Despicable Misha - Chapter 3
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On Thursday, Misha finds a Tupperware box on his porch when he takes the paper in.
It's red and there's a post-it note sticking on top of it.
Good luck for your interview! I promise there are no bottle caps in these, just chocolate chips. - J. - PS: The second one is for Jared.
Misha reads it twice before he opens the box with a wide grin. Two delicious smelling chocolate chip muffins are placed in there, and they look homemade. And fuck, but Misha can't help but grin widely, reading the note once again. Jensen baked good-luck muffins for him. After searching and pondering for a while, Misha sticks the post-it to the inside of a kitchen cabinet, where Jared won't find it and the minions won't reach it.
Then he makes a cup of coffee, sits down on his garden terrace and has breakfast. The muffin is juicy and chocolate-y and just allover delicious. Misha hums contently and blesses his decision to sleep in today. He was always particularly nervous before an appointment with the Bank of Evil, but today, he feels quite calm.
Jensen's small present might have something to do with that.
It's disturbing, somehow, to feel so emotionally attracted to a guy he has already seen masturbating. But now that they're slowly getting to know each other, it feels just weird to already have the knowledge of how Jensen looks when he comes, how his mouth looks when his lips go slack and how the moan sounds that subsequently drops from them- okay, those thoughts are not helpful at the moment.
Lost in thought, Misha stares into his garden, which is pretty messy and overgrown. Maybe he should get the lawnmower out again. Then again... he leans his head against the back rest of the garden chair and sighs. There's so much to do. But he still has a couple hours left and he has to start somewhere eventually. So, a bit of mindless work to distract himself? Well, then.
After carrying the plate and empty cup back to the kitchen, Misha slips into an old t-shirt and jeans that are ripped at the knee and starts up the lawnmower, which earns him some weird glances from the minions. They're standing in the living room, watching him through the windows. Misha only notices them shortly, then turns back to his work. He wants to get lost in the work, in his thoughts. He definitely doesn't want to think about the Bank of Evil and even less about eyes that are just as green as the deep, lush grass that he cuts right now. The smell of it is stark, and Misha smiles to himself. Freshly cut grass with a side of the lawnmower's fumes always reminds him of his childhood home, of his mom mowing the grass in the flaring summer heat while he sat on the front porch, enjoying the warmth. Good times.
Unfortunately, the grass is also brown and withered in several places. The apple tree definitely needs a good trim. And Misha doesn't even want to start with the fuchsia bushes. They're not only overgrown, they've developed their own shape, imitating something between a sheep and a fluffy kitten. A very fluffy kitten, probably an exploded one.
Misha sighs and gets the other garden tools, a rake for the grass and hedge clippers for the fuchsia bushes. The tree is too much work, he'd cut it another day. But for now, the bushes and the lawn are enough.
It takes Misha nearly two hours to let the garden seem less savaged and more like a normal landscaping. There's still much work to do, but for now, he needs a shower and needs to get ready for the Bank of Evil. The thought of that alone makes him groan as he shoves the minions back into the lab - seriously, how are they getting out constantly? - and showers. The whole being naked and nervous thing brings him back to his other big problem of these days.
Jensen.
How - scratch that - why did he invite Jensen over to his place? Jensen had a perfectly comfortable living room and a perfectly functional TV. Just because Jensen had invited him over first, doesn't mean Misha has to return the favor. Or does it? It just felt like the right thing to say at the time.
Misha rubs his hair dry with a towel and moans. He is so screwed.
But one problem at a time. He grabs his good pin-striped suit and vest, adds a black button-down and a bright purple tie. Purple is evil, and Misha totally pulls this outfit off. With his hair artfully mussed, Misha makes his way down to the garage, where his trusty ride is waiting for him.
The Bank of Evil is not a place you can visit easily. It's only accessible through the back door of an inconspicuous Italian restaurant in a remote corner of the city. The owner is, of course, a retired villain - not a very successful one, obviously - who looks the part, complete with dark bushy eyebrows and black hair. Despite his intimidating glare and dark look, Misha greets him with a friendly smile, ignores his frown and immediately heads for the men's room. After a scan of the iris of his eye and of his fingertip, the wall slides aside and reveals a hallway that's completely decorated in red and gold, overly pompous if Misha was to be asked. Despite all the luxury, the 'formerly known as Lehman Brothers' sign is still hanging on the wall. Misha snorts.
The Bank of Evil is also not a place you willingly want to visit.
For one, there are douchebags all over the place. Younger villains that seem to think that they know it all are hanging out in the waiting area, showing off and making asses of themselves. Second, seeing all this depresses Misha. Third, the bank manager is an asshole.
And today, Misha is already rolling his eyes when he takes his first step through the door.
Chad is there.
And Chad is the most obnoxious, stupid, vulgar idiot who ever pretended to be something resembling evil.
Needless to say, Misha doesn't like him very much.
"Look at that! It's still alive," Chad smirks and falls into step at Misha's side. "Hey, still not convinced that retirement would be the highly recommended way to go for you?"
Misha doesn't even deign to look at him.
Chad raises an eyebrow, mocking Misha. "Oh, I see, right, we're at the Bank, so there's a new, big-ass plan from Mischievous Misha comin' up? Dude, give up. Never gonna reach my level of awesomeness."
Misha snorts. Even that is too much of a response for Chad.
"Least of all with a name like that. Mischievous Misha, please. That's so 90s."
Says 'The Chadster', Misha thinks and finally snaps back at Chad. "Fuck off."
"Aren't you the one who should tell me to wash my mouth with soap after using words like that, old man?"
Misha ignores him, shoving him to the side with his shoulder before he flops down on one of the long benches of the waiting area. Chad is still talking, but Misha is now using his best tactic - meditation. It had helped him on various occasions to tune jerks like Chad completely out. He just sits there, lost in thought and staring into space, and willingly or not, his thoughts circle back to Jensen. Yeah, okay, maybe he's a sap and a sucker for those green eyes and freckles, but, the guy is also kind of awesome. Getting to see Jensen tomorrow is the only thing that keeps him through the full hour he's left sitting in the waiting area with Chad. Maybe he could stop by today, when he's done here. Just to check in on Jensen, of course. Maybe bring some beer? Or pie?
When his name is called out, Misha quickly brushes Chad off - the guy didn't even seem bothered that Misha hadn't answered a single question of his - and steps in front of the counter.
"Hi, Katie," he greets the receptionist, a pretty blonde.
"Hey Misha, you want a cup of coffee after the full Chad-experience?"
The perks of being a regular customer and Katie knowing her shit. "Yes, please."
She gets up with a smile, leaving for the coffee machine and waving him through to Mr. Sheppard. After Misha reached the room and took the offered seat, he once again thinks about an appropriate insult for the bank director. He's not an asshole by definition, he is just... smug and snarky and he knows exactly who he is and why he's here. And apparently, he gets off on having power over someone else. In this case, that would be Misha.
Katie brings him the cup of coffee and Sheppard nods at her when she excuses herself from the room.
"So... care to explain why I should give you your third loan of the year? Not to mention that - oh, right,-" and Sheppard taps his index finger against his chin and slips into his deep, intimidating voice, sneering, "you haven't paid back a single penny of the first two so far."
"Because-" Misha starts, but quickly gets interrupted.
"Did I say I was done?" Sheppard leans back in his chair and waits for a few moments to pass by, checking his fingernails. Misha snaps his mouth shut again. He should have known better than to try and defend himself. Sheppard likes to give speeches. If there was one rule in the Bank of Evil: 'Take the humiliation, then you might get the money.'
Awkward silence fills the room as the bank director gets to his feet to walk slowly around the desk, leaning back against it as soon as he faces Misha again. "You are not responsible for any kind of profit this bank has made during the last two years. Your pranks fall short against the ones of your younger competitors. Take that Mystic J for example. Brilliant mind, that guy. Haven't seen him around here yet and bet I never will. So, what do we learn from all this?" he asks, looking to the ceiling and mock-pondering about the question. "Right. You're too old for this shit. Why should I waste any more money on you? And just for the record, you can now speak. Better give me some good reasons."
Misha takes a deep breath and begins passionately and without any waver in his voice, "I need this credit because of Mystic J. I have a good plan this time. I know I've said that every time I've come here for the past years, but it's true. When this plan is done, I have enough money to pay back the loans. All of them."
"If it even works."
"It will," Misha says determinately. "I will make it work. I need this plan to work out as much as you do, so we're-"
"Oh, sweetheart, I don't need you, and I don't need your plan. Come to think of it, it'll probably be cheaper for me if I throw you out right now and just sue your sorry little arse for the money you owe me. But-" Sheppard throws in a dramatic pause and uses it to step to the sideboard, where a bottle of scotch and some glasses are stocked. He pours himself a glass, but doesn’t offer the same to Misha "- because I'm in a good mood today and it'll be highly entertaining to see what you're coming up with, I'm giving you one last chance. Tomorrow, 3 p.m., video conference with me. You've got 24 hours, so definitely enough time to prepare a presentation to impress me, and if you fail, you're out. Period."
Misha swallows and nods. He knows he mustn't even try to add to his arguments at this point. Sheppard waves at the door, dismissing him.
"Have a nice day," Misha offers as his goodbye, even though he feels sick to his stomach. He leaves quickly, his coffee remaining untouched.
When he's out on the street and breathing fresh air again, Misha wonders quietly what to do. Among his options are working on the garden to get his mind off things, going for a run - a look at the clock tells him that Jensen is most likely already home from his jog, so he'd have to go alone - have a good cry on Jared's shoulder, or-
Misha turns on his heel and heads for the liquor store down the street.
Jensen is in the middle of a meeting and feels very tempted to do an epic facedesk. First, because he's tired as... he doesn't even have a simile that would describe accurately how tired he is. A lot. Yeah, he'll go with that. If someone would let him rest his head on his hands on the desk right now, he would sleep in a matter of seconds and be dead to the world for the next couple of hours.
Second, because the guy up front is a colleague from Denver and he's just boring. as. fuck. And this meeting is scheduled to go on for another hour at least. Jensen considers getting his ice beam and stunning himself to not have to get through this. The colleague even starts talking about the cost accounting for the driveshaft of their latest car model, a topic that they already discussed endlessly before and had agreed to not bring up during this meeting for plenty of reasons. There has been enough drama about it already. Jensen is so sick of it all. But, the discussion erupts anew, and Jensen hardly manages to suppress a heavy groan of frustration.
Instead, he decides to check out at this point. He's heard it all before anyway.
As to why he's so tired - the dreams have gotten worse every night. It all started a week back, when he moved in next to Misha, met him for the first time. At first, it was just unsettling to wake up at night, his skin wet and his clothes soaked with sweat and his cock rock hard beneath the comforter. He didn't know what he had been dreaming about, he just knew he woke up aroused and longing for relief. The first few nights, he curled into a ball, rolled over and even managed to sleep it off that way.
The first dream he could actually remember the next morning was bothering him more. Because it was dominated by lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark, ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen has ever heard. It was just that snippet, but Jensen had barely been able to dub the weirdness he felt around Misha from then on. The day before yesterday, Jensen hadn't been able to get to sleep at all, too hot and bothered with the thought of that dream, and found himself restlessly rolling around on the bed, from side to side, not being able to find the right position to sleep in. It was nerve-wracking, really.
In the end Jensen had given in, slipped his hand beneath the elastic band of his boxer briefs and jerked off, fast and without finesse, not even pretending to not think of lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen had ever heard. He was done within a minute, and still didn't feel satisfied. A second, less raw and more drawn-out session immediately after had left him quite breathless, but at least sated. He even got a good night's sleep after that.
But yesterday... was something else.
Talk about lucid dreaming.
He remembers being in a strange bed, definitely not his own, with Misha, and they were both naked. Naked and having sex, Jensen on his knees and leaning back on his haunches, while Misha was sitting in his lap with his back towards Jensen, legs spread to both of Jensen's sides, thrusting his hips up and down. And maybe everything was exaggerated by the fact that it was a dream, but Jensen could feel him, so tight and hot around his cock, Misha's back not as broad as his own but slender and muscled in all the right places.
Right then, Jensen realized he was dreaming.
But, god, this dream should never stop. He could as well make the best of it, enjoy this little fantasy.
Jensen consciously tilted his head down to bite lightly at Misha's neck, merely more than a scrape of teeth, and grinned at the blissful moan that he was rewarded with. With both hands on Misha's hips, Jensen pulled him down hard, buried himself as far as physically possible in Misha's taut body, enjoyed the friction to the point that he had to press his mouth against Misha's shoulder to not cry out loud. Misha groaned and sighed at the same time, a sound so delightful that Jensen hoped it could be like this in reality, because damn, he wouldn't ever get enough of hearing it. It felt surreal, and well, it was surreal after all. Keeping Misha in place with his left hand still gripping his hip firmly, Jensen moved the other one to Misha's belly, placing it right above the base of Misha's cock. Jensen sprawled his fingers out wide and pressed back into Misha's stomach, and he could almost feel his own dick moving inside the other man. The thought, the feeling, even though he knew it wasn't real, sent a bolt of pleasure down his spine. Pressing his hand down harder, Jensen quickened the pace of his thrusts.
Misha wriggled in his arms, arched his back and rested his head against Jensen's shoulder. His lips, so full and kissable and spit-slick, hung open, short puffs of hot air tickling the skin on Jensen's jaw. Everything dissolves into a blur of pants and moans from there, and Jensen just wants to finish, wants to feel the waves of satisfaction, but-
Well, at this point, he woke up lying on his belly and rutting into the sheets. The mattress barely provided any friction. Nonetheless, Jensen finished the fantasy in his head - imagined curling his hand around Misha's cock, stroking him gently while pushing him forwards with the other one until Misha is on all fours before him, and fucking him gently into the bed until Misha groans out his release - and came hard, harder than he could remember having come in quite some time.
But now he pays the price for awesome, hot dream sex with his awesome, hot neighbor. Sitting tiredly in a meeting is not fun, even though he was totally awake and fit, joyful even, when he went to work this morning.
Jensen rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and subsequently blinks away the short irritation that his contact lenses cause him.
The idiot from Denver is now arguing loudly with the production manager and the head of the accounting department. Just as predicted. That was exactly the reason why they agreed on not bringing the topic up. Jensen sighs quietly to himself.
He wants to go home, get a beer, watch some mindless TV. Maybe walk over to Misha's and ask if he had liked the muffins. Ask him how his totally-not-a-job-interview-but-an-appointment-with-the-Bank-of-Evil went. Maybe he'll do just that.
A look at his watch tells him he should have been home one and a half hour ago.
The arguing goes on and on, and by the time Jensen actually gets home, it's 8 o'clock and he's just weary and unnerved. He opens the door to the backyard to let in some fresh air. He's not in the mood for watching TV or any form of sports and yet he feels so on edge and pissed off. Jensen runs a hand over his face and sighs.
That's when he spots Misha, sitting on his own terrace with a bottle of wine.
Without any second thought, Jensen strolls over to the fence. “Hey,” he says quietly, but loud enough for Misha to hear him.
“Hey yourself,” Misha answers tiredly and looks over.
Jensen frowns. That is not a tone he's used to hearing from his neighbor. “What's with the wine and the attitude?”
The setting sun paints Misha's face in dark orange and red light as he sighs heavily. “Shitty day, that's all.”
“So the interview...?”
“Don't even get me started on that,” Misha interrupts him and takes a good swig of his wine.
“I'm sorry.” Jensen is quite surprised that he really does feel sorry.
Misha just shrugs. “I'm through half a bottle of wine. The world is already a better place.”
Jensen huffs and turns to look at the beautiful sunset on the clear, cloudless sky.
“You came home late tonight,” Misha remarks.
“Yeah, well, shitty day here as well. Got held up by an unnecessary meeting,” Jensen explains simply. When he turns his head back to Misha, he finds the dark-haired man studying him.
“Do we need some cheese for our wine?” Misha asks.
Jensen blinks. It takes a moment, but after the penny drops, he chuckles tiredly. “I do have some Emmentaler and Gouda in the fridge, you know.”
“And I have no idea if it would be blasphemous to eat Emmentaler and Gouda with this wine, but I am not averse to doing it anyway,” Misha smiles, and Jensen gladly reciprocates. It's the first time Misha actually sounds like himself today.
“Be right up,” Jensen mock-salutes and goes back into his house to get the cheese. While cutting it down to bite-sized cubes, he also remembers that there was a bottle of really good red somewhere in one of the moving boxes that he labeled as belonging to the kitchen. Grabbing that, too, Jensen steps out of the door and jogs over to Misha's backyard. The first thing he notices is that the grass is cut, its fresh fragrance still lingering in the air. “Mowed the lawn?” he asks as soon as he's rounded the corner and finds Misha lounging lazily on a porch swing.
“Yeah, but there's still so much more to do,” Misha sighs and spins the glass in his hands. Wordlessly, he slides a second glass, filled halfway with red wine, across the table and smiles invitingly.
Jensen smiles right back and puts the plate he brought onto the table. Then he shows the bottle to Misha and places it beside the plate. “Figured I'd bring this with me. I received it as a present and never had the opportunity to actually drink it. And I can't just drink all your delicious, probably very expensive wine without offering something in return,” Jensen flops down beside the other man as he speaks.
The gaze he receives is both irritated and intrigued. “Thanks,” Misha says in the end. “Although I simply told the guy at the store that he should give me two bottles of the best wine I could get for 20 bucks.”
Jensen throws his head back and laughs, just can't help it. It comes so natural around Misha it's downright scary. Beside him, Misha chuckles lightly, tilts his head sideways as he looks at Jensen, the blue in his eyes intensified by the setting sun. Jensen finds himself captured by them, totally stunned and unable to do anything, and when Misha's smile just turns that bit of a notch brighter, Jensen feels his stomach doing somersaults while butterflies - no, not butterflies - Mothra runs amuck in his gut. Suddenly, Jensen feels nervous and unsure, and like he's on cloud nine all the same. Feels high as a kite just because Misha's looking at him.
Right then and there, Jensen makes a decision. He's denied himself having any real life, any personal treats, for long enough. He sacrificed it all for his career, for being Mystic J, and he never let himself want anything.
Enough.
If there's one thing Jensen wants, it's Misha.
Jensen reaches for his glass of wine and raises it towards Misha, who clinks his glass with Jensen's in return. “Here's to... I dunno. Us being emo?” Jensen shrugs, but breaks into a grin.
“To misery loves company?”
“Or to find solution in alcohol.”
“Can we stay at 'the wine is just good'?” Misha asks, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Well, then,” Jensen replies and drinks a good mouthful. He tastes it carefully, not usually a big fan of wine, but that one... not too dry, not to sweet, and rich and fruity in its taste. “Huh. It is good.”
With that, he tilts his head back and drinks the rest of the glass in one gulp, coughing when he puts the glass back down.
Misha laughs.
“Hey, I have some catching up to do,” Jensen grins and licks his lips while reaching for the bottle to refill his glass. “You're half a bottle ahead of me, Chuckles.”
“Yeah, I had time,” Misha answers, staring into space. Or, rather, into his glass.
“So, what went wrong? If I may ask.”
“Just... everything, I guess. I got another chance to present a project tomorrow. Maybe that'll do.” Misha sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He seems tired.
Jensen claps his shoulder encouragingly. “It'll work. You just have to believe in yourself.”
They both take a swig of wine. It's quiet between them for a few moments, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. A bit weird, maybe, but okay.
Misha huffs. His voice is quiet and deeper than Jensen is used to when he says, “Can't really hope against bad luck. I feel like nothing works out lately.”
Wordlessly, Jensen turns his head to watch him. Sorrow is painted all over his face, taut lines beside his eyes, and Jensen also notices the dark shadow underneath them. It hurts to see him like that, because Jensen fucking cares for him, even if it means he's helping his strongest competitor here.
It hits Jensen hard then, that he needs to tell Misha one day who he really is, in order to make this work. He takes another mouthful of the wine. The glass is empty, again, and Jensen quickly refills it, draining the bottle while doing so.
“Everyone has a bad day every once in a while. And even if it's a bad day phase, it gets better, sooner or later. Learned that from high school,” Jensen says, avoiding Misha's eyes. He grabs a handful of cheese cubes and idly starts chewing.
With another deep sigh, Misha gets to his feet. “Be right back,” he says before he vanishes through the door to what looks like his living room. Jensen's gaze follows him, takes in the curve of his ass in his tight jeans, the dip of his spine and his narrow hips. God, Jensen would bend him over the table and fuck him this second if he could. Suppressing a frustrated groan, Jensen closes his eyes and rests his head against the back rest, breathing in deep to get his body back under control.
A low sound, a first chord of an electric guitar sounds through the open door to the living room and as the volume gets louder, Jensen recognizes it as Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love' and smiles.
“Figured you might like it,” Misha's voice breaks through the daze Jensen suddenly finds himself in. The alcohol does its work.
He opens his eyes to find Misha leaning in the doorway, an easy smile on his lips. He smiles right back. “Yeah? How did you know I like Zep?”
“Your shirt,” Misha answers simply.
“Oh, right,” Jensen nods. He almost forgot about that.
“And I thought we could use something to light up the mood. I don't want to spend my evening brooding and whining while loading all my shit on you.”
Jensen's eyes are glued to Misha as he crosses the patio and sits back down beside him. “Hey, no problem at all. What are friends for, right?”
Misha's gaze wavers and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline as he meets Jensen's eyes. “Friends?” he asks in disbelief and his voice breaks somewhere during the word.
“Yes,” Jensen swallows heavily around the lump in his throat. Oh, he wants to be so much more than friends with Misha, but hey.
Misha nods, lost in thought, his chin dropping onto his chest before he looks back up. “Friends,” he states and holds out his hand towards Jensen.
Jensen smiles warmly at him and takes his hand, squeezing it firmly. Misha's palm is smaller than his, his fingers long and slender and almost fragile against his, but the touch feels electric and Jensen's skin tingles where it meets Misha's. Jensen's breath hitches. Damn, that shit has to stop before he goes crazy.
A delighted squeal from the door to the living room startles both of them. After blinking a few times, Jensen snaps around and finds -
Yeah, he doesn't really know what he sees. It's about three feet tall, has one eye, wears a blue overall and looks like an oversized tic-tac. It's also yellow. Wide-eyed, Jensen looks back at Misha, who opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He's apparently out of words. Jensen did know that Misha was a villain, that he had a lab, that he probably did test a thing or two down there, but, seriously, what the hell?
He manages to voice as much. Kinda. “The fuck?”
“Uhm, Jensen... meet Dave.”
“Dave?” Jensen asks, still not fully perceiving what is happening right now.
“Yeah, he's... well, I used to be doing some experiments in my earlier days?” Misha shrugs. “I call him a minion.”
The minion - Dave - jumps over to them, giggling gleefully, and hops onto Jensen's lap. “Jen!” he cheers.
“Uhm, yeah, hi Dave,” Jensen answers, not really sure where to put his hands. He pets the minion's head awkwardly, and Dave immediately breaks into another fit of giggles.
Misha watches, his eyes wide in shock. He looks terrified.
Jensen reaches over to clap his hand onto Misha's thigh. Innocently, just twice. “Relax, dude.”
Misha swallows audibly, and looks at Dave. The minion seems to be quite happy in his place on Jensen's lap, even leans into his chest. “Jennn,” he coos again.
“I think he likes you,” Misha says in a breathy voice.
It may be the alcohol, but Jensen feels the tension ease between them and breaks into a heartfelt laughter. Dave's eye wanders up to him and watches him questioningly. Then he throws both arms around Jensen's upper body and snuggles into his chest, humming contentedly. Jensen pats his back.
All of a sudden, Dave slides off his lap and bounces back into the house.
“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Misha deadpans, looking after him.
Again, Jensen has to laugh and reaches for his glass of wine. 'Houses of the Holy' begins to play in the background. Jensen smiles into his glass, then looks up at Misha over its rim. The atmosphere is relaxed and easy, thank god. When Jensen looks over the garden once more, he sees that the sun is just about to sink over the horizon. So Misha watches the sunset with him, how romantic. Jensen has a hard time managing not to snort.
“Must be nice, having a minion around,” he says instead, testing the waters.
“It has its perks,” Misha grins. “But he's also the reason why I can't bring anyone home these days.”
“So you never...?” The sentence hangs unfinished between them and Jensen only realizes when it's too late what he just implied. A facepalm seems very appealing right now.
Misha shakes his head and smiles sadly. “Doesn't mean I don't miss it from time to time.”
Jensen feels a sudden shiver of arousal tingle down his spine when Misha looks up and locks eyes with him. The tension is back, all of a sudden, but very different this time. The implication of Misha's deep blue eyes is very clear.
A light, warm breeze blows across the garden, catching one of Misha's locks and letting it curl into his forehead. Jensen's hand itches to run his hand through the other one's hair, smooth it back down, feel the thick strands between his fingers. Let his hand slip to the back of Misha's head, pull him towards himself and kiss him senseless, have him moaning and writhing in his arms until Jensen can lower him down onto the porch swing and-
But he's digressing.
It takes him a short moment to swallow and compose himself before answering. “Yeah, I can relate.”
Misha raises an eyebrow. “Really? You? Did you forget to put up the mirror when you moved here?”
Jensen eyes him in disbelief and blinks. He takes a nervous swig of his wine. And another one.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-” Misha claps his hand onto his mouth. “I think I'm a bit tipsy,” he adds quietly through his fingers and breaks the eye contact.
“No, no, it's okay, really,” Jensen smiles reassuringly.
What follows is a really awkward silence, until Dave shows up once again, handing a corkscrew to Jensen. Only then, Jensen notices that they both drained their glasses and the first bottle is also empty.
“Thanks, buddy,” he smiles at the minion, who runs back into the house, and reaches for the bottle.
“So, tell me about your meeting,” Misha asks to change the topic, to Jensen’s relief.
“Oh god. This guy, I tell you. One day, I'll strangle him and they won't find the body,” he says, grunting as he pulls the cork out of the neck of the bottle. “Phew, that one sat tight. Anyway,” Jensen refills Misha's glass, then his own as he speaks. “We had this big, important meeting today, you know? The presentation of our newest car model, efficient and environmentally conscious - an e-car - and all that, and our plan was perfect from beginning to end. Man, I was working my ass off for that project since day one. And guess what, I made a stupid, totally marginal mistake at one single calculation. The driveshaft. Just a miscalculation, really, easy to be fixed, but not possibly in time for this meeting. So I spoke to him, to that colleague who was supposed to present the concept to the head of production, and we agreed on just not bringing it up. I would fix it tomorrow and it would be fine before we sent over the plans.”
“Let me take a wild guess here,” Misha interrupts him, smiling lopsided. “He brought it up.”
“Of course he did. Son of a bitch,” Jensen shakes his head and drinks from his glass before resuming. “And because the head of the accounts department might be good with numbers but not with rational thinking, he made a big deal of it all, and I ended up with six fucking hours of this shit instead of three. So, yeah, life sucks sometimes even when you've got a job.”
“Well, then I'd say-” Misha raises his glass once again. “Screw him and Prost.”
“Prost?”
“That's what they say in Germany. Means 'cheers'.”
“Huh,” Jensen says, grins, “Then Prost!”
They clink glasses once again and drink.
“The moon is rising,” Misha says, pointing at the horizon.
Jensen follows the direction of his finger, and sees the pale crescent rise into the cloudless sky that is dotted with stars. He couldn't even tell when he last noticed something as plain as the moon rising. Truth be told, it's a moment of calmness, a moment where he can focus on the beauty of nature rather than his completely mundane problems. Like Luke from Denver or that he's completely, helplessly gone for his neighbor, who still sits beside him and watches the scene with him.
If this was a rom-com, they'd look into each other's eyes now, realize because of some otherworldly reason that they belong to each other and fall down into the grass together. Because really, all they've done so far was dancing around each other. As for Misha, because he didn't trust anyone, naturally. It kind of came with the job description. On Jensen's part, obviously, because his original plan was to wipe Misha off the map rather than fall in love with him. And oh, Jesus, did he just think that?
Jensen's eyes are drawn to Misha once again, and the other man is sprawled lazily on the swing, leaned back and idly nipping at his glass of wine. Taking a sip of his own, Jensen stares back at the moon. It's a beautiful, clear night. Jensen sighs blissfully. Yes, he could get used to this.
They sit like that for a couple, quiet minutes. Neither Misha nor Jensen feel the need to talk, they just enjoy the night and each other's presence, even though the air feels pleasantly charged between them. Like something dangerous and teasing is hanging in the air, foreshadowing that something is going to happen that night. Jensen shudders, and again, it's more like pleasant anticipation.
Somewhere during those moments, they apparently shifted closer to each other, because Jensen can feel Misha's warmth beside him and finds that Misha's upper arm is touching his. He does not pull back.
“May I ask...” Jensen says quietly after countless minutes. He doesn't know, lost all sense of time passing by somewhere along the line. “You said you missed having someone around. Which part? Which part do you miss the most, I mean?”
And if it wasn't abundantly clear that Jensen is quite a bit drunk himself, it should be now, because how could he straight-forward ask something like that? Misha won't answer it anyway. Jensen kinda hopes for that, because he still can't conceive what he should do with the info when he gets it. If he gets it, that is. And if he doesn't sink into the ground from embarrassment, that is.
“The sex,” Misha deadpans in a shameless buh-voice that throws Jensen completely off balance. He had expected a lot, but not that.
“The sex?” Jensen asks back, at a lack of something better to say.
Misha turns his head towards him and grins. “What do I speak, Kiswahili? Of course the sex,” he frowns mockingly.
“But you're a single guy. Sex is the easiest thing to get,” Jensen throws in. Hell, he'd done that for years.
“Who says I want that kind of sex? Only because I could have it if I wanted?” Misha shoots back with a raised eyebrow.
“So you're saying-”
“That sex with someone who knows you and the things you like and what makes you come within two seconds flat is the best kind of sex? Exactly that,” Misha says. The guy is shameless, indeed.
Jensen feels heat rising up on his cheeks as he gapes at Misha and the mental images that are forming themselves right now are not helping in getting him back to reality.
“And if your next question would be why I don't have someone to share that kind of relationship with, well, I don't trust people easily and I don't let someone in on my life unless if they give me a really good reason to,” Misha smirks at him, and that expression would probably make Jensen weak in his knees right now. Thank god he's sitting very securely on his ass.
Then again, this is a topic where Jensen can contribute to. “Yeah, and that's exactly the reason I picked anonymous one-night stands instead of the big deal so far.”
“Believe me, once you had the full relationship experience, sex-wise, there is nothing one-night stands could ever again do for you.”
Jensen blinks at him. It takes him a moment to get it through his buzzing skull, but the true meaning behind the words eventually gets clear. “So there has been someone in your life?”
Misha's smile falters, like he just realized that he let something slip involuntarily. “Yes, there was. She...” he lets the sentence unfinished, apparently at a loss for words.
“You don't have to, you know,” Jensen says softly.
Misha just shakes his head. “No, I want to. I... We met in high school, so obviously she had heard the rumors about me. Well, the rumors that were actually true, obviously. She didn't care, and we got together. Then came college and building a life together with a house and all that. And one day, I woke up, and she was just gone. I didn't know where she went or if she would ever come back or even just why. It came totally out of nowhere for me. She had taken such a big part of my life with her that I struggled for months, years even, to get myself back together.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Jensen whispers and finds his hand resting on Misha's thigh, stroking it in a comforting manner. He quickly retreats it when he realizes what he's doing - damn the wine. He takes another sip. Misha is quiet beside him, staring into the moon, lost in thought. “Did you ever find out what happened?”
Misha snaps out of his daze then and nods. “She wrote me a letter, two years later. Said she was sorry, but she couldn't deal with my life choices any more and that I needed to get a regular job and that she felt like we've been drifting apart. Truth is, she may have been right there, but we became so accustomed to each other, living in each other's space and all that, that it was just so weird not having her there any more. For the first time since I was in high school, I was completely alone. I swore off women for a while back then, however I'm still a fan of the I-might-love-a-woman-if-I-meet-the-right-one theory,” he meets Jensen's eyes again, and Jensen doesn't want to pity him or anything, because he seems so strong and so settled in his beliefs there.
“Understandable,” Jensen winks, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't even want to delve into Misha's life choices or the regular job thing, he knows and can imagine the woman's reasons anyway.
“Oh, and just FYI - I always say I'm bisexual, because that's the easiest way to put it. In reality, I just don't like labeling myself. I generally think that it's still the person you fall in love with, not the physical gender or gender identity.”
“Nice way to say it,” Jensen chuckles. “I gotta say, I'm still just bisexual, plain and simple. Just because both men and women have their perks, but I bet you know that.”
Misha's eyebrows rise again. He is obviously intrigued. “Tell me,” he smiles, looking quite smug, “I mean, yeah, I've got my preferences, but I'm interested in hearing yours.”
“It's simple, as I said, and if you think I'm shallow or anything, I really am in that matter... I'm not much of a boobs-guy. I'm more into a perky little ass, and why should I limit my choice to women when there are guys out there I just want to-” he makes a whipping gesture with his hand, indicating a nice slap. Then he chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck.
Misha laughs, luckily. “I see,” and if his eyes light up a bit at that, Jensen surely just imagined it, what with the wine and all.
He takes another sip from his glass, quietly pondering over Misha's words. “You said you don't trust people easily,” he says quietly. It's not really a question.
Misha nods nonetheless. “Exactly.”
“Then may I ask how Jared earned your trust? I'm just curious, you know. I'm sure there's a story to that.”
A low rumble from Misha's throat confirms Jensen's musings. “There is, to no great surprise. It's not that much of a story, though. Jared and I met in college, both majoring in engineering. At first I thought he was some gangly goofball and had naturally no interest in getting to know him. I thought he was just one of those popular kids, and I certainly didn't hang out with them. I never was that outgoing. We only came to talk one day when we both tried to sabotage our professor's model of a car engine. The prof was just such an arrogant prick, constantly putting us through the wringer at each and every test, and we knew he was going to use the model the next day during our lesson. When I snuck into the classroom at night, intending to remove the main rope that held the model upright - which would result in the model falling to pieces as soon as the prof would touch it - well, I found Jared already in said room with the rope in his hand. And we just looked at each other and started grinning. The next day when the model actually fell apart and our prof was two seconds away from either spontaneously combusting or flailing his arms into the air and cursing like a sailor, we went out and got drunk and celebrated the fact that we're the world’s most bad-ass pranksters. So anyway, Jared is a good guy. He always tried to pull me out of my dorm room to get drunk or fuck with our fellow students. Those were good times.”
Misha is quiet for a short moment, but he sounds like there is more to come, so Jensen waits patiently and doesn't interrupt him.
After his lips open and close a few times, Misha eventually continues. “And Jared was the best friend you could wish for when that... happened... with her. He was there for me, all the way through it.”
Jensen smiles sympathetically at him then and nudges his elbow into Misha's side. “I think I never heard you talk that much all at once,” he grins to lighten up the mood.
Misha nudges back. “Shut up,” he says, smiling good-naturedly.
Their eye contact breaks right then and they both stare up at the sky once more. The moon has risen further now, halfway to reaching its zenith. It's quiet for a few moments, again.
“You know what would be a really nice prank?” Jensen laughs, suddenly caught by the ridiculous idea.
Misha's head turns towards him, eyes fixing him with their intense blue iris. “No, but I have that feeling that you're about to tell me.”
Jensen grins. “I was just thinking about those asshats in front of the White House the other day. What if someone flew up there and painted the moon in rainbow colors? There's nothing they could do about it. The White House in pink is all hilarious and stuff, but they'd paint that over within days. The moon? Yeah, try that.”
What starts out as a soft rumble ends up with Misha putting his glass down on the table and throwing his head back, shaking with a roaring laughing fit that Jensen just has to join in. “That would be awesome!” Misha manages somewhere in between gasping for air and wiping tears out of his eyes. When they have calmed down a bit, they clink their glasses and both drown it in one go. Misha smiles softly at him and that look just stirs up Mothra - though it might be slightly intoxicated as well by now - in his stomach again.
Jensen decides to flee. “Hey, can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure,” Misha nods, “Inside, down the hall, first door left to the entrance.”
“Thanks,” Jensen says. When he gets to his feet- woah. Stop right there, cowboy, he thinks to himself and sits back down. The world is kinda, really nauseatingly spinning around him.
“You alright?” Misha asks.
“Yeah, just... the wine,” Jensen waves at the bottles on the table with an apologetic smile.
Misha laughs again, and if that laughter isn't downright dirty, Jensen doesn't know what is. “Hey!” he complains, punching Misha's shoulder in mock-offense. “Don't you dare laugh at me. Try it yourself, chucklehead.”
Misha just curls into a laughing ball of goofiness in the corner of the swing. Shaking his head, Jensen stands up once again, a lot slower this time and holding tight onto the edge of the table. It works like that, so he slowly goes inside. Luckily, the bathroom is easily found. Misha's house, as far as he can see between trying to walk straight - heh, pun intended - and not falling over something or running into something, is quite unusual. Unusual in a cool way. Jensen totally digs the morning star in the living room.
When he returns, safe and sound and without smashing anything, and goes to exit through the door to the backyard, Jensen is unexpectedly stopped in his tracks. By Misha. Running right into him. They're instinctively holding onto each other - Jensen's hand curling around Misha's bicep, Misha's hand flat on Jensen's chest - to barely avoid tumbling to the ground.
Jensen is acutely mesmerized by Misha's deep blue eyes, so close to his. Misha's lips capture his gaze next, chapped and full and hanging slightly open. They're standing so close that Jensen can feel Misha's breath on his lips and smell the wine and Misha's cologne. It takes a lot of Jensen's remaining restraint to not tip his head down and kiss him. The urge almost becomes too much when Misha shifts on his feet, which results in him leaning even closer towards Jensen. Reflexively, Jensen tilts his head a bit to the side, as if they really would kiss any second now. Misha breaks the daze they're trapped in then by looking back up from Jensen's lips to his eyes and they blink at each other - once, twice - in disbelief. Jensen is almost thankful, because his heart is racing in his chest right now and he is pretty sure that Misha can feel that against his palm. But he's also a bit disappointed.
Jensen swallows heavily. “I was just about to get back out to the patio,” he manages, his voice rough.
“I just wanted to grab the other bottle of wine,” Misha says in his defense, luckily going along with Jensen's lead. “And it's gotten quite cold out there. Should we move this to the living room?”
Still quite puzzled, Jensen nods and drops his hand as he steps back reluctantly.
It still takes a wave of Misha to make him sit on the couch.
Apparently, they've listened to all the Led Zeppelin albums Misha has, because 'Burning for You' by Blue Öyster Cult starts playing. Jensen grins to himself. They have a strange luck for hearing songs in the right moment. And yes, he still remembers 'Thunderstruck'.
Misha returns with both glasses in his hands and the empty bottles jammed between his elbows and his hips. Without further ado, Jensen takes the glasses off his hands, and if his fingers brush Misha's a bit more than is strictly necessary, well, then that's how it is. Misha hurries back outside to retrieve the plate of cheese.
“Come to think of it,” he says once he's back inside and locked the door. “I've got something better than wine, if you like.”
With that, he reaches into a cabinet in the living room closet to get out two glasses and a green bottle that looks like... whiskey.
“Whiskey?” Jensen asks, both parts amused and a bit worried about the state he'd end in.
“Scotch, to be exact.”
“Lemme see,” and if he slurs a bit by now, well. And if his words are a bit drawled out lazily and sound like he's coming from Texas, then that's because he is hailing from Texas. So what? He takes the bottle from Misha, studying the label hard and squinting with one eye shut. “La... Laphroaig? What does that even mean?”
“Honestly, no idea. All I know is that this is the really good stuff. You won't ever be able to drink Jack again after a glass of this,” Misha promises, dropping down on the couch beside Jensen. He uncorks the bottle and pours two fingers into each glass, then hands one to Jensen.
“Cheers,” he says.
“Prost,” Jensen answers with a smirk.
Misha's eyes are glinting when he raises the glass to his lips, taking a sip. He hums appreciatively when he puts it back down and licks his lips. Jensen doesn't dare to take a huge gulp himself and follows Misha's example. The whiskey is peaty and smoky on his tongue, the alcohol burning down his throat as he swallows, but it leaves a quite enjoyable aftertaste.
“I like it,” he finally states, taking another mouthful and placing the glass on the coffee table.
Misha watches him from the corners of his eyes and puts his glass down as well. “There's a reason why I like you,” he grins.
“Because I'm enjoying these things?” Jensen asks with a nod at the glasses of whiskey, just to get it confirmed.
“Obviously,” Misha says, rolling his eyes. “In all seriousness, though... Thanks. For tonight. I really feel a lot better now.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jensen answers and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for sounding so smooth. He smiles warmly at Misha. “Wasn't hard to do, you're pretty awesome yourself.”
“Thanks,” Misha replies. He avoids Jensen's eyes, and if his eyes aren't betraying him, Jensen could swear that he blushes lightly.
Jensen finishes his glass of scotch. “So anyway, thanks for everything, but I think I better go.” Before I do something stupid.
“You sure you're able to get over to your house in one piece?” Misha teases.
“Shut up, I'm totally capable of-” Jensen's amused tone gets cut off when his attempt to stand up fails spectacularly and he crashes back into the couch, back beside Misha. Their bodies are connected from shoulder to knee now, and Jensen can feel every single muscle of Misha rippling as he laughs hard, again. Laughs even more when Jensen's second attempt ends exactly like the first one did.
“I think you better stay here for the night. The sofa is all yours, Jensen,” Misha offers, still smiling smugly and trying hard not to burst into laughter. Again.
“If you don't really mind?”
“No, of course not. Would I have offered if I did?” D'uh, Misha's face says.
Jensen nods. “Well, then, thanks. I'll take the couch.”
“It seems I have very lucky furniture,” Misha snickers, getting carefully to his feet and grabbing a blanket from the shorter sofa across from the table. He quickly falls back down against Jensen.
“You don't seem that sure on your feet as well,” Jensen mocks him.
“Shut up and sleep,” Misha throws the blanket over him.
“Are you tucking me in?” Jensen teases as he lays down, resting his head on one of the pillows.
“No, I'm not-” and right then, Misha's mission to get up is suddenly aborted, because - he loses balance and falls right on top of Jensen.
“Oh,” Jensen says intelligently, feeling like a tool. Reflexively, he wrapped his hands around Misha's waist, keeping him in place.
“Sorry,” Misha whispers, but doesn't break their eye contact. “I think I should get to bed.”
“You can always stay here,” Jensen waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Misha blushes. Downright blushes. And at this point, Jensen doesn't care which kind of consequences his actions might have. Misha is laying flat on top of him, blushing deep red and looking like an adorable little teddy bear that he just wants to stuff into his pocket and take home. And fuck him. Literally. Okay, so maybe Jensen lost the metaphor there.
Point is, Misha's lips, those damn plush, pink lips are so close to his and so tempting. Thank god for dutch courage, Jensen thinks. Then he slips one of his hands into Misha's hair and pulls him down gently to kiss him. It's a chaste, slow kiss. Nothing fancy, nothing special. Just a firm press of lips against Misha's, capturing those damn kissable lips that he has been staring at and lusting after since day one with his own. It feels like it had felt in all those dreams he had about Misha, just as good and oh- Misha kisses back. The kiss turns languid and slow, and Misha's full lips are so easy to kiss, fit so perfectly against Jensen's. His heart beats at least twice as fast as usual and Mothra makes another cameo. All those feelings, a sudden rush of comfort and happiness and yes, this is right, are washing over him and leaving him breathless.
When he breaks the kiss and lets his head fall back into the cushion, Jensen finds Misha staring at him, flabbergasted.
“I just thought you should know,” Jensen says, quietly hoping that Misha won't freak out.
The dark-haired man swallows. Then he just lays his head down on Jensen's chest and says, “We should sleep.”
Jensen pulls the blanket over them and closes his eyes. Even through the dizzy, fuzzy feeling of the alcohol, he knows that Misha might need some time to think right now.
“Good night, Misha,” he whispers.
“Night, Jen.”
And maybe his breath hitches a bit at the nickname.
<< Chapter 2 | Masterpost | Chapter 4 >>
On Thursday, Misha finds a Tupperware box on his porch when he takes the paper in.
It's red and there's a post-it note sticking on top of it.
Good luck for your interview! I promise there are no bottle caps in these, just chocolate chips. - J. - PS: The second one is for Jared.
Misha reads it twice before he opens the box with a wide grin. Two delicious smelling chocolate chip muffins are placed in there, and they look homemade. And fuck, but Misha can't help but grin widely, reading the note once again. Jensen baked good-luck muffins for him. After searching and pondering for a while, Misha sticks the post-it to the inside of a kitchen cabinet, where Jared won't find it and the minions won't reach it.
Then he makes a cup of coffee, sits down on his garden terrace and has breakfast. The muffin is juicy and chocolate-y and just allover delicious. Misha hums contently and blesses his decision to sleep in today. He was always particularly nervous before an appointment with the Bank of Evil, but today, he feels quite calm.
Jensen's small present might have something to do with that.
It's disturbing, somehow, to feel so emotionally attracted to a guy he has already seen masturbating. But now that they're slowly getting to know each other, it feels just weird to already have the knowledge of how Jensen looks when he comes, how his mouth looks when his lips go slack and how the moan sounds that subsequently drops from them- okay, those thoughts are not helpful at the moment.
Lost in thought, Misha stares into his garden, which is pretty messy and overgrown. Maybe he should get the lawnmower out again. Then again... he leans his head against the back rest of the garden chair and sighs. There's so much to do. But he still has a couple hours left and he has to start somewhere eventually. So, a bit of mindless work to distract himself? Well, then.
After carrying the plate and empty cup back to the kitchen, Misha slips into an old t-shirt and jeans that are ripped at the knee and starts up the lawnmower, which earns him some weird glances from the minions. They're standing in the living room, watching him through the windows. Misha only notices them shortly, then turns back to his work. He wants to get lost in the work, in his thoughts. He definitely doesn't want to think about the Bank of Evil and even less about eyes that are just as green as the deep, lush grass that he cuts right now. The smell of it is stark, and Misha smiles to himself. Freshly cut grass with a side of the lawnmower's fumes always reminds him of his childhood home, of his mom mowing the grass in the flaring summer heat while he sat on the front porch, enjoying the warmth. Good times.
Unfortunately, the grass is also brown and withered in several places. The apple tree definitely needs a good trim. And Misha doesn't even want to start with the fuchsia bushes. They're not only overgrown, they've developed their own shape, imitating something between a sheep and a fluffy kitten. A very fluffy kitten, probably an exploded one.
Misha sighs and gets the other garden tools, a rake for the grass and hedge clippers for the fuchsia bushes. The tree is too much work, he'd cut it another day. But for now, the bushes and the lawn are enough.
It takes Misha nearly two hours to let the garden seem less savaged and more like a normal landscaping. There's still much work to do, but for now, he needs a shower and needs to get ready for the Bank of Evil. The thought of that alone makes him groan as he shoves the minions back into the lab - seriously, how are they getting out constantly? - and showers. The whole being naked and nervous thing brings him back to his other big problem of these days.
Jensen.
How - scratch that - why did he invite Jensen over to his place? Jensen had a perfectly comfortable living room and a perfectly functional TV. Just because Jensen had invited him over first, doesn't mean Misha has to return the favor. Or does it? It just felt like the right thing to say at the time.
Misha rubs his hair dry with a towel and moans. He is so screwed.
But one problem at a time. He grabs his good pin-striped suit and vest, adds a black button-down and a bright purple tie. Purple is evil, and Misha totally pulls this outfit off. With his hair artfully mussed, Misha makes his way down to the garage, where his trusty ride is waiting for him.
The Bank of Evil is not a place you can visit easily. It's only accessible through the back door of an inconspicuous Italian restaurant in a remote corner of the city. The owner is, of course, a retired villain - not a very successful one, obviously - who looks the part, complete with dark bushy eyebrows and black hair. Despite his intimidating glare and dark look, Misha greets him with a friendly smile, ignores his frown and immediately heads for the men's room. After a scan of the iris of his eye and of his fingertip, the wall slides aside and reveals a hallway that's completely decorated in red and gold, overly pompous if Misha was to be asked. Despite all the luxury, the 'formerly known as Lehman Brothers' sign is still hanging on the wall. Misha snorts.
The Bank of Evil is also not a place you willingly want to visit.
For one, there are douchebags all over the place. Younger villains that seem to think that they know it all are hanging out in the waiting area, showing off and making asses of themselves. Second, seeing all this depresses Misha. Third, the bank manager is an asshole.
And today, Misha is already rolling his eyes when he takes his first step through the door.
Chad is there.
And Chad is the most obnoxious, stupid, vulgar idiot who ever pretended to be something resembling evil.
Needless to say, Misha doesn't like him very much.
"Look at that! It's still alive," Chad smirks and falls into step at Misha's side. "Hey, still not convinced that retirement would be the highly recommended way to go for you?"
Misha doesn't even deign to look at him.
Chad raises an eyebrow, mocking Misha. "Oh, I see, right, we're at the Bank, so there's a new, big-ass plan from Mischievous Misha comin' up? Dude, give up. Never gonna reach my level of awesomeness."
Misha snorts. Even that is too much of a response for Chad.
"Least of all with a name like that. Mischievous Misha, please. That's so 90s."
Says 'The Chadster', Misha thinks and finally snaps back at Chad. "Fuck off."
"Aren't you the one who should tell me to wash my mouth with soap after using words like that, old man?"
Misha ignores him, shoving him to the side with his shoulder before he flops down on one of the long benches of the waiting area. Chad is still talking, but Misha is now using his best tactic - meditation. It had helped him on various occasions to tune jerks like Chad completely out. He just sits there, lost in thought and staring into space, and willingly or not, his thoughts circle back to Jensen. Yeah, okay, maybe he's a sap and a sucker for those green eyes and freckles, but, the guy is also kind of awesome. Getting to see Jensen tomorrow is the only thing that keeps him through the full hour he's left sitting in the waiting area with Chad. Maybe he could stop by today, when he's done here. Just to check in on Jensen, of course. Maybe bring some beer? Or pie?
When his name is called out, Misha quickly brushes Chad off - the guy didn't even seem bothered that Misha hadn't answered a single question of his - and steps in front of the counter.
"Hi, Katie," he greets the receptionist, a pretty blonde.
"Hey Misha, you want a cup of coffee after the full Chad-experience?"
The perks of being a regular customer and Katie knowing her shit. "Yes, please."
She gets up with a smile, leaving for the coffee machine and waving him through to Mr. Sheppard. After Misha reached the room and took the offered seat, he once again thinks about an appropriate insult for the bank director. He's not an asshole by definition, he is just... smug and snarky and he knows exactly who he is and why he's here. And apparently, he gets off on having power over someone else. In this case, that would be Misha.
Katie brings him the cup of coffee and Sheppard nods at her when she excuses herself from the room.
"So... care to explain why I should give you your third loan of the year? Not to mention that - oh, right,-" and Sheppard taps his index finger against his chin and slips into his deep, intimidating voice, sneering, "you haven't paid back a single penny of the first two so far."
"Because-" Misha starts, but quickly gets interrupted.
"Did I say I was done?" Sheppard leans back in his chair and waits for a few moments to pass by, checking his fingernails. Misha snaps his mouth shut again. He should have known better than to try and defend himself. Sheppard likes to give speeches. If there was one rule in the Bank of Evil: 'Take the humiliation, then you might get the money.'
Awkward silence fills the room as the bank director gets to his feet to walk slowly around the desk, leaning back against it as soon as he faces Misha again. "You are not responsible for any kind of profit this bank has made during the last two years. Your pranks fall short against the ones of your younger competitors. Take that Mystic J for example. Brilliant mind, that guy. Haven't seen him around here yet and bet I never will. So, what do we learn from all this?" he asks, looking to the ceiling and mock-pondering about the question. "Right. You're too old for this shit. Why should I waste any more money on you? And just for the record, you can now speak. Better give me some good reasons."
Misha takes a deep breath and begins passionately and without any waver in his voice, "I need this credit because of Mystic J. I have a good plan this time. I know I've said that every time I've come here for the past years, but it's true. When this plan is done, I have enough money to pay back the loans. All of them."
"If it even works."
"It will," Misha says determinately. "I will make it work. I need this plan to work out as much as you do, so we're-"
"Oh, sweetheart, I don't need you, and I don't need your plan. Come to think of it, it'll probably be cheaper for me if I throw you out right now and just sue your sorry little arse for the money you owe me. But-" Sheppard throws in a dramatic pause and uses it to step to the sideboard, where a bottle of scotch and some glasses are stocked. He pours himself a glass, but doesn’t offer the same to Misha "- because I'm in a good mood today and it'll be highly entertaining to see what you're coming up with, I'm giving you one last chance. Tomorrow, 3 p.m., video conference with me. You've got 24 hours, so definitely enough time to prepare a presentation to impress me, and if you fail, you're out. Period."
Misha swallows and nods. He knows he mustn't even try to add to his arguments at this point. Sheppard waves at the door, dismissing him.
"Have a nice day," Misha offers as his goodbye, even though he feels sick to his stomach. He leaves quickly, his coffee remaining untouched.
When he's out on the street and breathing fresh air again, Misha wonders quietly what to do. Among his options are working on the garden to get his mind off things, going for a run - a look at the clock tells him that Jensen is most likely already home from his jog, so he'd have to go alone - have a good cry on Jared's shoulder, or-
Misha turns on his heel and heads for the liquor store down the street.
Jensen is in the middle of a meeting and feels very tempted to do an epic facedesk. First, because he's tired as... he doesn't even have a simile that would describe accurately how tired he is. A lot. Yeah, he'll go with that. If someone would let him rest his head on his hands on the desk right now, he would sleep in a matter of seconds and be dead to the world for the next couple of hours.
Second, because the guy up front is a colleague from Denver and he's just boring. as. fuck. And this meeting is scheduled to go on for another hour at least. Jensen considers getting his ice beam and stunning himself to not have to get through this. The colleague even starts talking about the cost accounting for the driveshaft of their latest car model, a topic that they already discussed endlessly before and had agreed to not bring up during this meeting for plenty of reasons. There has been enough drama about it already. Jensen is so sick of it all. But, the discussion erupts anew, and Jensen hardly manages to suppress a heavy groan of frustration.
Instead, he decides to check out at this point. He's heard it all before anyway.
As to why he's so tired - the dreams have gotten worse every night. It all started a week back, when he moved in next to Misha, met him for the first time. At first, it was just unsettling to wake up at night, his skin wet and his clothes soaked with sweat and his cock rock hard beneath the comforter. He didn't know what he had been dreaming about, he just knew he woke up aroused and longing for relief. The first few nights, he curled into a ball, rolled over and even managed to sleep it off that way.
The first dream he could actually remember the next morning was bothering him more. Because it was dominated by lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark, ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen has ever heard. It was just that snippet, but Jensen had barely been able to dub the weirdness he felt around Misha from then on. The day before yesterday, Jensen hadn't been able to get to sleep at all, too hot and bothered with the thought of that dream, and found himself restlessly rolling around on the bed, from side to side, not being able to find the right position to sleep in. It was nerve-wracking, really.
In the end Jensen had given in, slipped his hand beneath the elastic band of his boxer briefs and jerked off, fast and without finesse, not even pretending to not think of lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen had ever heard. He was done within a minute, and still didn't feel satisfied. A second, less raw and more drawn-out session immediately after had left him quite breathless, but at least sated. He even got a good night's sleep after that.
But yesterday... was something else.
Talk about lucid dreaming.
He remembers being in a strange bed, definitely not his own, with Misha, and they were both naked. Naked and having sex, Jensen on his knees and leaning back on his haunches, while Misha was sitting in his lap with his back towards Jensen, legs spread to both of Jensen's sides, thrusting his hips up and down. And maybe everything was exaggerated by the fact that it was a dream, but Jensen could feel him, so tight and hot around his cock, Misha's back not as broad as his own but slender and muscled in all the right places.
Right then, Jensen realized he was dreaming.
But, god, this dream should never stop. He could as well make the best of it, enjoy this little fantasy.
Jensen consciously tilted his head down to bite lightly at Misha's neck, merely more than a scrape of teeth, and grinned at the blissful moan that he was rewarded with. With both hands on Misha's hips, Jensen pulled him down hard, buried himself as far as physically possible in Misha's taut body, enjoyed the friction to the point that he had to press his mouth against Misha's shoulder to not cry out loud. Misha groaned and sighed at the same time, a sound so delightful that Jensen hoped it could be like this in reality, because damn, he wouldn't ever get enough of hearing it. It felt surreal, and well, it was surreal after all. Keeping Misha in place with his left hand still gripping his hip firmly, Jensen moved the other one to Misha's belly, placing it right above the base of Misha's cock. Jensen sprawled his fingers out wide and pressed back into Misha's stomach, and he could almost feel his own dick moving inside the other man. The thought, the feeling, even though he knew it wasn't real, sent a bolt of pleasure down his spine. Pressing his hand down harder, Jensen quickened the pace of his thrusts.
Misha wriggled in his arms, arched his back and rested his head against Jensen's shoulder. His lips, so full and kissable and spit-slick, hung open, short puffs of hot air tickling the skin on Jensen's jaw. Everything dissolves into a blur of pants and moans from there, and Jensen just wants to finish, wants to feel the waves of satisfaction, but-
Well, at this point, he woke up lying on his belly and rutting into the sheets. The mattress barely provided any friction. Nonetheless, Jensen finished the fantasy in his head - imagined curling his hand around Misha's cock, stroking him gently while pushing him forwards with the other one until Misha is on all fours before him, and fucking him gently into the bed until Misha groans out his release - and came hard, harder than he could remember having come in quite some time.
But now he pays the price for awesome, hot dream sex with his awesome, hot neighbor. Sitting tiredly in a meeting is not fun, even though he was totally awake and fit, joyful even, when he went to work this morning.
Jensen rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and subsequently blinks away the short irritation that his contact lenses cause him.
The idiot from Denver is now arguing loudly with the production manager and the head of the accounting department. Just as predicted. That was exactly the reason why they agreed on not bringing the topic up. Jensen sighs quietly to himself.
He wants to go home, get a beer, watch some mindless TV. Maybe walk over to Misha's and ask if he had liked the muffins. Ask him how his totally-not-a-job-interview-but-an-appointment-with-the-Bank-of-Evil went. Maybe he'll do just that.
A look at his watch tells him he should have been home one and a half hour ago.
The arguing goes on and on, and by the time Jensen actually gets home, it's 8 o'clock and he's just weary and unnerved. He opens the door to the backyard to let in some fresh air. He's not in the mood for watching TV or any form of sports and yet he feels so on edge and pissed off. Jensen runs a hand over his face and sighs.
That's when he spots Misha, sitting on his own terrace with a bottle of wine.
Without any second thought, Jensen strolls over to the fence. “Hey,” he says quietly, but loud enough for Misha to hear him.
“Hey yourself,” Misha answers tiredly and looks over.
Jensen frowns. That is not a tone he's used to hearing from his neighbor. “What's with the wine and the attitude?”
The setting sun paints Misha's face in dark orange and red light as he sighs heavily. “Shitty day, that's all.”
“So the interview...?”
“Don't even get me started on that,” Misha interrupts him and takes a good swig of his wine.
“I'm sorry.” Jensen is quite surprised that he really does feel sorry.
Misha just shrugs. “I'm through half a bottle of wine. The world is already a better place.”
Jensen huffs and turns to look at the beautiful sunset on the clear, cloudless sky.
“You came home late tonight,” Misha remarks.
“Yeah, well, shitty day here as well. Got held up by an unnecessary meeting,” Jensen explains simply. When he turns his head back to Misha, he finds the dark-haired man studying him.
“Do we need some cheese for our wine?” Misha asks.
Jensen blinks. It takes a moment, but after the penny drops, he chuckles tiredly. “I do have some Emmentaler and Gouda in the fridge, you know.”
“And I have no idea if it would be blasphemous to eat Emmentaler and Gouda with this wine, but I am not averse to doing it anyway,” Misha smiles, and Jensen gladly reciprocates. It's the first time Misha actually sounds like himself today.
“Be right up,” Jensen mock-salutes and goes back into his house to get the cheese. While cutting it down to bite-sized cubes, he also remembers that there was a bottle of really good red somewhere in one of the moving boxes that he labeled as belonging to the kitchen. Grabbing that, too, Jensen steps out of the door and jogs over to Misha's backyard. The first thing he notices is that the grass is cut, its fresh fragrance still lingering in the air. “Mowed the lawn?” he asks as soon as he's rounded the corner and finds Misha lounging lazily on a porch swing.
“Yeah, but there's still so much more to do,” Misha sighs and spins the glass in his hands. Wordlessly, he slides a second glass, filled halfway with red wine, across the table and smiles invitingly.
Jensen smiles right back and puts the plate he brought onto the table. Then he shows the bottle to Misha and places it beside the plate. “Figured I'd bring this with me. I received it as a present and never had the opportunity to actually drink it. And I can't just drink all your delicious, probably very expensive wine without offering something in return,” Jensen flops down beside the other man as he speaks.
The gaze he receives is both irritated and intrigued. “Thanks,” Misha says in the end. “Although I simply told the guy at the store that he should give me two bottles of the best wine I could get for 20 bucks.”
Jensen throws his head back and laughs, just can't help it. It comes so natural around Misha it's downright scary. Beside him, Misha chuckles lightly, tilts his head sideways as he looks at Jensen, the blue in his eyes intensified by the setting sun. Jensen finds himself captured by them, totally stunned and unable to do anything, and when Misha's smile just turns that bit of a notch brighter, Jensen feels his stomach doing somersaults while butterflies - no, not butterflies - Mothra runs amuck in his gut. Suddenly, Jensen feels nervous and unsure, and like he's on cloud nine all the same. Feels high as a kite just because Misha's looking at him.
Right then and there, Jensen makes a decision. He's denied himself having any real life, any personal treats, for long enough. He sacrificed it all for his career, for being Mystic J, and he never let himself want anything.
Enough.
If there's one thing Jensen wants, it's Misha.
Jensen reaches for his glass of wine and raises it towards Misha, who clinks his glass with Jensen's in return. “Here's to... I dunno. Us being emo?” Jensen shrugs, but breaks into a grin.
“To misery loves company?”
“Or to find solution in alcohol.”
“Can we stay at 'the wine is just good'?” Misha asks, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Well, then,” Jensen replies and drinks a good mouthful. He tastes it carefully, not usually a big fan of wine, but that one... not too dry, not to sweet, and rich and fruity in its taste. “Huh. It is good.”
With that, he tilts his head back and drinks the rest of the glass in one gulp, coughing when he puts the glass back down.
Misha laughs.
“Hey, I have some catching up to do,” Jensen grins and licks his lips while reaching for the bottle to refill his glass. “You're half a bottle ahead of me, Chuckles.”
“Yeah, I had time,” Misha answers, staring into space. Or, rather, into his glass.
“So, what went wrong? If I may ask.”
“Just... everything, I guess. I got another chance to present a project tomorrow. Maybe that'll do.” Misha sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He seems tired.
Jensen claps his shoulder encouragingly. “It'll work. You just have to believe in yourself.”
They both take a swig of wine. It's quiet between them for a few moments, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. A bit weird, maybe, but okay.
Misha huffs. His voice is quiet and deeper than Jensen is used to when he says, “Can't really hope against bad luck. I feel like nothing works out lately.”
Wordlessly, Jensen turns his head to watch him. Sorrow is painted all over his face, taut lines beside his eyes, and Jensen also notices the dark shadow underneath them. It hurts to see him like that, because Jensen fucking cares for him, even if it means he's helping his strongest competitor here.
It hits Jensen hard then, that he needs to tell Misha one day who he really is, in order to make this work. He takes another mouthful of the wine. The glass is empty, again, and Jensen quickly refills it, draining the bottle while doing so.
“Everyone has a bad day every once in a while. And even if it's a bad day phase, it gets better, sooner or later. Learned that from high school,” Jensen says, avoiding Misha's eyes. He grabs a handful of cheese cubes and idly starts chewing.
With another deep sigh, Misha gets to his feet. “Be right back,” he says before he vanishes through the door to what looks like his living room. Jensen's gaze follows him, takes in the curve of his ass in his tight jeans, the dip of his spine and his narrow hips. God, Jensen would bend him over the table and fuck him this second if he could. Suppressing a frustrated groan, Jensen closes his eyes and rests his head against the back rest, breathing in deep to get his body back under control.
A low sound, a first chord of an electric guitar sounds through the open door to the living room and as the volume gets louder, Jensen recognizes it as Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love' and smiles.
“Figured you might like it,” Misha's voice breaks through the daze Jensen suddenly finds himself in. The alcohol does its work.
He opens his eyes to find Misha leaning in the doorway, an easy smile on his lips. He smiles right back. “Yeah? How did you know I like Zep?”
“Your shirt,” Misha answers simply.
“Oh, right,” Jensen nods. He almost forgot about that.
“And I thought we could use something to light up the mood. I don't want to spend my evening brooding and whining while loading all my shit on you.”
Jensen's eyes are glued to Misha as he crosses the patio and sits back down beside him. “Hey, no problem at all. What are friends for, right?”
Misha's gaze wavers and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline as he meets Jensen's eyes. “Friends?” he asks in disbelief and his voice breaks somewhere during the word.
“Yes,” Jensen swallows heavily around the lump in his throat. Oh, he wants to be so much more than friends with Misha, but hey.
Misha nods, lost in thought, his chin dropping onto his chest before he looks back up. “Friends,” he states and holds out his hand towards Jensen.
Jensen smiles warmly at him and takes his hand, squeezing it firmly. Misha's palm is smaller than his, his fingers long and slender and almost fragile against his, but the touch feels electric and Jensen's skin tingles where it meets Misha's. Jensen's breath hitches. Damn, that shit has to stop before he goes crazy.
A delighted squeal from the door to the living room startles both of them. After blinking a few times, Jensen snaps around and finds -
Yeah, he doesn't really know what he sees. It's about three feet tall, has one eye, wears a blue overall and looks like an oversized tic-tac. It's also yellow. Wide-eyed, Jensen looks back at Misha, who opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He's apparently out of words. Jensen did know that Misha was a villain, that he had a lab, that he probably did test a thing or two down there, but, seriously, what the hell?
He manages to voice as much. Kinda. “The fuck?”
“Uhm, Jensen... meet Dave.”
“Dave?” Jensen asks, still not fully perceiving what is happening right now.
“Yeah, he's... well, I used to be doing some experiments in my earlier days?” Misha shrugs. “I call him a minion.”
The minion - Dave - jumps over to them, giggling gleefully, and hops onto Jensen's lap. “Jen!” he cheers.
“Uhm, yeah, hi Dave,” Jensen answers, not really sure where to put his hands. He pets the minion's head awkwardly, and Dave immediately breaks into another fit of giggles.
Misha watches, his eyes wide in shock. He looks terrified.
Jensen reaches over to clap his hand onto Misha's thigh. Innocently, just twice. “Relax, dude.”
Misha swallows audibly, and looks at Dave. The minion seems to be quite happy in his place on Jensen's lap, even leans into his chest. “Jennn,” he coos again.
“I think he likes you,” Misha says in a breathy voice.
It may be the alcohol, but Jensen feels the tension ease between them and breaks into a heartfelt laughter. Dave's eye wanders up to him and watches him questioningly. Then he throws both arms around Jensen's upper body and snuggles into his chest, humming contentedly. Jensen pats his back.
All of a sudden, Dave slides off his lap and bounces back into the house.
“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Misha deadpans, looking after him.
Again, Jensen has to laugh and reaches for his glass of wine. 'Houses of the Holy' begins to play in the background. Jensen smiles into his glass, then looks up at Misha over its rim. The atmosphere is relaxed and easy, thank god. When Jensen looks over the garden once more, he sees that the sun is just about to sink over the horizon. So Misha watches the sunset with him, how romantic. Jensen has a hard time managing not to snort.
“Must be nice, having a minion around,” he says instead, testing the waters.
“It has its perks,” Misha grins. “But he's also the reason why I can't bring anyone home these days.”
“So you never...?” The sentence hangs unfinished between them and Jensen only realizes when it's too late what he just implied. A facepalm seems very appealing right now.
Misha shakes his head and smiles sadly. “Doesn't mean I don't miss it from time to time.”
Jensen feels a sudden shiver of arousal tingle down his spine when Misha looks up and locks eyes with him. The tension is back, all of a sudden, but very different this time. The implication of Misha's deep blue eyes is very clear.
A light, warm breeze blows across the garden, catching one of Misha's locks and letting it curl into his forehead. Jensen's hand itches to run his hand through the other one's hair, smooth it back down, feel the thick strands between his fingers. Let his hand slip to the back of Misha's head, pull him towards himself and kiss him senseless, have him moaning and writhing in his arms until Jensen can lower him down onto the porch swing and-
But he's digressing.
It takes him a short moment to swallow and compose himself before answering. “Yeah, I can relate.”
Misha raises an eyebrow. “Really? You? Did you forget to put up the mirror when you moved here?”
Jensen eyes him in disbelief and blinks. He takes a nervous swig of his wine. And another one.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-” Misha claps his hand onto his mouth. “I think I'm a bit tipsy,” he adds quietly through his fingers and breaks the eye contact.
“No, no, it's okay, really,” Jensen smiles reassuringly.
What follows is a really awkward silence, until Dave shows up once again, handing a corkscrew to Jensen. Only then, Jensen notices that they both drained their glasses and the first bottle is also empty.
“Thanks, buddy,” he smiles at the minion, who runs back into the house, and reaches for the bottle.
“So, tell me about your meeting,” Misha asks to change the topic, to Jensen’s relief.
“Oh god. This guy, I tell you. One day, I'll strangle him and they won't find the body,” he says, grunting as he pulls the cork out of the neck of the bottle. “Phew, that one sat tight. Anyway,” Jensen refills Misha's glass, then his own as he speaks. “We had this big, important meeting today, you know? The presentation of our newest car model, efficient and environmentally conscious - an e-car - and all that, and our plan was perfect from beginning to end. Man, I was working my ass off for that project since day one. And guess what, I made a stupid, totally marginal mistake at one single calculation. The driveshaft. Just a miscalculation, really, easy to be fixed, but not possibly in time for this meeting. So I spoke to him, to that colleague who was supposed to present the concept to the head of production, and we agreed on just not bringing it up. I would fix it tomorrow and it would be fine before we sent over the plans.”
“Let me take a wild guess here,” Misha interrupts him, smiling lopsided. “He brought it up.”
“Of course he did. Son of a bitch,” Jensen shakes his head and drinks from his glass before resuming. “And because the head of the accounts department might be good with numbers but not with rational thinking, he made a big deal of it all, and I ended up with six fucking hours of this shit instead of three. So, yeah, life sucks sometimes even when you've got a job.”
“Well, then I'd say-” Misha raises his glass once again. “Screw him and Prost.”
“Prost?”
“That's what they say in Germany. Means 'cheers'.”
“Huh,” Jensen says, grins, “Then Prost!”
They clink glasses once again and drink.
“The moon is rising,” Misha says, pointing at the horizon.
Jensen follows the direction of his finger, and sees the pale crescent rise into the cloudless sky that is dotted with stars. He couldn't even tell when he last noticed something as plain as the moon rising. Truth be told, it's a moment of calmness, a moment where he can focus on the beauty of nature rather than his completely mundane problems. Like Luke from Denver or that he's completely, helplessly gone for his neighbor, who still sits beside him and watches the scene with him.
If this was a rom-com, they'd look into each other's eyes now, realize because of some otherworldly reason that they belong to each other and fall down into the grass together. Because really, all they've done so far was dancing around each other. As for Misha, because he didn't trust anyone, naturally. It kind of came with the job description. On Jensen's part, obviously, because his original plan was to wipe Misha off the map rather than fall in love with him. And oh, Jesus, did he just think that?
Jensen's eyes are drawn to Misha once again, and the other man is sprawled lazily on the swing, leaned back and idly nipping at his glass of wine. Taking a sip of his own, Jensen stares back at the moon. It's a beautiful, clear night. Jensen sighs blissfully. Yes, he could get used to this.
They sit like that for a couple, quiet minutes. Neither Misha nor Jensen feel the need to talk, they just enjoy the night and each other's presence, even though the air feels pleasantly charged between them. Like something dangerous and teasing is hanging in the air, foreshadowing that something is going to happen that night. Jensen shudders, and again, it's more like pleasant anticipation.
Somewhere during those moments, they apparently shifted closer to each other, because Jensen can feel Misha's warmth beside him and finds that Misha's upper arm is touching his. He does not pull back.
“May I ask...” Jensen says quietly after countless minutes. He doesn't know, lost all sense of time passing by somewhere along the line. “You said you missed having someone around. Which part? Which part do you miss the most, I mean?”
And if it wasn't abundantly clear that Jensen is quite a bit drunk himself, it should be now, because how could he straight-forward ask something like that? Misha won't answer it anyway. Jensen kinda hopes for that, because he still can't conceive what he should do with the info when he gets it. If he gets it, that is. And if he doesn't sink into the ground from embarrassment, that is.
“The sex,” Misha deadpans in a shameless buh-voice that throws Jensen completely off balance. He had expected a lot, but not that.
“The sex?” Jensen asks back, at a lack of something better to say.
Misha turns his head towards him and grins. “What do I speak, Kiswahili? Of course the sex,” he frowns mockingly.
“But you're a single guy. Sex is the easiest thing to get,” Jensen throws in. Hell, he'd done that for years.
“Who says I want that kind of sex? Only because I could have it if I wanted?” Misha shoots back with a raised eyebrow.
“So you're saying-”
“That sex with someone who knows you and the things you like and what makes you come within two seconds flat is the best kind of sex? Exactly that,” Misha says. The guy is shameless, indeed.
Jensen feels heat rising up on his cheeks as he gapes at Misha and the mental images that are forming themselves right now are not helping in getting him back to reality.
“And if your next question would be why I don't have someone to share that kind of relationship with, well, I don't trust people easily and I don't let someone in on my life unless if they give me a really good reason to,” Misha smirks at him, and that expression would probably make Jensen weak in his knees right now. Thank god he's sitting very securely on his ass.
Then again, this is a topic where Jensen can contribute to. “Yeah, and that's exactly the reason I picked anonymous one-night stands instead of the big deal so far.”
“Believe me, once you had the full relationship experience, sex-wise, there is nothing one-night stands could ever again do for you.”
Jensen blinks at him. It takes him a moment to get it through his buzzing skull, but the true meaning behind the words eventually gets clear. “So there has been someone in your life?”
Misha's smile falters, like he just realized that he let something slip involuntarily. “Yes, there was. She...” he lets the sentence unfinished, apparently at a loss for words.
“You don't have to, you know,” Jensen says softly.
Misha just shakes his head. “No, I want to. I... We met in high school, so obviously she had heard the rumors about me. Well, the rumors that were actually true, obviously. She didn't care, and we got together. Then came college and building a life together with a house and all that. And one day, I woke up, and she was just gone. I didn't know where she went or if she would ever come back or even just why. It came totally out of nowhere for me. She had taken such a big part of my life with her that I struggled for months, years even, to get myself back together.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Jensen whispers and finds his hand resting on Misha's thigh, stroking it in a comforting manner. He quickly retreats it when he realizes what he's doing - damn the wine. He takes another sip. Misha is quiet beside him, staring into the moon, lost in thought. “Did you ever find out what happened?”
Misha snaps out of his daze then and nods. “She wrote me a letter, two years later. Said she was sorry, but she couldn't deal with my life choices any more and that I needed to get a regular job and that she felt like we've been drifting apart. Truth is, she may have been right there, but we became so accustomed to each other, living in each other's space and all that, that it was just so weird not having her there any more. For the first time since I was in high school, I was completely alone. I swore off women for a while back then, however I'm still a fan of the I-might-love-a-woman-if-I-meet-the-right-one theory,” he meets Jensen's eyes again, and Jensen doesn't want to pity him or anything, because he seems so strong and so settled in his beliefs there.
“Understandable,” Jensen winks, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't even want to delve into Misha's life choices or the regular job thing, he knows and can imagine the woman's reasons anyway.
“Oh, and just FYI - I always say I'm bisexual, because that's the easiest way to put it. In reality, I just don't like labeling myself. I generally think that it's still the person you fall in love with, not the physical gender or gender identity.”
“Nice way to say it,” Jensen chuckles. “I gotta say, I'm still just bisexual, plain and simple. Just because both men and women have their perks, but I bet you know that.”
Misha's eyebrows rise again. He is obviously intrigued. “Tell me,” he smiles, looking quite smug, “I mean, yeah, I've got my preferences, but I'm interested in hearing yours.”
“It's simple, as I said, and if you think I'm shallow or anything, I really am in that matter... I'm not much of a boobs-guy. I'm more into a perky little ass, and why should I limit my choice to women when there are guys out there I just want to-” he makes a whipping gesture with his hand, indicating a nice slap. Then he chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck.
Misha laughs, luckily. “I see,” and if his eyes light up a bit at that, Jensen surely just imagined it, what with the wine and all.
He takes another sip from his glass, quietly pondering over Misha's words. “You said you don't trust people easily,” he says quietly. It's not really a question.
Misha nods nonetheless. “Exactly.”
“Then may I ask how Jared earned your trust? I'm just curious, you know. I'm sure there's a story to that.”
A low rumble from Misha's throat confirms Jensen's musings. “There is, to no great surprise. It's not that much of a story, though. Jared and I met in college, both majoring in engineering. At first I thought he was some gangly goofball and had naturally no interest in getting to know him. I thought he was just one of those popular kids, and I certainly didn't hang out with them. I never was that outgoing. We only came to talk one day when we both tried to sabotage our professor's model of a car engine. The prof was just such an arrogant prick, constantly putting us through the wringer at each and every test, and we knew he was going to use the model the next day during our lesson. When I snuck into the classroom at night, intending to remove the main rope that held the model upright - which would result in the model falling to pieces as soon as the prof would touch it - well, I found Jared already in said room with the rope in his hand. And we just looked at each other and started grinning. The next day when the model actually fell apart and our prof was two seconds away from either spontaneously combusting or flailing his arms into the air and cursing like a sailor, we went out and got drunk and celebrated the fact that we're the world’s most bad-ass pranksters. So anyway, Jared is a good guy. He always tried to pull me out of my dorm room to get drunk or fuck with our fellow students. Those were good times.”
Misha is quiet for a short moment, but he sounds like there is more to come, so Jensen waits patiently and doesn't interrupt him.
After his lips open and close a few times, Misha eventually continues. “And Jared was the best friend you could wish for when that... happened... with her. He was there for me, all the way through it.”
Jensen smiles sympathetically at him then and nudges his elbow into Misha's side. “I think I never heard you talk that much all at once,” he grins to lighten up the mood.
Misha nudges back. “Shut up,” he says, smiling good-naturedly.
Their eye contact breaks right then and they both stare up at the sky once more. The moon has risen further now, halfway to reaching its zenith. It's quiet for a few moments, again.
“You know what would be a really nice prank?” Jensen laughs, suddenly caught by the ridiculous idea.
Misha's head turns towards him, eyes fixing him with their intense blue iris. “No, but I have that feeling that you're about to tell me.”
Jensen grins. “I was just thinking about those asshats in front of the White House the other day. What if someone flew up there and painted the moon in rainbow colors? There's nothing they could do about it. The White House in pink is all hilarious and stuff, but they'd paint that over within days. The moon? Yeah, try that.”
What starts out as a soft rumble ends up with Misha putting his glass down on the table and throwing his head back, shaking with a roaring laughing fit that Jensen just has to join in. “That would be awesome!” Misha manages somewhere in between gasping for air and wiping tears out of his eyes. When they have calmed down a bit, they clink their glasses and both drown it in one go. Misha smiles softly at him and that look just stirs up Mothra - though it might be slightly intoxicated as well by now - in his stomach again.
Jensen decides to flee. “Hey, can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure,” Misha nods, “Inside, down the hall, first door left to the entrance.”
“Thanks,” Jensen says. When he gets to his feet- woah. Stop right there, cowboy, he thinks to himself and sits back down. The world is kinda, really nauseatingly spinning around him.
“You alright?” Misha asks.
“Yeah, just... the wine,” Jensen waves at the bottles on the table with an apologetic smile.
Misha laughs again, and if that laughter isn't downright dirty, Jensen doesn't know what is. “Hey!” he complains, punching Misha's shoulder in mock-offense. “Don't you dare laugh at me. Try it yourself, chucklehead.”
Misha just curls into a laughing ball of goofiness in the corner of the swing. Shaking his head, Jensen stands up once again, a lot slower this time and holding tight onto the edge of the table. It works like that, so he slowly goes inside. Luckily, the bathroom is easily found. Misha's house, as far as he can see between trying to walk straight - heh, pun intended - and not falling over something or running into something, is quite unusual. Unusual in a cool way. Jensen totally digs the morning star in the living room.
When he returns, safe and sound and without smashing anything, and goes to exit through the door to the backyard, Jensen is unexpectedly stopped in his tracks. By Misha. Running right into him. They're instinctively holding onto each other - Jensen's hand curling around Misha's bicep, Misha's hand flat on Jensen's chest - to barely avoid tumbling to the ground.
Jensen is acutely mesmerized by Misha's deep blue eyes, so close to his. Misha's lips capture his gaze next, chapped and full and hanging slightly open. They're standing so close that Jensen can feel Misha's breath on his lips and smell the wine and Misha's cologne. It takes a lot of Jensen's remaining restraint to not tip his head down and kiss him. The urge almost becomes too much when Misha shifts on his feet, which results in him leaning even closer towards Jensen. Reflexively, Jensen tilts his head a bit to the side, as if they really would kiss any second now. Misha breaks the daze they're trapped in then by looking back up from Jensen's lips to his eyes and they blink at each other - once, twice - in disbelief. Jensen is almost thankful, because his heart is racing in his chest right now and he is pretty sure that Misha can feel that against his palm. But he's also a bit disappointed.
Jensen swallows heavily. “I was just about to get back out to the patio,” he manages, his voice rough.
“I just wanted to grab the other bottle of wine,” Misha says in his defense, luckily going along with Jensen's lead. “And it's gotten quite cold out there. Should we move this to the living room?”
Still quite puzzled, Jensen nods and drops his hand as he steps back reluctantly.
It still takes a wave of Misha to make him sit on the couch.
Apparently, they've listened to all the Led Zeppelin albums Misha has, because 'Burning for You' by Blue Öyster Cult starts playing. Jensen grins to himself. They have a strange luck for hearing songs in the right moment. And yes, he still remembers 'Thunderstruck'.
Misha returns with both glasses in his hands and the empty bottles jammed between his elbows and his hips. Without further ado, Jensen takes the glasses off his hands, and if his fingers brush Misha's a bit more than is strictly necessary, well, then that's how it is. Misha hurries back outside to retrieve the plate of cheese.
“Come to think of it,” he says once he's back inside and locked the door. “I've got something better than wine, if you like.”
With that, he reaches into a cabinet in the living room closet to get out two glasses and a green bottle that looks like... whiskey.
“Whiskey?” Jensen asks, both parts amused and a bit worried about the state he'd end in.
“Scotch, to be exact.”
“Lemme see,” and if he slurs a bit by now, well. And if his words are a bit drawled out lazily and sound like he's coming from Texas, then that's because he is hailing from Texas. So what? He takes the bottle from Misha, studying the label hard and squinting with one eye shut. “La... Laphroaig? What does that even mean?”
“Honestly, no idea. All I know is that this is the really good stuff. You won't ever be able to drink Jack again after a glass of this,” Misha promises, dropping down on the couch beside Jensen. He uncorks the bottle and pours two fingers into each glass, then hands one to Jensen.
“Cheers,” he says.
“Prost,” Jensen answers with a smirk.
Misha's eyes are glinting when he raises the glass to his lips, taking a sip. He hums appreciatively when he puts it back down and licks his lips. Jensen doesn't dare to take a huge gulp himself and follows Misha's example. The whiskey is peaty and smoky on his tongue, the alcohol burning down his throat as he swallows, but it leaves a quite enjoyable aftertaste.
“I like it,” he finally states, taking another mouthful and placing the glass on the coffee table.
Misha watches him from the corners of his eyes and puts his glass down as well. “There's a reason why I like you,” he grins.
“Because I'm enjoying these things?” Jensen asks with a nod at the glasses of whiskey, just to get it confirmed.
“Obviously,” Misha says, rolling his eyes. “In all seriousness, though... Thanks. For tonight. I really feel a lot better now.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jensen answers and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for sounding so smooth. He smiles warmly at Misha. “Wasn't hard to do, you're pretty awesome yourself.”
“Thanks,” Misha replies. He avoids Jensen's eyes, and if his eyes aren't betraying him, Jensen could swear that he blushes lightly.
Jensen finishes his glass of scotch. “So anyway, thanks for everything, but I think I better go.” Before I do something stupid.
“You sure you're able to get over to your house in one piece?” Misha teases.
“Shut up, I'm totally capable of-” Jensen's amused tone gets cut off when his attempt to stand up fails spectacularly and he crashes back into the couch, back beside Misha. Their bodies are connected from shoulder to knee now, and Jensen can feel every single muscle of Misha rippling as he laughs hard, again. Laughs even more when Jensen's second attempt ends exactly like the first one did.
“I think you better stay here for the night. The sofa is all yours, Jensen,” Misha offers, still smiling smugly and trying hard not to burst into laughter. Again.
“If you don't really mind?”
“No, of course not. Would I have offered if I did?” D'uh, Misha's face says.
Jensen nods. “Well, then, thanks. I'll take the couch.”
“It seems I have very lucky furniture,” Misha snickers, getting carefully to his feet and grabbing a blanket from the shorter sofa across from the table. He quickly falls back down against Jensen.
“You don't seem that sure on your feet as well,” Jensen mocks him.
“Shut up and sleep,” Misha throws the blanket over him.
“Are you tucking me in?” Jensen teases as he lays down, resting his head on one of the pillows.
“No, I'm not-” and right then, Misha's mission to get up is suddenly aborted, because - he loses balance and falls right on top of Jensen.
“Oh,” Jensen says intelligently, feeling like a tool. Reflexively, he wrapped his hands around Misha's waist, keeping him in place.
“Sorry,” Misha whispers, but doesn't break their eye contact. “I think I should get to bed.”
“You can always stay here,” Jensen waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Misha blushes. Downright blushes. And at this point, Jensen doesn't care which kind of consequences his actions might have. Misha is laying flat on top of him, blushing deep red and looking like an adorable little teddy bear that he just wants to stuff into his pocket and take home. And fuck him. Literally. Okay, so maybe Jensen lost the metaphor there.
Point is, Misha's lips, those damn plush, pink lips are so close to his and so tempting. Thank god for dutch courage, Jensen thinks. Then he slips one of his hands into Misha's hair and pulls him down gently to kiss him. It's a chaste, slow kiss. Nothing fancy, nothing special. Just a firm press of lips against Misha's, capturing those damn kissable lips that he has been staring at and lusting after since day one with his own. It feels like it had felt in all those dreams he had about Misha, just as good and oh- Misha kisses back. The kiss turns languid and slow, and Misha's full lips are so easy to kiss, fit so perfectly against Jensen's. His heart beats at least twice as fast as usual and Mothra makes another cameo. All those feelings, a sudden rush of comfort and happiness and yes, this is right, are washing over him and leaving him breathless.
When he breaks the kiss and lets his head fall back into the cushion, Jensen finds Misha staring at him, flabbergasted.
“I just thought you should know,” Jensen says, quietly hoping that Misha won't freak out.
The dark-haired man swallows. Then he just lays his head down on Jensen's chest and says, “We should sleep.”
Jensen pulls the blanket over them and closes his eyes. Even through the dizzy, fuzzy feeling of the alcohol, he knows that Misha might need some time to think right now.
“Good night, Misha,” he whispers.
“Night, Jen.”
And maybe his breath hitches a bit at the nickname.
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