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Misha didn’t notice it when he’d meticulously edited the extra footage in. He ran the video by a few people before he put it on Youtube just to make sure it looked okay, but he didn’t look closely at any of it.
It’s a day later that he gets a tweet about it.
As is always the case, some fangirls noticed (and damn, they notice everything). They made GIFs of Jensen in those track pants, adjusting on his reclining chair. And they put them in slow motion, not by much, but enough to notice things Misha hadn’t noticed before.
And, oh. Shit.
Misha’s on set when he gets the tweet and he’s dumb enough to open the link. His mistake. His first reaction is, Jensen doesn’t know, and he’s gonna kill me. His second reaction is, Fuck.
Of course Misha knows that Jensen’s hung—he’s got an absurd amount of firsthand experience to attest to that. He’d known it before he even got Jensen’s cock in his mouth the first time. It’s just in the way Jensen walks, the way he holds himself when he sits. Now, Misha’s seen Jensen naked, has seen that dick bare and flaccid as they’ve lain together in bed and just talked, so he has no trouble visualizing what’s beneath his sweatpants.
Thankfully, at his age, Misha can avoid walking around with a noticeable boner on set. He doesn’t have to strategically place today’s sides over his crotch or anything drastic. But his pants are a little bit tighter than they usually are. And he’s glad he’s wearing the trench coat again—they’d taken it away for a while when Cas is getting tortured, but somehow, he gets the ratty thing back.
Jensen and Jared are just finishing up a scene. Cas hasn’t reunited with the boys yet, so Misha’s had even less time with Jensen. He’s on set early, his call’s in fifteen, but he hears, “Cut and print,” and he knows he’s got Jensen for five minutes.
He emerges in time to see Jared and Jensen on their way out the door.
“Hey, Misha! You here for a few more hours?” Jared asks, and Misha nods.
“Yeah. Not torture today, thankfully,” those scenes are hell on his vocal cords, “but we’re supposed to wrap around nine.”
It’s a Friday. Sometimes, Jensen and Jared hang around for a little while after they’ve finished their scenes. Misha’s hoping this is one of those times.
“Jen, can I talk for you for a second?”
Someone calls Jared away anyway, so thankfully, it isn’t weird. “Yeah, man, what’s up?”
“Walk with me.” Misha shoves his hands in his pockets in order to keep from touching Jensen anywhere too public. He scans the room, finds a side area where there’s a space between the set wall and the actual wall. The crew is milling around, but not anywhere near here. It’s pretty concealed from anyone’s view. He tugs Jensen over and pushes him in.
“What the fuck, Misha,” Jensen whispers, and it really looks like he doesn’t know the score. It’s fair, they haven’t done anything on set in a while. They’ve been good.
Misha’s not in the mood to be good today.
He’s got his tongue in Jensen’s mouth before there are any more questions asked. Jensen goes stiff for a second and Misha thinks he’s going to pull away, so he raises the stakes and cups Jensen’s cock through his (well, Dean’s) jeans.
Jensen’s “shit” is muffled but heartfelt, and Misha can feel the tension start to ebb from Jensen’s body. It’s been a long day, a long week, with emotional heart-wrenching scenes, and Jensen starts to loosen up under Misha’s onslaught.
Jensen breaks away to catch his breath and Misha slides his hands beneath Jensen’s shirt, which elicits a hiss because he’s cold. But he’s not really worried about it, he’s focused on Jensen’s half hard cock.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jensen hisses, and it sounds like he’s aiming for disapproval, but Misha knows all the intonations of Jensen’s voice, every little nuance, and he knows Jensen’s not really all that concerned.
Misha doesn’t have time to do what he wants to do. So instead, he decides to tease, and make the next few hours as tortuous for Jensen as they’re going to be for him.
He kneads at Jensen’s cock, the very same as the one in that stupid video. It’s better concealed in his jeans than in his sweatpants, but not when Jensen’s halfway to an erection, and Misha knows he’s only got three minutes until people start looking for him.
He murmurs, “I’m coming back to your trailer at ten. Be there.”
Jensen looks completely stupefied as Misha presses one last kiss to his mouth, adjusts himself in his pants (thank God for the trench coat), glances around to make sure no one’s watching, and squeezes past Jensen, walking out into the open like nothing happened.
He gets a text from Jensen about a half hour before he’s supposed to wrap for the day.
“I’m at a bar with most of the cast and crew and I’m leaving now to go back to set to meet up with you. It better be worth it.”
Jensen never uses emojis but Misha does all the time, mostly just to bug Jensen. So he sends a smirk emoji, and types back, “Trust me, it will be.”
xXxXx
By the time he’s out of costume, it’s five minutes until ten. The cast and crew were anxious to go home, and the parking lot is slowly emptying out.
Misha lets himself in to Jensen’s trailer when he finds it unlocked. Lo and behold, Jensen is wearing sweatpants. The sweatpants. Even a few years ago, Jensen never would’ve been caught dead in them. Now, though, he’s having his midlife crisis and he’s come to his senses and realized the importance of creature comforts. He bought these particular track pants for the parody, but then he held onto them, even bought a few in other colors. He still doesn’t wear them around set all that often, but sometimes if the guys all go back to someone’s trailer after shooting, Jensen will change into them.
Jensen’s sitting on the couch instead of in the lounge chair, and when he hears the door open, he puts his phone down, looks up. Misha closes and locks the door behind him, toes his shoes off immediately, and he takes his dear, sweet time giving Jensen a detailed up-down glance, lingering at his crotch.
“So, you wanna tell me what this is all about?” Jensen says, raising an eyebrow. He looks like he’s about to stand, which, really, is just counter productive.
Generally, Misha likes to tease. It’s something that’s always driven Vicki crazy, especially since she’s a get-down-to-business sort of woman. It drives Jensen out of his mind, too. The man has no patience.
Tonight, though, Misha’s got a goal. He’s been thinking about Jensen’s cock (in excruciating detail) for over three hours now, and when he’s in this sort of a mood, he takes no prisoners.
He doesn’t give Jensen the opportunity to stand. He sheds his jacket, kneels on the floor, shoves between Jen’s legs, and kisses him hard. Jensen seems absolutely fine with that, threading his fingers through Misha’s hair and tugging to angle his mouth where he wants it. “Someone’s desperate,” he manages to say between kisses, and Misha doesn’t even try to deny it.
They kiss long enough for Jensen to get worked up, for him to dig his fingers into the cotton of Misha’s shirt, noises starting to escape from the back of his throat. Misha continues to bite at Jensen’s mouth while he reaches down and rubs his knuckles over Jensen’s dick, testing the waters, and Jensen jerks in his hands.
“I’m not the only one who’s needy,” Misha huffs, and then he crouches and presses his face to the bulge in Jensen’s (stupid, beautiful) sweatpants.
Jensen leans back against the couch cushions with a groan. He’s got one hand draped across the back of Misha’s neck and the fingers of his other hand are digging into his own kneecap. Misha bites gently at Jensen’s cock through the fabric, and shit, Jensen’s not wearing underwear. He feels his own cock throb in his jeans.
He takes a minute to completely soak through the front of Jensen’s sweatpants, laving his tongue up and down the shaft until there’s a wet spot and Jensen’s nails are leaving indents on the back of his neck. He can’t deny himself for any longer, so he peels Jensen’s sweatpants down, tucking the elastic under his balls.
“Commando?” he comments, smirking up at Jensen.
Jensen grins, loose and lazy. “Knew you were comin’.”
It’s a shitty-porn-dialogue level response, but Jensen walked right into it, so Misha replies, “And come, we shall,” before he wraps his lips around the head of Jensen’s cock and sucks.
Jensen groans, “Really, Mish?” as he thrusts up, but he’s always careful, isn’t rough unless Misha asks for it. He’s aware of his size— how could he not be? Most porn stars would kill for Jensen’s dick. It’s not one of those monster cocks that could potentially injure someone, but it’s definitely long enough, above average, and a decent girth. Misha’s been imagining getting his mouth on this cock for hours now and he’s definitely not focused on technique. He’s getting spit everywhere, swirling his tongue around the crown before taking it until it hits the back of his throat. He drags his thumb back and forth across Jensen’s balls, whisper light in comparison to the suction.
Misha’s determined when he pushes Jensen onto his back, forcing him to properly lie down and stretch out on the couch. He yanks Jensen’s shirt off and nestles himself back between Jensen’s legs, continuing where he left off. He slides his lips up the underside of it, following the vein, then presses the flat of his tongue to the slit. Jensen’s head falls back and he groans, long and loud, curses, “Fuck, Misha.” He claws at Misha’s shirt, saying something about “too many damn clothes,” and when Misha straightens to take his shirt off, Jensen tugs at his leg, trying to pull him up. “C’mon, want you too.”
Misha’s hand flies to his own cock as it pulses, and he immediately strips, standing so quickly his head spins. It’s been a while since they’ve done it like this. He hadn’t even really gotten this far logistically, just knew he wanted the burn of Jensen stretching his lips, nudging at the back of his throat. But this, this works too. And Misha knows, now, what they’re going to do.
While he peels his socks off, he fishes around in Jensen’s dresser drawer to where he knows there’s a bottle of lube. Jensen doesn’t even notice—Misha looks down to find his eyes are closed, and he’s stroking himself, fucking into his fist. When Misha moves to straddle Jensen’s chest, facing away from Jensen’s face, his legs are folded up on either side of Jensen’s head, and he hears a frustrated sound from behind him, because from this position, Jensen can’t reach his dick.
But he shoves his hips crudely down on Jensen’s face, and Jensen quickly figures it out. “Gonna ride you,” Misha says as he leans back over, nibbles at the tender skin where Jensen’s thigh meets his hip. “So prep me with that pretty mouth of yours.”
It’s at the same time he engulfs Jensen’s cock again that Jensen presses his thumbs to the outside of Misha’s rim, a teasing touch, his breath fanning over and sending a shudder from Misha’s tailbone upwards. Misha hums around Jensen’s dick, taking him deep, and Jensen gives up on being a tease, swiping his tongue across Misha’s opening. Misha pulls off for a second and gasps, has to remind himself to breathe, because it’s a feedback loop of taking and giving and he feels like he’s already been close since he opened that damn tweet, and the weight of Jensen’s cock against his tongue combined with Jensen eating him out… He won’t last long at all.
He tries not to crush Jensen’s face, but the thing is, Jensen’s good at this. Like, really really good. The first time he watched Jensen go down on Vicki, he came just from watching without any participation. Jensen approaches oral sex with the fixed determination he applies to everything, except it’s combined with selflessness and the southern gentleman qualities he was born and raised with. Which means in sum, he eats people out with complete enthusiasm, using every single part of his mouth that he can manage, and doesn’t focus on himself until his partner is utterly sated. After that first time Jen ate Vicki out (for an hour, and she came three times), Vicki gave Misha shit about it for weeks, saying he was seriously going to have to step up his game. Now, Misha's got a talented tongue. He can shape the thing into a damn clover. He considers himself to be pretty fantastic at oral. So he would’ve groused about it more except a) he’d gotten the show of his life, and b) Jensen ate him out the week after that and, yeah, Vicki was right. Misha thought he was good with his mouth until he met Jensen Ackles.
Of course, he’s like to think that since then he’s learned a thing or two. He presses the pad of his middle finger behind Jensen’s balls as he sucks one into his mouth. Jensen retaliates by wriggling his tongue inside Misha as deep as he can, spearing him open as he slides a finger in to the first knuckle. Misha bucks down before he can stop himself, but Jensen’s got his other hand on Misha’s hip, and he always likes it when Misha’s a little pushy, so he just moans, and Misha can feel it buzz up his spine like a live wire.
He finally pulls up when he can tell Jensen’s getting close. It simply would not do for him to come, not yet. He sits up and swings his leg over, nearly takes out one of Jensen’s eyes as he maneuvers himself around. It makes Jensen laugh, that full-belly crinkly-eyed laugh he does, even when Misha’s really not being all that funny. Affection blooms, spreading through the pit of his stomach sweet and slow, and he presses their chests together and kisses Jensen, sliding their tongues together. He still has the bottle of lube pressed in the palm of his sweaty hand, and he clicks the cap open. That gets Jensen’s attention, and he watches, rapt, as Misha pours some on his own fingers and drawls, “Let’s see how you did.”
It’s been a while since Misha’s been on the receiving end. When they first got together, Jensen wasn’t comfortable with the notion of being penetrated, which worked just fine for them. Then, he got curious, and as it turns out, he quite likes having a dick in his ass. Generally they switch, but lately, Jensen’s been on a bottoming streak. The last time Misha got fucked was three or four weeks ago—Vicki came to visit and fucked him hard with a strap on. That had been pretty fantastic.
But Jensen’s even bigger than the strap-on they own, and while Misha is definitely eager, he still wants to be able to walk this weekend. He’s already going to have some difficulty, with keeping his legs folded up like this underneath him for so long. Even in yoga, he’s shit at these sorts of positions, especially virasana.
He trails his fingers back behind his balls and grins as Jensen exhales in a rush. The first finger slides in with no resistance—Misha wasn’t the only one to use plenty of spit. Jensen’s grinding his hips up in aborted thrusts, and the best thing about it is that he doesn’t know he’s doing it. He whimpers sympathetically as Misha slides a second finger in alongside the first.
Misha’s got his free hand on Jensen’s chest, fingers splayed wide as he fucks himself down onto his hand, and Jensen’s dick slides wetly in the crease of Misha’s thigh. It’s too rushed when Misha shoves a third finger in, and he hisses with the burn, but after thirty seconds he’s pumping in and out, and it feels good more than it hurts.
He takes his fingers out and Jensen finds the bottle of lube that dropped to the floor at some point, slicks himself up with it. “You sure you don’t need more…” he gestures at Misha’s fingers; he knows it’s been a while for Misha too, but Misha shakes his head. Jensen laughs, disbelieving. “You usually tell me I’m the impatient one.”
Misha threads the fingers of one hand through Jensen’s and with the other, he lines up Jensen’s cock. “Blame the internet,” he whispers, and he doesn’t give Jensen time to contemplate that sentence because he presses down, takes Jensen’s cock inside him. Once the head is inside, he grabs Jensen’s other hand. As much as Jensen usually is the impatient one, he’s so good at this part, about waiting, going achingly slow at the onset. He’s always the worried one, asking repeatedly if Misha’s okay even when Misha asks for it rough.
Jensen squeezes his hands, his whole body strung taut in an attempt to hold himself still, and after a few deep breaths, Misha slowly sinks down the rest of the way until he’s fully seated.
For a minute, all he does is grind his hips in slow circles while he adjusts. Once he knows he’s good, he raises himself up all the way, until Jensen’s dick nearly slips out of his body, then lowers himself back down without hesitation. Their hands are still tightly clasped as Misha establishes a brutal pace, his thighs trembling, sweat slicking the pits of his knees and his calves. Jensen makes a sound like he’s had the breath punched out of him, and Misha leans over him, presses their joined hands into the cushions on either side of Jensen’s head and licks into his mouth. Their teeth clack with how fast they’re moving, but even so, Jensen lifts his head to chase Misha as he pulls back.
Misha sets his teeth into a spot near Jensen’s collarbone, and Jensen goes to pull him off but Misha growls, “You’re not called again until Tuesday,” and he sucks, rolls the skin back and forth between his teeth, and he feels the corresponding pulse of precome inside him. Jensen sort of loves getting marked up. Naturally, Danneel and Misha take full advantage of it whenever they can. He releases the skin and moves a little lower, swiping his tongue across Jensen’s nipple. So far, Jensen’s done a good job of letting Misha take the reins; he’s been thrusting up, but mostly, he’s been allowing Misha to be in control.
Now, though, when Misha takes the other nipple in his mouth, Jensen bucks up. It hits a new angle, makes Misha sees stars for a second, and Misha finally unlaces their fingers in favor of planting both his hands on Jensen’s chest. Winded, he orders, “Yeah, Jen, like that. Fuck me.”
It’s all the instruction Jensen needs. He holds onto Misha’s hips and plants his feet flat on the couch, pulling his legs up for leverage, and Misha laughs breathlessly at the realization that Jensen’s sweatpants are still on, the elastic waist of them around Jensen’s knees. It’s the only thing he has time to think before Jensen is pounding up into him. The sound of skin slapping against skin seems impossibly loud, joining the chorus of their muffled groans. Misha’s head falls back and he chews on his lower lip, matching Jensen’s speed with the remaining strength he has. He’s close, and Jensen always knows.
(Admittedly, Misha gets loud. That orgasm he faked onstage once was obviously a farce, but it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration. It’s something Jensen teased him mercilessly for later. If there’s anyone walking remotely close to Jensen’s trailer right now, they probably know the score.)
But Misha refuses to come until Jensen has, because this entire exercise has revolved around Jensen, so he bears down hard, purposely tensing his muscles, and says, “Come, Jensen.”
Only a few sloppy thrusts later and Jensen does just that. It’s a chain reaction. Feeling Jensen come inside him, watching Jensen’s mouth fall open as he draws in a lungful of air, and then again, his eyelashes fluttering—it doesn’t get old. Jensen’s aware, considerate even like this, and before his hips cease churning, he removes one sweaty hand from Misha’s hip in favor of wrapping his fingers around Misha’s aching cock. Misha comes almost instantly, and the sensation sweeps him along, drags him for a while, crests and slowly recedes.
His arms sort of give out and that’s how he ends up lying on Jensen’s chest, nose to nose as their breathing returns to normal. Jensen’s stroking Misha’s lower back, and in a minute they’ll have to move to clean up (Misha’s knees are starting to really hurt from being in this position for too long, just as he knew they would). But right now, they grin at each other and trade lazy kisses.
“So,” Jensen says as Misha moves to sit upright, and they both cringe as he lifts himself off. He grabs Jensen’s tee shirt and wipes them both down. “Wanna tell me what prompted that?”
Misha reaches to grab his phone from the pocket of his jeans and puts his underwear back on. Jensen pulls his sweatpants on properly, sitting up and looking at Misha like he’s lost his mind. Misha sits beside him on the couch and opens Youtube, finding the link for the video.
“Oh, is this the full version of that mockumentary? I was wondering what happened to all that footage that ended up on the cutting room floor. I saw that you tweeted the link, but I haven’t had a half hour to sit down and watch it.” He watches as Misha finds the exact spot in the video, then frowns. “I don’t remember filming a porn scene for this. I don’t think I even filmed anything with my shirt off.”
“You absolutely filmed something pornographic for this,” Misha counters, then gets to the part of the video that started this whole thing.
Jensen watches it, watches himself “get comfy” in his chair, and he shakes his head. “Is there something I’m missing here?”
Misha smirks at him, and Jensen knows to fear that face. “What? What happened?"
Misha switches to a Safari tab, to the blog that made the GIFs. And he scrolls slowly, allowing Jensen to really watch each one. Jensen’s eyes grow comically wide, especially at the last one.
“Oh my God. How the fuck did they even catch that?” He’s flushed, definitely abashed, and Misha leans down to press tender kisses to Jensen’s shoulder.
“First of all, the majority of the people who saw that video didn’t catch it. I didn’t catch it, and I spent a lot of time editing footage together. I’d like to think I look out for your dick even more than some of those fans do.” The spots high on Jensen’s cheeks grow darker, and Misha chuckles. “It’s a small community of people on Tumblr who saw it. And surprisingly, they haven’t been horrendously inappropriate. I mean, yes, amongst themselves, but if you haven’t seen any tweets about it… I mean, I’ve only seen a few go by. People who insisted I did it on purpose.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Jensen grumbles, but it seems like the embarrassment is fading. “Danneel is gonna kill me. Or maybe she’ll come after you.”
“You should’ve worn goddamn underwear,” Misha retorts easily, and he’s smiling now. “Besides, Danneel is probably on our side.”
“Our side?”
“Me and the fans. We obviously appreciate the view,” he says, blatantly glancing down at Jensen’s lap. The wet spot he’d made at the crotch of the track pants has faded, and now the view is almost exactly the same as the video. Jensen swats at him.
“You’re an idiot.”
“You can’t say that after mind-blowing sex.”
“Ugh, fine.” He leans in, presses his nose behind Misha’s ear, murmurs, “But I’m still mad at you.”
“Bring it. I can take it,” Misha says, and Jensen grins wide. His couch is a mess, and the two of them missed the cast’s usual Friday outing, but all things considered, it was a pretty good night. Misha even considers writing a thank you note to that blog on Tumblr.