Fic: Easy Like A Sunday Morning (Jensen/Jared/Misha, NC-17)
Title: Easy Like A Sunday Morning
Pairing: Jensen/Jared/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lazy Sunday established relationship morning sex. Plot, this fic does not recognise.
Notes: Dear _mournthewicked, I love you, and am sorry for giving you a threesome kink. Please find under the cut more lazy threesome kink, exactly as requested.
Disclaimer: This is a lie. In fact, Jensen is a software developer in this universe. Trufax.
Words: ~ 3,500
Jensen Ackles, as it turns out, is naturally nocturnal. He denies it, of course, but Misha has run any number of tests, scientifically vetted and balanced, and the outcome of all of them has been the same: Jensen, if left to his own devices, would go to bed at four in the morning and not get up again until after noon. This is kind of a problem.
It didn't ever pose much of a difficulty when they were in college, back when everything happened at night and mornings were for losers. A nocturnal existence is enjoyed, or otherwise, by something like 70% of all undergraduates, including Misha, so he never really noticed how diligent Jensen was about making sure he never had any classes before eleven, or how little effort it took him to stay awake past three. Everyone, with the possible exception of Jared - who's quite another sort of freak of nature - had a distaste for sunrise then, so the particular intensity of Jensen's went unremarked. It wasn't until after graduation that Misha first realised how difficult Jensen was finding it to adjust to the schedule of a normal adult, starting with the observation that he'd hacked his coffee machine to brew espresso 50% stronger than standard, and seemed unable to function in the mornings before three shots had been injected intravenously. (Misha hasn't actually seen the syringes, but he's sure they exist.) After six months had passed and they were still driving Zombie Jensen to work, Misha started to realise that he wasn't going to adjust.
Thus: Jensen is nocturnal. It's a bitch, but they've learned to work around it.
Saturdays are always late nights, whether they go out or not - although neither Jared nor Misha ever succeeds in staying buoyantly perky until four in the morning. Evidently, they're all getting old, but they can worry about that later. Right now, it's a little past noon on a gloriously obligation-free Sunday, and Misha's far too lazily content to be worried about anything.
There's a wide beam of sunshine breaking through a gap in the curtains, slanting yellow over the centre of the bed. The light picks out the freckles on Jensen's shoulders, catches on the hard little nub of his nipple, and Misha smiles, thinking of the noises Jensen made last night when Jared put his mouth there. Jared's got a broad hand protectively on Jensen's stomach, now, still and loose with sleep for the moment, but Misha knows Jared's only dozing, for all that Jensen's still dead to the world. He'd only have to brush the backs of his fingers over Jared's to wake him up, get a yawn and a smile. Jensen, spooned up between them, is a different matter entirely. Waking Jensen before he wants to be awake, even at this time of day, calls for extreme measures.
The trick is to go about it in increments. Jensen's blood-warm against him, smooth and lax and sleepy, but his cock is half-hard against Misha's thigh, and Misha knows that means he has a chance. He leans forward carefully and brushes his mouth over Jensen's. Jensen doesn't so much as twitch as his lips give soft and dry under Misha's, but Misha's used to that. Misha has a plan.
"Hey," Misha says, curling one hand around Jared's wrist and sliding it up over his forearm. "You awake?"
"Nnng." Jared makes an incomprehensible noise, but his arm turns languidly in Misha's grasp until he can return the gesture, long fingers wrapping easily around the gentle swell of muscle just below Misha's elbow. He breathes in noisily though his nose and blinks, head shifting slightly on the pillow. "Yeah," he says, throwing Misha a lopsided smile. "Timezit?"
"Ten after twelve," Misha tells him, lightly, smiling back. He detaches his arm gently from Jared's grip and slides his own hand further up, over the warm muscle of Jared's shoulders, right up to the nape of his neck. It's a long stretch, leaning right over Jensen like this, but they're pressed close enough that he can just about manage it, and if Jared would help already, it wouldn't be a stretch at all. "C'mere," he orders, squeezing a little.
Jared leans over easily, languid roll of the muscles in his arms as he shifts, face still soft with sleep. He looks young like this, despite the unaccustomed suggestion of stubble appearing along his jawline, and Misha opens for his mouth, nuzzling damply with their lips half-parted and then shifting to slant into a proper kiss. Jared hums pleasedly into his mouth and breaks away slowly, lips clinging to Misha's for a last, long moment. He tastes of sleep, but Misha doesn't mind. You can't have morning sex if you destroy the lazy moment by getting up to brush your teeth beforehand.
"I see Sleeping Beauty's still out for the count," Jared says wryly, voice still a little hoarse at the edges with disuse. "Aren't you, huh?" He dips his head and mouths gently at the juncture of Jensen's neck and shoulder, drawing a line of damp heat up towards the bolt of his jaw. Jensen squirms a little at the touch, a full-body motion like a horse shooing away an errant fly. On Jensen, though, as on the horse, the motion is only skin deep, and he shows no signs of waking in response to the irritation. Misha laughs.
"I tried the old 'give him a kiss' method. All I can say is that it seems to have lost its efficacy over the years. I thought that shit was guaranteed to raise the dead?"
Jared snorts. "And how long have you lived with Jensen, now? We both know he's undead, dude. Requires a different sort of kiss." He wriggles forward against Jensen's back, working one knee into the space between Jensen's. Jensen whimpers a little, the first real evidence of consciousness he's displayed today, and collapses back against Jared, the line of his thigh shifting under the blankets in accordance with Jared's direction. Jared nuzzles in against Jensen's ear again, dotting little kitten licks into the soft space behind, and Misha laughs a little when Jensen's head shifts, half-consciously making the angle easier.
"Oh," he grins, "We're gonna try that kind of kiss, are we?"
"You are," Jared says; closes his teeth gently around the soft flesh of Jensen's earlobe and gives it a tug. "For science, huh?"
Jared's rolling his hips, incremental and slight, but the rhythm is detectable nevertheless, steady grind of his cock against the rise of Jensen's ass. Misha takes a moment to appreciate the picture they make, Jensen all fine features and Michelangeline lines, Jared, behind him, a synergy of tan skin and muscle. The lazy heat in Misha's groin is certainly pleased with it. He throws Jared a lingering grin and flips back the blankets.
Jensen's reaction to that is everything Misha expected: a long groan of protest and an upward lurch, one arm flailing in search of the covers. He's still half asleep, but getting him to move's the trick, and this never fails to accomplish that part.
"Sssh, hey," Jared's murmuring into the crook of Jensen's neck, long hand stroking down over his flank, "You're not gonna get cold, babe, I promise."
Misha laughs, one hand coming up to cradle Jensen's jaw. "You awake, Jensen?"
There's a brief flash of copper green in the sunlight, Jensen's eyes half-open and frowning. "Gnuh," he says. Jared stifles a laugh against his shoulder, but Misha is patient; Misha waits. Misha has a plan.
"You will be," he assures Jensen, and leans in.
At first touch, it feels like kissing a doll, Jensen's mouth unresisting but unresponsive under his. Then Jensen draws in his breath, sharp and shocked against Misha's lips, and Misha laughs a little, knowing at once the stimulus behind the sound. Between them, Jared's hand moves in smooth, slow strokes, knuckles bumping the spine of Misha's cock with every long pull at Jensen's, and Jensen's breathing quickens, tongue darting out over his lip. Misha takes advantage of his distraction to nip at the curve of his mouth, sucking at the swell of his lower lip until Jensen groans a little and, finally, ventures to press back. He's slack-mouthed still, kissing loose and wet, but Misha likes that, kinda; likes the way his breath hitches between them. He traces his tongue over Jensen's teeth; curls it up to stroke over the roof of his mouth until Jensen's craning forward to reach him, seeking to seal their mouths together. This, of course, is Misha's signal to pull away. He has another sort of kiss to administer.
Jensen whimpers in the back of his throat at the loss, one hand fisting in Misha's hair, but this isn't their first run of Operation: Wake Jensen, and Misha has backup in place. His mouth is on a level with Jensen's chest, now, the tight little bud of his nipple brushing the ridge of Misha's cheekbone when he turns his head, and Jensen subsides a little at the contact, fingers slackening slightly. Misha takes the hint, curling his tongue slow around the nub, and Jensen arches forward, languid press of his body into Misha's mouth. By the time Misha relents enough to bite down and suck gently on the nipple, Jensen's making a whole succession of low sounds, half-muffled against Jared's mouth.
At times like this, Misha can barely remember how he ever survived in any relationship with only two people in it. It's just so efficient, so comfortably sexy, to be able to nip his way down Jensen's sleep-soft body and know that Jared's keeping his mouth plenty occupied, the two of them kissing wetly over Jensen's shoulder. Misha can hear the soft sounds they make as he flattens his tongue against Jensen's nipple, then draws it lower; hears the little sipping kisses and the deep, filthy fucks of tongue they turn into. Jensen's fingers in his hair are loose, now, cradling, and they let him slip easily lower to curl his own hand around Jared's on Jensen's cock.
For a couple of strokes, they jack him together, Misha fitting his fingers into the grooves between Jared's and speeding the motion of his hand. Jensen cries out, hips jerking forward, sleepily unrestrained, and Misha laughs a little; rubs his damp open mouth against the head of Jensen's cock. Jensen's gorgeous like this, coming apart under their combined ministrations, but Misha wants more; wants to see him really lose it, shuddering into consciousness on a wave of white-out heat.
At Misha's gentle urging, Jared uncurls his hand, and Misha rewards him with a kiss to the back of it. Jared laughs a little; strokes his thumb over Misha's lips before his hand resettles itself at the protrusion of Jensen's hipbone. In this state, Jensen is liable to thrust erratically and hard, so the steadying hand is a wise precaution. Jared knows this, just as Misha knows that the quickest way to make Jensen's voice go cracked and sharp like that is to knuckle behind his balls while he tongues at his slit, pressure immediate and insistent with tongue and fingers both. Misha knows, without looking, that Jared's other hand is on Jensen's nipple, thumb swiping agonisingly light across the tip of it so Jensen torques between them indecisively, wanting to strain in two directions at once. The best thing about this whole thing, in Misha's opinion, is the way they all know everything about each other, and yet still want to learn it all over again.
Jensen is leaking under his mouth, precome seeping out as he tongues at the head of him, slickness glinting whitely in the sunlight. Misha laps at it sloppily, slow wet licks, and Jensen's fingers twist in his hair, demanding in his half-awake way. Behind him, Jared is thrusting into the cleft of his ass, too lazy to open him up and fuck him for real, but the motion judders out into Jensen all the same, rippling through his pelvis in a rhythmic flux. It's easy, gentle, and Misha lets the force of it breach him, lips slipping down to encompass the head, tongue lax and soft against the sensitive underside.
Jensen, though, does not appear to be floating on quite the same cloud of serenity as Jared and Misha. The sounds breaking from him, for a start, have edged out of the realm of soft approval and into the fierceness of urging and complaint, his fingers twisting tight in Misha's hair as his hips shift, inexorable and primitive. He's breathless, whimpering, hands clutching Misha as close as Jared's restraining hand will let him get, and Misha smiles around him at the welcome feel of it, the slip-slide of Jensen's cock over his lips, over his tongue, back towards the softness of his epiglottis. Jensen's at his most desperate like this, jolted helpless out of sleep, and Misha loves the taste of his wanting like this, the way he throws his head back and cries out and thrusts, everything in him mindlessly chasing his pleasure. He's beautiful, needy thrusts of his cock into Misha's mouth, and Misha sucks at him hard, presses his tongue flat to the underside and lets Jensen fuck him, spit-slick and erratic as he picks up speed.
"All right?" Jared asks, from somewhere far away, and Misha can hear in his voice that he's close, himself, the rough-ragged tone of it coiling its heat into the pit of Misha's stomach and setting off a steady rut of his own hips down, down, down against the mattress. Misha hums his assent and bobs his head lower, tunnel of his mouth sinking down to Jensen's root while his fingers press a firm path over his perineum.
"Fuck," Jensen gets out, his first actual word of the day, and Misha feels oddly and pervasively gratified. He sinks a little lower, feels Jensen breach his throat, and the breathlessness is worth it for the way Jensen cries out, and the way the cry is muffled by the press of Jared's mouth. Misha groans deep around the burn of Jensen's cock; slackens his throat and lets Jensen fuck him.
There's something about this that he's always loved, the abandon in Jensen, so uncharacteristic, as his hips lose rhythm and his cock presses deep, searching out the fluttering muscle of Misha's throat. It's hot, the strong hands clenched in his hair and the break in Jensen's breathing: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Misha!" If he could, Misha would do this all day. As it is, though, Jensen's morning wood is desperate to sprout; ruts back hard into Misha's throat so that all Misha can do is suck and drool, spit pooling wet at the base of Jensen's cock and dribbling damply into his pubic hair. There's something weirdly hot about smearing it under his fingers, stroking it down between Jensen's legs to the pucker of his hole, thumbing the slickness of it over the muscle. Jensen groans at that; rocks his hips forward hard into Misha's mouth, and Misha paints circles with their combined slickness, first knuckle of his thumb slipping easily into Jensen's ass.
"Oh, God," Jared's panting in a voice gone rough with sex, "Oh God, oh God," and Misha knows that sound; knows the rhythm of his hips as they rock against the valley of Jensen's ass, hot damp slide through sweat and Jared's own slickness. Jensen, above him, is breathless too, keening low and desperate as his pelvis bucks deeper, fucking into the clench of Misha's throat.
"Fuck," he gets out, "fuck, Misha, Jesus," and Misha works his thumb a little deeper, presses up hard at the inner wall. Jensen's hips jerk back, then forward, torquing hard as his breath stutters out into white noise, a long low keen as he fucks and fucks.
"Come on, baby," Jared says, and his voice is shattered with imminent orgasm; "come on, babe, fuck, he wants it - "
"Fuck!" Jensen rasps out, "fuck, fuck- " and then he's coming, fierce hot pulses of it right down into Misha's throat, thick wet ropes as his rhythm slows. "Fuck," Jensen grits out, "Jesus Christ," and Misha hums acquiescence around him; eases out of him as Jensen's hips tense and slow, instinctual and breathless.
"Jeeeeesus," Jensen manages, drawing it out to four or five syllables. "Misha, Jesus Christ," and Misha laughs a little; pulls off and presses a butterfly kiss to the head of Jensen's cock.
"Awake now, huh?" he says, grinning.
"Ngggguh," Jensen says, but it's a different kind of ngggguh from before. Misha can tell.
Behind Jensen, Jared's still rutting hard against the swell of Jensen's ass, and Misha laughs a little; reaches a hand around to help him. "Slowcoach," he accuses, "aren't you done yet?"
"Says you," Jared manages; and then his big hand is snaking over the lax bulk of Jensen's body to curl, tight and warm, around Misha's cock; jerk him easy and good. "If I were you, Mish, I'd have come just from the taste of him."
"Shit," Misha whispers; bucks forward into Jared's hand.
Jared laughs; slicks his thumb easy and practised over the head, and that's it: Misha's losing it, hips stammering into Jared's hand, mouth open and rough sounds breaking out of his throat. "Shit," he grits out at the crest of it, "shit, shit, Jared," and then Jared's thumb finds his slit and presses, and Misha is done. He comes against Jensen's stomach, over his hip, over Jared's hand, and it's sticky and wet and copious and fuck, so fucking good. He slick-slides forward through the mess of it once or twice, just for the sake of enjoying it before his hips slow, his cock red and sensitive in the aftermath of orgasm.
"God, you love that," Jared accuses, hotly, and Misha - fuck. Misha can't disagree.
After that, Jared's only seconds from coming, and Misha knows it. Jared's easy; gets off on Jensen's broken noises or the way Misha sounds when he gets fucked, and shit, Misha knows he's on the edge right now. Even Jensen is shifting slightly, pressing back against Jared's pulsing cock, and Misha knows the tricks of him; knows just how to touch him so he'll arch his back and rut, hard and desperate, against the small of Jensen's back, how to circle the sentitive crown of him so he'll shoot like a fucking geyser. Shit, Misha knows him, and that's the best thing about this.
When Jared comes, it's always too much; that's just Jared, too slick, sticky much of him all over Jensen's back. He throws his head back, always; makes some muffled sound that could be either of their names, or none, and pulses out hot and vibrant over Misha's hand. Misha goes on stroking afterwards until he's pushed away; until Jared's leaning over Jensen's shoulder to kiss him, slick, wet, warm, hard, post-orgasmic kiss. Afterwards, Misha's almost purring as he pulls back.
Jensen laughs a little, his face still slack with sleep. "You slut," he accuses, one hand coming out to find Misha's jaw; thumb stroking gentle over his cheek.
Misha snorts. "I'm the slut, am I?" He trails his finger down over Jensen's hip, into the puddle of slick on his stomach; toys at it for a moment and then sticks the finger in his mouth; and okay, yeah, Misha's a slut. The point is, it's not like he's the only one.
"Hey," Jared murmurs, "we woke the Sleeping Beauty, right?"
Jensen laughs. "Whatever," he says.
"Whatever," Misha agrees. "Who's for a nap?"
The general consensus, it seems, is: everybody.
God, Misha loves being an adult.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lazy Sunday established relationship morning sex. Plot, this fic does not recognise.
Notes: Dear _mournthewicked, I love you, and am sorry for giving you a threesome kink. Please find under the cut more lazy threesome kink, exactly as requested.
Disclaimer: This is a lie. In fact, Jensen is a software developer in this universe. Trufax.
Words: ~ 3,500
Jensen Ackles, as it turns out, is naturally nocturnal. He denies it, of course, but Misha has run any number of tests, scientifically vetted and balanced, and the outcome of all of them has been the same: Jensen, if left to his own devices, would go to bed at four in the morning and not get up again until after noon. This is kind of a problem.
It didn't ever pose much of a difficulty when they were in college, back when everything happened at night and mornings were for losers. A nocturnal existence is enjoyed, or otherwise, by something like 70% of all undergraduates, including Misha, so he never really noticed how diligent Jensen was about making sure he never had any classes before eleven, or how little effort it took him to stay awake past three. Everyone, with the possible exception of Jared - who's quite another sort of freak of nature - had a distaste for sunrise then, so the particular intensity of Jensen's went unremarked. It wasn't until after graduation that Misha first realised how difficult Jensen was finding it to adjust to the schedule of a normal adult, starting with the observation that he'd hacked his coffee machine to brew espresso 50% stronger than standard, and seemed unable to function in the mornings before three shots had been injected intravenously. (Misha hasn't actually seen the syringes, but he's sure they exist.) After six months had passed and they were still driving Zombie Jensen to work, Misha started to realise that he wasn't going to adjust.
Thus: Jensen is nocturnal. It's a bitch, but they've learned to work around it.
Saturdays are always late nights, whether they go out or not - although neither Jared nor Misha ever succeeds in staying buoyantly perky until four in the morning. Evidently, they're all getting old, but they can worry about that later. Right now, it's a little past noon on a gloriously obligation-free Sunday, and Misha's far too lazily content to be worried about anything.
There's a wide beam of sunshine breaking through a gap in the curtains, slanting yellow over the centre of the bed. The light picks out the freckles on Jensen's shoulders, catches on the hard little nub of his nipple, and Misha smiles, thinking of the noises Jensen made last night when Jared put his mouth there. Jared's got a broad hand protectively on Jensen's stomach, now, still and loose with sleep for the moment, but Misha knows Jared's only dozing, for all that Jensen's still dead to the world. He'd only have to brush the backs of his fingers over Jared's to wake him up, get a yawn and a smile. Jensen, spooned up between them, is a different matter entirely. Waking Jensen before he wants to be awake, even at this time of day, calls for extreme measures.
The trick is to go about it in increments. Jensen's blood-warm against him, smooth and lax and sleepy, but his cock is half-hard against Misha's thigh, and Misha knows that means he has a chance. He leans forward carefully and brushes his mouth over Jensen's. Jensen doesn't so much as twitch as his lips give soft and dry under Misha's, but Misha's used to that. Misha has a plan.
"Hey," Misha says, curling one hand around Jared's wrist and sliding it up over his forearm. "You awake?"
"Nnng." Jared makes an incomprehensible noise, but his arm turns languidly in Misha's grasp until he can return the gesture, long fingers wrapping easily around the gentle swell of muscle just below Misha's elbow. He breathes in noisily though his nose and blinks, head shifting slightly on the pillow. "Yeah," he says, throwing Misha a lopsided smile. "Timezit?"
"Ten after twelve," Misha tells him, lightly, smiling back. He detaches his arm gently from Jared's grip and slides his own hand further up, over the warm muscle of Jared's shoulders, right up to the nape of his neck. It's a long stretch, leaning right over Jensen like this, but they're pressed close enough that he can just about manage it, and if Jared would help already, it wouldn't be a stretch at all. "C'mere," he orders, squeezing a little.
Jared leans over easily, languid roll of the muscles in his arms as he shifts, face still soft with sleep. He looks young like this, despite the unaccustomed suggestion of stubble appearing along his jawline, and Misha opens for his mouth, nuzzling damply with their lips half-parted and then shifting to slant into a proper kiss. Jared hums pleasedly into his mouth and breaks away slowly, lips clinging to Misha's for a last, long moment. He tastes of sleep, but Misha doesn't mind. You can't have morning sex if you destroy the lazy moment by getting up to brush your teeth beforehand.
"I see Sleeping Beauty's still out for the count," Jared says wryly, voice still a little hoarse at the edges with disuse. "Aren't you, huh?" He dips his head and mouths gently at the juncture of Jensen's neck and shoulder, drawing a line of damp heat up towards the bolt of his jaw. Jensen squirms a little at the touch, a full-body motion like a horse shooing away an errant fly. On Jensen, though, as on the horse, the motion is only skin deep, and he shows no signs of waking in response to the irritation. Misha laughs.
"I tried the old 'give him a kiss' method. All I can say is that it seems to have lost its efficacy over the years. I thought that shit was guaranteed to raise the dead?"
Jared snorts. "And how long have you lived with Jensen, now? We both know he's undead, dude. Requires a different sort of kiss." He wriggles forward against Jensen's back, working one knee into the space between Jensen's. Jensen whimpers a little, the first real evidence of consciousness he's displayed today, and collapses back against Jared, the line of his thigh shifting under the blankets in accordance with Jared's direction. Jared nuzzles in against Jensen's ear again, dotting little kitten licks into the soft space behind, and Misha laughs a little when Jensen's head shifts, half-consciously making the angle easier.
"Oh," he grins, "We're gonna try that kind of kiss, are we?"
"You are," Jared says; closes his teeth gently around the soft flesh of Jensen's earlobe and gives it a tug. "For science, huh?"
Jared's rolling his hips, incremental and slight, but the rhythm is detectable nevertheless, steady grind of his cock against the rise of Jensen's ass. Misha takes a moment to appreciate the picture they make, Jensen all fine features and Michelangeline lines, Jared, behind him, a synergy of tan skin and muscle. The lazy heat in Misha's groin is certainly pleased with it. He throws Jared a lingering grin and flips back the blankets.
Jensen's reaction to that is everything Misha expected: a long groan of protest and an upward lurch, one arm flailing in search of the covers. He's still half asleep, but getting him to move's the trick, and this never fails to accomplish that part.
"Sssh, hey," Jared's murmuring into the crook of Jensen's neck, long hand stroking down over his flank, "You're not gonna get cold, babe, I promise."
Misha laughs, one hand coming up to cradle Jensen's jaw. "You awake, Jensen?"
There's a brief flash of copper green in the sunlight, Jensen's eyes half-open and frowning. "Gnuh," he says. Jared stifles a laugh against his shoulder, but Misha is patient; Misha waits. Misha has a plan.
"You will be," he assures Jensen, and leans in.
At first touch, it feels like kissing a doll, Jensen's mouth unresisting but unresponsive under his. Then Jensen draws in his breath, sharp and shocked against Misha's lips, and Misha laughs a little, knowing at once the stimulus behind the sound. Between them, Jared's hand moves in smooth, slow strokes, knuckles bumping the spine of Misha's cock with every long pull at Jensen's, and Jensen's breathing quickens, tongue darting out over his lip. Misha takes advantage of his distraction to nip at the curve of his mouth, sucking at the swell of his lower lip until Jensen groans a little and, finally, ventures to press back. He's slack-mouthed still, kissing loose and wet, but Misha likes that, kinda; likes the way his breath hitches between them. He traces his tongue over Jensen's teeth; curls it up to stroke over the roof of his mouth until Jensen's craning forward to reach him, seeking to seal their mouths together. This, of course, is Misha's signal to pull away. He has another sort of kiss to administer.
Jensen whimpers in the back of his throat at the loss, one hand fisting in Misha's hair, but this isn't their first run of Operation: Wake Jensen, and Misha has backup in place. His mouth is on a level with Jensen's chest, now, the tight little bud of his nipple brushing the ridge of Misha's cheekbone when he turns his head, and Jensen subsides a little at the contact, fingers slackening slightly. Misha takes the hint, curling his tongue slow around the nub, and Jensen arches forward, languid press of his body into Misha's mouth. By the time Misha relents enough to bite down and suck gently on the nipple, Jensen's making a whole succession of low sounds, half-muffled against Jared's mouth.
At times like this, Misha can barely remember how he ever survived in any relationship with only two people in it. It's just so efficient, so comfortably sexy, to be able to nip his way down Jensen's sleep-soft body and know that Jared's keeping his mouth plenty occupied, the two of them kissing wetly over Jensen's shoulder. Misha can hear the soft sounds they make as he flattens his tongue against Jensen's nipple, then draws it lower; hears the little sipping kisses and the deep, filthy fucks of tongue they turn into. Jensen's fingers in his hair are loose, now, cradling, and they let him slip easily lower to curl his own hand around Jared's on Jensen's cock.
For a couple of strokes, they jack him together, Misha fitting his fingers into the grooves between Jared's and speeding the motion of his hand. Jensen cries out, hips jerking forward, sleepily unrestrained, and Misha laughs a little; rubs his damp open mouth against the head of Jensen's cock. Jensen's gorgeous like this, coming apart under their combined ministrations, but Misha wants more; wants to see him really lose it, shuddering into consciousness on a wave of white-out heat.
At Misha's gentle urging, Jared uncurls his hand, and Misha rewards him with a kiss to the back of it. Jared laughs a little; strokes his thumb over Misha's lips before his hand resettles itself at the protrusion of Jensen's hipbone. In this state, Jensen is liable to thrust erratically and hard, so the steadying hand is a wise precaution. Jared knows this, just as Misha knows that the quickest way to make Jensen's voice go cracked and sharp like that is to knuckle behind his balls while he tongues at his slit, pressure immediate and insistent with tongue and fingers both. Misha knows, without looking, that Jared's other hand is on Jensen's nipple, thumb swiping agonisingly light across the tip of it so Jensen torques between them indecisively, wanting to strain in two directions at once. The best thing about this whole thing, in Misha's opinion, is the way they all know everything about each other, and yet still want to learn it all over again.
Jensen is leaking under his mouth, precome seeping out as he tongues at the head of him, slickness glinting whitely in the sunlight. Misha laps at it sloppily, slow wet licks, and Jensen's fingers twist in his hair, demanding in his half-awake way. Behind him, Jared is thrusting into the cleft of his ass, too lazy to open him up and fuck him for real, but the motion judders out into Jensen all the same, rippling through his pelvis in a rhythmic flux. It's easy, gentle, and Misha lets the force of it breach him, lips slipping down to encompass the head, tongue lax and soft against the sensitive underside.
Jensen, though, does not appear to be floating on quite the same cloud of serenity as Jared and Misha. The sounds breaking from him, for a start, have edged out of the realm of soft approval and into the fierceness of urging and complaint, his fingers twisting tight in Misha's hair as his hips shift, inexorable and primitive. He's breathless, whimpering, hands clutching Misha as close as Jared's restraining hand will let him get, and Misha smiles around him at the welcome feel of it, the slip-slide of Jensen's cock over his lips, over his tongue, back towards the softness of his epiglottis. Jensen's at his most desperate like this, jolted helpless out of sleep, and Misha loves the taste of his wanting like this, the way he throws his head back and cries out and thrusts, everything in him mindlessly chasing his pleasure. He's beautiful, needy thrusts of his cock into Misha's mouth, and Misha sucks at him hard, presses his tongue flat to the underside and lets Jensen fuck him, spit-slick and erratic as he picks up speed.
"All right?" Jared asks, from somewhere far away, and Misha can hear in his voice that he's close, himself, the rough-ragged tone of it coiling its heat into the pit of Misha's stomach and setting off a steady rut of his own hips down, down, down against the mattress. Misha hums his assent and bobs his head lower, tunnel of his mouth sinking down to Jensen's root while his fingers press a firm path over his perineum.
"Fuck," Jensen gets out, his first actual word of the day, and Misha feels oddly and pervasively gratified. He sinks a little lower, feels Jensen breach his throat, and the breathlessness is worth it for the way Jensen cries out, and the way the cry is muffled by the press of Jared's mouth. Misha groans deep around the burn of Jensen's cock; slackens his throat and lets Jensen fuck him.
There's something about this that he's always loved, the abandon in Jensen, so uncharacteristic, as his hips lose rhythm and his cock presses deep, searching out the fluttering muscle of Misha's throat. It's hot, the strong hands clenched in his hair and the break in Jensen's breathing: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Misha!" If he could, Misha would do this all day. As it is, though, Jensen's morning wood is desperate to sprout; ruts back hard into Misha's throat so that all Misha can do is suck and drool, spit pooling wet at the base of Jensen's cock and dribbling damply into his pubic hair. There's something weirdly hot about smearing it under his fingers, stroking it down between Jensen's legs to the pucker of his hole, thumbing the slickness of it over the muscle. Jensen groans at that; rocks his hips forward hard into Misha's mouth, and Misha paints circles with their combined slickness, first knuckle of his thumb slipping easily into Jensen's ass.
"Oh, God," Jared's panting in a voice gone rough with sex, "Oh God, oh God," and Misha knows that sound; knows the rhythm of his hips as they rock against the valley of Jensen's ass, hot damp slide through sweat and Jared's own slickness. Jensen, above him, is breathless too, keening low and desperate as his pelvis bucks deeper, fucking into the clench of Misha's throat.
"Fuck," he gets out, "fuck, Misha, Jesus," and Misha works his thumb a little deeper, presses up hard at the inner wall. Jensen's hips jerk back, then forward, torquing hard as his breath stutters out into white noise, a long low keen as he fucks and fucks.
"Come on, baby," Jared says, and his voice is shattered with imminent orgasm; "come on, babe, fuck, he wants it - "
"Fuck!" Jensen rasps out, "fuck, fuck- " and then he's coming, fierce hot pulses of it right down into Misha's throat, thick wet ropes as his rhythm slows. "Fuck," Jensen grits out, "Jesus Christ," and Misha hums acquiescence around him; eases out of him as Jensen's hips tense and slow, instinctual and breathless.
"Jeeeeesus," Jensen manages, drawing it out to four or five syllables. "Misha, Jesus Christ," and Misha laughs a little; pulls off and presses a butterfly kiss to the head of Jensen's cock.
"Awake now, huh?" he says, grinning.
"Ngggguh," Jensen says, but it's a different kind of ngggguh from before. Misha can tell.
Behind Jensen, Jared's still rutting hard against the swell of Jensen's ass, and Misha laughs a little; reaches a hand around to help him. "Slowcoach," he accuses, "aren't you done yet?"
"Says you," Jared manages; and then his big hand is snaking over the lax bulk of Jensen's body to curl, tight and warm, around Misha's cock; jerk him easy and good. "If I were you, Mish, I'd have come just from the taste of him."
"Shit," Misha whispers; bucks forward into Jared's hand.
Jared laughs; slicks his thumb easy and practised over the head, and that's it: Misha's losing it, hips stammering into Jared's hand, mouth open and rough sounds breaking out of his throat. "Shit," he grits out at the crest of it, "shit, shit, Jared," and then Jared's thumb finds his slit and presses, and Misha is done. He comes against Jensen's stomach, over his hip, over Jared's hand, and it's sticky and wet and copious and fuck, so fucking good. He slick-slides forward through the mess of it once or twice, just for the sake of enjoying it before his hips slow, his cock red and sensitive in the aftermath of orgasm.
"God, you love that," Jared accuses, hotly, and Misha - fuck. Misha can't disagree.
After that, Jared's only seconds from coming, and Misha knows it. Jared's easy; gets off on Jensen's broken noises or the way Misha sounds when he gets fucked, and shit, Misha knows he's on the edge right now. Even Jensen is shifting slightly, pressing back against Jared's pulsing cock, and Misha knows the tricks of him; knows just how to touch him so he'll arch his back and rut, hard and desperate, against the small of Jensen's back, how to circle the sentitive crown of him so he'll shoot like a fucking geyser. Shit, Misha knows him, and that's the best thing about this.
When Jared comes, it's always too much; that's just Jared, too slick, sticky much of him all over Jensen's back. He throws his head back, always; makes some muffled sound that could be either of their names, or none, and pulses out hot and vibrant over Misha's hand. Misha goes on stroking afterwards until he's pushed away; until Jared's leaning over Jensen's shoulder to kiss him, slick, wet, warm, hard, post-orgasmic kiss. Afterwards, Misha's almost purring as he pulls back.
Jensen laughs a little, his face still slack with sleep. "You slut," he accuses, one hand coming out to find Misha's jaw; thumb stroking gentle over his cheek.
Misha snorts. "I'm the slut, am I?" He trails his finger down over Jensen's hip, into the puddle of slick on his stomach; toys at it for a moment and then sticks the finger in his mouth; and okay, yeah, Misha's a slut. The point is, it's not like he's the only one.
"Hey," Jared murmurs, "we woke the Sleeping Beauty, right?"
Jensen laughs. "Whatever," he says.
"Whatever," Misha agrees. "Who's for a nap?"
The general consensus, it seems, is: everybody.
God, Misha loves being an adult.