to relax and get in the mood.
Alright. Showtime, baby, Jensen thinks and lets his hand slip free. He leans slightly upwards to pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down before he pushes both his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His hand settles at its former place, wrapped loosely around his cock and stroking slowly. The delicate friction is just the right amount of pressure that Jensen needs right now. It's not like he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Misha should be able to enjoy the show as well.
Jensen reaches up with his other hand and circles one of his nipples through the cotton of his shirt until the nub stands out hard and visible against the fabric.
It's weird to feel Misha's eyes on him like this, but Jensen can't help but be turned on by the buzz running through his veins at the thought alone. Huh. And here he thought he wasn't an exhibitionist inclined. He grips his dick just a bit harder, squeezes tight with his thumb and index finger, lingers a bit longer at the head. A drop of pre-come gets smeared under his thumb when he sweeps it over the sensitive skin. Unable to suppress a quiet moan, Jensen opens his lips and pants. His strokes on his cock start to get faster and he notices how he loses focus on putting up a show.
What if Misha touches himself right now, too? What if he enjoys it to see Jensen like this and gets in the mood as well?
The picture of Misha sitting in his observation room with his hand down his pants settles in Jensen head, not only turning him on but also encouraging him to take it slow.
After taking a deep breath, Jensen stops just for a moment, dragging it out. He grimaces, the need to finally come and relieve all the tension that has been building up ever since Misha knocked at his door this morning becoming overwhelming. Jensen groans, a bit frustrated. He only wanted to tease Misha, but now his thoughts are back on plush, full lips wrapped around his cock and swallowing him down.
“Mi-” he sighs and barely stops himself. Oh, hell no, no Freudian slip in a situation like this. Not on camera, for fuck's sake, “M-my god,” he whispers instead and hopes Misha didn't notice.
Jensen groans again and resumes jerking his hand up and down his cock, his moves quicker than before. After a few strokes, he decides to get his second hand into the game by massaging his balls. Sighing at the added pleasure, Jensen feels the orgasm he's been longing for beginning to build up in his lower abdomen, the tension spreading through his whole body, getting it ready to explode.
The hand on his balls slowly slides lower and lower, until he rubs his sac only with the heel of his hand, his fingers touching and reaching further down. Jensen finds the ring of muscle of his ass quickly and caresses it gently with the pad of his index finger. The touch on the sensitive nerve endings make him moan in pleasure, and he carefully angles his face towards the button on the table when his lips part once more. He closes his eyes, presses them shut to focus on his ministrations.
Jensen lets the tip of his finger slip into his ass, which is about as far as painlessly possible without any lube. It's still enough for his brain to wreck more havoc than it should. It apparently likes to gladly supply Jensen with some pictures of Misha, not only kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock, but also using those slender fingers of his to prepare Jensen. And at that point, Jensen's brain seems to have pretty much shut down.
Because now, Jensen sees himself pinning Misha down on the ground - okay, make that a bed - and riding his dick with deep, guttural groans dropping from his lips at every thrust that buries Misha balls-deep into him. His finger slips a bit deeper at the thought, but the slight stretching pain makes Jensen focus back on reality and not his fantasies.
He's always been comfortable with being the top. He only bottomed for people he was completely comfortable with and trusted enough to know they wouldn't screw up. As a matter of fact, that rule is based on a single event that had left its marks. As another matter of fact, Jensen had never bottomed for someone else ever since. So it's clearly a surprise that he's already cool with the idea of bottoming for Misha. Shit.
In his mind, Jensen is still riding Misha until the dark-haired man can do nothing but beg him to let him come. And that does it. Fantasizing about how Misha will look when he climaxes, how he'd screw those beautiful blue eyes shut and moan and twitch underneath Jensen, how he'd sigh and try to gasp for air afterwards…
Jensen groans, deep and uncontrolled. It takes two more, well-paced strokes and Jensen comes in long, white spurts shooting up to his chest.
His first thought after he regained his ability to breathe is that his shirt is ruined.
The second thought that hits Jensen like a brick wall is Right. Misha. A short check of the coffee table tells him that the button is still right there, that Misha has most likely seen everything the way Jensen wanted him to.
It's really not easy to not appear as smug as he feels right now.
Jensen sits up to pull his t-shirt over his head and uses it to clean himself up.
Oh, the things he'd give to see Misha's face right now.
In his house down the road, Misha gets up awkwardly from his chair. His eyes are glued to the monitor that shows Jensen, half naked sitting on the couch and wiping the come off his upper body.
Misha still can't fully comprehend what the hell just happened.
Except for Jensen just having a little fun with himself on camera, and Misha had a perfect view on every second of it.
The bulge in his pants is quite distracting, the way his cock strains against his zipper is almost painful. So yeah, what can he say. Jensen's got one nicely trained body. Misha surely wouldn't push him out of bed.
For the moment, though, he whistles for one of his minions. “Bring me some lube, it's in my room. Bedside table.”
“Luuuubyyy,” the minion confirms, nodding his head once before bouncing off down the hall.
Misha places his hand on the bulge in his jeans and rubs gently to take a bit of tension off. It doesn't help much.
Misha's eyes are still glued to the monitor of his little button bug, where Jensen's bare torso and still half-open pants are supplying some seriously awesome jerking off material.
He groans in frustration, and not all because of his current state. He knows that there are bigger problems beginning to form in his life. It's stupid, and he's in for a lot of trouble if he gives in, and Misha knows it. But damn, he needs this right now.
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