Fic: Suck And Blow
Title: Suck and Blow
Author: obstinatrix
Pairing: Jensen/Misha/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All lies.
Summary: The boys break out the weed. Passing the joint around progresses to blowbacks, which naturally moves onto other things, especially since they're all on the ground together already. PWP, essentially.
When you get right down to it, most of Misha's ideas are bad ones. Jensen knows this. He's known it right from the second day of Misha's tentative first term on the Supernatural set, when one of Misha's great concepts landed them both in Kripke's bad books for a week, artistic licence be damned. The thing about Misha is, it doesn't help to know that he's trouble. In the heat of the moment, he can pretty much always convince everybody otherwise.
The heat of this particular moment is dry and sweet, an earthy residue on Jensen's tongue. He's always been a clean-cut kid, he has. He doesn't do the whole celebrity deal, falling out of clubs at three in the morning, neat lines of white powder on the toilet seat, all that shit. But when Misha said, "Dude, it's only weed. Loosen up," he was pretty convincing.
Jensen reckons the guys who came up with that whole Just Say No campaign crap had never bet on people having to deal with Misha.
Still. It is just weed, is the thing. Jensen feels a little strange, maybe; kinda tingly, but not - bad. If anything, he actually feels quite a lot better than usual, all loose in the shoulders like his skin suddenly fits more comfortably there. The joint is in Misha's hand, now, the smouldering tip of it glowing in the dusk as he raises it to his mouth and inhales. Jensen finds himself holding his own breath, waiting for the exhalation, anticipating that slow plume breaking from Misha's lips.
Thing is, Misha has a lot of ideas. Turns out he has bigger plans for that mouthful of smoke.
Jared's not above a drag or two on somebody else's joint, even if he'd never go and get himself a load of the stuff himself. Jensen knows that about him; it's cool. He knows pretty much everything about Jared, and not much surprises him any more. He wasn't surprised at the easy way Jared took the joint from Misha's fingers, earlier, before Jensen had touched the thing himself. He wasn't surprised by the way his eyelashes flickered as he inhaled, knowing that expression for a characteristic Blissed Out Jared face. He looks like that when he collapses on the couch after a long day at work, or when he takes his first pull of beer on a hot Texas day.
When Jared turns to Misha, long fingers firm on his shoulder, and angles his face to set their lips against each other, Jensen is surprised.
For the first few seconds, he literally blanks out on what this is, on what Jared can possibly be doing, beyond the absolutely obvious. His eyes are closed, soft curve of eyelashes against the pale tan of his skin, and his free hand comes up soon enough to cradle Misha's jaw, holding him still. Jensen's stomach twists uncomfortably - and it's all of it, everything; the way Jared's hair has fallen into his eyes; the strangely vulnerable look on Misha's face - but most of all, it's that gesture, the possessive curve of Jared's hand on Misha's chin. It's just so Jared, and it's gorgeous and gentle and unfair in ways that Jensen can't let himself think about. Jensen's stomach twists, breathlessness flashing up inside of him from gut to gullet.
And then Misha exhales, finally, and Jensen remembers himself.
Stupid of him, really, to veer so suddenly, dangerously to the edge of freaking out like that, when all this is is a blowback between friends. He watches Jared's throat working, subtle and fluid, as he sucks in the smoke from Misha's lips, steady and sure. Their lips are barely touching, just holding things in place, forming a tunnel for the smoke to travel. There isn't any movement, any sound, not like it's a kiss. Just two guys shotgunning it, languidly sharing their breath.
But it's a connection between them, and Jensen wants violently to be part of it.
The look on Jared's face when he releases his hold on Misha's is smoky in itself, buzzed and pleased and soft. Jensen can't help himself; reaches out across the brief distance and turns Jared's face towards him, lightheadedly courageous. "Hey. Share."
Jared laughs, unconcerned, and for a moment, Jensen almost wants to smack him for it, for not knowing that it isn't nothing that he's just had his mouth on Misha's. But it's Jared's laugh, startled out of him bright and warm, and that kind of overrides everything else.
"I'll get us some more," Jared tells him, taking the joint from Misha's fingers and lifting it to his mouth. Jensen would protest - he kind of liked the idea of that connection, that same connection extending from one of them to the other to the other, but Jared's right: that breath is gone, and they would have needed more warning to have prolonged it. This is a new one, a new mouthful of sour-sweetness sucked into Jared's throat as Jensen watches, something just for them. When Jared's done, breathed in as much as he can take, he sets his big palm against the line of Jensen's jaw, holding, possessing, and it warms Jensen all over. His own hand is still firm on Jared's face, and it feels right like this, the two of them holding each other. Feels good.
Jared's mouth feels good, too, when it seals against his own, and the smoke is warm and rich as he breathes it in. Jared's good at this, delivering it slow and careful, so Jensen doesn't have the opportunity to lose any of it, just inhales deep until his head is thick with weed and the warm closeness of Jared. The breath is gone for long seconds before he finally pulls away, but Jared doesn't seem to mind.
"Hey."
He's still kind of lost, drifter-dazed, in the moment when he feels another hand on his face, someone else shifting him gently. He's barely registered it as Misha - deep blue eyes, the quirk of his mouth - before there's a tongue tipping gently at the corner of his mouth, coaxing it open. He's too buzzed to do much but respond, lazy and slow, but wanting to be helpful, and the next thing he knows is Misha's mouth fitted to his, breathing out slow against his tongue. Jensen smiles a little into the press of their mouths, and swallows like it's liquid Misha's feeding him, smoky and sweet. It's more uncoordinated, this time; Jensen is more uncoordinated, but the taste of it is rich and smooth and wanted, and Jensen hums his pleasure. When Misha pulls away, he feels naked, his mouth unexpectedly cold, and he nips at Misha's lower lip as he departs, a token protest.
There are two joints, now, he realizes, dimly, noting the glowing spot of red just visible between Misha's fingers. Jared has the other - is finishing it up, by the look of things; leaning forward and taking Misha by the jaw. Jensen watches, heavy-lidded, his head tilted back because it suddenly feels easier that way, and this time it's different, watching Misha swallow down what Jared gives him. Jensen's heart is beating irregular and nervous in his chest, and the two of them look good together. When Misha shifts, closing his lips over Jared's lower one and sucking, they look even better.
"God," Jensen hears himself saying, "you guys - you're both - God, that looks hot."
It feels kind of as if he's hearing his own voice coming at him from somewhere a little behind his left shoulder, the words as much a surprise to him as to anyone else. But Jared only turns his head to make the angle easier, like it's all okay, like nobody minds at all. Misha curls his tongue up behind Jared's upper front teeth, and Jensen groans.
It's fucking hot, the two of them together like that, Misha fine-boned where Jared is big, their mouths soft and damply clinging. But this isn't - it's not a porno, and if it's kind of incomplete, Jensen can complete it. The smoke is all gone, Misha's joint smouldered, forgotten, to nothing in his hand, but it isn't all about the smoke. Jensen just wants to breathe with them, and it isn't all that important what they're breathing.
When he moves towards them, nobody seems very surprised. Jared extends an arm to pull him in, long fingers curling around the nape of Jensen's neck. Jensen loves that, the ownership implied by the gesture; the protectiveness, the love in it. He wants, with a sudden and visceral want, for Jared to feel that, too; to know just how much he means to Jensen. He leans in, mouth seeking out Jared's, and sure, Jared is kissing Misha right now, but Jensen doesn't think that'll be too much of an obstacle. Misha's got both lips sealed over Jared's lower one, suckling at the fullest part of it, and Jensen can work around that. He licks out, soft, at the damp inside of Jared's mouth, tongue flickering over the bottom of Jared's upper lip and catching the top of Misha's in the process. Jared makes a small sound, all wanting and bright in the back of his throat, and touches his tongue to Jensen's. Jensen closes his teeth on Jared's upper lip, and sinks his fingers into Misha's hair.
From there, everything kind of dissolves. They're sort of smushed together, all lips and limbs and breath, and the moment Misha pulls away, Jensen takes Jared's mouth completely with his own, licking at the flat of his tongue; but the next moment, Misha's tonguing at the bolt of Jensen's jaw, the three of them this strange, symbiotic thing. Jensen pulls away to breathe, and Misha captures his mouth without warning, his kiss fierce and plundering. It feels as if they have more than their fair share of hands between them, Jared's fingers still curled around the nape of Jensen's neck, Misha's smaller hand on Jensen's waist, and it's only when Misha torques and groans that Jensen discovers his own palm between Misha's legs.
"Fuck," Jensen stutters, breaking away, and laughs with it, startled into joy. The sky above them is dark and studded with stars, so many of them out, defying the pollution haze of the city. So many, that Jensen just has to turn up his face to gaze at them all, breathing in the night like he breathed in Jared, and Misha, and their smoke. He leans back in the cradle of their arms, like he's forgotten how to hold his own weight, and it's wonderful, dizzying and something close to flying. Jensen stretches his back, and something dips inside his head in a way that makes colours pop before his eyes.
When he lets himself fall forward again, it really is a fall, although he has no doubt they'll catch him. They're kissing, the two of them, deep and slick, of course they are. Jensen watches, for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to subside, and when Misha's hands find their way under Jensen's t-shirt, tugging it upward, Jensen goes with it. The night air is cool on his skin, but not cold, and his skin prickles deliciously.
"God, Jen."
Jared's voice, Jensen realizes, dimly. Jared's voice, and yet, not quite the way he's ever heard it, all sultry and appreciative like this. Jensen opens his mouth to say something, but before he can settle on how to start, Jared's on him, sucking on his tongue, big hands cradling his face. Jensen moans into the kiss, the dizziness creeping back again. He can feel Misha shifting beside them, doing - something - but it isn't till Jared breaks away and returns, after a minute, all miles and miles of naked skin that he works it out. Next thing, Misha's smooth against Jensen's back, nipples peaked and heart thundering hard between Jensen's shoulderblades.
The wet heat of Misha's mouth at the nape of his neck isn't exactly a shock, but that doesn't preclude Jensen from arching up against Jared with the pleasure of it, the way it shoots hot and teasing down his spine. They're hard, Jensen registers, all three of them - hard muscles pressed against him, back and front; hard lines of their cocks burning through their jeans. Behind him, Misha presses himself slow into Jensen's backside, fingers curving for purchase over his hipbones. Jensen reaches down to press his hand over Misha's, holding it there, rocking back against him. Misha hisses hard through his teeth at that, sharp with wanting, and Jared groans appreciation into Jensen's mouth. Between them, Jensen is caught like dust, weightless and drifting in light, suspended in their brightness.
Jared is a big man. It isn't as if Jensen's ever likely to forget this, but he's known Jared a long time, now, and even if he's kind of bigger these days than he used to be, Jensen's still used to him, in that way that makes these things seem unimportant. But now, with Jared pressed all muscular heat against him, it feels like the most important thing in the world. Jared's arms are long enough that he seems to have no problem reaching around Jensen's body for the snap of Misha's jeans, pushing them and his underwear off of Misha's narrow hips. Misha twists and lifts himself, making it easier, and then the slick of him is hot at the small of Jensen's back, the smell of him tangible in the air. Jensen groans, stomach clenching with want, and thrusts his hand into Jared's jeans.
Repeat: Jared is a big man. The fastenings of his pants seem unfuckingnecessarily complicated to Jensen, his fingers slipping over them lax and frantic, but when he's finally got the zipper unzipped and the button unbuttoned, Jared's not wearing any underwear, and that pretty much makes up for his trouble. There's nothing, absolutely nothing about this that isn't sexy. The coarse rasp of hair against the backs of Jensen's fingers. The fact that Jared's stiff and leaking already, such that it smears against Jensen's wrist as he shoves Jared's jeans out of the way. Most of all, the thick heat of him in Jensen's hand, and the way Jared bucks his hips in immediate response, moaning into Jensen's mouth. Behind, Misha is trembling, trying to hold himself still, although Jensen isn't really sure why. That sound from Jared acts on him like a catalyst on a chemical reaction, setting him jerking against Jensen's back, and Jensen can't help but groan at that, too, digging his fingers into the muscle of Jared's shoulders.
After that, it's like the last fence has been kicked over, and the three of them are running wild. Misha closes his teeth in the flesh of Jensen's neck, hips working steadily, and shoves at Jensen's jeans so hard that the button works itself free almost meekly, as if it, too, finds Misha dangerously convincing. Jensen would help - fuck, wants to help, inasmuch as he's capable of wanting anything except the way Jared is moaning under his touch, their kiss stilled to a wet rubbing of mouth against mouth - but Misha seems to have the whole situation under control. He pulls and tugs and Jensen lets himself be guided, until the jeans are gone and Misha's nestled in the valley of Jensen's ass, thrusting up against the small of his back. His breath is quick, punctuated by little flickers of his tongue against Jensen's ear, and his fingers are quicker. They close around Jensen, start stroking him in time with the thrusts of Misha's hips, and Jensen all but shouts into Jared's mouth.
By this point, Jared is pretty much too far gone for kissing. A twist of Jensen's hand, and Jared's face is pressed to Jensen's collarbone, breathing hard and desperate. Jensen turns his head, one arm arcing back to grip Misha's hair, and Misha comes willingly, despite the awkwardness of the angle, licking at Jensen's mouth, pushing his tongue wantonly against Jensen's.
Jared is shivering, now, hips stuttering into Jensen's hand. Misha's thrusts speed up as if in counterpoint, spreading slick over the base of Jensen's spine, and Jensen, between them, has no choice but to match their pace, rocking up into Misha's hand. They rock together, the three of them, in this quickening, rolling tangle, back and forth, all of them too close now for kissing. Too close for anything, really, except the base necessity of this motion, the clutch of fingers and the slick sound of flesh thundering desperately against flesh. Behind Jensen's eyes, the colours are building again, lifting him up with them until he is flying, floating clear off the damp ground. And then Jared stills, with a sudden and ominous stillness, and muffles his shout in a sharp bite to Jensen's nipple. He's coming, pulsing slick and sticky in long throbbing motions over Jensen's hand and stomach and thighs; over Jensen's cock, slipping in and out of Misha's fist. He's coming, fuck, because Jensen made him come like that, and they're connected, the three of them, like this. Connected, in this space somewhere just off the ground, and it must be some kind of chain reaction, because Jensen can hardly draw breath before he's coming too, pistoning in and out of Misha's grip until he finds that point, that high point, and clings to it as he spurts all hot and sticky. He's barely conscious of Misha's long, low groan under his ear until it breaks over a higher note, wetness bursting over his back. The fingers on Jensen's hipbone disappear; Misha's jacking himself through it, marking Jensen in ropes of white while they pant together in the dark.
Jensen floats for a long time, after.
When he touches down again, it's to the feeling of the grass, suddenly desperately grasslike against his naked skin. He's lying half on top of Jared, breathing deep and sleepy against his broad chest, but the rest of him is on the ground, leaves of grass tickling his stomach. Misha, on his other side, has thrown an arm over Jensen's waist, fingers tracing tiny circles.
For a long, long time, nobody moves. Jensen wonders whether they've fallen asleep. He'd like to fall asleep, himself, except for the grass. It's so grasslike, right here, he almost wants to eat it. He turns his face into it, slightly; tugs with his teeth.
"Hey, Jensen."
Misha's voice is a little slurred, a little hoarse with shouting. It's almost his Castiel voice, and that thought makes Jensen's spent cock twist a little in a way he doesn't really want to analyse right now.
"Yeah?"
He's awake. They're awake. Huh.
"If you have the munchies, there's food in the house, you know."
"Maybe he just wants grass," Jared suggests, sleepy and slow.
"This grass is dirty," Misha points out. And, yeah, it's kind of stickied in places with come, and that, Jensen concedes, is unacceptable.
"I want toast," Jensen announces, and pulls himself up.
Misha's ideas, Jensen knows, are mostly bad ones. He knows, as he stands naked in the kitchen, waiting for his bread to pop, that it's a bad idea to press himself up against Jared, rubbing his damp mouth over his nipple. He knows, too, that he shouldn't like it so much when the other two kiss; shouldn't let Misha kiss him right after, wet and deep against the kitchen counter. Misha's ideas are undoubtedly not everyone-approved.
The thing about them is, though, that at the time, they're absofuckinglutely wonderful, and Jensen's head is still smoky with this night, with weed and shadows and the sound of his friends coming together.
His toast pops, and he plates it without thinking. Maybe, in the morning, they can analyse it. Right now, they have a whole loaf of bread to entertain.
Author: obstinatrix
Pairing: Jensen/Misha/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All lies.
Summary: The boys break out the weed. Passing the joint around progresses to blowbacks, which naturally moves onto other things, especially since they're all on the ground together already. PWP, essentially.
When you get right down to it, most of Misha's ideas are bad ones. Jensen knows this. He's known it right from the second day of Misha's tentative first term on the Supernatural set, when one of Misha's great concepts landed them both in Kripke's bad books for a week, artistic licence be damned. The thing about Misha is, it doesn't help to know that he's trouble. In the heat of the moment, he can pretty much always convince everybody otherwise.
The heat of this particular moment is dry and sweet, an earthy residue on Jensen's tongue. He's always been a clean-cut kid, he has. He doesn't do the whole celebrity deal, falling out of clubs at three in the morning, neat lines of white powder on the toilet seat, all that shit. But when Misha said, "Dude, it's only weed. Loosen up," he was pretty convincing.
Jensen reckons the guys who came up with that whole Just Say No campaign crap had never bet on people having to deal with Misha.
Still. It is just weed, is the thing. Jensen feels a little strange, maybe; kinda tingly, but not - bad. If anything, he actually feels quite a lot better than usual, all loose in the shoulders like his skin suddenly fits more comfortably there. The joint is in Misha's hand, now, the smouldering tip of it glowing in the dusk as he raises it to his mouth and inhales. Jensen finds himself holding his own breath, waiting for the exhalation, anticipating that slow plume breaking from Misha's lips.
Thing is, Misha has a lot of ideas. Turns out he has bigger plans for that mouthful of smoke.
Jared's not above a drag or two on somebody else's joint, even if he'd never go and get himself a load of the stuff himself. Jensen knows that about him; it's cool. He knows pretty much everything about Jared, and not much surprises him any more. He wasn't surprised at the easy way Jared took the joint from Misha's fingers, earlier, before Jensen had touched the thing himself. He wasn't surprised by the way his eyelashes flickered as he inhaled, knowing that expression for a characteristic Blissed Out Jared face. He looks like that when he collapses on the couch after a long day at work, or when he takes his first pull of beer on a hot Texas day.
When Jared turns to Misha, long fingers firm on his shoulder, and angles his face to set their lips against each other, Jensen is surprised.
For the first few seconds, he literally blanks out on what this is, on what Jared can possibly be doing, beyond the absolutely obvious. His eyes are closed, soft curve of eyelashes against the pale tan of his skin, and his free hand comes up soon enough to cradle Misha's jaw, holding him still. Jensen's stomach twists uncomfortably - and it's all of it, everything; the way Jared's hair has fallen into his eyes; the strangely vulnerable look on Misha's face - but most of all, it's that gesture, the possessive curve of Jared's hand on Misha's chin. It's just so Jared, and it's gorgeous and gentle and unfair in ways that Jensen can't let himself think about. Jensen's stomach twists, breathlessness flashing up inside of him from gut to gullet.
And then Misha exhales, finally, and Jensen remembers himself.
Stupid of him, really, to veer so suddenly, dangerously to the edge of freaking out like that, when all this is is a blowback between friends. He watches Jared's throat working, subtle and fluid, as he sucks in the smoke from Misha's lips, steady and sure. Their lips are barely touching, just holding things in place, forming a tunnel for the smoke to travel. There isn't any movement, any sound, not like it's a kiss. Just two guys shotgunning it, languidly sharing their breath.
But it's a connection between them, and Jensen wants violently to be part of it.
The look on Jared's face when he releases his hold on Misha's is smoky in itself, buzzed and pleased and soft. Jensen can't help himself; reaches out across the brief distance and turns Jared's face towards him, lightheadedly courageous. "Hey. Share."
Jared laughs, unconcerned, and for a moment, Jensen almost wants to smack him for it, for not knowing that it isn't nothing that he's just had his mouth on Misha's. But it's Jared's laugh, startled out of him bright and warm, and that kind of overrides everything else.
"I'll get us some more," Jared tells him, taking the joint from Misha's fingers and lifting it to his mouth. Jensen would protest - he kind of liked the idea of that connection, that same connection extending from one of them to the other to the other, but Jared's right: that breath is gone, and they would have needed more warning to have prolonged it. This is a new one, a new mouthful of sour-sweetness sucked into Jared's throat as Jensen watches, something just for them. When Jared's done, breathed in as much as he can take, he sets his big palm against the line of Jensen's jaw, holding, possessing, and it warms Jensen all over. His own hand is still firm on Jared's face, and it feels right like this, the two of them holding each other. Feels good.
Jared's mouth feels good, too, when it seals against his own, and the smoke is warm and rich as he breathes it in. Jared's good at this, delivering it slow and careful, so Jensen doesn't have the opportunity to lose any of it, just inhales deep until his head is thick with weed and the warm closeness of Jared. The breath is gone for long seconds before he finally pulls away, but Jared doesn't seem to mind.
"Hey."
He's still kind of lost, drifter-dazed, in the moment when he feels another hand on his face, someone else shifting him gently. He's barely registered it as Misha - deep blue eyes, the quirk of his mouth - before there's a tongue tipping gently at the corner of his mouth, coaxing it open. He's too buzzed to do much but respond, lazy and slow, but wanting to be helpful, and the next thing he knows is Misha's mouth fitted to his, breathing out slow against his tongue. Jensen smiles a little into the press of their mouths, and swallows like it's liquid Misha's feeding him, smoky and sweet. It's more uncoordinated, this time; Jensen is more uncoordinated, but the taste of it is rich and smooth and wanted, and Jensen hums his pleasure. When Misha pulls away, he feels naked, his mouth unexpectedly cold, and he nips at Misha's lower lip as he departs, a token protest.
There are two joints, now, he realizes, dimly, noting the glowing spot of red just visible between Misha's fingers. Jared has the other - is finishing it up, by the look of things; leaning forward and taking Misha by the jaw. Jensen watches, heavy-lidded, his head tilted back because it suddenly feels easier that way, and this time it's different, watching Misha swallow down what Jared gives him. Jensen's heart is beating irregular and nervous in his chest, and the two of them look good together. When Misha shifts, closing his lips over Jared's lower one and sucking, they look even better.
"God," Jensen hears himself saying, "you guys - you're both - God, that looks hot."
It feels kind of as if he's hearing his own voice coming at him from somewhere a little behind his left shoulder, the words as much a surprise to him as to anyone else. But Jared only turns his head to make the angle easier, like it's all okay, like nobody minds at all. Misha curls his tongue up behind Jared's upper front teeth, and Jensen groans.
It's fucking hot, the two of them together like that, Misha fine-boned where Jared is big, their mouths soft and damply clinging. But this isn't - it's not a porno, and if it's kind of incomplete, Jensen can complete it. The smoke is all gone, Misha's joint smouldered, forgotten, to nothing in his hand, but it isn't all about the smoke. Jensen just wants to breathe with them, and it isn't all that important what they're breathing.
When he moves towards them, nobody seems very surprised. Jared extends an arm to pull him in, long fingers curling around the nape of Jensen's neck. Jensen loves that, the ownership implied by the gesture; the protectiveness, the love in it. He wants, with a sudden and visceral want, for Jared to feel that, too; to know just how much he means to Jensen. He leans in, mouth seeking out Jared's, and sure, Jared is kissing Misha right now, but Jensen doesn't think that'll be too much of an obstacle. Misha's got both lips sealed over Jared's lower one, suckling at the fullest part of it, and Jensen can work around that. He licks out, soft, at the damp inside of Jared's mouth, tongue flickering over the bottom of Jared's upper lip and catching the top of Misha's in the process. Jared makes a small sound, all wanting and bright in the back of his throat, and touches his tongue to Jensen's. Jensen closes his teeth on Jared's upper lip, and sinks his fingers into Misha's hair.
From there, everything kind of dissolves. They're sort of smushed together, all lips and limbs and breath, and the moment Misha pulls away, Jensen takes Jared's mouth completely with his own, licking at the flat of his tongue; but the next moment, Misha's tonguing at the bolt of Jensen's jaw, the three of them this strange, symbiotic thing. Jensen pulls away to breathe, and Misha captures his mouth without warning, his kiss fierce and plundering. It feels as if they have more than their fair share of hands between them, Jared's fingers still curled around the nape of Jensen's neck, Misha's smaller hand on Jensen's waist, and it's only when Misha torques and groans that Jensen discovers his own palm between Misha's legs.
"Fuck," Jensen stutters, breaking away, and laughs with it, startled into joy. The sky above them is dark and studded with stars, so many of them out, defying the pollution haze of the city. So many, that Jensen just has to turn up his face to gaze at them all, breathing in the night like he breathed in Jared, and Misha, and their smoke. He leans back in the cradle of their arms, like he's forgotten how to hold his own weight, and it's wonderful, dizzying and something close to flying. Jensen stretches his back, and something dips inside his head in a way that makes colours pop before his eyes.
When he lets himself fall forward again, it really is a fall, although he has no doubt they'll catch him. They're kissing, the two of them, deep and slick, of course they are. Jensen watches, for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to subside, and when Misha's hands find their way under Jensen's t-shirt, tugging it upward, Jensen goes with it. The night air is cool on his skin, but not cold, and his skin prickles deliciously.
"God, Jen."
Jared's voice, Jensen realizes, dimly. Jared's voice, and yet, not quite the way he's ever heard it, all sultry and appreciative like this. Jensen opens his mouth to say something, but before he can settle on how to start, Jared's on him, sucking on his tongue, big hands cradling his face. Jensen moans into the kiss, the dizziness creeping back again. He can feel Misha shifting beside them, doing - something - but it isn't till Jared breaks away and returns, after a minute, all miles and miles of naked skin that he works it out. Next thing, Misha's smooth against Jensen's back, nipples peaked and heart thundering hard between Jensen's shoulderblades.
The wet heat of Misha's mouth at the nape of his neck isn't exactly a shock, but that doesn't preclude Jensen from arching up against Jared with the pleasure of it, the way it shoots hot and teasing down his spine. They're hard, Jensen registers, all three of them - hard muscles pressed against him, back and front; hard lines of their cocks burning through their jeans. Behind him, Misha presses himself slow into Jensen's backside, fingers curving for purchase over his hipbones. Jensen reaches down to press his hand over Misha's, holding it there, rocking back against him. Misha hisses hard through his teeth at that, sharp with wanting, and Jared groans appreciation into Jensen's mouth. Between them, Jensen is caught like dust, weightless and drifting in light, suspended in their brightness.
Jared is a big man. It isn't as if Jensen's ever likely to forget this, but he's known Jared a long time, now, and even if he's kind of bigger these days than he used to be, Jensen's still used to him, in that way that makes these things seem unimportant. But now, with Jared pressed all muscular heat against him, it feels like the most important thing in the world. Jared's arms are long enough that he seems to have no problem reaching around Jensen's body for the snap of Misha's jeans, pushing them and his underwear off of Misha's narrow hips. Misha twists and lifts himself, making it easier, and then the slick of him is hot at the small of Jensen's back, the smell of him tangible in the air. Jensen groans, stomach clenching with want, and thrusts his hand into Jared's jeans.
Repeat: Jared is a big man. The fastenings of his pants seem unfuckingnecessarily complicated to Jensen, his fingers slipping over them lax and frantic, but when he's finally got the zipper unzipped and the button unbuttoned, Jared's not wearing any underwear, and that pretty much makes up for his trouble. There's nothing, absolutely nothing about this that isn't sexy. The coarse rasp of hair against the backs of Jensen's fingers. The fact that Jared's stiff and leaking already, such that it smears against Jensen's wrist as he shoves Jared's jeans out of the way. Most of all, the thick heat of him in Jensen's hand, and the way Jared bucks his hips in immediate response, moaning into Jensen's mouth. Behind, Misha is trembling, trying to hold himself still, although Jensen isn't really sure why. That sound from Jared acts on him like a catalyst on a chemical reaction, setting him jerking against Jensen's back, and Jensen can't help but groan at that, too, digging his fingers into the muscle of Jared's shoulders.
After that, it's like the last fence has been kicked over, and the three of them are running wild. Misha closes his teeth in the flesh of Jensen's neck, hips working steadily, and shoves at Jensen's jeans so hard that the button works itself free almost meekly, as if it, too, finds Misha dangerously convincing. Jensen would help - fuck, wants to help, inasmuch as he's capable of wanting anything except the way Jared is moaning under his touch, their kiss stilled to a wet rubbing of mouth against mouth - but Misha seems to have the whole situation under control. He pulls and tugs and Jensen lets himself be guided, until the jeans are gone and Misha's nestled in the valley of Jensen's ass, thrusting up against the small of his back. His breath is quick, punctuated by little flickers of his tongue against Jensen's ear, and his fingers are quicker. They close around Jensen, start stroking him in time with the thrusts of Misha's hips, and Jensen all but shouts into Jared's mouth.
By this point, Jared is pretty much too far gone for kissing. A twist of Jensen's hand, and Jared's face is pressed to Jensen's collarbone, breathing hard and desperate. Jensen turns his head, one arm arcing back to grip Misha's hair, and Misha comes willingly, despite the awkwardness of the angle, licking at Jensen's mouth, pushing his tongue wantonly against Jensen's.
Jared is shivering, now, hips stuttering into Jensen's hand. Misha's thrusts speed up as if in counterpoint, spreading slick over the base of Jensen's spine, and Jensen, between them, has no choice but to match their pace, rocking up into Misha's hand. They rock together, the three of them, in this quickening, rolling tangle, back and forth, all of them too close now for kissing. Too close for anything, really, except the base necessity of this motion, the clutch of fingers and the slick sound of flesh thundering desperately against flesh. Behind Jensen's eyes, the colours are building again, lifting him up with them until he is flying, floating clear off the damp ground. And then Jared stills, with a sudden and ominous stillness, and muffles his shout in a sharp bite to Jensen's nipple. He's coming, pulsing slick and sticky in long throbbing motions over Jensen's hand and stomach and thighs; over Jensen's cock, slipping in and out of Misha's fist. He's coming, fuck, because Jensen made him come like that, and they're connected, the three of them, like this. Connected, in this space somewhere just off the ground, and it must be some kind of chain reaction, because Jensen can hardly draw breath before he's coming too, pistoning in and out of Misha's grip until he finds that point, that high point, and clings to it as he spurts all hot and sticky. He's barely conscious of Misha's long, low groan under his ear until it breaks over a higher note, wetness bursting over his back. The fingers on Jensen's hipbone disappear; Misha's jacking himself through it, marking Jensen in ropes of white while they pant together in the dark.
Jensen floats for a long time, after.
When he touches down again, it's to the feeling of the grass, suddenly desperately grasslike against his naked skin. He's lying half on top of Jared, breathing deep and sleepy against his broad chest, but the rest of him is on the ground, leaves of grass tickling his stomach. Misha, on his other side, has thrown an arm over Jensen's waist, fingers tracing tiny circles.
For a long, long time, nobody moves. Jensen wonders whether they've fallen asleep. He'd like to fall asleep, himself, except for the grass. It's so grasslike, right here, he almost wants to eat it. He turns his face into it, slightly; tugs with his teeth.
"Hey, Jensen."
Misha's voice is a little slurred, a little hoarse with shouting. It's almost his Castiel voice, and that thought makes Jensen's spent cock twist a little in a way he doesn't really want to analyse right now.
"Yeah?"
He's awake. They're awake. Huh.
"If you have the munchies, there's food in the house, you know."
"Maybe he just wants grass," Jared suggests, sleepy and slow.
"This grass is dirty," Misha points out. And, yeah, it's kind of stickied in places with come, and that, Jensen concedes, is unacceptable.
"I want toast," Jensen announces, and pulls himself up.
Misha's ideas, Jensen knows, are mostly bad ones. He knows, as he stands naked in the kitchen, waiting for his bread to pop, that it's a bad idea to press himself up against Jared, rubbing his damp mouth over his nipple. He knows, too, that he shouldn't like it so much when the other two kiss; shouldn't let Misha kiss him right after, wet and deep against the kitchen counter. Misha's ideas are undoubtedly not everyone-approved.
The thing about them is, though, that at the time, they're absofuckinglutely wonderful, and Jensen's head is still smoky with this night, with weed and shadows and the sound of his friends coming together.
His toast pops, and he plates it without thinking. Maybe, in the morning, they can analyse it. Right now, they have a whole loaf of bread to entertain.