Archive of Our Own

Being a supervillain isn't easy these days.

Misha might be able to tell you a thing or two about that.

The times where he could've just stolen the miniature Statue of Liberty from Las Vegas in broad daylight and would be considered a genius in the Evil League of Evil were most definitely over. Bigger, better, funnier is what it had to be these days, and with some political sense on top if you were good. And damn, Misha was good. Is good, he corrects himself.

“Coffee,” he tells the yellow, about three feet tall minion, who's idly playing with a roll of toilet paper at his side. “Now,” Misha adds grumpily and grabs the roll from him.

“Co-bee?” the minion asks back, seemingly confused.

“Yes, coffee.”

Babbling his usual nonsense that only Misha seems to get, the minion hurries obediently off towards the kitchen. Sometimes they're just a bit slow, those guys. Not that he ever regretted inventing the cloning machine. Just, maybe, once or twice. And never without reason.

Boogie robots were not the same as Cookie robots, but the minions had to learn that the hard way. Misha rubs his temples at the memory.

It has taken years to build up his fine little estate in the middle of suburbia. None of his neighbors would ever think that a large laboratory complex and a weapon factory are hidden beyond his darkly painted house. Not that it is any of their business anyway.

Misha sighs. Yes, the life of a supervillain isn't easy.

Mostly because of superheroes and competing supervillains.

Still, he's the best of the latter and he has to prove it. His last project – namely trying to blackmail the local government with the fact that he was able to poison the town's water supply – didn't seem very supervillain-ish at all. And it had failed because his minions had managed to take not the poison but – no, not thinking about that, Misha, you don't want to slam your head against the nearest wall. Let's just say, the people of his little town were rather delighted to find out that they could float around like balloons if they drank some of their thoroughly healthy and not poisoned water from the tap.

The Bank of Evil had given him shit to no end for that. And no further credit, which was much worse.

And if that isn't enough already, the minion bounces back into his living room right then and slams head-first into the open sarcophagus. The one with the nails in it. Maybe Misha should stuff him in there and shut it with gusto. Because right now, his coffee is spilled all over the floor beside said sarcophagus.

“Gotta do everything by myself,” Misha mumbles with frustration and grabs his freeze ray on the way to the front door. Still shaking his head, he slips into his coat, wraps his gray-black striped scarf loosely around his neck and leaves.

The way to his usual coffee shop takes merely five minutes by foot, but Misha is a villain, so damn right he's taking his plane-car-hybrid. Not the kind of hybrid that runs partly on gas and partly on batteries. Please. The kind that blows more carbon dioxide (and monoxide, deal with it) into the air per minute than a dozen hummers and a dairy herd do in a whole year.

He notices the moving truck from the corner of his eyes but can't get himself to care.

When he parks in front of the coffee shop a minute later, he makes sure to ram every car standing directly in front of it. Not just a scratch, but right out of the way. Ignoring the blaring alarms and honks, he strolls inside. Of course the coffee shop is crowded this time of the morning.

No problem for his freeze ray though. Gracefully, Misha jumps around the people, freezing each and every one of them so he can easily get to the front of the row. It's not like he's actually covering them in ice or something – please, that would A.) be an ice beam and B.) so Mystic J.

The name alone makes Misha almost roll his eyes.

The barista – a slender blonde girl – stares at him in blank shock and doesn't even try to hold onto the paper cup in her hand. A short look into it tells Misha it's simple black coffee, the way he prefers it. Black as his soul, he thinks and suppresses a snicker. Instead, he flashes the girl behind the counter a full-on grin, reaches for a packet of sugar, pours it slowly into the cup and stirs it in. Misha even throws a single cent into the tip jar beside the check register before he leaves with one last wink at the girl. The sweet taste of victory and black coffee accompany him back to his vehicle.

Damn right if a supervillain can't get a nice, good coffee in the morning. Not even Mystic J could pull off something like that, at least not the way Misha just did. Like he said, ice beam. Not nearly as cool as an actual freeze ray. He slips in behind the wheel and sets his baby on the road.

Right then, his phone rings. Misha twists his mouth up lopsidedly in an unnerved expression. Eventually, he manages to fumble it out of his coat pocket. Talking on the phone while driving - Yes, he's that evil.

“Yeah?” he answers the constant ringing.

“Misha?” a cheery female voice greets him.

He groans. “Hi, Mom.”

“So I heard you stole the pyramid this morning. Congratulations!”

“Uhm... Mom. What are you talking about? I didn't-”

“Oh, so you mean it wasn't you who stole the great Giza pyramid? Was it that great new guy then, this Mys-”

“Mom, don't say his name,” Misha grit out through his teeth.

“I'm just saying you should consider taking a leaf out of his book,” she sneers, Misha can hear it clearly in her tone.

“Mom-”

“Anyway, you better get something done.” With that, she hangs up on him.

“No, you don't-” Misha sighs and throws the phone on the passenger seat. So Mystic J stole the Giza pyramid? Damn the guy, but he's good. He's been making Misha's life worse from day to day, even more than Kapt'n Kripke does these days. Kapt'n with a K, he insists, douchebag that he is. Stupid superheroes.

Stupid other villains.

He needs a plan, Misha decides, when he turns into his driveway.

***

As he hauls the last of his moving boxes into his new house, Jensen begins to whistle cheerfully. His new house is great, especially since it was renovated just the way he wanted it to be, and the location can't be any more perfect. Right beside Mischievous Misha's house.

Being a supervillain is awesome these days.

Especially when you're an up and coming one like Jensen. Only that he isn't as obvious with his name of choice like Misha is. With a first name like that, how could Jensen not be able to track him down? That was easier than taking candy from a baby.

There's a reason why he's Mystic J – he can still walk down the street these days and seem like a totally normal human being. Living undercover makes a lot of things easier. Jensen's house, at least the interior of it, was completely designed by himself. He made sure that his buttons for opening the elevator into the thoroughly stocked sub-basement weren't shiny red buttons that you could easily mistake for the fire alarm button.

Being an engineer with an MIT degree also has its perks. It meant you could invent buttons that only react to your own fingerprints plus a scan of your iris when you look at the tiny, tiny camera on the ceiling. Apart from those conveniently placed buttons, Jensen's house seemed completely normal. Like the house of an MIT engineer with a regular job should look like. Speaking of which, a regular job also helps to stay out of trouble. And to bridge the weeks between his plans, financially speaking. Jensen has not even once had a quarrel with the Bank of Evil.

Humming contentedly, Jensen unpacks one of the boxes containing kitchen utensils.

There's a reason he's moved here, obviously. Misha has been in the business way too long; it's time for Jensen's final strike to wipe him off the list of Jensen's contestants. His time is over. Not that he plans to murder the guy, which is so not his style, Jensen just wants him gone. And therefore, he'll be studying Misha from now on – figuring out his plans, ruining them as soon and as destructively as possible. That means he has to worm his way into Misha's life, which will be the hardest part of his plan.

When the kitchen is ready, Jensen begins to bake cookies. Not cookie robots, those are so 2010. Just plain old Hi-I'm-your-new-neighbor-and-totally-trustworthy-cookies.

Jensen knows from his research on Misha that he isn't very social, barely even lets other people into his house. Just that one giant with the floppy brown hair, whoever that is. Jensen has yet to find out.

It's not something that's going to happen in a second, Jensen knows that, it's more like a process. It'll be work, a lot of work even, getting to know Misha and getting him to trust Jensen. But at the same time, he also knows it's gonna be worth it, because he doesn't even have to make plans on his own any more - just deliberately sabotage Misha's, or, if they're good, realize them himself. Always being that one, frustrating step in front of Misha, that's the plan. It won't take too long to make Misha give up on his fruitless attempt at world domination. Jensen even considers staying in this house afterwards, because it's just that perfect. When he experimentally flicks his thumb over the underside of the kitchen counter and looks up to the lamp on the ceiling, a short tray slides out immediately. Jensen can't help but grin as he sweeps his fingers proudly over his ice beam. No one uses freeze rays these days, because - well, Misha would probably use one, ergo they're lame.

Oh, Jensen almost wallows in the sweet victory already. He pushes the button at the tray's side to let it slip back into place with a satisfied smile on his lips.

Speaking of the end of the world as everybody knows it, his cookies are ready. At least the tiny black bomb that is his egg timer says so.

Still whistling something that sounds remarkably like R.E.M., Jensen takes the cookies that will probably change the world out of the oven and places them on the windowsill to cool down. It's the window that faces Misha's house - a really cliché house, just saying. Jensen snorts unimpressed. The walls are painted in something that might have been white once and faded to a dirty gray over the years, but then again, maybe it had always been gray. Black roof tiles are covering the roof, probably made of slate or something equally dark. It's depressing, really. And it screams "supervillain!" so hard it's almost pathetic.

Someone's clearly overcompensating here.

"Yeah, this one's gonna be easy," Jensen huffs to himself. It seems like Misha just needs the final kick in the nuts to leave the stage. Or a tomato in the face, whatever. Jensen would have no problem providing either.

That is, if Kapt'n Kripke doesn't interfere. In silent anger, Jensen clenches his hands into fists, slamming one down on the kitchen counter. Damn superheroes and their superhero complexes. What kind of douchebag names himself Kapt'n Kripke – with a K – anyway? And insists on shouting a “Kripke'd!” into one's face if he managed to foil ones latest plan? As he said, douchebag. A middle-aged, increasingly balding one on top of that. Basically, Kapt'n Kripke is the definition of lame, but the guy still manages to stress the hell out of Jensen.

Anyway, there is only one last thing Jensen needs to do to get into the Evil League of Evil. Wipe Misha off the landscape.

His strategy is not yet that clear, but Jensen told himself that he would just make it up as he goes.

Misha's name might be easy to track down, but finding personal information about him is pretty hard. Not even Jensen's truly outstanding knowledge of hacking could help him there.

The only thing he could dig up was an old résumé on eBay that said Misha was able to “act on camera”. Whatever that means.

Besides, Jensen needs Misha to trust him. So, first and foremost, he was the new, very nice, very harmless neighbor.

Jensen stacks the cookies up – rainbow cookies with M&Ms of all colors mixed into the dough – and places them in a basket. After he made sure that the oven was shut off and cooling down, Jensen heads for the door to leave, making sure that his hair sits perfectly. A nice, easy smile shows on his lips, more or less involuntarily. Well, what can he say, he's looking forward to this.

However, he begins his round of introduction to the neighbors at the house on the other side, opposite of Misha's. A family is living there, as well as in the house across the street and the ones on both sides of that. The parents open the doors for him while the kids mostly hide shyly behind their legs. Jensen smiles at each of them, trades some lines of small talk with each parent, even gets some invitations for barbeques during the weekend. The neighborhood is definitely nice.

Five houses down, one to go.

When Jensen finally makes it to Misha's doorstep, he expects a lot. Which is weird, considering he's clearly the superior villain here. But, call it respect for the elders or something, Jensen is excited. He has no idea what to expect exactly, though.

The sound of the bell is harsh when he rings it. He looks up, almost disappointed to not see any crows fluttering up to the sky at the noise, which would have been just too perfectly trite. A short, rattling sound from the other side of the door tells Jensen he's being watched through the peephole. He smiles as brightly and as harmlessly as he can manage and waves at the tiny glass in the door. The moment drags on.

"Hi! It's your new neighbor!" he shouts friendly.

"Go away," a flat voice from the inside replies.
"Just here to say hello and introduce myself," Jensen explains calmly and still smiles. Make an effort, he tells himself. Smiling is not that hard.

"Not interested," Misha grumbles from behind the door.

Jensen knows he's still being watched and holds up the basket of cookies. "I brought cookies?" he offers.

Misha clears his throat. And hesitates. Gotcha.

"I was told from the other neighbors that they were in fact not that bad," Jensen winks now.

For a bad guy, he's able to be pretty nice.

Another few moments pass before the door chain is removed, sound of metal sliding against metal obvious to be heard. The first thing Jensen can see in the shadow that hides the other man are blue eyes. Intense, big, baby blue eyes. Unfortunately, they don't look very welcoming. Misha still doesn't fully open the door, but it's angled wide enough so he can stand there, covering the sight to the hallway completely. Damn. His hands are crossed in front of his slender chest and he wears a black button-down and jeans. Jensen swallows and looks back up, notices plush, full lips and tousled black hair. Double damn.

Despite the sour expression on Misha's face, Jensen is far from disappointed. He expected a lot without knowing what exactly, but he certainly didn't expect Misha to look actually quite handsome. Well, understatement.

Seems like a case where he can blatantly spin his charm on the guy to win him over. Not that Jensen has much time for dating, he is much more interested in pursuing his goal to rule the world, thankyouverymuch, but that doesn't mean he's rusty at flirting, or refraining from doing so. It still doesn't mean he'd date Misha. He's his archnemesis, for crying out loud. Well, maybe him and Kapt'n Kripke.

"Uhm..." Jensen begins and doesn't even have to pretend to stutter, "Hi, I'm Jensen Ackles. I moved in next door," he points over to his left side.

Misha frowns and leans forward to take a look at his house, obviously pleased when he sees it's just as usual as every other house on their street. “Wait here,” he says dryly before he turns around and leans the door at the frame, blocking the sight but not closing it completely. He returns with a device in his hands. A metal detector, Jensen notices quickly. “Basket,” Misha demands quietly with a wave of his hand towards said item.
Feigning confusion, Jensen holds up the cookies once more and watches as Misha scans it, eventually nodding when he seems satisfied with the result. Jensen raises an eyebrow. “And what was that about?” he grins innocently and nods at the device.

“Just checking for... you know, you can't be too careful nowadays, call it a bad experience,” Misha answers, but he doesn't seem to have opened up much. Still, he doesn't seem that suspicious anymore and tentatively reaches for a cookie.

“I get it, don't worry. My sister once pulled a prank on me and baked muffins, with a bottle cap placed in one of them just for me,” Jensen replies, joking lightly to ease the tension.

Misha munches on his cookie, but Jensen can still notice the edge of his lips twitch upwards. He doesn't answer, though.

For a villain, Misha actually looks quite adorable like this.

Jensen stares blankly at him for a second. Where the hell has that thought just come from? Inwardly, he slaps himself and pulls it back together. “So, anyway. If you need anything, feel free to ask me. Even if it's just-” Jensen leans back to take a look at the garden, which is very overgrown, the trees could use some trimming and the flowers... well, they're more brown and withered than green. “- helping you with that awfully long lawn or something,” Jensen tries to put it lightly.

“Thanks, but that won't be necessary,” Misha shakes his head.

“Hey, just sayin',” Jensen winks. “Anyway, have a nice day. I've still got tons of boxes to unpack.” And with that, he takes a step back and strolls down the patio. After half the way to the sidewalk, Jensen turns back around and finds Misha still standing in the door.

He clears his throat before he shouts, “There are still cookies left, so...?” and shakes the basket.

A moment's hesitation later, Misha quickly jumps down the few steps, like a dog for his treat. Jensen couldn't possibly grin any wider at the picture.

Misha helps himself to two more cookies. “They're pretty good, thanks,” he says, and Jensen doesn't know if he should be more surprised at the compliment or at the thanks. “Bye, um, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name-?”

“Jensen.”

“Right. Bye, Jensen.” And Misha turns on his heels and heads back to his house.

Right then, Jensen realizes that Misha hadn't really told him his name. That he knows who Misha is doesn't spare him the question. “Uhm... just a sec. What is your name?”

Misha stops to turn his head towards Jensen. His expression is unreadable. “Misha Collins. You can call me Misha.”

“Huh,” says Jensen, pretending to be surprised at the truly unusual name. “Okay. Then have a nice day, Misha.”

Still smiling, Jensen makes his way back to his own house. Even after the door is closed behind him and he's back to unpacking stuff onto his new furniture, he can't stop smiling. The music he's blowing through the stereo's speakers is far too cheerful for his usual taste, but Jensen is far from caring. He feels good, and he doesn't quite know if it's because he found a way to beat Misha or if it's just because their first meeting went so well. Either way, it's a good start for his plan.

Rule the world, that's the plan, he reminds himself.

***

When Jensen gets up the next morning, which is luckily a Saturday, he immediately knows he hit level 2. He practically feels that he's being watched. The little hairs on his neck are standing up and his skin is prickling while he's standing in the bathroom, putting his contacts in, and brushing his teeth. It's not a pleasant feeling, but Jensen can't help being smug about it. A small smirk settles on his lips when he idly walks downstairs, still in his cotton v-neck shirt and boxers, to grab some breakfast.

It isn't a bad sign, not at all. Misha is just checking on him, which is the next logical step.

That being said, Jensen stretches his arms towards the ceiling before he scratches at his belly, yawning as he steps into his kitchen. Misha watching him has a few minor inconveniences, though. A few things are going to be off-limits for use for the time being, mainly the buttons that hid his pretty impressive equipment, or using his instant-coffee-o-mat. Which has been his very first invention, to no surprise, as he is the kind of human being that only functions when running on just the right level of caffeine. The instant-coffee-o-mat pours a coffee faster than any of those stupid pad or capsule machines ever could, thanks to that fine little heater inside of it that runs on uranium. It also talks and throws the used coffee powder away immediately. Jensen loves the damn thing.

Right now, he is also kinda glad that it is programmed to know his habits and already begins to brew a cup for breakfast.

“Thanks, Heather,” he says and runs his hand through his unruly hair. Yes, her name is Heather, after a pretty intense discussion with a Starbucks clerk of the same name. Not that that particular conversation went well. Jensen may have made use of his ice beam at the end.

“You're welcome, Master.”

Jensen grins. Look at that, her manners also get better from day to day. Definitely more polite than her namesake. Usually she snaps a short “Your coffee, Sir,” at him and beeps as a sign that she's on idle mode again.

The first mouthful of coffee wrings out an appreciative groan from Jensen. He almost hates Misha twice as much now that he needs to put her away, at least for a few days, and has to rip out the old Senseo again. Not that it doesn't work as well, but c'mon, he has to switch it on himself.

After a short check towards Misha's house, Jensen reaches into the corner behind the coffee-o-mat and lets it disappear into the counter. A few boxes are still placed all around his house, so he searches quickly for the last one that has 'kitchen' written atop of it. It contains his old, trusty coffee machine and a few packets of coffee pads. He needed to have back up in case Heather needs to be fixed, and how would he be able to repair her without a cup of coffee nearby? Call it bad experience, but Jensen knows his shit.

The machine is set up quickly as Jensen enjoys the last cup made by his coffee-o-mat. When he is done, he switches the small radio on and begins to pour milk and flour and eggs into a wide bowl. It’s definitely a good day, and therefore there need to be pancakes.

In his mind, Jensen flips through the current contents of his house and checks if there are things he needs to replace. Considering that his sub-basement is very well hidden – he checked the houses on this street before he moved here, and not one of them, except Misha's, even has a sub-basement – and he has a strict rule that there are to be no suspicious items allowed outside the lab, so the house is pretty much clean. As long as he doesn't touch the buttons.

The pancakes are frying to a gold-brown crust in the pan and their delicious smell fills the house. Jensen hums contently and starts whistling along to the radio, which currently blasts out some AC/DC.

Jensen still manages to hear the doorbell. He quickly pours enough dough for the next pancake into the pan and hurries out to get the door.

He can see on the monitoring camera that it is Misha.

Glad that he already checked the house and is sure that everything's fine, he opens the door. “Morning, Misha,” Jensen says, smiling warmly.

“Good morning,” Misha replies, blinking in the bright morning sunlight. He wears a dark plaid shirt, top three buttons undone and revealing a clean-shaven, pale triangle of chest.

Jensen has to swallow involuntarily, but still manages to focus back on Misha's eyes. It doesn't make things much easier. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“Well, I just realized that I'm all out of coffee and wondered if you could maybe spare a coffee pad or two. I'll return them once I've been grocery shopping,” Misha tilts his head sideways as he asks.

It's just a lame excuse to come over and Jensen gets that completely. He's not about to call Misha's bluff, though, which would seem rather suspicious.

“Sure, come in,” Jensen answers instead and turns around, waving Misha in with a smile and closing the door behind him. “I was just busy making breakfast, so let me check the pancakes first?”

Misha nods shortly as he tries to take in everything around him as subtly as possible. Jensen notices it despite Misha's efforts, but doesn't let anything on. He slips past the other man to lead the way. The hallway is narrow, and for a short moment, Jensen has the fragrance of Misha's aftershave in his nose. That, and that weird personal smell everyone has. And strangely enough, Misha's is quite... appealing. Jensen sighs quietly in a fruitless attempt to clear his mind as soon as Misha can't see his face any more. Sometimes, he really has to remind himself that his new neighbor is his enemy, that he needs to find his weak spot. Not... no, not going there.

Stepping forward, Jensen enters the kitchen with Misha on his heels. It's only then that Jensen realizes he still wears the clothes he's slept in and that he hasn't even combed his hair today. When he turns his head around to take a short look at his neighbor and archenemy, Misha's eyes rest on his back, obviously amused by his appearance.

“Uhm, sorry, for the-” Jensen tugs at his soft cotton shirt, “I just got up, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“It's no problem, really,” Misha answers. And maybe Jensen imagines it, but it comes out a bit too quickly. Huh. Surely that's just him.

The pancake that's currently occupying the frying pan needs to be flipped over. Not refraining from a little show-off, Jensen grabs the handle firmly and swings the pan in a gracious curve, making the pancake fly and flip over in mid-air, before it lands back in the pan. He'd love to see Misha's face at this, but doesn't want to turn his head and make it that obvious that he wants to impress the other man. Because really.

When the pan is back on the stove, Jensen opens his kitchen cabinet to pull out the coffee pads. Picking up two, he turns back around to Misha and hands them over.

“Here you go,” Jensen says, and can't help but notice how slender Misha's fingers are when they brush his.

“Thanks,” Misha answers quietly and looks directly into Jensen's eyes. Deep blue eyes stare into Jensen's, and right then, Brian Johnson yells a well-placed “Thunderstruck!” from the radio through his kitchen.

Jensen suddenly has a very strange feeling in his stomach.

“I'll return them to you later,” Misha adds, breaking their eye contact to nod down at the pads in his hands.

“Don't bother, it's fine,” Jensen waves him off and smiles. The smile somehow is far too easy to manage.

“Then thanks again,” Misha says, and for the first time, he actually smiles back. It's just a small smile, tentative and lopsided, but it's there, and Jensen's stomach apparently makes an attempt to flip over. Jensen also notices that Misha's eyes flicker to the pancakes on the stove. He has an idea.

“Hey, I think I made too much batter anyway... you wanna stay for breakfast? I could make you a cup of coffee right here instead.”

Jensen can be nice as well. Even to his archnemesis.

Okay, well, Kapt'n Kripke is more his archnemesis than Misha. Who, by the way, stands a little lost in his kitchen, leans his back against the counter and ponders. “Look, I don't really wanna keep you-”

“No, no, it's fine, it's not a bother,” Jensen is quick to interrupt him.

“Well, if you insist.” And there's that little smile again that makes Jensen's stomach do strange things. Misha steps forward and hands the coffee pads back to him, and their fingers brush once again. Jensen feels his skin tingle where they touched.

Dammit, he really can't afford crushing on Misha. Misha, of all people.

While he quietly resumes making the pancakes and brewing a cup of coffee for his guest Jensen can't stop thinking about it. It's true, he hasn't had any hook-ups for a while. It's hard to let people into your life, even as little as a casual one-night stand, when you've got so much to hide. But that's just sexually speaking. Romantically... well, Jensen hasn't been romantically occupied with anybody ever. Again, he couldn't let anyone get that close to him, there's too much possible blackmailing stuff in his closet. Speaking of the closet, he's never really been in there, metaphorically, except for the time in high school. But well, it was high school, where everyone had tried their best to keep their head down. Otherwise, Jensen has always announced his bisexuality openly. Why limit the choice? Sometimes it's just nice to get a handjob from someone who knows the equipment.

And Misha right there... is a challenge.

Jensen can't deny that he would definitely try to hook up with him if they had met in a bar somewhere. Those blue eyes were a challenge by themselves, and Jensen should really not think how they would look up when those chapped, full lips were wrapped around his dick. Not while he's wearing only thin cotton boxers.

Not thinking about Misha is kind of impossible at the moment though.

Jensen takes a deep breath and just hopes that his boxers are loose enough to hide the fact that he's half hard. He smiles sheepishly at Misha when he puts the cup of coffee down in front of him. “Milk and sugar?”

“Just sugar, please.”

Jensen takes the box of sugar cubes to the table. “Help yourself.”

Misha's long, delicate fingers reach for only one. Jensen has to turn around again to pour the remaining dough into the pan and fry the last pancake. Simultaneously, he sets up another cup of coffee for himself. God knows he needs a second one.

He still has no idea how to not develop a crush on Misha.

The pancakes and his coffee are done, and with the cup and a plate of pancakes, he makes his way back to the table. Grabbing a second plate and a set of cutlery for Misha quickly, Jensen sits down opposite the other man.

He also just takes one cube of sugar to his coffee. No milk. Misha obviously notices, because he stares at Jensen's fingers, watches his movements closely. When he also notices that Jensen is watching him, their eyes meet over the table and both smile shortly before digging into the pancakes.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Jensen asks innocently.

“Between jobs at the moment,” Misha answers shortly.

Yeah, I bet, Jensen thinks amused. “Looking for which kind of job?” He can't help just poking him with a stick.

“Engineering would be perfect. The market seems to be tough, though.”

“Mmhhh, yes,” Jensen swallows a mouthful of admittedly awesome pancake, “I know. I actually am an engineer, you know.” He can't hide the grin spreading on his lips now. “The economy still hasn't fully recovered, which is easy to see in my company as well.”

Misha sighs quietly. “I just have to wait a bit, and we'll see,” he shrugs it off. “So, what made you move here? The job?”

“Not exactly,” Jensen replies, and really, it's hard not to snicker at the double entendre and say 'the reason is you', which would be just cheesy. And, obviously, would sound wrong. “I've lived in the city, in a small flat before, and decided that I need a bit more space. I was told this house was empty for years?”

“Yes, the former owner was a wacky old man. After he died, the heirs had a law suit over the house for years,” Misha explains.

Jensen huffs amused. “Yeah, well, and in the end they just sold it. Lucky me.”

“It's a nice neighborhood,” one corner of Misha's mouth curls upwards, yet again in that tentative way of his.

Jensen smiles back widely. “Yeah, I noticed. I'm glad I was able to move here.”

“So, you've got family? You mentioned a sister yesterday.”

“Yes, she lives a few towns over. Got an older brother, too, who lives in Texas near my parents,” Jensen spills and wonders why the hell he is telling Misha all of this. It's not even a lie. This could be dangerous, he has to watch out. “You? Where are you from?”

“Lived here for more than ten years now. I don't have much contact with my siblings, just my mom. She doesn't live around here, either.”

The fact that Misha seems comfortable enough with him and trusts him enough to let him know this makes Jensen feel quite smug. Because he knows those things are true.

Conversation flows easily with Misha, Jensen notices, although that is as personal as the topics of conversation get. They talk random stuff, politics, and actually get along just fine. It's surprising, but on the other hand – they're what they are, villains, for a reason. They work towards the same goal, so it shouldn't be that surprising that they are on the same page with almost everything. In the end, Misha and Jensen spend almost an hour at breakfast, during another cup of coffee, before Misha gets up and takes his plate to the sink.

“So, thank you very much for the breakfast, Jensen,” Misha says, turning around to Jensen.

“Sure, no problem. Thanks for the company,” Jensen smiles. “It's actually quite nice to have someone around every once in a while,” he adds, and tries not to think too much about what he just said.

“So...” Misha toes at the tiles on the floor, looking down at his shoes. “That'd mean there's... no one in your life right now?”

Huh. Now where did that one come from? Did Misha really just ask him if he was single? “No, I'm not seeing anyone right now,” Jensen answers, still quite baffled.

Misha nods in acknowledgement before he steps towards the door.

Right then, the radio switches to the news. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the ten o'clock news for you on this wonderfully sunny Saturday,” the radio host announces cheerfully. “First things first, Kapt'n Kripke has saved the day once more!”

Jensen's head snaps around in shock at those words, glaring at the small radio in the corner of his kitchen. He can see Misha standing by the door, stopped in his tracks and listening as well.

“Our superhero has once again proven why he is indeed a hero – he retrieved the stolen Giza pyramid, an act that was confirmed to have been a deed of the Mystic J.”
“No way,” escapes Jensen's lips, and he notices that Misha has said just the same words simultaneously. They share a short, amused glance.

“It was confirmed by his manager-” Jensen has to try really hard to not snort at that, “- that Kapt'n Kripke will have a short visit to Giza this afternoon, local time, to place the pyramid back where it belongs.”

Jensen has to bite his tongue to not burst into curses. How did that asshole find the shrunken pyramid in that storage hall? It was damn near impossible to track down. He had double-checked everywhere for cameras and all that. Nobody could have seen him moving that pyramid in there.

Misha huffs from the door. “Don't get me wrong, but I don't like that guy very much. I mean, it's not like the absence of the pyramid is a threat to anyone. It was just a prank, why not let that Mystic J guy have a little fun?”

And now, as much as Jensen still wants to blow Kapt'n Kripke's ass from here to the moon, he can hardly suppress a grin. Misha has his back, which is an unbelievably weird feeling. “My point exactly,” he says as flatly as possible, “Don't like the guy either.”

The news reporter is now on-air with a live interview of the damn so-called hero. “And now we've got a message from the honorable Kapt'n Kripke to whomever that Mystic J is! Kapt'n?”

“Kripkeeeeee'd!” is shouted from the radio through the kitchen.

Misha and Jensen groan unnerved, then grin at each other. It's really the first time that Jensen sees Misha's full-on grin, with his row of teeth exposed and the corners of his eyes crinkling. He is downright beautiful like this, Jensen catches himself thinking.

“Lamest catchphrase ever,” Misha rolls his eyes.

“Right? Right!” Jensen nods enthusiastically.

Misha shakes his head. “Still, I really need to get a few things done today. So, thank you again for breakfast. I guess I'll see you around?”

“Sure,” Jensen answers, then leads Misha to the door. “Thanks for visiting.”

Misha chuckles, a sound that once again stirs up that weird feeling in Jensen's stomach. “Well, I had my reasons,” he says.

“Hey, whatever you need, just stop by,” Jensen smiles, all nice guy next door.

Misha nods shortly and heads off towards his house. Jensen can see he's still smiling to himself, which makes him strangely proud. As soon as Jensen has closed the door, he leans his forehead against the cool wood. This is probably the single most inconvenient situation he's ever been in. He worked for years to get to this point. To make the Mystic J a respectable villain, build up a reputation and maybe earn a seat in the Evil League of Evil one day, and he definitely needs to get Misha off the stage for that.

And now, for the first time in what feels like forever, he is seriously pondering about putting his personal needs first. Jensen has never had to do anything like that. As a matter of course, Mystic J always came first, then his job, because it was essential to his own existence. And here Misha walks into Jensen's life with his stupidly blue eyes and messes it all up spectacularly.

Groaning once, Jensen decides he should go take a shower. There's not much to do today, just maybe unpacking the rest of the living room stuff so he can have a movie night this evening. He's really in the mood for that.

It might get his thoughts off Misha. Emphasis on the might.

Then he notices it. A small, black button on his kitchen counter. He doesn't recognize it and picks it up carefully. Well, he surely didn't unpack any clothes in the kitchen, so-

Misha.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? The coffee pads were a totally lame excuse, and he had been aware of that. He had just forgotten about it. And this is the place where Misha had been standing an hour ago.

It's a bug. Of course it's a bug. Jensen can see the tiny camera in the middle of it.

So, that's why Misha came over in the first place.

Jensen, however, decides to play along. He needs to, in order to earn Misha's trust. So now it's not only watching out for Misha spying on his house with a spyglass, it's also important to act normal when he's alone. Judged by the size of this button, though, the battery will only last for two, maybe three days. Tops.

He places it back onto the counter where Misha put it. It's surely not yet recording, Misha will switch it on as soon as he's back at home. Well, let him see how thoroughly normal Jensen is.

Jensen opens the door that leads from his kitchen to the garden to get some air into the room.

On his way upstairs, he pulls the worn t-shirt over his head, ready to throw it into the laundry basket as soon as he reaches the bathroom. Dear god, he's really looking forward to that shower now, he needs to get at least a bit of all that tension out of his system. Clean the pipes, so to speak. Maybe he can focus back on his intended goal afterwards, namely bringing Mystic J a bit further up the greasy pole.

After getting rid of his boxers as well, Jensen turns up the water faucet to warm up the water. In the meantime, he gets a fresh, fluffy towel from the cupboard and places it beside the shower cabin.

When Jensen looks back up, he sees it. The tiny, black button lays there on the floor next to the laundry basket, as if it had popped from one of his shirts. Jensen doesn't look at it for too long, that would make it suspicious, and instead gets into the shower.

For the first time, he's very aware of the fact that his shower door is made of glass. Clear glass, not the milky version. Which means the button can film him in the shower. While he's completely naked. And planning on jerking off. Jensen is not completely sure he's comfortable with that, although it's worth a thought.

While he massages the shampoo into his short, spiky hair, he sighs. It's just that he really, really wants to. That last hour had been a bit too much. He needs to get his head clear. But at the cost of Misha hearing and seeing all of it? Truth be told, he's not much of an exhibitionist. Never was. And Misha of all people?

A short look over his shoulder tells him the button is still there, on the floor. He turns around, so at least it can't get a full view of his hard-on. While he soaps his body, another idea sparks up. A dangerous one, but it sounds quite enticing.

Jensen isn't sure if he'll be able to follow through with this plan. It would be worth a try, anyway, just to troll Misha a bit.

Hey, Misha is the one who placed a bug in the home of a guy in his thirties with a very much persistent libido. He should have known what to expect.

Still, now is not the time. Jensen quickly dries himself off and ponders about his options.

He also may or may have not put up a bit of a show while he was dressing. It's not like Jensen doesn't know his body is quite presentable. He just had to suppress the dirty smirk that constantly tugged at his lips while he pulled his shirt over his head, deliberately flexing the muscles of his stomach and his bicep.

Teasing Misha, that's the plan for today. So instead of a wide, comfortable t-shirt Jensen has chosen a white one that fits just right. Meaning it shows off plenty of his muscles, stretches tight across his chest and around his arms. Quite some eye candy for Misha.

Not even Kapt'n Kripke will ruin this day for him. Although he's still an asshole.

That being said, Jensen resumes unpacking the last moving boxes, mostly unimportant stuff like his impressive DVD collection for the living room and some folders and items for his study. The afternoon passes by in no time like this and when Jensen looks at his watch after what feels like an hour, it's actually already 6 p.m. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.

“Gimme a sec, buddy,” Jensen grins and pats his belly. He finishes emptying the last of the boxes for the study and throws it into the corner where all the others are stacked. Now that everything is in place, his house is looking more and more like a real home. He didn't exactly lie to Misha – before he moved here, he had indeed lived in a cramped flat, where all of his stuff slowly but surely managed to take up all the space. He had needed to get out of there. And then he had seen this house, while he was busy researching Misha. It was perfect, in every way. The plan had already formed itself in his head back then.

For the first time in months, he feels like he can walk freely in his own four walls. Jensen is very pleased with the situation.

Time to get his plan off the ground.

He takes his time cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, just spaghetti Bolognese, and prepares a bowl of popcorn afterwards. The black button follows him everywhere. It always lays conveniently on a cupboard or shelf, where it has a perfect view on Jensen. Jensen suspects Misha to have it equipped with some kind of sticky wheels so it can climb walls, which, he has to admit, is pretty awesome. Credit where credit is due.

Jensen grabs a beer from his fridge, pops the bottle cap and takes it to the living room with the bowl of popcorn.

On his search through the DVD shelf, Jensen decides to watch the most harmless one he can manage. 'Finding Nemo', maybe? Well, that's almost too harmless. Instead, he goes for a western. There's nothing to say against a classic with Clint Eastwood. Even if it contains guns. Humming contently, Jensen pops it into the DVD player and flops down onto the couch. It's brand-new, black leather, especially bought for this house when he moved in because his old one was far too small for this living room. Jensen munches happily on his first handful of popcorn and takes a few gulps from his bottle of beer to wash it down.

He tries to scan the room quickly and as subtly as possible to spot the black button. It hides behind the corner of the TV paper on the couch table.

Oh no, if we're doing this, we'll do it right, Jensen thinks amused and reaches for the paper, just to flip through it, seemingly interested in tonight's program. When he puts the paper back, he does so by practically throwing it across the table to the other end. Now the button lays exposed right before his very eyes and won't be able to move anywhere without him noticing.

Time to start the next phase of Teasing Misha.

Jensen puts the bowl on the floor, carefully to not block the button's sight, and eases one of his hands under the waistband of his jeans. Casually, the way guys do it when they lay on the couch, all sprawled out like Jensen is right now. He takes another sip from his bottle, carefully wrapping his lips around the rim and consciously tilting his head back as he drinks.

His hand slips lower and settles right on top of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. Jensen has to shift his hips in order to lay more comfortable and spread his legs a bit wider. He is overly aware of the button, laying right there on the couch table, watching him. While still pretending to watch the movie, Jensen begins to idly massage the bulge in his boxers for a few minutes. It doesn't take him long to get fully hard. Truth is, this is his preferred way of jerking off anyway, to relax and get in the mood.

Alright. Showtime, baby, Jensen thinks and lets his hand slip free. He leans slightly upwards to pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down before he pushes both his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His hand settles at its former place, wrapped loosely around his cock and stroking slowly. The delicate friction is just the right amount of pressure that Jensen needs right now. It's not like he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Misha should be able to enjoy the show as well.

Jensen reaches up with his other hand and circles one of his nipples through the cotton of his shirt until the nub stands out hard and visible against the fabric.

It's weird to feel Misha's eyes on him like this, but Jensen can't help but be turned on by the buzz running through his veins at the thought alone. Huh. And here he thought he wasn't an exhibitionist inclined. He grips his dick just a bit harder, squeezes tight with his thumb and index finger, lingers a bit longer at the head. A drop of pre-come gets smeared under his thumb when he sweeps it over the sensitive skin. Unable to suppress a quiet moan, Jensen opens his lips and pants. His strokes on his cock start to get faster and he notices how he loses focus on putting up a show.

What if Misha touches himself right now, too? What if he enjoys it to see Jensen like this and gets in the mood as well?

The picture of Misha sitting in his observation room with his hand down his pants settles in Jensen head, not only turning him on but also encouraging him to take it slow.

After taking a deep breath, Jensen stops just for a moment, dragging it out. He grimaces, the need to finally come and relieve all the tension that has been building up ever since Misha knocked at his door this morning becoming overwhelming. Jensen groans, a bit frustrated. He only wanted to tease Misha, but now his thoughts are back on plush, full lips wrapped around his cock and swallowing him down.

“Mi-” he sighs and barely stops himself. Oh, hell no, no Freudian slip in a situation like this. Not on camera, for fuck's sake, “M-my god,” he whispers instead and hopes Misha didn't notice.

Jensen groans again and resumes jerking his hand up and down his cock, his moves quicker than before. After a few strokes, he decides to get his second hand into the game by massaging his balls. Sighing at the added pleasure, Jensen feels the orgasm he's been longing for beginning to build up in his lower abdomen, the tension spreading through his whole body, getting it ready to explode.

The hand on his balls slowly slides lower and lower, until he rubs his sac only with the heel of his hand, his fingers touching and reaching further down. Jensen finds the ring of muscle of his ass quickly and caresses it gently with the pad of his index finger. The touch on the sensitive nerve endings make him moan in pleasure, and he carefully angles his face towards the button on the table when his lips part once more. He closes his eyes, presses them shut to focus on his ministrations.

Jensen lets the tip of his finger slip into his ass, which is about as far as painlessly possible without any lube. It's still enough for his brain to wreck more havoc than it should. It apparently likes to gladly supply Jensen with some pictures of Misha, not only kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock, but also using those slender fingers of his to prepare Jensen. And at that point, Jensen's brain seems to have pretty much shut down.
Because now, Jensen sees himself pinning Misha down on the ground – okay, make that a bed – and riding his dick with deep, guttural groans dropping from his lips at every thrust that buries Misha balls-deep into him. His finger slips a bit deeper at the thought, but the slight stretching pain makes Jensen focus back on reality and not his fantasies.

He's always been comfortable with being the top. He only bottomed for people he was completely comfortable with and trusted enough to know they wouldn't screw up. As a matter of fact, that rule is based on a single event that had left its marks. As another matter of fact, Jensen had never bottomed for someone else ever since. So it's clearly a surprise that he's already cool with the idea of bottoming for Misha. Shit.

In his mind, Jensen is still riding Misha until the dark-haired man can do nothing but beg him to let him come. And that does it. Fantasizing about how Misha will look when he climaxes, how he'd screw those beautiful blue eyes shut and moan and twitch underneath Jensen, how he'd sigh and try to gasp for air afterwards…

Jensen groans, deep and uncontrolled. It takes two more, well-paced strokes and Jensen comes in long, white spurts shooting up to his chest.

His first thought after he regained his ability to breathe is that his shirt is ruined.

The second thought that hits Jensen like a brick wall is Right. Misha. A short check of the coffee table tells him that the button is still right there, that Misha has most likely seen everything the way Jensen wanted him to.

It's really not easy to not appear as smug as he feels right now.

Jensen sits up to pull his t-shirt over his head and uses it to clean himself up.

Oh, the things he'd give to see Misha's face right now.

 

***

In his house down the road, Misha gets up awkwardly from his chair. His eyes are glued to the monitor that shows Jensen, half naked sitting on the couch and wiping the come off his upper body.

Misha still can't fully comprehend what the hell just happened.

Except for Jensen just having a little fun with himself on camera, and Misha had a perfect view on every second of it.
The bulge in his pants is quite distracting, the way his cock strains against his zipper is almost painful. So yeah, what can he say. Jensen's got one nicely trained body. Misha surely wouldn't push him out of bed.

For the moment, though, he whistles for one of his minions. “Bring me some lube, it's in my room. Bedside table.”

“Luuuubyyy,” the minion confirms, nodding his head once before bouncing off down the hall.

Misha places his hand on the bulge in his jeans and rubs gently to take a bit of tension off. It doesn't help much.

Misha's eyes are still glued to the monitor of his little button bug, where Jensen's bare torso and still half-open pants are supplying some seriously awesome jerking off material.

He groans in frustration, and not all because of his current state. He knows that there are bigger problems beginning to form in his life. It's stupid, and he's in for a lot of trouble if he gives in, and Misha knows it. But damn, he needs this right now.

***

The level of awkwardness practically hits the roof the following morning.

It's a Sunday and Misha has chosen to get up early. Yesterday seems like a million years away – or at least Misha tries to shove it back as far as he can – and he refuses to even think about Jensen in any way. Which is kind of hard when he's sitting in the control room in his lab, where the button bug still sends pictures of Jensen. Misha has reached the point where even if he technically didn't have to watch Jensen all the time, he still wouldn't be able to not do it anyway.

The fact that he also knows that is kind of frightening. Misha hasn’t been faced with any problem like this in quite a while. In years, to be exact.

Currently, Jensen is standing in his kitchen, in his damn distracting sleepwear of a cotton t-shirt and boxers. His hair is messy and still uncombed and a ridiculous fantasy nestles itself into Misha's head - of standing there beside him at the stove, making breakfast, running his hand through that unruly mop of hair. Jensen's lips show a small smile, and Misha almost feels like that one is for him, even though he knows it isn't. It feels weird.

Then again, yesterday. Jensen laying sprawled out on the couch, half-naked – or at least exposed in the section that was essential – with his lips parted softly and moaning out his release. Holy shit, those lips.

Misha sighs and cradles his head in his hands, trying desperately to get his head in gear. Someone apparently had missed sending that particular memo to his brain, though.

So, he did a little more research on Jensen yesterday night. It wasn't difficult, in fact. Jensen is just another regular citizen with not much to hide. As far as Misha has found out, Jensen told him the truth about his parents and siblings and about him living in a small flat downtown before. The guy is really stupidly honest. Misha had no idea why he felt so relieved when he found Jensen's statements to be true.

Misha leans forward in his chair and rests his head against the desk. Oh, he has an idea just fine. If he would just admit it to himself.

Okay, so Jensen is an honest guy, lives next door, has a secure job and college education, and he's also pretty damn hot. Why no one put a ring on him just yet, Misha really has no idea. Really, really no idea this time.

He kind of hopes it's because gay marriage isn't legal in this state. And that thought is scary.

Luckily, the phone pulls him out of his musings. Misha picks up the cordless phone from its charging station beside himself, already rolling his eyes when he sees the caller ID.

“Hey, Mom,” he says flatly.

“Misha! How's it going?”

It's when she sounds that chipper Misha knows she's hiding something. “Great, really great. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you and your plan to take over the world,” she says smugly.

And Misha just had about enough of it. “Mom, listen, you know I don't really have a plan right now. If you keep on asking about it, that won't really solve the problem.”

“I'm just saying, you know,” she quips up. “I think I raised you better than that.”

“I don't really have time for this, you know,” Misha sighs, looking up at his monitors again. To his horror, he can't see Jensen on the surveillance camera anymore. He lost track of him. Well, shit, and thanks Mom.

“I see,” she sighs as well, overly dramatically, “well, I expect to hear from you as soon as you got something.”

With that, she hangs up on him. “Sure, Mom, no pressure at all,” Misha groans and all but slams the phone back onto the charger.

Right then, the doorbell rings.

With another sigh, Misha gets to his feet and hops upstairs from his lab, securing the secret passage and telling the minions to keep quiet – two of them are currently busy throwing a tennis ball back and forth in the kitchen and laughing manically until Misha catches it mid-air and stores it away on top of the kitchen cabinet.

It's Jensen. Of course. Why does it always have to be Jensen? And why does he have to wear an old, worn pair of jeans that rides low on his hips and a threadbare, a bit too washed-out and tight blue t-shirt?

Apparently Misha had his head on that desk for quite some time, or Jensen was just really quick at changing into decent clothes. Jensen also wears glasses today, fashionable horn-rimmed glasses that are a bit smaller than what would be considered nerdy. Which makes him look even more drop-dead gorgeous, as if that is even possible.

Misha can't help it. He smiles at Jensen. “Good morning, neighbor-eeno. What can I do for you today?”

Jensen grins right back, and Misha might as well blink into the sun it's that bright. “Well, good morning to you, too, Flanders. You see, it's a beautiful Sunday morning, and I just wanted to make some Eggs Benedict – until I noticed that without eggs, that is a pretty stupid idea. So, I thought maybe you would be able to help me out with some?”

Jensen tilts his head, and oh, that is just not fair. Not that Misha ever considered telling him to fuck off during this conversation, but damn, those lips, and those deep green eyes are really, really distracting. And now he even notices that Jensen has freckles. Freckles, for crying out loud. Could the guy be any more perfect?

“Yeah, sure,” Misha finds himself nodding absently and heading for the kitchen. And only realizes halfway there that he didn't tell Jensen to wait at the door.

He never, ever, lets people into his house that are not Jared or tiny, yellow minions. A sudden rush of adrenaline makes him stop in the middle of the kitchen and listen for footsteps behind him.

Everything is quiet. Jensen is waiting at the door.

It hits Misha like a brick to the head that he actually wouldn't mind that much if Jensen came in. Still, that would seem weird, offering him to come in now. Misha sighs, opens the fridge to grab two eggs and walks back to the front door.

Jensen is leaning with his shoulder against the frame, hips tilted sideways, which makes his worn t-shirt ride up and show off some pretty delicious hip bone and the distinctive shape of trained abs. Misha has to swallow. Twice.

“There you go,” he says and notices the heavy, rough undercurrent in his voice. He offers his hand with the two eggs to Jensen, who reaches out and carefully takes them from Misha's palm. Their eyes lock, and Jensen has that flirty lopsided smirk on his lips that makes Misha's toes curl.

“Thanks,” Jensen says, his voice a bit raspy, too. Huh. “I'll replace them later, okay?”
Misha shakes his head and smiles. “You made me breakfast yesterday. I'd have to give you a few boxes of eggs in exchange so we would be even.”

This is rewarded with another wide grin and a chuckle from Jensen. Grinning right back and breaking the eye contact, Misha finds himself yet again studying the other man's face, noticing the laugh lines around his eyes and the fact that he has stubble today.

Dammit, he doesn't have the time to go and jerk off again. Not that he didn't already catch up on that particular need in the shower this morning, just to get through a day of watching Jensen via his button bug. That'd make three times in barely 24 hours. Feeling strangely ashamed, Misha looks down at the floor and nods.

“Uhm, so...” Jensen begins, which makes Misha look up and meet his eyes again. “I was wondering-”

“Oh, please don't tell me I need to cut back the apple tree, so it doesn't put your precious petunias into the shade,” Misha grins, and it more or less slipped out. He has a hard time not slapping his hand over his mouth.

Jensen's jaw drops. It takes him a moment of two, in which Misha carefully watches him, already forming an apology in his head – but eventually, Jensen responds with a smile and starts to laugh. A laugh that is so open and warm that it makes Misha's stomach flip. He definitely could get used to hearing Jensen's laughter.

“Look at you making jokes,” Jensen says, eyeing him from head to toe.

This time, the look to the floor is more for emphasis and conversational reasons. “Seriously? Well, believe it or not, but I have indeed got a sense of humor,” he answers. Misha feels quite out of his comfort zone. Then again, this could just be because of Jensen. The guy has that effect on him.

When their eyes meet again, Jensen's expression is barely readable. Misha can see interest sparking up in those green eyes, maybe a sense of mischief, but there's also self-effacement and apprehension. Like Jensen tries to hold himself back, is reluctant to let something shine through.

Misha almost jumps when Jensen clears his throat. “So, as I said... I was thinking you could come over tomorrow? Watch the game?” he asks, almost sounding a bit shy.

“Uhm, I- tomorrow is Monday, right? I mean... yes, football,” Misha stutters. What the hell? He mentally slaps himself and pulls himself back together before continuing. “Yeah, I'd like to,” he says quickly before he gets second thoughts about it. They will come around sooner or later anyway.

Jensen smiles brightly. “Alright, then I'll see you tomorrow at seven?”

“Sure,” is all Misha can manage at this point. He stares wordlessly as Jensen waves as a matter of saying goodbye and jumps down the few stairs of his patio. Jensen's ass in that very becoming pair of jeans is pretty distracting.

Misha swallows and quickly steps inside, closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Unfortunately for him, he completely forgot that Jared is in today. His lab assistant and best friend is leaning in the doorway to the kitchen and watching him with an amused smirk on his lips.

“Care to elaborate there, Misha?” he asks innocently.

“That was Jensen.”

“The Jensen? The new neighbor?”

Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Obviously.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

Now it was Jared's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You just got invited to another human being's house – and yes, I'm emphasizing that because when was the last time that happened? - and you're practically blushing.”

“So?” Misha pipes up.

“Plus, you talked about nothing but Jensen yesterday. And the day before yesterday,” Jared reasons. “And this morning.”

Misha shrugs and tries to slip past Jared, but the guy is just too damn tall and manages to step in Misha's way far too easily.

“Spill,” Jared says, a grin tugging at his lips, but he couldn't sound more serious.

Sighing, Misha leans sideways against the wall of the hallway. “I don't know what you expect me to tell you.”

“What is going on here?” Jared replies in a worried tone. “Because I've known you for years, Misha, and I haven't ever seen you like that with another person. You're like... friendly, and nice, and joking and smiling. You're not even like that to me most of the time! Don't get me wrong, I'm your best friend, and god knows I don't want to flirt with you-”

“I wasn't flirting!” Misha is quick to defend himself, interrupting Jared's word vomit.

Jared's eyebrow raises again in disbelief. He takes a deep breath before he flails his arms into the air and looks awkwardly at everywhere around himself, just not into Misha's eyes as he answers. “'Uhm... no... Jensen, I mean... well... I would be... no, I would love to come over tomorrow!'” he mocks Misha's stuttering and finishes off with his hand entangled in a strand of his floppy brown hair, twirling it around his finger like a girl playing coy and staring at the floor with mock bashfulness.

In spite of himself, Misha begins to laugh loudly at that pretty overacted impersonation.

Jared, on the other hand, drops his hand and the charade in a split second. “Seriously, how is that not flirting?” he asks in his normal voice again, unfazed by Misha's laughter.

“It's not like I stuttered on purpose. I was surprised?” Misha offers with a grin.

Jared just smiles a bit sadly and turns around to head for the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“But don't think I'd give up on the Jensen subject just yet,” Jared says, pointing his index finger at Misha without even looking fully at him.

Misha sighs.

“No, don't-” Jared mock-sighs as well, “It's not like you couldn't use a bit of social contact, Misha. The only person you really talk to is me anyway.”

A barely audible whine interrupts them. Misha and Jared both look down to find one of the minions standing there, tugging at Jared's jeans. “Yeah, you guys count, too,” Jared says placably and reaches down to pat the minion's head. The little guy smiles and cheers instantly and hugs Jared's leg before he runs off with a delighted giggle.

“How did he escape from the lab? I locked the door,” Misha ponders out loud.

“He was upstairs, in the bathroom,” Jared says, a grin spreading on his lips.

Oh, no, Misha thinks. That grin. “What did he...?”

“Oh, nothing much. You might just wanna clean the bathroom and lock up your lube a little better next time,” Jared smirks. “That is, as soon as you buy a new bottle, because the last one is now empty.”

So he forgot the lube in the observation room. Great. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'll take care of that later. Can we do some planning in the lab now?”

“Yeah, why not. Speaking of planning: what are you going to wear tomorrow?” Jared asks and laughs, mischief lighting up his eyes as he ducks out of Misha's range of fire and jumps down the stairs to the lab.

“You are unbelievable, Jared!” Misha yells after him. “I'm talking about my big ass plan to take over world leadership and you-” he shakes his head and jumps after him.

Jared sits down on their small table and kicks a chair out for Misha. Then he even has the nerve to blink up innocently at him. “So, what were we talking about?”

Misha rolls his eyes. “I need a plan, a good one. To make Mystic J realize that I'm still alive and serious competition.”

“Right, okay,” says Jared. “Your midnight-blue button-down would be perfect. Brings out your eyes.”

“I could paint the White House pink or something like that,” Misha muses, having decided to ignore Jared until he gives up.

“-and dark jeans, definitely dark jeans. The pair that makes even me want to slap your ass.”

“Which would also be a great message for LGBT rights and all that, but then again-”

“And we should definitely work on your dating skills, you're rusty.”

“-I'd had to do it in all colors of the rainbow. That could be quite hard to manage.”

“Of course I'd have to take care your hair-”

“It would be hard to separate the colors in the dark. I'd have to work out a system so I don't mess the order up-”

“Can't let you stand there in front of Mr. Perfect stuttering and with your trademark bed head. How could you get laid like that?”

“For crying out loud! We. Are. Just. Watching. Football!” Misha finally snaps, his patience drained.

“Exactly!” Jared yells back and looks at him as if Misha just had the most obvious epiphany. “It's perfect to get to know him!”

“Jared, you know exactly that I can't! This-” Misha throws his arms in the air, gesturing at the lab around them and almost smacks a minion over that stands beside him. He quickly pats him on the head in silent apology. “- I can't let anyone in my life. You know how it ended last time.”

“Yeah, I know. And who says Jensen is like her?” Jared questions and Misha's posture falls. He knows that Jared is right, and that's the sad part.

When Misha is busy staring into space instead of answering, lost in his memories, Jared clears his throat, adding in a much softer and conciliatory voice, “Look, I'm just saying. Jensen seems like a decent guy. Why don't you give it a try? I mean, how long has it been for you?”

Misha responds with a snort and deliberately doesn't answer the question. “I don't even know if he's gay.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jared replies.

Misha still doesn't like that grin on his face. Because it makes his stomach tingle with something like hope. And no, he doesn't want to feel like that. It can only end in heartbreak and pain and that is the last thing Misha needs right now.

"And that would be?" he asks, trying to dub his conflicted feelings.

"You go on your date tomorrow-"

"It's football," Misha groans again, frustrated this time. He will refuse to concede that two men meeting to watch football is a date until the end of his days.

"Fine," Jared rolls his eyes. "You go over there to 'watch football'-", air quotation marks, "- tomorrow and you're gonna be as charming as ever. You already got him to tell you that he's single. There's not much of a stretch from that, right?"

"If you think so," Misha covers his eyes with one hand and rubs circles onto his temple.

Jared sighs and Misha can see from the corners of his eyes how his shoulders slump down. "You won't even consider giving it a try."

"Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Misha drops his hand and their eyes lock over the table. The epic staring contest that ensues ends up with no real winner on one side or the other. It's interrupted by a minion - not the one Misha almost whacked across his head before, but actually one with two eyes - who tugs at his sleeve. "Mee-ma?" he asks, his mouth drawn down in an unhappy expression.

Misha eyes him confused. "I'm not your grandma," he teases with a lopsided smile, although he knows that it is the minions' manner to call him by his name. They can't pronounce it any better.

"Mee-ma?" the minion says again, more urgently as he pokes Misha's thigh with his other hand before turning around and pointing at the lab. At the test area of the lab, to be exact.

Misha rises instantly, knowing that there is something going on. His minion guides him to a table where a bunch of other minions are busy shuffling around, bouncing on and off the chairs around it.

"What's going on here, guys?" Misha asks, and a look over his shoulder tells him Jared is following him.

The minions giggle and scatter away from the table to hide in the depths of the lab as Misha approaches. When they're gone, Misha sees what they have been 'working' on before he interrupted them.

It's a bomb.

One of his newly developed bombs. The ones that have the impact of a smoke grenade, but the smoke they leave is pink and smells of fresh flowers and spreads a psychic drug in the system of the people inhaling it. It messes with their brain, just for a little while. And in the most hilarious way, to say the least. If there is one chemical out there that can turn people gay for a few hours, it's this one. Misha squirms a bit at the memory of two minions going at it in the test chamber. Even though they can't reproduce in the regular way, it's not really a pleasant thought.

The bomb is also painted.

In bright pink letters that still shine wetly, there's "J <3 M" written across it.

Misha facepalms.

"Wait until I get you!" he shouts in the direction of where the minions have vanished seconds ago, but there's not much venom in his voice.

Jared takes one look at the bomb and cracks up instantly, doubling over and laughing like crazy. He has tears in his eyes by the time he manages to cough, “Even the guys know it! Oh this is priceless!” and has to hold on to the table because he's shaking so much with laughter.

Misha grumbles, but in the end, there's a smirk on his face, too. Because the minions are hiding around the corner, carefully eyeing him and Jared and seemingly discussing the matter in their own babbling language. When they sense that he gives up and smiles gently at them, they cheer and make kissy faces at him, pointing sideways. In the direction of Jensen's house.

They're rooting for Misha.

It's just utterly endearing.

Misha sighs and looks at Jared, who stands beside him. His laughter has changed to a soft chuckle. “Well, then. I'll do it. But I have dibs on the 'I told you so' when it doesn't work.”

“If it doesn't work,” Jared says, before he breaks into another big grin, leaps forward and hugs Misha. “I don't have the feeling you'll regret this. Doesn't matter how it turns out. Trust me.”

Patting Jared's back awkwardly as his face is mushed against Jared's shoulder, Misha nods. And sighs again.

And smiles, eventually. He really hasn't been out for a long time. He's kind of looking forward to it.

Jared's friendly embrace feels good, but Misha can't help but think of green eyes and a freckled nose and spiky blonde hair instead of the brown floppy strands tickling his nose.
“So, can we get back to planning now?” Misha asks quietly as he leans backwards.

“Sure. Which plan first?” Jared nods as he lets go of Misha and subsequently returns to the table.

Misha follows him and flops down on his previous chair. “Let's get back to painting the White House pink.”

“That's barely a prank and you know it,” Jared eyes him carefully, his eyebrows raised.

Misha moans. “It's hard to come up with a good plan these days. Have you got a better idea?”

“Should it be a political statement?”

“I don't know. Anything without a political statement is a prank. So, yes.”

They sit there, both resting their chin in their hands and thinking for a few minutes. The room is eerily silent except for a few minions fighting over a banana in the back.

“Yeah, I got nothing,” Jared says after a while.

“Me neither,” Misha replies and rubs both hands over his face. It's not much of a surprise that they can't think of any plan. It's more like what they have to deal with on a daily basis, especially lately.

Misha feels like he's standing beside himself anyway. All he can think about is Jensen and the laugh lines around his green eyes and the freckles on his nose and that he has a date with him tomorrow. What he doesn't know is what to expect. Or what to hope, for that matter. If he should hope at all.

“I've got a name for our new bombs, though,” Jared grins.

“Yes?” Misha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Spill it, Padalecki.”

“The J&Ms.”

Misha throws a ball of wadded paper at his head.

***

Monday turns out to be one crazy day, even without having to watch Jensen all day. Because as opposed to Misha, he has a job.

Which means that Misha sees him leaving the house at 7 a.m. in a suit and tie. Sometimes, life is just not fair. And watching Jensen in a suit and not being able to touch is definitely not fair. The guy is just too good looking. Especially in a suit.

Misha tries to waste the day away with cleaning the house – well, mainly cleaning the bathroom, where everything is slick and covered in lube – putting a bit of the stuff that belongs to the lab back in the lab while keeping the minions at bay. Jared will come in at about lunchtime, and Misha sincerely hopes that he is done then. He also dusts off the morning star and sword in his living room, and vacuums the place. It's strange how much dirt the minions drag in on a daily basis, even though they're not even allowed outside the lab. They still manage to get into the house too often.

By the time Jared arrives, Misha is busy cooking stew.

The afternoon is spent on developing a new sub-basement rocket launcher – for the J&Ms, and yes, Misha decided to keep the name – and Jared even has the decency to not mention Misha's date every two seconds.

God knows it's all Misha can think about anyway.

Around five o'clock, a minion runs up to Misha and tugs at his hand. “Jen!” the little guy says urgently.

As it turns out, Jensen just returned from work, looking a little exhausted. Misha watches him through his button bug yet again, but the battery is already dangerously low. He might have to take another one of the bugs over to Jensen's that evening.

Jensen goes out for an after-work run then, clad in shorts and a white wifebeater, and Misha is back to his train of thought where life is not fair. When he returns half an hour later, sweaty and his short hair sticking to his forehead, Misha watches him from the kitchen window while leaning against the counter. He sighs deeply.

“Six o'clock,” Jared says from behind him. Misha didn't even hear him come in.

“Yes,” he replies absent-mindedly and watches Jensen jump up to his own patio.

“So, your – appointment – is in an hour-”

“Yes, Jared, you are finally allowed to make a fuss about it,” Misha agrees, unable to suppress a small smile. He can't exactly say that he didn't look forward to this point.

“Great!” Jared claps his hands together. “Then off you go. Take a shower!”

“I showered this morning,” Misha objects while tilting his head to the side.

“Sure, but you're going on a date, so get your ass into the bathroom,” Jared says pointedly but patiently, and adds, “Oh, and I need full access to your bedroom.”

Reluctantly, Misha hands him the key to his bedroom. Ever since the Great Lube Misuse Incident of 2012, he keeps it locked.

“Good,” Jared nods and shoos Misha upstairs and into the bathroom.

The short shower feels good and helps Misha relax a bit, which is more than necessary.

When he returns to his bedroom, he finds Jared with an outfit laid out for him on his bed.

“I think it'll fit perfectly,” he explains, “C'mon, try it on.”

With an incredulous look, Misha drops the towel he was using to cover himself and slips into his favorite orange boxer-briefs. The pants Jared selected are a pair of dark blue jeans that sit pretty tight. It's his neatest pair, and Misha knows how good he looks in them. The outfit is completed by an ocean blue button-down that, again, fits really tight. Misha could go out dressed like this, yet it still looks casual enough to pass as appropriate for watching football.

Misha feels good dressed like this.

“Now, we need to do something about your hair. Bathroom, now,” Jared orders and Misha gladly obeys. He doesn't care a lot about his hair styling these days, but Jared being the straight but long-haired guy here clearly does. Misha blow-dries his hair and watches in the mirror as Jared covers his hands in hair wax and runs them through his dark strands. When he is finished, Misha has to admit that his hair looks artfully mussed without seeming so intentionally.

“Thanks, Jared,” Misha says truly gratefully as they walk down the stairs and towards the main entrance. He exhales deeply.

“No problem. You ready?” Jared asks, patting his shoulder.

“No, not really, but - alrighty then," Misha huffs nervously and turns towards the door. "Almost seven o'clock, I think I can go over without seeming... I don't know."
Jared says nothing in return.

Misha suddenly turns back to Jared and frowns. "I can't go over there," he whines and feels pathetic and insecure and basically everything he doesn't want to feel like, because he's a supervillain, and supervillains don't get buck fever. Not from having a date anyway. Or watching football, whatever.

"Misha, don't make me give you another lecture."

Misha uses his puppy eyes. They have no effect on Jared. There is a reason why Jared is his best friend, in the end, because he could always call Misha's bullshit. Sighing, he drops his head to his chest in defeat and is speechless for a moment while Jared's arms wrap around his shoulders.

"C'mon, Mish, have some confidence. We've talked about this."

"It's just... I don't want to throw myself out there. It's like begging to get ripped to shreds. There are so many variables in this plan, it is doomed to fail from the beginning," Misha says quietly. “I don't know what to hope any more, you know.”

Jared just holds him close, his voice a deep, soft rumble that never fails to calm Misha down. "It will only fail if you don't give it a chance. And I still don't think it will. I mean, I saw you in the kitchen earlier. Don't think I didn't notice how you look at him and don't even try to bullshit me about it, okay?"

Misha rests his head at Jared's shoulder while carefully trying not to ruin his hair. He doesn't reply anything, and he knows that's answer enough for Jared.

"And don't think I didn't notice the way he looks at you," Jared adds silently, running his hand soothingly up and down Misha's back.

"What?" Misha snaps up, taken by surprise.

"Remember the camera you installed at the front door?"

"Yes...?"

"Remember that observation room you've got in the lab?"

"Did you-"

"Yup."

"I hate you, Jared."

"I know. Now go get him, tiger," and with that and a laugh, Jared grabs Misha's shoulders firmly and shoves him out of the door.

"If only," Misha mutters under his breath. He carefully straightens his shirt and saunters over to Jensen's house to push the button of the door bell.

"Misha!" he suddenly hears Jared shout from behind him. "You forgot something!" and he holds up a six-pack of beer.

After checking that Jensen isn't already standing behind the door, Misha quickly jumps back into his own garden, where Jared meets him half-way and hands over the six-pack. “Thanks, Jare. Again.”

"Don't mention it and have fun," says Jared with a wink and returns to the house.

Smiling slightly, Misha walks to Jensen's front door, where the other man already waits for him. "Hey," Jensen greets him with a wide grin before he nods towards Jared disappearing into Misha's house. "Who's Mr. Beer-Supplier over there?"

"That's Jared, my best friend. And occasionally my living memory mechanism," Misha chuckles. "And good afternoon to you too, Sir."

"Come on in," Jensen just says, still grinning, and steps aside to let Misha in.

Only then Misha realizes that not only had Jensen obviously had a shower as well - which might have been kind of necessary after the run anyway – but he also has done his hair. Not the usual, product-free or messed-up state that Misha is used to, and not the slicked-back style he had this morning when he went to work. Just actually groomed and spiky and hands-down incredibly hot. Jensen wears a Led Zeppelin bandshirt that is clearly well-worn and comfy and jeans, and pads bare-footed through the house. Misha refuses to think that he actually dressed up for the occasion, but there's this nagging voice in his head that constantly reminds him of Jensen's hair. Jensen's really nice, really tempting-to-run-your-hand-through-it hair.

Misha is doomed and he knows it, but he still manages to hand over the beer. Jensen is quick to place the bottles in the fridge.

"Is the game already on? Not that we missed the kick-off," Misha asks, just to have said something and not just stand there staring stupidly at Jensen. Which is a tempting activity for the evening, he has to admit. Pretty hard to resist.

"Nah. Game starts in about half an hour," Jensen replies reassuringly and hands a bottle of beer, an already cooled and opened one, to Misha.

"Which is your favorite team, by the way?" Misha asks innocently.

"I got two... the Mavericks and the Cowboys," Jensen grins.

"Well, then here's to the Mavericks winning tonight," Misha toasts and raises his bottle.

"That's basketball, dude," Jensen just grins some more.

"Oh," Misha swallows and tries hard not to curse.

Jensen still clinks his bottle against Misha's before he takes a swig of it. Misha quickly mirrors it, but his nerves get the better of him. "Listen, I don't really watch sports that much, so I'm sorry if-"

"Relax, it's fine," Jensen pats him on the back. “I still like to watch whatever game is on TV, doesn't need to be a game of my favorite team. I just tend to be a little louder when one of them is on.”

An awkward smile returns to Misha's face, but he still feels way off his game here. He can't really think of something to say in reply to that and is quite glad when Jensen is the one who breaks the silence.

"It's just a nice way to kick back after work, you know," he explains. "You up for some pizza?"

"Yes, of course," Misha nods. "Whatever you like. I eat pretty much anything, just FYI."

"Even anchovies and garlic and pepperoni?" Jensen shoots him a challenging look.

"Sure, why not," Misha shrugs, grinning.

"You have no idea what you got yourself into." And with that, Jensen turns to the living room, waves at Misha to wait in the kitchen. He can't make out what Jensen is ordering, but at least he can be sure it'll be interesting. When Jensen returns, there's a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Should I give you the tour?" he asks, gesturing around the house.

It's not like Misha hasn't seen the whole house through his button bug already, but he nods.

The house is clean, even now that he sees it with his own eyes. Jensen's stuff is neatly stacked away in tasteful, classy furniture that manages to be both handy and still lets the house seem lived-in. It feels warm and like a real home. There's a spacious, modern bathroom, which Jensen explains was renovated before he moved in. They make small talk, about the house, when it was built, what Jensen renovated in here and why he wanted to move here. Turns out, it's not only the neighborhood but mostly the cut of the house. Misha can't help but stare at Jensen's lips, the sinuous curve of them as they move, full and plush and so kissable that it almost hurts to hold himself back. He listens to the smooth rumble of Jensen's deep voice, loves the tone of it, the way he talks, the way just a barely noticeable smile alters his voice to something that feels rather like warm, golden honey.

Misha could do this all day. If Jensen's green eyes weren't watching him so intently all the time, that is. With that damn amused sparkle in them that makes Misha shudder pleasantly to his bones.

He has to take a deep breath when they reach the master bedroom, which sports a king-sized bed and a built-in wardrobe that covers the whole wall opposite the balcony. A balcony with a set of chairs and a table to sit outside, and the sudden picture of having breakfast out there at sunrise settles uncomfortably in Misha's brain.

He knows he can't have it, and yet he still yearns for it like he didn't for anything in a long time.

They say when you look at houses or flats, you have to imagine and ponder if your stuff would fit in there. Not just fit by having enough space to put it in there, but if you can see yourself there, living there, your furniture standing around there, your pictures covering the walls. And Misha can definitely see himself here - standing in the kitchen, making breakfast like Jensen did the day before yesterday, or sharing the shower with him in the morning - and that thought is just utterly scary.

The living room isn't equipped with a decorative morning star over the couch and Misha feels like his own would look great hanging there.

Not that he doesn't like his own place. He loves his own place, for that matter. But here, everything seems so normal and regular, mostly because of the lack of any minions TP-ing the couch table. Misha does miss the craziness a bit, though. He finds himself wondering what Jensen's personal bit of craziness in life might be.

If Jensen notices his glances and the frown on his face, he doesn't say anything. He just smiles that constant, warm smile at Misha that makes his stomach flutter.
Luckily, the living room is the last room of the tour, and Jensen flops down on the cushions with his beer in hand right when the game starts. Misha sits down beside him, tries to sit not too close and invade Jensen's personal space, but not too far away to seem awkward.

"I think you might have to explain a bit to me about football, because I seriously have no clue what the hell they're doing there," Misha smiles at him, emptying the beer bottle because the tour has cost him quite frankly a couple nerves and demanded plenty of alcohol.

"Okay," Jensen says, serious as can be, and points at the TV, "That right there was the kick-off."

Misha can still see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips and grins. "No shit, Sherlock."

Jensen chuckles. The sound still doesn't fail to amaze Misha with how soft and warm it is. Calmly, Jensen starts to explain the rules of the game and though Misha listens mostly, he ends up yet again focused on Jensen's lips.

Until the doorbell rings.

“Must be the pizza,” Jensen says and jumps to his feet. “Don't even dare to offer me money, I invited you,” he adds firmly on his way out of the room, apparently not having missed that Misha reached for the wallet in his pocket.

Misha sighs and gives in.

When Jensen returns and presents the pizza box to Misha, he screws his face up reflexively. “What the fuck did you make them put on that poor pizza?”

Jensen quirks an eyebrow at him, obviously surprised by Misha's choice of words. “Well, you said that you'd eat anything. Anything being anchovies, olives, onions, capers and pepperoni here.”

“I take this is your way of testing if I'm friend material?” Misha looks up questioningly and Jensen laughs at him. “Bring it.”

“You want another beer to wash that down?” Jensen asks after placing the box on the coffee table.

“Yes, please.”

Still smiling, Jensen leaves the room and gives Misha plenty of time to watch him stroll down the few feet to the kitchen, watch the languid sway of his hips – and damn, if the curve of Jensen's lips is sensuous, then the curve of his ass is downright dirty. Somehow Misha manages to keep a straight face during all of this and thanks Jensen when he returns with two fresh bottles of beer and two plates for their pizza.

The pizza smells far from delicious, but after the first bite of it, Misha moans appreciatively.

“Truth be told, it's better than I thought,” he admits and takes another large bite of it.

Jensen looks over, studies him for a moment, then slowly begins to grin. “Congrats, you passed.”

“The friend-material test?” Misha asks, locking eyes with Jensen and raising his eyebrow.

“Obviously. Because this is my favorite combination of pizza topping ever. And I've only ever got it in one single pizzeria in this town.”

Misha chuckles amused and resumes chewing. “I get that other people have failed before me, then?” he asks after a short beat.

Jensen nods absent-mindedly. “More like pretended that it was edible when they rather wanted to spit it out again instantly. You didn't look like that at all, and I noticed that usually people's acting skills leave them at the first bite into this pizza.”

“I like it, I do,” Misha says with a grin and helps himself to a second slice, which earns him an amused smile from Jensen.

They eat in silence, occasionally taking a sip from their beer, and the comfortable atmosphere remains thoroughly unbroken. Jensen throws in bits and pieces to explain some more football rules, and they clink their bottles to celebrate each touchdown.

It's not really the game that makes Misha relax so much, it's just the way they both lounge on the sofa, stretched out, Jensen's feet propped up on the coffee table, so comfortable in each other's presence. It's the way Jensen is with him right now, like a friend, nudging his shoulder every now and then to get Misha's attention and tell him something about the game. Misha feels ten kinds of weird because of it and tries desperately not to over-think this. Smirking at him, green eyes sparkling, Jensen sits beside Misha, arm lazily placed on top of the back rest.

If Misha over-thought this, he might as well wonder if Jensen is deliberately flirting or not.

He really tries not to think about it. When the football game goes into half-time, Jensen shoots Misha a short look. “Would you mind if I changed to the news?”

“Not at all,” Misha smiles. “I'd usually watch it myself at this time.”

Jensen nods in understanding and pushes the button on the remote. NBC has just begun with broadcasting the news.

The anchorman looks directly into the camera before he resumes reading the current message. “The state of New York has signed the law to legalize gay marriage this day. Subsequently, a group of opponents to the new legislation has gathered in front of the White House. Here is the live update from our reporter on location -”

Misha can't help but snort as the camera shows off a group of at least forty people standing at the gates of the White House, carefully watched by the Secret Service and some DC Metro policemen. They bear signs with messages like 'God hates fags' and 'Homosexuality is a crime', and those are just the milder examples, waving them through the air as they shout in unison at the White House.

“Ignorant assholes,” Jensen mutters into his non-existent beard.

“Yeah, seconded,” Misha adds, “Where the hell is the oh-so-great Kapt'n Kripke at events like this, huh? Just a damn homophobe like those guys there.”

“Word,” Jensen just says and holds his fist towards Misha.

Without hesitating for a single second, he curls his own fingers into a fist and bumps it.

The meaning of it all falls into place right then. “So you support gay marriage?” Misha asks tentatively, hope settling in the pit of his stomach, letting tingles run up his spine.

“'Course I do,” Jensen shrugs, “Doesn't mean I'd want to marry a woman or a man, but I'm all for treating everyone equally.”

Misha eyes him carefully, trying to find the words and the courage to ask. “It would be awesome to legalize it just to troll these guys,” he says instead and nods at the TV.

“Isn't trolling something different?” Jensen asks, one eyebrow rising towards his hairline. The sparks in his eyes are mesmerizing, suggesting something more behind the words.

“Well. Yes, I guess trolling would rather be stand up to them and kiss another man in front of them,” Misha admits, holding Jensen's gaze despite how intense his eyes shine by now.

“Would you?” Jensen replies quietly, daringly, after a short moment or two. His tone is careful, and Misha's heart jumps at the thought that he's testing the waters here as well.

“Kiss another guy? Sure,” Misha smiles lopsided and looks down into his lap. He can't stand Jensen's eyes right now. “In front of those people? Yes, if he agreed.”

“So you're saying...”

“- that I'm bi,” Misha finishes Jensen's sentence.

“Huh.”

“What 'huh'?”

“Me too,” Jensen replies nonchalantly. This time, Misha can no longer look away from him, his eyes drawn like a magnet to Jensen. The other man sits there and fidgets with a piece of fluff on his jeans-clad leg, and damn, a grown man shouldn't be allowed to look so fucking cute.

Misha doesn't answer. Any answer of any kind right then would seem weird and awkward and pathetic. Or worse - needy. So all he does is hold his fist towards Jensen like Jensen had done before.

When Jensen doesn't respond immediately, Misha wiggles it invitingly. “Bump it, you know you want to,” he almost sing-songs.

“Dunno, is there any code of gay-fistbumping involved that I don't know of?” Jensen teases, grinning. He looks almost smug.

“You could always hook your pinky into mine when we're done, but that's too gay even for me. Also, you might wanna rephrase that sentence,” Misha deadpans.

Jensen laughs, his voice again so smooth and pleasant to just listen to. Disturbingly enough, Misha could quickly get used to hearing that sound, even finds himself craving to hear it more often. When their fists connect and both of them subsequently spread their fingers to an exploding fistbump, they both begin to laugh again.
Jensen even hooks his pinky into Misha's then. Not without a daring smirk, though. No matter how hard it gets, Misha holds his gaze and doesn't let go. He waits for the moment to go by, but has no such luck.

Eventually, Jensen sighs while he lets go. “So, how was high school?” he asks and raises an eyebrow.

“Don't get me started on that,” Misha rolls his eyes. “They found out about it when I was a sophomore. Caught me in the closet with another guy. Literally. And the rest is history,” he shrugs and breaks the eye contact. Those are not really memories he likes to dig up. “And for you?”

“I was 'straight' back then,” Jensen says, complete with the air quotation marks, “No one questioned me when I went to the supply closet with some guy while I was openly dating the head cheerleader. It was her who outed me in my senior year, though, because she thought she could get some kind of revenge on me. Please, as if.”

“What did you do?”

“Let's just say, I made her regret it. I'm a bit of a prankster, to be honest. And I wouldn't let her ruin my prom, so I went there with the guy I was sleeping with at the time and believe me when I say I had more fun there than her,” Jensen grins.

“A prankster, huh?” Misha reciprocates the grin.

“Yeah, so?”

Misha sighs, his lips torn to a melancholy smile, “I could have used someone like you back then. Instead I just took all the insults. I even signed up for Appalachian clogging during PE so they wouldn’t have to go out of their way.”

“Appalachian clogging?” Jensen asks back, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “What even is that?”

“Promise, you don't wanna know,” Misha winks. “What can I say, it was high school and I was desperate.”

At that, Jensen throws his head back and bursts into laughter and all Misha can think about – between his own shaking fits – is the way his neck looks, so kissable with light stubble, and the way his lips are parted and the warm, soft rumble of his laughter floods the room.

Damn, Misha wants to kiss him senseless, and if it wasn't already abundantly clear how gone he was for this guy at this point, it is now. He has to take a deep breath before he can look into Jensen's moss-green eyes again.

They go on chatting and laughing throughout the rest of the game and only when the late night news gets broadcast with the same news as before, about the protests, Jensen pipes up. “Someone really should play a good prank on those guys. I mean seriously.”

“I've been waiting for someone to paint the White House pink for years,” Misha grins.

“Or in rainbow colors. Or paint something else in rainbow colors,” Jensen laughs, slapping his thigh.

“And then make out in front of it. With a same-sex partner, obviously.”

They fist-bump again before catching each other's eye and laughing. Misha can't remember the last time he had so much fun. But it feels weird, somehow. Just the day before yesterday, Misha watched the man he's currently hanging out and kicking back with masturbating and fingering himself on this very sofa. And jerked off to it, multiple times, because the picture was so damn hot. And Jensen, now that he has all the time to look at him, really look at him, is incredibly handsome. The fact that he's also incredibly nice and friendly makes Misha almost flush from embarrassment, because he's watched that private, intimate moment. Misha quickly drowns the uprising blush and his messed-up feelings with a few good gulps of his beer.

Later that night, after one more beer, Jensen walks Misha to the door.

And Misha all but trips over the words already laying on the tip of his tongue. 'I had so much fun tonight, wanna go on a second date?' But then again, he wasn't a girl and this wasn't a date and all of this was seriously messed up.

“So, you wanna see a real Mavericks game?” Jensen asks tentatively standing in the door frame, while Misha is busy slipping on his shoes in the hallway.

“Why not? When is the next one?” he returns the question.

“This Friday.”

Deciding to just go with his gut, Misha smiles and steps towards Jensen, looking him squarely in the eye. “Okay, then Friday it is. My place this time.”

“Thanks, I'll be there,” Jensen accepts with an enthusiastic nod. “Eight o'clock.”
“It's a date,” Misha grins, and suddenly the air between them is vibrating. It slipped out, it wasn't meant to be said – not like this, it's just a figure of speech. He didn't mean a date, of course he didn't. Still, there's Jensen, standing right in front of Misha, merely inches separating them. A blush is rising on Misha's cheeks and he feels like being in high school all over again.

It takes quite some self-restraint to not squeal or jump back when Jensen smiles even wider and reaches out to hug Misha. The feeling settling in his stomach is weird. Sudden affection hits Misha like a brick to the head, and he carefully angles his crotch away from Jensen, because damn – he can feel each muscle of Jensen's broad chest rippling under the fabric of his shirt, his trained biceps bulging the sleeve, Jensen's skin soft where he brushes Misha's. Without making a conscious decision, Misha wraps his arms around Jensen's neck, holds him close. It's a reflex, that's all. Or so Misha tells himself.

“Good night, Misha,” Jensen says quietly, and his voice is strangely low and raspy. He clears his throat immediately after finishing the sentence.

“Sleep tight,” Misha answers, squeezing Jensen one more time before letting go of his neck and leaning back from the hug.

With that ever-present warm smile, Jensen watches Misha hop down the stairs and leave for his own house. They share one last look and a quick wave before Misha slips through the doorway. His heart thunders in his chest at what feels like twice its usual rate and he feels completely off his game. Pleasantly aroused, yes, but totally thrown off balance.

He is greeted by a bunch of minions behind the door. They whisper to themselves, gesturing around and babbling. When Misha closes the door behind himself, they all turn to him, start to babble and make questioning noises.

“It was a nice date, and I didn't mess up,” Misha says, a bit proud.

The minions cheer and whistle loudly, some showing off a little victory dance. One of them in the front row raises his eyebrows and makes kissy noises.

“No, I didn't kiss him, Joe.”

“Awww,” Joe announces and lets his head drop onto his chest.

Misha sighs quite contently before ushering the minions back into the lab and heading upstairs. He needs a shower. And jerking off. Now.

***

"Mind if I join you?"

It's Tuesday afternoon. Jensen has just returned from work and is heading for a run. That is, until Misha jumped in his way and is now watching him with his head tilted sideways and a smile on his lips. He wears shorts, running shoes and a gray, worn AC/DC shirt that is hanging wide around his frame, but not failing to show off his slender figure. Jensen tries hard not to check him out that blatantly and probably fails miserably.

"No, not at all. But just to warn you, I usually run for at least half an hour, so-" Jensen manages, but is quickly interrupted.

"I may be out of shape, but half an hour I can do," Misha grins at him. Then he turns around to run down the sidewalk. "I used to run marathons, you know."

"You did?" Jensen finds himself gaping and falling into step beside his neighbor.

"Yes, I love running. I just... stopped, some time ago, I guess. It's hard to get your ass off the couch when you've got no motivation to."

Jensen shoots him a short glance, noticing the tense look on Misha's face. Yes, he thinks he can relate to what it's like. Being 'unemployed', or speaking in supervillain-manner, not finding anything to do, no prank to play, no epic heist, nothing of that ilk at all. Huffing out a short
chuckle, Jensen punches Misha's upper arm good-naturedly and not really hard. "Well, then it's time to get back to it, I'd say," he says lightly.

A smile returns to Misha's lips and he waves Jensen off to the side. "C'mon, I'll show you my favorite route."

While Jensen only had time to explore and scout around the neighborhood, running his laps around the block, Misha has lived here for years already and knows his way around. They make it through a beautiful park, even into a picturesque small forest area. The weather is perfectly sunny with a mild summer breeze and everything around him makes Jensen relax and breathe in the fresh, clean air. He is also very aware of the fact that a goofy grin seems to be glued to his face, but he's just unable to not smile. Truth of the matter is, he hasn't felt so free and well in some time, almost feels the tension physically ooze out of him, even if the image is quite gross. Also, there's Misha. Misha with his stupidly blue eyes, his plush lips hanging open and gasping for air as he runs beside Jensen, their elbows touching occasionally. Sweat is running down Misha's forehead, making his dark, short hair curl where it sticks to his skin.

Jensen's heart almost does that not-literal skip of a beat that has nothing to do with the exertion of running.

"Stretching break," Misha announces when they made it through the piece of forest and reach a small bench.

Misha hauls his foot up the back rest of the bench and begins his exercises, Jensen following suit. They help each other stretch the front of their thighs, holding onto each other's shoulder to keep the balance in mutual understanding. And if Jensen lets his hand rest on
Misha's shoulder a bit longer than is strictly necessary, well, then that's that. After a few minutes, they're done and return home to their peaceful suburb.

When they run back into their street, Jensen wonders for the first time in ages. Scratch that, he wishes. Wishes that this would be normal, that there wouldn't be a difficult and corrupted world out there that needed to be taught its lesson by a bunch of heroes and villains, that this was all they were... living a normal, quiet life in the suburbs and going for a run after work, Misha and him.

They walk the remaining couple hundred feet, calming their breathing and gulping in as much air as possible. When Jensen looks at the watch on his wrist, it turns out they were away for almost an hour. On some kind of silent agreement, they stop in front of Misha's place, and he obviously has a hard time finding the right words.

"'s that motivation enough for you?" Jensen offers to put him out of his misery.

"What do you- I mean, uhm..." Misha sucks in another deep breath, still not completely calm.

"Motivation to get your pretty little ass off the sofa," Jensen winks.

Misha gapes at him and tries to disguise it with still-catching-his-breath. Jensen almost believes it.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place. I'd be very disappointed if you don't show up," Jensen adds before he turns towards his house. "See you, Misha!"

He is only able to hear a muffled "Yeah, see you" from behind and grins quietly to himself. One might have called it smug, but - he just did get Misha to A.) come out of his shell a bit B.) make him stutter adorably and C.) manage to get him completely flustered. And damn if that isn't a good thing.

***

On Wednesday, they explore a different course that includes a bit more forest. Conversation flows nice and easy, about the world and their moms and everything in between. Turns out they aren't that different. Jensen had a weird day at work, and Misha laughs his ass off at his impersonation of arguing co-workers.

“I don't know if I can be there tomorrow,” Misha says once they returned to their houses. “I've got an important appointment in the afternoon and no idea how long it'll take.”

“Job interview?” Jensen asks back.

“Kinda,” Misha shrugs. “I don't wanna jinx it.”

“Sure,” Jensen nods and slaps Misha's shoulder encouragingly. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

***

On Thursday, Misha finds a Tupperware box on his porch when he takes the paper in.

It's red and there's a post-it note sticking on top of it.

Good luck for your interview! I promise there are no bottle caps in these, just chocolate chips. - J. - PS: The second one is for Jared.

Misha reads it twice before he opens the box with a wide grin. Two delicious smelling chocolate chip muffins are placed in there, and they look homemade. And fuck, but Misha can't help but grin widely, reading the note once again. Jensen baked good-luck muffins for him. After searching and pondering for a while, Misha sticks the post-it to the inside of a kitchen cabinet, where Jared won't find it and the minions won't reach it.

Then he makes a cup of coffee, sits down on his garden terrace and has breakfast. The muffin is juicy and chocolate-y and just allover delicious. Misha hums contently and blesses his decision to sleep in today. He was always particularly nervous before an appointment with the Bank of Evil, but today, he feels quite calm.

Jensen's small present might have something to do with that.

It's disturbing, somehow, to feel so emotionally attracted to a guy he has already seen masturbating. But now that they're slowly getting to know each other, it feels just weird to already have the knowledge of how Jensen looks when he comes, how his mouth looks when his lips go slack and how the moan sounds that subsequently drops from them- okay, those thoughts are not helpful at the moment.

Lost in thought, Misha stares into his garden, which is pretty messy and overgrown. Maybe he should get the lawnmower out again. Then again... he leans his head against the back rest of the garden chair and sighs. There's so much to do. But he still has a couple hours left and he has to start somewhere eventually. So, a bit of mindless work to distract himself? Well, then.

After carrying the plate and empty cup back to the kitchen, Misha slips into an old t-shirt and jeans that are ripped at the knee and starts up the lawnmower, which earns him some weird glances from the minions. They're standing in the living room, watching him through the windows. Misha only notices them shortly, then turns back to his work. He wants to get lost in the work, in his thoughts. He definitely doesn't want to think about the Bank of Evil and even less about eyes that are just as green as the deep, lush grass that he cuts right now. The smell of it is stark, and Misha smiles to himself. Freshly cut grass with a side of the lawnmower's fumes always reminds him of his childhood home, of his mom mowing the grass in the flaring summer heat while he sat on the front porch, enjoying the warmth. Good times.

Unfortunately, the grass is also brown and withered in several places. The apple tree definitely needs a good trim. And Misha doesn't even want to start with the fuchsia bushes. They're not only overgrown, they've developed their own shape, imitating something between a sheep and a fluffy kitten. A very fluffy kitten, probably an exploded one.

Misha sighs and gets the other garden tools, a rake for the grass and hedge clippers for the fuchsia bushes. The tree is too much work, he'd cut it another day. But for now, the bushes and the lawn are enough.

It takes Misha nearly two hours to let the garden seem less savaged and more like a normal landscaping. There's still much work to do, but for now, he needs a shower and needs to get ready for the Bank of Evil. The thought of that alone makes him groan as he shoves the minions back into the lab – seriously, how are they getting out constantly? - and showers. The whole being naked and nervous thing brings him back to his other big problem of these days.

Jensen.

How - scratch that - why did he invite Jensen over to his place? Jensen had a perfectly comfortable living room and a perfectly functional TV. Just because Jensen had invited him over first, doesn't mean Misha has to return the favor. Or does it? It just felt like the right thing to say at the time.

Misha rubs his hair dry with a towel and moans. He is so screwed.

But one problem at a time. He grabs his good pin-striped suit and vest, adds a black button-down and a bright purple tie. Purple is evil, and Misha totally pulls this outfit off. With his hair artfully mussed, Misha makes his way down to the garage, where his trusty ride is waiting for him.

The Bank of Evil is not a place you can visit easily. It's only accessible through the back door of an inconspicuous Italian restaurant in a remote corner of the city. The owner is, of course, a retired villain - not a very successful one, obviously - who looks the part, complete with dark bushy eyebrows and black hair. Despite his intimidating glare and dark look, Misha greets him with a friendly smile, ignores his frown and immediately heads for the men's room. After a scan of the iris of his eye and of his fingertip, the wall slides aside and reveals a hallway that's completely decorated in red and gold, overly pompous if Misha was to be asked. Despite all the luxury, the 'formerly known as Lehman Brothers' sign is still hanging on the wall. Misha snorts.

The Bank of Evil is also not a place you willingly want to visit.

For one, there are douchebags all over the place. Younger villains that seem to think that they know it all are hanging out in the waiting area, showing off and making asses of themselves. Second, seeing all this depresses Misha. Third, the bank manager is an asshole.

And today, Misha is already rolling his eyes when he takes his first step through the door.

Chad is there.

And Chad is the most obnoxious, stupid, vulgar idiot who ever pretended to be something resembling evil.

Needless to say, Misha doesn't like him very much.

"Look at that! It's still alive," Chad smirks and falls into step at Misha's side. "Hey, still not convinced that retirement would be the highly recommended way to go for you?"

Misha doesn't even deign to look at him.

Chad raises an eyebrow, mocking Misha. "Oh, I see, right, we're at the Bank, so there's a new, big-ass plan from Mischievous Misha comin' up? Dude, give up. Never gonna reach my level of awesomeness."

Misha snorts. Even that is too much of a response for Chad.

"Least of all with a name like that. Mischievous Misha, please. That's so 90s."

Says 'The Chadster', Misha thinks and finally snaps back at Chad. "Fuck off."

"Aren't you the one who should tell me to wash my mouth with soap after using words like that, old man?"

Misha ignores him, shoving him to the side with his shoulder before he flops down on one of the long benches of the waiting area. Chad is still talking, but Misha is now using his best tactic - meditation. It had helped him on various occasions to tune jerks like Chad completely out. He just sits there, lost in thought and staring into space, and willingly or not, his thoughts circle back to Jensen. Yeah, okay, maybe he's a sap and a sucker for those green eyes and freckles, but, the guy is also kind of awesome. Getting to see Jensen tomorrow is the only thing that keeps him through the full hour he's left sitting in the waiting area with Chad. Maybe he could stop by today, when he's done here. Just to check in on Jensen, of course. Maybe bring some beer? Or pie?

When his name is called out, Misha quickly brushes Chad off - the guy didn't even seem bothered that Misha hadn't answered a single question of his - and steps in front of the counter.

"Hi, Katie," he greets the receptionist, a pretty blonde.

"Hey Misha, you want a cup of coffee after the full Chad-experience?"

The perks of being a regular customer and Katie knowing her shit. "Yes, please."

She gets up with a smile, leaving for the coffee machine and waving him through to Mr. Sheppard. After Misha reached the room and took the offered seat, he once again thinks about an appropriate insult for the bank director. He's not an asshole by definition, he is just... smug and snarky and he knows exactly who he is and why he's here. And apparently, he gets off on having power over someone else. In this case, that would be Misha.

Katie brings him the cup of coffee and Sheppard nods at her when she excuses herself from the room.

"So... care to explain why I should give you your third loan of the year? Not to mention that - oh, right,-" and Sheppard taps his index finger against his chin and slips into his deep, intimidating voice, sneering, "you haven't paid back a single penny of the first two so far."

"Because-" Misha starts, but quickly gets interrupted.

"Did I say I was done?" Sheppard leans back in his chair and waits for a few moments to pass by, checking his fingernails. Misha snaps his mouth shut again. He should have known better than to try and defend himself. Sheppard likes to give speeches. If there was one rule in the Bank of Evil: 'Take the humiliation, then you might get the money.'

Awkward silence fills the room as the bank director gets to his feet to walk slowly around the desk, leaning back against it as soon as he faces Misha again. "You are not responsible for any kind of profit this bank has made during the last two years. Your pranks fall short against the ones of your younger competitors. Take that Mystic J for example. Brilliant mind, that guy. Haven't seen him around here yet and bet I never will. So, what do we learn from all this?" he asks, looking to the ceiling and mock-pondering about the question. "Right. You're too old for this shit. Why should I waste any more money on you? And just for the record, you can now speak. Better give me some good reasons."

Misha takes a deep breath and begins passionately and without any waver in his voice, "I need this credit because of Mystic J. I have a good plan this time. I know I've said that every time I've come here for the past years, but it's true. When this plan is done, I have enough money to pay back the loans. All of them."

"If it even works."

"It will," Misha says determinately. "I will make it work. I need this plan to work out as much as you do, so we're-"

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't need you, and I don't need your plan. Come to think of it, it'll probably be cheaper for me if I throw you out right now and just sue your sorry little arse for the money you owe me. But-" Sheppard throws in a dramatic pause and uses it to step to the sideboard, where a bottle of scotch and some glasses are stocked. He pours himself a glass, but doesn’t offer the same to Misha "- because I'm in a good mood today and it'll be highly entertaining to see what you're coming up with, I'm giving you one last chance. Tomorrow, 3 p.m., video conference with me. You've got 24 hours, so definitely enough time to prepare a presentation to impress me, and if you fail, you're out. Period."

Misha swallows and nods. He knows he mustn't even try to add to his arguments at this point. Sheppard waves at the door, dismissing him.

"Have a nice day," Misha offers as his goodbye, even though he feels sick to his stomach. He leaves quickly, his coffee remaining untouched.

When he's out on the street and breathing fresh air again, Misha wonders quietly what to do. Among his options are working on the garden to get his mind off things, going for a run - a look at the clock tells him that Jensen is most likely already home from his jog, so he'd have to go alone - have a good cry on Jared's shoulder, or-

Misha turns on his heel and heads for the liquor store down the street.

***

Jensen is in the middle of a meeting and feels very tempted to do an epic facedesk. First, because he's tired as... he doesn't even have a simile that would describe accurately how tired he is. A lot. Yeah, he'll go with that. If someone would let him rest his head on his hands on the desk right now, he would sleep in a matter of seconds and be dead to the world for the next couple of hours.

Second, because the guy up front is a colleague from Denver and he's just boring. as. fuck. And this meeting is scheduled to go on for another hour at least. Jensen considers getting his ice beam and stunning himself to not have to get through this. The colleague even starts talking about the cost accounting for the driveshaft of their latest car model, a topic that they already discussed endlessly before and had agreed to not bring up during this meeting for plenty of reasons. There has been enough drama about it already. Jensen is so sick of it all. But, the discussion erupts anew, and Jensen hardly manages to suppress a heavy groan of frustration.

Instead, he decides to check out at this point. He's heard it all before anyway.

As to why he's so tired - the dreams have gotten worse every night. It all started a week back, when he moved in next to Misha, met him for the first time. At first, it was just unsettling to wake up at night, his skin wet and his clothes soaked with sweat and his cock rock hard beneath the comforter. He didn't know what he had been dreaming about, he just knew he woke up aroused and longing for relief. The first few nights, he curled into a ball, rolled over and even managed to sleep it off that way.

The first dream he could actually remember the next morning was bothering him more. Because it was dominated by lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark, ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen has ever heard. It was just that snippet, but Jensen had barely been able to dub the weirdness he felt around Misha from then on. The day before yesterday, Jensen hadn't been able to get to sleep at all, too hot and bothered with the thought of that dream, and found himself restlessly rolling around on the bed, from side to side, not being able to find the right position to sleep in. It was nerve-wracking, really.

In the end Jensen had given in, slipped his hand beneath the elastic band of his boxer briefs and jerked off, fast and without finesse, not even pretending to not think of lust-blown, electric blue eyes, plush pink lips and dark ruffled hair and the sweetest moans Jensen had ever heard. He was done within a minute, and still didn't feel satisfied. A second, less raw and more drawn-out session immediately after had left him quite breathless, but at least sated. He even got a good night's sleep after that.

But yesterday... was something else.

Talk about lucid dreaming.

He remembers being in a strange bed, definitely not his own, with Misha, and they were both naked. Naked and having sex, Jensen on his knees and leaning back on his haunches, while Misha was sitting in his lap with his back towards Jensen, legs spread to both of Jensen's sides, thrusting his hips up and down. And maybe everything was exaggerated by the fact that it was a dream, but Jensen could feel him, so tight and hot around his cock, Misha's back not as broad as his own but slender and muscled in all the right places.

Right then, Jensen realized he was dreaming.

But, god, this dream should never stop. He could as well make the best of it, enjoy this little fantasy.

Jensen consciously tilted his head down to bite lightly at Misha's neck, merely more than a scrape of teeth, and grinned at the blissful moan that he was rewarded with. With both hands on Misha's hips, Jensen pulled him down hard, buried himself as far as physically possible in Misha's taut body, enjoyed the friction to the point that he had to press his mouth against Misha's shoulder to not cry out loud. Misha groaned and sighed at the same time, a sound so delightful that Jensen hoped it could be like this in reality, because damn, he wouldn't ever get enough of hearing it. It felt surreal, and well, it was surreal after all. Keeping Misha in place with his left hand still gripping his hip firmly, Jensen moved the other one to Misha's belly, placing it right above the base of Misha's cock. Jensen sprawled his fingers out wide and pressed back into Misha's stomach, and he could almost feel his own dick moving inside the other man. The thought, the feeling, even though he knew it wasn't real, sent a bolt of pleasure down his spine. Pressing his hand down harder, Jensen quickened the pace of his thrusts.

Misha wriggled in his arms, arched his back and rested his head against Jensen's shoulder. His lips, so full and kissable and spit-slick, hung open, short puffs of hot air tickling the skin on Jensen's jaw. Everything dissolves into a blur of pants and moans from there, and Jensen just wants to finish, wants to feel the waves of satisfaction, but-

Well, at this point, he woke up lying on his belly and rutting into the sheets. The mattress barely provided any friction. Nonetheless, Jensen finished the fantasy in his head – imagined curling his hand around Misha's cock, stroking him gently while pushing him forwards with the other one until Misha is on all fours before him, and fucking him gently into the bed until Misha groans out his release - and came hard, harder than he could remember having come in quite some time.

But now he pays the price for awesome, hot dream sex with his awesome, hot neighbor. Sitting tiredly in a meeting is not fun, even though he was totally awake and fit, joyful even, when he went to work this morning.

Jensen rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and subsequently blinks away the short irritation that his contact lenses cause him.

The idiot from Denver is now arguing loudly with the production manager and the head of the accounting department. Just as predicted. That was exactly the reason why they agreed on not bringing the topic up. Jensen sighs quietly to himself.

He wants to go home, get a beer, watch some mindless TV. Maybe walk over to Misha's and ask if he had liked the muffins. Ask him how his totally-not-a-job-interview-but-an-appointment-with-the-Bank-of-Evil went. Maybe he'll do just that.

A look at his watch tells him he should have been home one and a half hour ago.

The arguing goes on and on, and by the time Jensen actually gets home, it's 8 o'clock and he's just weary and unnerved. He opens the door to the backyard to let in some fresh air. He's not in the mood for watching TV or any form of sports and yet he feels so on edge and pissed off. Jensen runs a hand over his face and sighs.

That's when he spots Misha, sitting on his own terrace with a bottle of wine.

Without any second thought, Jensen strolls over to the fence. “Hey,” he says quietly, but loud enough for Misha to hear him.
“Hey yourself,” Misha answers tiredly and looks over.

Jensen frowns. That is not a tone he's used to hearing from his neighbor. “What's with the wine and the attitude?”

The setting sun paints Misha's face in dark orange and red light as he sighs heavily. “Shitty day, that's all.”

“So the interview...?”

“Don't even get me started on that,” Misha interrupts him and takes a good swig of his wine.

“I'm sorry.” Jensen is quite surprised that he really does feel sorry.

Misha just shrugs. “I'm through half a bottle of wine. The world is already a better place.”

Jensen huffs and turns to look at the beautiful sunset on the clear, cloudless sky.

“You came home late tonight,” Misha remarks.

“Yeah, well, shitty day here as well. Got held up by an unnecessary meeting,” Jensen explains simply. When he turns his head back to Misha, he finds the dark-haired man studying him.

“Do we need some cheese for our wine?” Misha asks.

Jensen blinks. It takes a moment, but after the penny drops, he chuckles tiredly. “I do have some Emmentaler and Gouda in the fridge, you know.”

“And I have no idea if it would be blasphemous to eat Emmentaler and Gouda with this wine, but I am not averse to doing it anyway,” Misha smiles, and Jensen gladly reciprocates. It's the first time Misha actually sounds like himself today.

“Be right up,” Jensen mock-salutes and goes back into his house to get the cheese. While cutting it down to bite-sized cubes, he also remembers that there was a bottle of really good red somewhere in one of the moving boxes that he labeled as belonging to the kitchen. Grabbing that, too, Jensen steps out of the door and jogs over to Misha's backyard. The first thing he notices is that the grass is cut, its fresh fragrance still lingering in the air. “Mowed the lawn?” he asks as soon as he's rounded the corner and finds Misha lounging lazily on a porch swing.

“Yeah, but there's still so much more to do,” Misha sighs and spins the glass in his hands. Wordlessly, he slides a second glass, filled halfway with red wine, across the table and smiles invitingly.

Jensen smiles right back and puts the plate he brought onto the table. Then he shows the bottle to Misha and places it beside the plate. “Figured I'd bring this with me. I received it as a present and never had the opportunity to actually drink it. And I can't just drink all your delicious, probably very expensive wine without offering something in return,” Jensen flops down beside the other man as he speaks.

The gaze he receives is both irritated and intrigued. “Thanks,” Misha says in the end. “Although I simply told the guy at the store that he should give me two bottles of the best wine I could get for 20 bucks.”

Jensen throws his head back and laughs, just can't help it. It comes so natural around Misha it's downright scary. Beside him, Misha chuckles lightly, tilts his head sideways as he looks at Jensen, the blue in his eyes intensified by the setting sun. Jensen finds himself captured by them, totally stunned and unable to do anything, and when Misha's smile just turns that bit of a notch brighter, Jensen feels his stomach doing somersaults while butterflies – no, not butterflies - Mothra runs amuck in his gut. Suddenly, Jensen feels nervous and unsure, and like he's on cloud nine all the same. Feels high as a kite just because Misha's looking at him.

Right then and there, Jensen makes a decision. He's denied himself having any real life, any personal treats, for long enough. He sacrificed it all for his career, for being Mystic J, and he never let himself want anything.

Enough.

If there's one thing Jensen wants, it's Misha.

Jensen reaches for his glass of wine and raises it towards Misha, who clinks his glass with Jensen's in return. “Here's to... I dunno. Us being emo?” Jensen shrugs, but breaks into a grin.

“To misery loves company?”

“Or to find solution in alcohol.”

“Can we stay at 'the wine is just good'?” Misha asks, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, then,” Jensen replies and drinks a good mouthful. He tastes it carefully, not usually a big fan of wine, but that one... not too dry, not to sweet, and rich and fruity in its taste. “Huh. It is good.”

With that, he tilts his head back and drinks the rest of the glass in one gulp, coughing when he puts the glass back down.

Misha laughs.

“Hey, I have some catching up to do,” Jensen grins and licks his lips while reaching for the bottle to refill his glass. “You're half a bottle ahead of me, Chuckles.”

“Yeah, I had time,” Misha answers, staring into space. Or, rather, into his glass.

“So, what went wrong? If I may ask.”

“Just... everything, I guess. I got another chance to present a project tomorrow. Maybe that'll do.” Misha sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He seems tired.

Jensen claps his shoulder encouragingly. “It'll work. You just have to believe in yourself.”

They both take a swig of wine. It's quiet between them for a few moments, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. A bit weird, maybe, but okay.

Misha huffs. His voice is quiet and deeper than Jensen is used to when he says, “Can't really hope against bad luck. I feel like nothing works out lately.”

Wordlessly, Jensen turns his head to watch him. Sorrow is painted all over his face, taut lines beside his eyes, and Jensen also notices the dark shadow underneath them. It hurts to see him like that, because Jensen fucking cares for him, even if it means he's helping his strongest competitor here.

It hits Jensen hard then, that he needs to tell Misha one day who he really is, in order to make this work. He takes another mouthful of the wine. The glass is empty, again, and Jensen quickly refills it, draining the bottle while doing so.

“Everyone has a bad day every once in a while. And even if it's a bad day phase, it gets better, sooner or later. Learned that from high school,” Jensen says, avoiding Misha's eyes. He grabs a handful of cheese cubes and idly starts chewing.

With another deep sigh, Misha gets to his feet. “Be right back,” he says before he vanishes through the door to what looks like his living room. Jensen's gaze follows him, takes in the curve of his ass in his tight jeans, the dip of his spine and his narrow hips. God, Jensen would bend him over the table and fuck him this second if he could. Suppressing a frustrated groan, Jensen closes his eyes and rests his head against the back rest, breathing in deep to get his body back under control.

A low sound, a first chord of an electric guitar sounds through the open door to the living room and as the volume gets louder, Jensen recognizes it as Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love' and smiles.

“Figured you might like it,” Misha's voice breaks through the daze Jensen suddenly finds himself in. The alcohol does its work.

He opens his eyes to find Misha leaning in the doorway, an easy smile on his lips. He smiles right back. “Yeah? How did you know I like Zep?”

“Your shirt,” Misha answers simply.

“Oh, right,” Jensen nods. He almost forgot about that.

“And I thought we could use something to light up the mood. I don't want to spend my evening brooding and whining while loading all my shit on you.”

Jensen's eyes are glued to Misha as he crosses the patio and sits back down beside him. “Hey, no problem at all. What are friends for, right?”

Misha's gaze wavers and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline as he meets Jensen's eyes. “Friends?” he asks in disbelief and his voice breaks somewhere during the word.

“Yes,” Jensen swallows heavily around the lump in his throat. Oh, he wants to be so much more than friends with Misha, but hey.

Misha nods, lost in thought, his chin dropping onto his chest before he looks back up. “Friends,” he states and holds out his hand towards Jensen.

Jensen smiles warmly at him and takes his hand, squeezing it firmly. Misha's palm is smaller than his, his fingers long and slender and almost fragile against his, but the touch feels electric and Jensen's skin tingles where it meets Misha's. Jensen's breath hitches. Damn, that shit has to stop before he goes crazy.

A delighted squeal from the door to the living room startles both of them. After blinking a few times, Jensen snaps around and finds -

Yeah, he doesn't really know what he sees. It's about three feet tall, has one eye, wears a blue overall and looks like an oversized tic-tac. It's also yellow. Wide-eyed, Jensen looks back at Misha, who opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He's apparently out of words. Jensen did know that Misha was a villain, that he had a lab, that he probably did test a thing or two down there, but, seriously, what the hell?

He manages to voice as much. Kinda. “The fuck?”

“Uhm, Jensen... meet Dave.”

“Dave?” Jensen asks, still not fully perceiving what is happening right now.

“Yeah, he's... well, I used to be doing some experiments in my earlier days?” Misha shrugs. “I call him a minion.”

The minion – Dave – jumps over to them, giggling gleefully, and hops onto Jensen's lap. “Jen!” he cheers.

“Uhm, yeah, hi Dave,” Jensen answers, not really sure where to put his hands. He pets the minion's head awkwardly, and Dave immediately breaks into another fit of giggles.

Misha watches, his eyes wide in shock. He looks terrified.

Jensen reaches over to clap his hand onto Misha's thigh. Innocently, just twice. “Relax, dude.”

Misha swallows audibly, and looks at Dave. The minion seems to be quite happy in his place on Jensen's lap, even leans into his chest. “Jennn,” he coos again.

“I think he likes you,” Misha says in a breathy voice.

It may be the alcohol, but Jensen feels the tension ease between them and breaks into a heartfelt laughter. Dave's eye wanders up to him and watches him questioningly. Then he throws both arms around Jensen's upper body and snuggles into his chest, humming contentedly. Jensen pats his back.

All of a sudden, Dave slides off his lap and bounces back into the house.

“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Misha deadpans, looking after him.

Again, Jensen has to laugh and reaches for his glass of wine. 'Houses of the Holy' begins to play in the background. Jensen smiles into his glass, then looks up at Misha over its rim. The atmosphere is relaxed and easy, thank god. When Jensen looks over the garden once more, he sees that the sun is just about to sink over the horizon. So Misha watches the sunset with him, how romantic. Jensen has a hard time managing not to snort.

“Must be nice, having a minion around,” he says instead, testing the waters.

“It has its perks,” Misha grins. “But he's also the reason why I can't bring anyone home these days.”

“So you never...?” The sentence hangs unfinished between them and Jensen only realizes when it's too late what he just implied. A facepalm seems very appealing right now.

Misha shakes his head and smiles sadly. “Doesn't mean I don't miss it from time to time.”

Jensen feels a sudden shiver of arousal tingle down his spine when Misha looks up and locks eyes with him. The tension is back, all of a sudden, but very different this time. The implication of Misha's deep blue eyes is very clear.

A light, warm breeze blows across the garden, catching one of Misha's locks and letting it curl into his forehead. Jensen's hand itches to run his hand through the other one's hair, smooth it back down, feel the thick strands between his fingers. Let his hand slip to the back of Misha's head, pull him towards himself and kiss him senseless, have him moaning and writhing in his arms until Jensen can lower him down onto the porch swing and-

But he's digressing.

It takes him a short moment to swallow and compose himself before answering. “Yeah, I can relate.”

Misha raises an eyebrow. “Really? You? Did you forget to put up the mirror when you moved here?”

Jensen eyes him in disbelief and blinks. He takes a nervous swig of his wine. And another one.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-” Misha claps his hand onto his mouth. “I think I'm a bit tipsy,” he adds quietly through his fingers and breaks the eye contact.

“No, no, it's okay, really,” Jensen smiles reassuringly.

What follows is a really awkward silence, until Dave shows up once again, handing a corkscrew to Jensen. Only then, Jensen notices that they both drained their glasses and the first bottle is also empty.

“Thanks, buddy,” he smiles at the minion, who runs back into the house, and reaches for the bottle.

“So, tell me about your meeting,” Misha asks to change the topic, to Jensen’s relief.

“Oh god. This guy, I tell you. One day, I'll strangle him and they won't find the body,” he says, grunting as he pulls the cork out of the neck of the bottle. “Phew, that one sat tight. Anyway,” Jensen refills Misha's glass, then his own as he speaks. “We had this big, important meeting today, you know? The presentation of our newest car model, efficient and environmentally conscious – an e-car – and all that, and our plan was perfect from beginning to end. Man, I was working my ass off for that project since day one. And guess what, I made a stupid, totally marginal mistake at one single calculation. The driveshaft. Just a miscalculation, really, easy to be fixed, but not possibly in time for this meeting. So I spoke to him, to that colleague who was supposed to present the concept to the head of production, and we agreed on just not bringing it up. I would fix it tomorrow and it would be fine before we sent over the plans.”

“Let me take a wild guess here,” Misha interrupts him, smiling lopsided. “He brought it up.”

“Of course he did. Son of a bitch,” Jensen shakes his head and drinks from his glass before resuming. “And because the head of the accounts department might be good with numbers but not with rational thinking, he made a big deal of it all, and I ended up with six fucking hours of this shit instead of three. So, yeah, life sucks sometimes even when you've got a job.”

“Well, then I'd say-” Misha raises his glass once again. “Screw him and Prost.”

“Prost?”

“That's what they say in Germany. Means 'cheers'.”

“Huh,” Jensen says, grins, “Then Prost!”

They clink glasses once again and drink.

“The moon is rising,” Misha says, pointing at the horizon.

Jensen follows the direction of his finger, and sees the pale crescent rise into the cloudless sky that is dotted with stars. He couldn't even tell when he last noticed something as plain as the moon rising. Truth be told, it's a moment of calmness, a moment where he can focus on the beauty of nature rather than his completely mundane problems. Like Luke from Denver or that he's completely, helplessly gone for his neighbor, who still sits beside him and watches the scene with him.

If this was a rom-com, they'd look into each other's eyes now, realize because of some otherworldly reason that they belong to each other and fall down into the grass together. Because really, all they've done so far was dancing around each other. As for Misha, because he didn't trust anyone, naturally. It kind of came with the job description. On Jensen's part, obviously, because his original plan was to wipe Misha off the map rather than fall in love with him. And oh, Jesus, did he just think that?

Jensen's eyes are drawn to Misha once again, and the other man is sprawled lazily on the swing, leaned back and idly nipping at his glass of wine. Taking a sip of his own, Jensen stares back at the moon. It's a beautiful, clear night. Jensen sighs blissfully. Yes, he could get used to this.

They sit like that for a couple, quiet minutes. Neither Misha nor Jensen feel the need to talk, they just enjoy the night and each other's presence, even though the air feels pleasantly charged between them. Like something dangerous and teasing is hanging in the air, foreshadowing that something is going to happen that night. Jensen shudders, and again, it's more like pleasant anticipation.

Somewhere during those moments, they apparently shifted closer to each other, because Jensen can feel Misha's warmth beside him and finds that Misha's upper arm is touching his. He does not pull back.

“May I ask...” Jensen says quietly after countless minutes. He doesn't know, lost all sense of time passing by somewhere along the line. “You said you missed having someone around. Which part? Which part do you miss the most, I mean?”

And if it wasn't abundantly clear that Jensen is quite a bit drunk himself, it should be now, because how could he straight-forward ask something like that? Misha won't answer it anyway. Jensen kinda hopes for that, because he still can't conceive what he should do with the info when he gets it. If he gets it, that is. And if he doesn't sink into the ground from embarrassment, that is.

“The sex,” Misha deadpans in a shameless buh-voice that throws Jensen completely off balance. He had expected a lot, but not that.

“The sex?” Jensen asks back, at a lack of something better to say.

Misha turns his head towards him and grins. “What do I speak, Kiswahili? Of course the sex,” he frowns mockingly.

“But you're a single guy. Sex is the easiest thing to get,” Jensen throws in. Hell, he'd done that for years.

“Who says I want that kind of sex? Only because I could have it if I wanted?” Misha shoots back with a raised eyebrow.

“So you're saying-”

“That sex with someone who knows you and the things you like and what makes you come within two seconds flat is the best kind of sex? Exactly that,” Misha says. The guy is shameless, indeed.

Jensen feels heat rising up on his cheeks as he gapes at Misha and the mental images that are forming themselves right now are not helping in getting him back to reality.

“And if your next question would be why I don't have someone to share that kind of relationship with, well, I don't trust people easily and I don't let someone in on my life unless if they give me a really good reason to,” Misha smirks at him, and that expression would probably make Jensen weak in his knees right now. Thank god he's sitting very securely on his ass.

Then again, this is a topic where Jensen can contribute to. “Yeah, and that's exactly the reason I picked anonymous one-night stands instead of the big deal so far.”

“Believe me, once you had the full relationship experience, sex-wise, there is nothing one-night stands could ever again do for you.”

Jensen blinks at him. It takes him a moment to get it through his buzzing skull, but the true meaning behind the words eventually gets clear. “So there has been someone in your life?”

Misha's smile falters, like he just realized that he let something slip involuntarily. “Yes, there was. She...” he lets the sentence unfinished, apparently at a loss for words.

“You don't have to, you know,” Jensen says softly.

Misha just shakes his head. “No, I want to. I... We met in high school, so obviously she had heard the rumors about me. Well, the rumors that were actually true, obviously. She didn't care, and we got together. Then came college and building a life together with a house and all that. And one day, I woke up, and she was just gone. I didn't know where she went or if she would ever come back or even just why. It came totally out of nowhere for me. She had taken such a big part of my life with her that I struggled for months, years even, to get myself back together.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Jensen whispers and finds his hand resting on Misha's thigh, stroking it in a comforting manner. He quickly retreats it when he realizes what he's doing – damn the wine. He takes another sip. Misha is quiet beside him, staring into the moon, lost in thought. “Did you ever find out what happened?”

Misha snaps out of his daze then and nods. “She wrote me a letter, two years later. Said she was sorry, but she couldn't deal with my life choices any more and that I needed to get a regular job and that she felt like we've been drifting apart. Truth is, she may have been right there, but we became so accustomed to each other, living in each other's space and all that, that it was just so weird not having her there any more. For the first time since I was in high school, I was completely alone. I swore off women for a while back then, however I'm still a fan of the I-might-love-a-woman-if-I-meet-the-right-one theory,” he meets Jensen's eyes again, and Jensen doesn't want to pity him or anything, because he seems so strong and so settled in his beliefs there.

“Understandable,” Jensen winks, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't even want to delve into Misha's life choices or the regular job thing, he knows and can imagine the woman's reasons anyway.

“Oh, and just FYI – I always say I'm bisexual, because that's the easiest way to put it. In reality, I just don't like labeling myself. I generally think that it's still the person you fall in love with, not the physical gender or gender identity.”

“Nice way to say it,” Jensen chuckles. “I gotta say, I'm still just bisexual, plain and simple. Just because both men and women have their perks, but I bet you know that.”

Misha's eyebrows rise again. He is obviously intrigued. “Tell me,” he smiles, looking quite smug, “I mean, yeah, I've got my preferences, but I'm interested in hearing yours.”

“It's simple, as I said, and if you think I'm shallow or anything, I really am in that matter... I'm not much of a boobs-guy. I'm more into a perky little ass, and why should I limit my choice to women when there are guys out there I just want to-” he makes a whipping gesture with his hand, indicating a nice slap. Then he chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck.

Misha laughs, luckily. “I see,” and if his eyes light up a bit at that, Jensen surely just imagined it, what with the wine and all.

He takes another sip from his glass, quietly pondering over Misha's words. “You said you don't trust people easily,” he says quietly. It's not really a question.

Misha nods nonetheless. “Exactly.”

“Then may I ask how Jared earned your trust? I'm just curious, you know. I'm sure there's a story to that.”

A low rumble from Misha's throat confirms Jensen's musings. “There is, to no great surprise. It's not that much of a story, though. Jared and I met in college, both majoring in engineering. At first I thought he was some gangly goofball and had naturally no interest in getting to know him. I thought he was just one of those popular kids, and I certainly didn't hang out with them. I never was that outgoing. We only came to talk one day when we both tried to sabotage our professor's model of a car engine. The prof was just such an arrogant prick, constantly putting us through the wringer at each and every test, and we knew he was going to use the model the next day during our lesson. When I snuck into the classroom at night, intending to remove the main rope that held the model upright – which would result in the model falling to pieces as soon as the prof would touch it – well, I found Jared already in said room with the rope in his hand. And we just looked at each other and started grinning. The next day when the model actually fell apart and our prof was two seconds away from either spontaneously combusting or flailing his arms into the air and cursing like a sailor, we went out and got drunk and celebrated the fact that we're the world’s most bad-ass pranksters. So anyway, Jared is a good guy. He always tried to pull me out of my dorm room to get drunk or fuck with our fellow students. Those were good times.”

Misha is quiet for a short moment, but he sounds like there is more to come, so Jensen waits patiently and doesn't interrupt him.

After his lips open and close a few times, Misha eventually continues. “And Jared was the best friend you could wish for when that... happened... with her. He was there for me, all the way through it.”

Jensen smiles sympathetically at him then and nudges his elbow into Misha's side. “I think I never heard you talk that much all at once,” he grins to lighten up the mood.

Misha nudges back. “Shut up,” he says, smiling good-naturedly.

Their eye contact breaks right then and they both stare up at the sky once more. The moon has risen further now, halfway to reaching its zenith. It's quiet for a few moments, again.

“You know what would be a really nice prank?” Jensen laughs, suddenly caught by the ridiculous idea.

Misha's head turns towards him, eyes fixing him with their intense blue iris. “No, but I have that feeling that you're about to tell me.”

Jensen grins. “I was just thinking about those asshats in front of the White House the other day. What if someone flew up there and painted the moon in rainbow colors? There's nothing they could do about it. The White House in pink is all hilarious and stuff, but they'd paint that over within days. The moon? Yeah, try that.”

What starts out as a soft rumble ends up with Misha putting his glass down on the table and throwing his head back, shaking with a roaring laughing fit that Jensen just has to join in. “That would be awesome!” Misha manages somewhere in between gasping for air and wiping tears out of his eyes. When they have calmed down a bit, they clink their glasses and both drown it in one go. Misha smiles softly at him and that look just stirs up Mothra – though it might be slightly intoxicated as well by now – in his stomach again.

Jensen decides to flee. “Hey, can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure,” Misha nods, “Inside, down the hall, first door left to the entrance.”

“Thanks,” Jensen says. When he gets to his feet- woah. Stop right there, cowboy, he thinks to himself and sits back down. The world is kinda, really nauseatingly spinning around him.

“You alright?” Misha asks.

“Yeah, just... the wine,” Jensen waves at the bottles on the table with an apologetic smile.

Misha laughs again, and if that laughter isn't downright dirty, Jensen doesn't know what is. “Hey!” he complains, punching Misha's shoulder in mock-offense. “Don't you dare laugh at me. Try it yourself, chucklehead.”

Misha just curls into a laughing ball of goofiness in the corner of the swing. Shaking his head, Jensen stands up once again, a lot slower this time and holding tight onto the edge of the table. It works like that, so he slowly goes inside. Luckily, the bathroom is easily found. Misha's house, as far as he can see between trying to walk straight – heh, pun intended – and not falling over something or running into something, is quite unusual. Unusual in a cool way. Jensen totally digs the morning star in the living room.

When he returns, safe and sound and without smashing anything, and goes to exit through the door to the backyard, Jensen is unexpectedly stopped in his tracks. By Misha. Running right into him. They're instinctively holding onto each other – Jensen's hand curling around Misha's bicep, Misha's hand flat on Jensen's chest – to barely avoid tumbling to the ground.

Jensen is acutely mesmerized by Misha's deep blue eyes, so close to his. Misha's lips capture his gaze next, chapped and full and hanging slightly open. They're standing so close that Jensen can feel Misha's breath on his lips and smell the wine and Misha's cologne. It takes a lot of Jensen's remaining restraint to not tip his head down and kiss him. The urge almost becomes too much when Misha shifts on his feet, which results in him leaning even closer towards Jensen. Reflexively, Jensen tilts his head a bit to the side, as if they really would kiss any second now. Misha breaks the daze they're trapped in then by looking back up from Jensen's lips to his eyes and they blink at each other – once, twice – in disbelief. Jensen is almost thankful, because his heart is racing in his chest right now and he is pretty sure that Misha can feel that against his palm. But he's also a bit disappointed.

Jensen swallows heavily. “I was just about to get back out to the patio,” he manages, his voice rough.

“I just wanted to grab the other bottle of wine,” Misha says in his defense, luckily going along with Jensen's lead. “And it's gotten quite cold out there. Should we move this to the living room?”

Still quite puzzled, Jensen nods and drops his hand as he steps back reluctantly.

It still takes a wave of Misha to make him sit on the couch.

Apparently, they've listened to all the Led Zeppelin albums Misha has, because 'Burning for You' by Blue Öyster Cult starts playing. Jensen grins to himself. They have a strange luck for hearing songs in the right moment. And yes, he still remembers 'Thunderstruck'.

Misha returns with both glasses in his hands and the empty bottles jammed between his elbows and his hips. Without further ado, Jensen takes the glasses off his hands, and if his fingers brush Misha's a bit more than is strictly necessary, well, then that's how it is. Misha hurries back outside to retrieve the plate of cheese.

“Come to think of it,” he says once he's back inside and locked the door. “I've got something better than wine, if you like.”

With that, he reaches into a cabinet in the living room closet to get out two glasses and a green bottle that looks like... whiskey.

“Whiskey?” Jensen asks, both parts amused and a bit worried about the state he'd end in.

“Scotch, to be exact.”

“Lemme see,” and if he slurs a bit by now, well. And if his words are a bit drawled out lazily and sound like he's coming from Texas, then that's because he is hailing from Texas. So what? He takes the bottle from Misha, studying the label hard and squinting with one eye shut. “La... Laphroaig? What does that even mean?”

“Honestly, no idea. All I know is that this is the really good stuff. You won't ever be able to drink Jack again after a glass of this,” Misha promises, dropping down on the couch beside Jensen. He uncorks the bottle and pours two fingers into each glass, then hands one to Jensen.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Prost,” Jensen answers with a smirk.

Misha's eyes are glinting when he raises the glass to his lips, taking a sip. He hums appreciatively when he puts it back down and licks his lips. Jensen doesn't dare to take a huge gulp himself and follows Misha's example. The whiskey is peaty and smoky on his tongue, the alcohol burning down his throat as he swallows, but it leaves a quite enjoyable aftertaste.

“I like it,” he finally states, taking another mouthful and placing the glass on the coffee table.

Misha watches him from the corners of his eyes and puts his glass down as well. “There's a reason why I like you,” he grins.

“Because I'm enjoying these things?” Jensen asks with a nod at the glasses of whiskey, just to get it confirmed.

“Obviously,” Misha says, rolling his eyes. “In all seriousness, though... Thanks. For tonight. I really feel a lot better now.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jensen answers and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for sounding so smooth. He smiles warmly at Misha. “Wasn't hard to do, you're pretty awesome yourself.”

“Thanks,” Misha replies. He avoids Jensen's eyes, and if his eyes aren't betraying him, Jensen could swear that he blushes lightly.

Jensen finishes his glass of scotch. “So anyway, thanks for everything, but I think I better go.” Before I do something stupid.

“You sure you're able to get over to your house in one piece?” Misha teases.

“Shut up, I'm totally capable of-” Jensen's amused tone gets cut off when his attempt to stand up fails spectacularly and he crashes back into the couch, back beside Misha. Their bodies are connected from shoulder to knee now, and Jensen can feel every single muscle of Misha rippling as he laughs hard, again. Laughs even more when Jensen's second attempt ends exactly like the first one did.

“I think you better stay here for the night. The sofa is all yours, Jensen,” Misha offers, still smiling smugly and trying hard not to burst into laughter. Again.

“If you don't really mind?”

“No, of course not. Would I have offered if I did?” D'uh, Misha's face says.

Jensen nods. “Well, then, thanks. I'll take the couch.”

“It seems I have very lucky furniture,” Misha snickers, getting carefully to his feet and grabbing a blanket from the shorter sofa across from the table. He quickly falls back down against Jensen.

“You don't seem that sure on your feet as well,” Jensen mocks him.

“Shut up and sleep,” Misha throws the blanket over him.

“Are you tucking me in?” Jensen teases as he lays down, resting his head on one of the pillows.

“No, I'm not-” and right then, Misha's mission to get up is suddenly aborted, because – he loses balance and falls right on top of Jensen.

“Oh,” Jensen says intelligently, feeling like a tool. Reflexively, he wrapped his hands around Misha's waist, keeping him in place.

“Sorry,” Misha whispers, but doesn't break their eye contact. “I think I should get to bed.”

“You can always stay here,” Jensen waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Misha blushes. Downright blushes. And at this point, Jensen doesn't care which kind of consequences his actions might have. Misha is laying flat on top of him, blushing deep red and looking like an adorable little teddy bear that he just wants to stuff into his pocket and take home. And fuck him. Literally. Okay, so maybe Jensen lost the metaphor there.

Point is, Misha's lips, those damn plush, pink lips are so close to his and so tempting. Thank god for dutch courage, Jensen thinks. Then he slips one of his hands into Misha's hair and pulls him down gently to kiss him. It's a chaste, slow kiss. Nothing fancy, nothing special. Just a firm press of lips against Misha's, capturing those damn kissable lips that he has been staring at and lusting after since day one with his own. It feels like it had felt in all those dreams he had about Misha, just as good and oh- Misha kisses back. The kiss turns languid and slow, and Misha's full lips are so easy to kiss, fit so perfectly against Jensen's. His heart beats at least twice as fast as usual and Mothra makes another cameo. All those feelings, a sudden rush of comfort and happiness and yes, this is right, are washing over him and leaving him breathless.

When he breaks the kiss and lets his head fall back into the cushion, Jensen finds Misha staring at him, flabbergasted.

“I just thought you should know,” Jensen says, quietly hoping that Misha won't freak out.

The dark-haired man swallows. Then he just lays his head down on Jensen's chest and says, “We should sleep.”

Jensen pulls the blanket over them and closes his eyes. Even through the dizzy, fuzzy feeling of the alcohol, he knows that Misha might need some time to think right now.

“Good night, Misha,” he whispers.

“Night, Jen.”

And maybe his breath hitches a bit at the nickname.

***

When Misha wakes up on Friday morning, everything is perfect. He can feel Jensen's chest rising and falling, because his head is resting right on top of it. They lie on the sofa, legs entangled under the blanket, still fully clothed. But Misha is far from caring about that.

Instead, he smiles to himself and blinks lazily into the warm morning light falling through the window.

That's when a piercing headache hits him and threatens to split his head in two pieces. It feels like leprechauns playing the bongos with his brain. And that thought just makes no sense. The pain makes him groan loudly in agony, effectively waking Jensen.

“Mish?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep. Wisely, he doesn't open his eyes, just moans. “Ugh, my head hurts.”

Hiding his face in the crook of Jensen's neck, Misha grumbles. “Yes, exactly that. And good morning to you, too.”

“Mornin',” Jensen drawls out, and that is a sound that would go straight to Misha's cock if he wasn't so fucking hungover.

His stomach grumbles and clenches painfully. Misha doesn't know if he's hungry or if this are organs protesting the overdose of alcohol yesterday night. Probably both.

“Fuck,” Jensen says after raising his hand and looking at his wrist watch. “I should have been at work fifteen minutes ago. Let me just-” he reaches beneath the blanket to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket. Misha still doesn't open his eyes, just lays there, still half on top of Jensen, and tries to keep the nausea at bay.

“Good morning, Nancy. Jensen here. Ackles. Listen, I have to call in sick today, I don't feel very well. Think I caught something. I'll be fine by Monday,” he says, his voice raspy and broken. He surely doesn't even need to pretend.

Jensen quickly says goodbye and hangs up after that. Absent-mindedly, Misha strokes Jensen's shoulder with his free hand. The other one is jammed between his head and Jensen's chest. “You evil, evil man,” Misha chuckles despite how awful he feels.

Jensen laughs, and damn, that shaking is too damn much for Misha's current state. He apparently looks quite sick, because Jensen stops, holding back his laughter and running his hand up and down Misha's back. “Sorry, man.”

“Aren't you a bit hungover yourself? I thought you could relate,” he pokes Jensen's chest, while he tries to get his breathing back under control.

“A bit?” Jensen snorts. “I feel like some fairies are playing the bongos with my brain, but... I'm fine.”

“Fairies? Really?”

“What would you call them?”

“I'm all for leprechauns.”

Jensen throws his head back and laughs, again. Misha avoids getting shaken by resting his weight on one elbow beside Jensen, watching him. A few missing pieces from last night fall into place right then. Including the kiss.

Misha swallows around the lump in his throat and fights the urge to kiss Jensen again. His hair is sticking up in weird angles, one side plastered flat to his head, and light stubble covers his cheeks. Jensen also still has his arms wrapped around Misha's waist and consciously or not, that feels damn right. Misha can't keep his hands to himself like this, so he reaches up with his right hand and runs his fingers through Jensen's unruly, messy hair, smoothing it down where it sticks up. Jensen just looks more and more adorable as he closes his eyes and enjoys the simple touch.

God, Misha wants to kiss him.

But not with his morning breath of death. The aftertaste of the scotch is still lingering, and not in a good way. He is also thirsty as hell. When Misha takes a look over his shoulder, he immediately finds who he was looking for. “Dave, water,” he orders.

The minion hurries off towards the kitchen and returns with two bottles of water. Misha and Jensen both sit up and gulp down half a bottle each.

“Better,” Jensen states after putting the bottle down. When he turns his head to look at Misha, he has to blink rapidly a few times before he shakes his head. “Damn, the world is still spinning. Let's go back to sleep,” he adds and falls straight back onto the pillows.

Misha can't suppress the laughter rising up in his chest, despite the headache and feeling sick and all. “I'll go up to my bedroom, then,” he chuckles when the laughter ebbs out.
“No, uhm,” Jensen quickly reaches out and pulls Misha back on top of him. “Stay. Please.”

They stare at each other for a few moments. Misha hasn't got the slightest idea what he's waiting and searching for in Jensen's eyes, or maybe he's just captured by those deep green eyes, but he can't look away. Then Jensen gives him a bright, encouraging smile, and that's what makes Misha give up the last remains of restraint. He lets his head drop down onto Jensen's shoulder, snuggles – yes, snuggles, so what? - into Jensen's neck. Teases him with a short flick of his tongue against Jensen's collarbone and notices how that makes Jensen shudder pleasantly.

“You are a fucking tease, Collins,” Jensen mumbles without opening his eyes. “And you're damn lucky that I'm too hungover, plus a very patient man. Or else.”

Misha finds himself chuckling again. “Or else what?”

Wordlessly, Jensen rolls onto his side and slips just that last remaining inch closer, fits their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle. He watches Misha intently as he splays his hand on Misha's lower back, pushes him toward himself and rolls his hips into Misha's. Eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a light groan escapes Misha's lips at the unexpected friction that is yet so desperately needed at this point. The tension is flaring up between them, hot and all-consuming, making Misha's blood rush down to his groin. Oh god, he wants, wants desperately – rolls his hips back into Jensen's, feels him gasp for air and a sudden wave of pride rushing through him at the confirmation that yes, he did this. It's a damn good feeling. Images that have circled through Misha's mind during the past week return with impressive impact, of Jensen jerking himself off. Just thinking about the perfect curve of his cock makes Misha's mouth water and his mind spin with what he'd do if he'd get his mouth on that particular part of Jensen's anatomy.

Jensen's forehead falls against Misha's then, and fuck - that effectively triggers his headache.

“God, my head is killing me,” he complains as pain floods his head in waves, repeatedly.

Jensen screws up his face. “Yeah, mine too,” he mumbles quietly, and Misha surely doesn't imagine that he looks rueful. “But, I mean... just so you know,” he adds with a weary smile, reminding Misha once again of yesterday night.

Misha still manages a smile, through the dizziness of the remaining alcohol thrumming through his veins and the adrenaline adding to it and the fact that he is still so fucking tired. “Yeah, I know,” he answers, watching as Jensen's eyes light up in understanding. He feels his stomach burning and fluttering pleasantly because of the other man's gaze, beautiful green eyes staring into his from such a close proximity, his freckles so clear that Misha could count them if he wanted.

“Let's sleep.”

All Misha can do at this point is nod. His mouth is dry, not only as an after effect of the alcohol, but mostly from feeling suddenly very, incredibly frightened. He pointedly ignores the elephant in the room, the one that has “HEY! YOU'RE A SUPERVILLAIN!” written on his side and metaphorically nibbles at the palmetto in the corner of the living room.

***

The next time Misha wakes up, Jensen is already wide awake, lying in front of him with his head rested on his propped-up hand, watching Misha. His index finger is playing with a lock that's curling into Misha's forehead. Sleepily, Misha yawns and rubs his eyes.

It's pleasant, waking up beside Jensen.

And, okay, understatement of the year.

Misha could really get used to this, Jensen waking him up with those gentle touches and lazy smile, so close to him that he can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He had always believed that this would never be possible for him, that he would live his life as a loner and that it was okay.

And then came Jensen.

Misha chuckles, feeling lightheaded, and shifts a bit closer to Jensen. The hand that was playing with his hair is falling onto his waist now, holding him firmly in place.

“Mornin',” Jensen mumbles, with that Texan drawl in his voice that makes Misha's toes curl every single time. Green eyes are sparkling down at him, doing nothing to lessen that feeling. Not that Misha would complain about that.

“Morning, Jen,” he says instead. “How are you?”

Jensen grins. “My head is better, thanks, but I could really, really grab a bite now. Or else you'll have a starved neighbor to bury.”

“I think we can take care of that,” Misha smiles lopsidedly.
“What about you? How are you doing?”

“Better as well.”

Their eyes stay locked the whole time and Jensen's gaze makes Misha's belly tingle and twist and if that wasn't bad enough already, Jensen leans into him now. “Shame, really. Would have loved to kiss it better,” he says quietly, his voice raspy and deep, the low rumble yet again going straight to Misha's cock. It takes all the self-restraint he can muster to not groan from the sheer need he feels rushing through his body at that.

Misha's eyes fall down to half-mast as he eyes Jensen longingly. They're laying so close to each other that they're practically breathing the same air. It wouldn't take much more than tipping his head slightly forward to capture Jensen's lips and kiss him, and damn if those lips don't look inviting.

“Who says a bit of kissing wouldn't help our recovery nevertheless?” Misha teases cheekily.

“Huh. What makes you think that?” Jensen grins, white teeth flashing between those full lips.

“Well, I, for one, might feel better, but you know how it is after drinking, that sinking feeling in your stomach, and-”

“Oh, just because you can't handle a bit of liquor,” Jensen teases right back, a playful smile on his lips. Misha finds his gaze drawn to them, again and again, like a magnet.

“I'm sorry – dickhead – but I was one half bottle ahead of you,” Misha shoots back, pokes him in the chest.

Jensen's eyes are glittering with withhold laughter. “And I didn't catch up?”

“You caught up just fine,” Misha says, his voice dark and seductive on purpose, and they both know he's not talking about the wine any more.

What started as a light banter ended up in a staring contest, Jensen's green eyes swirling dark and hungry, but also with an affectionate spark in them. The tension between them is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but it's that good kind of tension, the one that leaves you breathless and anticipating more.

Their breath is ragged by the time Misha eventually can't stand it any more, leans in and catches Jensen's lips between his. The kiss is slow and passionate from the very start, makes Misha sigh and his breath hitch when Jensen captures his lower lip between his, suckles lightly and lets go, just to let Misha do the same thing to his soft, full bottom lip. Jensen's body feels warm against his, hands firmly placed on Misha's hip and neck, not pushing or pulling in any way, just holding him tight and kissing him with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants. Misha grins into the languid, lingering kiss and feels Jensen's lips shift and spread into a smile of his own. They break the contact for a moment. Misha doesn't dare open his eyes, just nudges his nose against Jensen's and wallows in the fuzzy feeling the other man's blissful laughter gives him.

It's perfect, right until the minions storm into the room, babbling and calling for Misha. He groans frustrated and shoots Jensen an apologetic smile before he rolls to the other side and sits up, facing the minions. “What?”

“Wait, there's more of them?” Jensen asks from behind Misha. “Obviously,” he adds, mumbling to himself and effectively answering his own question.

The minions jump around, pointing at his 60-inch flatscreen TV on the wall. A waiting light is blinking rapidly on the satellite receiver.

“Shit,” Misha curses and looks at the watch on his wrist. “Shit!” he repeats louder. Then he sorts out his hair as quickly as possible, straightens his rumpled clothes and rubs his eyes. A few quick steps take him to the TV to start up the video conference system. However, he can almost feel Jensen's look at his back. “I'm sorry, but could you leave me alone for a second?” he says firmly over his shoulder, but Jensen never gets a chance to answer.

“Mr. Collins!”

Misha's head snaps up at his TV, where Sheppard is staring down at him with a mixed expression of surprise and suspicion, his eyebrows raised and the mandatory glass of whiskey in hand. Misha averts his eyes and clears his throat awkwardly.

“In company, I see. Quite one for surprises, aren't you?”

A short look over his shoulder confirms to Misha that Jensen is shuffling on the couch, sitting up and flattening his clothes and hair. Despite the fact that he should really, really get his priorities straight, Misha is really, really tempted to shut down the video conference set and just climb into Jensen's lap and do some really, really dirty things to him. Covering his eyes with his hand and rubbing his temple, Misha focuses back on the TV and Sheppard's disapproving face.

“Well, that's-”

“Jensen,” the man behind him pipes up. Misha turns around and shoots him a worried look, shaking his head slightly and hoping that Jensen gets the message. Just stay out of this.

“Huh. Just for the record, I'm not that surprised to find you in male company, Collins, but wasn't there something you should have prepared for me? You know, to get your third loan this year?” Sheppard snarls.

“Yes,” Misha nods as seriously as he can manage. He is so screwed and he knows it. So fucking screwed.

“Well,” the man on the screen replies and leans back in his chair, swirling the glass in his hands. “Shoot. What's the genius plan?”

Misha closes his eyes briefly, fights down the headache that rises up again. This time, he knows it's not only from the alcohol. “I, uhm-” he mumbles, then stops. He hears steps behind him, and his breath hitches for a second when Jensen wraps his arm around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Misha hisses angrily. “You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.”

“Relax,” and Jensen's smug smile makes Misha wanna punch him right now.

Misha rolls his eyes and fights down his temper.

“So, hey,” Jensen says and waves at Sheppard on the screen. “As Misha's new assistant-”

Misha turns his head slowly from the TV to Jensen, tilts it sideways, eyes blown wide. What!?

“-let me explain. I presume you've seen the protests against gay marriage on TV? So, we did a little thinking on how we could get back at those bastards, you know, push the LGBT rights stuff a bit.” Jensen makes a dramatic pause, watches Sheppard closely before he resumes. “The plan is to travel to the moon and paint it in rainbow colors.”

Sheppard's raised eyebrow has constantly risen higher during Jensen's little speech. His tense expression breaks into a lopsided smirk, then, and Misha relaxes under Jensen's touch.

“And how are you planning to get a satellite painted? Millions of acres?” Sheppard tries to play it cool, but Misha sees it clearly in his eyes that he's intrigued. If they don't mess up, they've got him right where they want him.

“Shrink ray,” Jensen and Misha answer simultaneously, as if it was the most natural thing to think of in this moment, and only share a short, both confused and amused look.

“Huh,” says Sheppard. “What will it take you, money-wise? And in how much time will you be able to follow through with this plan?”

And now, Misha is back in his element. “The rocket could be built within a week, and the start - depending on the weather and the moon phases, but if I remember correctly, it stands quite handy – could be done during the next two weeks. As for the cost, and I have to do a little hacking on the NASA servers for this, but I think we can do it quite efficient. Two million, maybe? I still have a space suit around, and my minions don't require any.”

Sheppard nods. “Well, let me know the exact numbers. And don't mess it up this time, will you?”

With that, the screen flashes to black and Misha takes a deep breath. Instinctively, he wraps his arm around Jensen's waist, pulls him close to hug him gratefully. Jensen smiles, Misha can feel his lips against his neck, and they stand there just enjoying each other's presence until Misha realizes something very disturbing and leans back in Jensen's arms.

Misha gapes for a moment, not finding the right way to ask, while Jensen studies him, raises his eyebrow questioningly. “What is it?”

“Uhm, how did you know there exists something like a shrink ray? How did you know how to... I mean, how did you know this plan wasn't just some drunk rambling? What the hell just happened?” Misha takes a step back, hands raised protectively in front of him, a horrible premonition twisting his guts. He feels sick to his stomach, and not from his hangover.

“I... kinda know my way around that kind of business?” Jensen offers and tries to shrug it off, looking just as uncomfortable as Misha feels.

“How?”

Jensen shuffles on his feet, toes the carpet on the floor with his shoe.

“Jensen, please. I need you to be honest with me.”
His head drops heavily onto his chest as Jensen sighs. Quietly, he begins to speak. “Okay, I'll tell you. Just, please, don't hate me for this. Don't jump to the wrong conclusions either. Please. Give me a chance.”

Misha's eyes widen in shock. Could it be...? His heart jumps heavily in his chest and he is halfway to throwing up. Again, not because of the hangover.

“I'm kinda in this business myself,” Jensen says. “And I wanna help you.”

“Who are you?” Misha manages to press out through his teeth.

“My initials, or at least the initial of my first name, is in my villain name. Go figure,” Jensen says, and it almost breaks Misha's heart when he sees the desperate look in Jensen's beautiful green eyes.

It doesn't take much pondering.

“Mystic J,” Misha mumbles. Reality is a bitch, and it slaps him right across the face in that moment. Holy shit.

Jensen nods.

“Oh god,” Misha sighs and turns away. “You're... you're...-” and he's speechless. His hands run over his head as the news sinks in, entangle and curl in his hair as the punch to his gut comes. He fell in love, after so much time, and it had to be Mystic J. Life wasn't fair.

“I know, but it's not like you might think. I didn't want to manipulate you or anything, I just... I mean, what happened here, last night and this morning, that was all-”

“Please leave before I do anything I'll regret later,” Misha says quietly, but firmly.

“Mish, please-”

“Oh, don't 'Mish' me,” he spins around and glares at Jensen. “I trusted you, you son of a bitch. And now you're my arch nemesis? And I should just deal with it, because you apparently had only good reasons? Sorry, call it female intuition, but I'm not buying it.”

“I get it, I really do, and I would probably react exactly like that if I were you. But the point is, Misha, I never wanted to get so close to you, you know? I'll be honest here, and yes, I wanted to manipulate you, that's why I moved here and all that, but-”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Misha snarls. Every word out of Jensen's mouth hurts a bit more. “And I'm supposed to really believe that you made up your mind? That your career as a villain and a seat in the Evil League of Evil isn't that important to you any more? I know you're not far from getting there. We don't need to pretend here, Jensen, we are competitors, and I can't trust you. So leave. My house. Now.”

Jensen's face is torn to a pained expression, his full lips, the ones Misha just kissed so enthusiastically mere minutes ago, pressed to a tight line. The crinkles around his eyes seem deeper, the shadows beneath his eyes darker. Honestly, Misha doesn't know if it's real or just faked pretty good. Doesn't know if Jensen is really hurt or just a convincing actor. His eyes seem a bit watery, and damn. That shouldn't leave Misha's gut in a twist like it does. He feels horrible.

“Get out,” Misha repeats quietly. “I need to think.”

Jensen scuffles towards the door to the patio, eyes focused on the floor. “You can still use the plan, you know.”

Misha's eyes snap up to him then. He hadn't even thought about that. “Okay,” he says, nodding once.

Jensen smiles at him when he twists the door handle open. “Villain or not, and for what it's worth - I really thought we had something there, Misha.”

Misha squeezes his eyes shut, too afraid to think about that option any more. It's scary, scary as hell, that he almost fell for that idiot, let him into his life. He could have ruined everything. Only one more point why Misha needs to get his priorities straight, and why Jensen shouldn't be in the top three of them.

It still hurts, because Jensen has one point right. Misha thought they had something there, too.

When he opens his eyes, Jensen is gone and the door to the patio is wide open.

Misha flops down on the couch and calls Jared. It's the only logical thing he can think of.

***

“Wow,” is Jared's simple answer to Misha's story, an hour later. Then, “Shit.”

Misha cradles his chin in his hand and sighs. Jared's hand comes down on his shoulder, massages it lightly in a simple way to offer comfort. “What do you think I should do?”

“I can't tell you what to do,” Jared says silently. “And I won't. All I can tell is that you seemed completely different to me during the last few days. I haven't seen you like that since... you know. Her,” he shrugs. “It was nice to see you that happy for a change.”

Misha falls forward to rest his head on his knees. “Fuck,” he cusses.

“But for now, I'd say, we get you a bit distracted, bury your head in work. If there's one good thing that came out of this, it's that you got the loan from the Bank. So we'll use it, make this plan come true, and show Mystic J and the Bank and the world that we're still capable of pulling off a plan like this.”

“You're right,” Misha answers and sits back. His eyes hurt, but he isn't crying. He won't cry.

Jared claps him on the back and stands up. “Let's get ready for the briefing.”

***

The hall is buzzing with excitement, the minions are happily chatting among each other, poking and teasing, or just watching the entrance silently.

“You ready?” Jared asks, his arm around Misha's shoulders again, squeezing him once encouragingly.

After taking a deep breath, Misha sighs. “As ready as I could possibly be.”

Jared lets go of him and opens the door with a push of the red button. “Good Luck.”

Misha nods and steps through the door. His ears get almost blown with a thunder of cheering and yelling from the minions, but Misha tries not to let anything show. He's their fearless leader, he has to be strong, especially now. Despite Jensen and all that. And fuck, he really shouldn't think about Jensen right now.

In the second row, Misha can see a minion with – oh no. “Joe, put the rocket launcher down!” Misha orders firmly, index finger pointed at the one-eyed minion with his favorite toy. “You know what happened last time.”

Joe hangs his head and sighs dramatically then leaves to store the weapon away, dragging his feet.

For a moment, there's the piercing pain in his stomach again. Misha states that he definitely has enough of seeing that picture for today.

With a deep inhale of air, Misha steps towards the center stage, where his microphone is waiting for him. The room goes quiet immediately, tiny yellow faces watching him excitedly.

“My dear minions!”

The minions hop and bounce where they stand, clapping their hands and jubilating. Misha shuts them up with a firm look.

“We have made it through a lot this year already! I dare say, it was a quite successful one so far. You did a great job back at our heist to steal the statue of liberty-” Misha is interrupted by a wave of clapping, pauses for a moment, “- the small one, from Las Vegas.”

Right then, when Misha masks out the noise and lets his eyes sweep over his assembled army of minions, he finds a particular one, sitting at the wall to the side. His arms hang down weakly at his side, and he is far away from smiling. In fact, he looks so miserable that Misha is tempted to go over and just cuddle him.

It's Dave, Misha realizes, and he's sulking. The searing pain in his chest in that moment is also not something Misha wants to get used to. As if on cue, Dave looks up then, and his eye meets with Misha's two ones from across the room. Misha smiles, and it's a sad smile, because damn, this is not a plan he made up on his own. It's stupid, but he feels incomplete like this. He may like to make up evil plans and all that, but he is not someone who sells other people's plans for his own.

What would it be like to have Jensen stand here beside him with all the confidence he showed Sheppard?

Misha could use that, right here, right now. He never felt like that, especially not in front of his minions.

He focuses back on the task at hand. Watches his minions as they eye him curiously, a bit confused by the sudden silence.

Jensen isn't here right now, and he will probably never be. Misha manages a smile, and if it looks fake, well then that's that.

“My dear minions,” he begins again, in his most serious voice, “we have a new plan. And we have the money from the Bank to realize it.”

The thunder of excited cheering almost gets too much right then. Misha holds up his hand.

“Aren't you interested in hearing the plan first?” he winks and starts up the presentation he and Jared prepared during the afternoon.

Dave is still watching without enthusiasm. Misha can relate.

“Let's talk about the moon for a second-”

The picture of the moon which they took from Wikipedia is projected onto the screen behind him. The room full of minions goes quiet.

“Don't you think its color is kind of... dull?”

Some of the minions seem to get it already and begin to giggle.

“With the help of my trusty little shrink ray-” cue the picture of the gun Misha invented years ago - “we can shrink it to the size of a soccer ball. We could steal the moon in this form, which would also be quite an interesting plan, but I happen to know that objects shrunken by the shrink ray sooner or later return to their original size. Therefore-”

Dramatic pause, Misha thinks to himself when the platform in the middle of the stage starts rising, bringing him closer to the ceiling which slowly opens up as he ascends. It's night, and the pale moon dips the minions in a silvery light, makes their eyes shine and glitter behind their glasses.

Right then, when he reaches the highest point with the platform, Jared activates the filter film across the opening. They programmed it so it would show off the rainbow flag, and effectively let it look like a rainbow-colored moon to the minions.

“- we are going to paint the moon in rainbow colors!” Misha announces, his voice deep and booming in the silent hall.

The room practically blows up from all the noise and yells erupting from the minions. Misha smiles to himself. Yes, that is exactly the reaction he had hoped for. They approve.

Jared awaits him when the platform is back to base level. He punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Good job.”

Misha punches him right back and heads off, smile on his face. Suddenly, there's Dave, standing beside him, also smiling, but not nearly as jittery as the rest of the minions. He hugs Misha's leg wordlessly before he strolls off.

“Huh,” Jared frowns. “What was that about?”

“I have no idea,” Misha answers, shaking his head.

Then he steps forward and sorts out the teams for building the rocket, the fuel tanks, and the team for the supplies.

***

So far, everything is going according to plan.

Jared has a close eye on the workers who build the rocket, while Misha is supervising the guys who get the color paint and the energy supply for the shrink ray.

Still, everything leaves kind of a bitter aftertaste.

Sometimes Misha finds himself standing in the kitchen like he used to, staring through the window at Jensen's house. He knows when the other man leaves for work, returns, goes for a run. One thing he noticed, and Misha isn't sure if it's part of what happened between them, but- when he got his paper in the morning, Jensen used to smile or whistle to himself while he walked out of the door. Seemed cheerful and with his Zen in the right place.

Misha hasn't seen him smiling for a whole week. It's odd.

He doesn't know how to feel about it all, because it's kind of the same with him. Smiling doesn't come that easy to him these days. Jared also noticed, of course he had.

Yet again, Misha is standing in the kitchen, staring into space. Jensen just left for work, all dressed up in a black suit and white shirt, red striped tie, and his hair slicked back. It had taken quite some restraint to not do something stupid. Like run out of the door and jump his bones. Or just, you know, go out and say good morning, ask if Jensen would talk to him.

Misha hears the phone ringing and hopes it's not his mom. She'd be the last person he'd want to talk to now, but she's still pretty much the only one who ever calls his land line. When he heads for the phone beside the kitchen counter, the caller ID only confirms his apprehension.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, Misha-”
He interrupts her, not in the mood to beat around the bush. “Before you ask, yes, I have a plan, and I won't lay it out in detail here, but you should watch out for any news of the astronomical kind in the next few days.”

“Well, I hope you won't disappoint.”

Misha huffs. “I hope so, too. But I've got a good feeling about this. It's not like much more can go wrong at this point.”

Misha's mom is Misha's mom, though, so despite her usual antics she picks up on the bitter tone in his voice. And yes, even she can be nice every once in a while. “Sweetie, what's wrong?”

Ignoring the 'sweetie', Misha sighs. “I met Mystic J.”

“But that's wonderful! You could-”

“No, Mom, you don't understand. He's my neighbor.”

“So?” she asks unfazed, rather enthusiastically. “That's perfect! Study him, get to know his plans, sabotage them, get him out of the way.”

“Yeah, well, that was exactly what he wanted to do to me,” Misha answers quietly and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. And he also somehow wormed his way into my life and I don't know what to do about it, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, a bit confused.

Misha rubs his free hand over his eyes. “I think I developed... feelings for him. And I'm not fine at the moment, to say the least.”

“Oh honey. Come on, you know the drill. We stay on our own and we only trust people that deserve it. Didn't I teach you that?”

Misha drops his head, although she obviously can't see it. “Of course you did. Still, it happened and there's not much I can do about that.”

“But you know you have to get over it to make your plan work. Your plan is always priority number one. So either work it out or drop it,” she says firmly.

“I know,” Misha's voice comes out a bit shy. “I'll see what I'll do. I don't know yet.”

“Anyway, good luck for your plan.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome. Bye, Misha. Call me soon.”

“Will do,” Misha replies and hangs the phone back onto its station on the wall. He stays there, just standing at the counter, staring into space, until a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“You miss him, don't you?”

Misha turns around slowly. He hadn't even noticed that Jared had arrived for work and wonders how much of the conversation he has overheard. A deep sigh makes his way past Misha's lips. Then he nods, wearily. “Like you wouldn't believe. Hell, I can't fully believe it, most of the time.”

“Then why don't you just grow a pair, walk over there, and tell him? Talk to him?” Jared asks, firmly, walking towards Misha as he speaks and coming to a halt right in front of him.

“Because he just left for work?” Misha deadpans, tilting his head to the side.

Jared blinks. “Okay, point for you. Then why don't you just do it when he's home?”

Covering his face with both hands, Misha sighs again. “I don't know. I can't,” he shakes his head and drops his hands to his thighs in desperation.

“Can't or won't?”

Misha doesn't answer, just averts his eyes to avoid Jared's gaze. The guy seems to be able to look right though Misha, especially in these matters and especially lately.

After a moment of silence, Misha frowns and shakes his head in confusion. “Why are you even rooting for him here? I think it goes without saying that I should – you know, now that I know my biggest and most capable competitor lives next door – panic, crank the alarm system up to eleven, freak out about being spied on, and oh – not trust him, to put it mildly.”

“Because,” Jared answers, barely impressed, “I saw you, and him. Before this happened and now. You didn't even give him the chance to explain himself. I just have the feeling that he might be worth giving a second chance.”

Misha releases a breath that he wasn't even aware of holding.

Before he can even answer, Jared adds with a rueful smile, “You'd make one hell of a team.”

“Don't think I didn't think of that,” Misha says, quietly. The thought crossed his mind quite a few times. “But he screwed up. So I'd say it's his move now.”

“How should he even know you'd talk to him? You threw him out of your house the last time. Are you that proud that you can't just walk over there and make him talk?”

“Not too proud,” Misha shakes his head again and subsequently nods towards his living room. “Remember my palmetto of self-respect? The one I bought after she left? It still lives. So does my self-respect, end of discussion.”

With a few firm steps, Misha walks towards the door to the lab. “We've got work to do,” he says.

He can still see Jared shaking his head in disapproval from the corners of his eyes.

***

It's two days later that Jensen can't stand it any more. He's stewing in his own juices here, and he's had about enough of it.

He can't sleep properly any more, he can't think straight, he can't eat properly - he can't even smile for Christ's sake.

He misses Misha so damn much, and he's not too visionary that he couldn't admit that to himself.

They've been so close to... no, Jensen shakes his head, trying to get his mind clear. Don't even think about it, he tells himself. You know it just hurts more.

The picture in his head still manifests itself – big blue eyes, blinking into the warm light of the rising sun, pink, kiss-swollen lips, so soft under his, a mop of dark, unruly hair with adorable little curls. A tiny whimper when their lips meet, again and again, to perfectly graze along his own.

The file in front of him seems to be written in Enochian or some shit, because the words make as much sense. Jensen can't concentrate, which probably is a side effect of the sleep deprivation. And the Misha thing in general.

It's worse than when he was reminded of wet dreams of the man in question. At least, Jensen was pleasantly aroused and on edge, found his release at night, dreamed a little more of Misha, and so on.

That circle was enjoyable, but the current one is spiraling downward and dragging him mercilessly with it.

All he wants is to go home now – and fuck, it's only 10 a.m. - and collapse on Misha's doorstep, fall onto his knees and beg for forgiveness. For anything.

If friendship is all they could manage, Jensen would happily take it, but the situation like it is now is unbearable for him.

He doesn't know how he makes it through the day, but he eventually does. When he collapses onto his sofa that evening, spent without even having had his run for today, Jensen states that he needs to do something. Anything, really. He's a wreck, physically and mentally, and every time he looks over and sees Misha working in the garden, he wants to shout over and ask how building of the rocket comes along, if he needs help with the pruners.

He wants to have a place in Misha's life, and he's reached a point of desperation that he never thought he would end in.

As if on cue, he hears a tentative knock at the door that leads to his backyard.

A tiny, yellow minion with one eye is standing there, looking expectantly up at him. Jensen immediately recognizes him as Dave. He waves a folded piece of paper in his hand.

It falls like scales from Jensen's eyes right then. He has a plan.

***

“Coming!” Misha shouts, walking down the hallway as the doorbell rings a second time. Quickly, he checks the tiny screen beside the door.

It's Jensen. Misha's eyes fall shut for a second and he takes a deep breath. He's not sure he's ready for this. He opens the door anyway.

“Jensen.”

The man that's standing in front of him looks worse than Misha remembers him from this morning. His hair is a mess, as if he repeatedly ran his hand through it, and his eyes are bloodshot and reddened, deep circles underlining them. The beautiful mouth is pressed tight and Jensen looks pale, his freckles standing out stark against the tone of his skin.

He also sounds weary. “Look, Misha, please don't slam the door in my face. I just want to explain. Can we talk?”

It takes another deep breath and a moment's hesitation before Misha nods. “Yes,” he answers firmly and tries not to let on that his voice is shaking right now.

“Can I come in?” Jensen asks, and he seems so unsure and shaken that it takes all the self-control Misha can muster to not hug and forgive him on the spot.

Misha wants to see him smile again, because Jensen's smile is beautiful and so catching that it lights up the whole room. He wants to see how Jensen's eyes crinkle at the edges, wants to hear him laugh, because his laugh, deep and warm, is one of the single most wonderful sounds he can think of.

Misha wants to be the reason for both the smile and the laughter. He wants to hear it in the morning when he wakes up and wants to see it last thing before he goes to sleep.

The thought is no longer scary, but rather depressing. Having reached the point of no longer denying himself any of those feelings and urges, Misha is faced with the brutal, hard reality.

Jensen is his competitor, a fellow villain. Villains aren't friends, and villains aren't lovers.

It all sounds so stupid the longer Misha thinks about it. In the meantime, he had stepped aside and waved Jensen in.

He still wears his suit that he went to work in that morning, minus the jacket, and he lost the tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of the shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong, muscled arms. And if that sight didn't make Misha drool enough, he now has the perfect view from behind Jensen as he closes the door. He should need a license for his ass in dress pants, because damn -

Focus, Misha.

Misha wills the uprising arousal down. When they reach the kitchen, he offers a chair to Jensen and wordlessly begins to brew coffee for both of them. No milk, one cube of sugar for each. He hands Jensen his mug and sits down carefully with his own, across the table from Jensen.

The other man is staring into the dark, steaming fluid. His head is hanging onto his chest and he looks exhausted.

Misha takes a sip from his coffee, enjoys the feeling of the hot, strong beverage warming him up from the inside. God knows he needs it. He feels ten kinds of strange. And vulnerable.

It sucks.

Jensen heaves a sigh and takes a good mouthful of coffee himself before he finally meets Misha's eyes.

“I really want to come clean here,” he starts, and Misha notices very well how much it costs Jensen to control his voice. “Please just hear me out.”

“Will do,” Misha says simply and watches Jensen closely as he rubs his hands over his face.

Jensen takes another deep breath. “You're right, you know. I want that seat in the Evil League of Evil. But as you are currently more likely to get in there before me, I needed to work out a plan so I could...” he awkwardly scratches his neck. “Well, make you retire. I was never out to kill you, please don't think that. That's not my style. And not part of the image I built myself.”

Misha nods. Truth is, the thought didn't even occur to him.

“So, as my flat in the city really got cramped with all kinds of stuff – that part was completely true – I looked for houses. And I found this one, was pretty impressed, and then researched the neighborhood. Of course I found you immediately, your name is... catchy. Anyway, that was the moment I had my plan ready. Move here, build up my new head quarter and lab here, make you trust me, then sabotage your plan, wipe you off the map and get into the League. However-”

Misha's breath catches in his throat when he takes in the look of desperation in Jensen's eyes, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips trembling with a small, sad smile.

“However,” he starts anew, “I didn't think that I'd fall in love with you somewhere along the line.”
Misha almost spills his coffee over the table right then. Not even the best actor in the world could deliver something like this, with so much pent-up sadness and that broken look on his face. He just knows Jensen isn't lying.

With a thoughtful look into his coffee, Jensen takes a few gulps. “That's what I wanted to tell you. I mean, in our line of business, when do you have a shot at something that big? Personal necessities are a luxury. I always could shove that aside, could stay on target, focus on my career. And then... there was you.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Misha finds himself completely and utterly out of English. Which hasn't happened in... ever?

“Look, I understand if you don't answer me right away. Completely. But, please, think about it,” Jensen rests his hand flat on the table, leaning towards Misha to emphasize his point, “The things we could do, the heists we could pull off. You and me - together.”

Misha nods solemnly. Not that he didn't think about it already, but knowing Jensen would be cool with it? Changes everything.

Still. He needs time to think. There are so many variables here, Misha doesn't even want to list them. Jensen's honesty is appreciated, very much so, but he still needs a reason to trust Jensen again.

“When's the big day, if I may ask?” Jensen asks, his voice softer now. He leans back in his chair, sips from his coffee.

And, luckily, Misha's voice decides to work again. “Tomorrow.”

Jensen nods, his eyes focused on a point somewhere on the floor beside Misha. Then he gets to his feet and places his empty cup in the sink. “Listen, I don't want to disturb you any longer. You probably have a shitload of stuff to get ready. Thanks for listening.”

Misha finds a small smile spreading on his lips at that. He feels weird when he stands up and walks Jensen to the door. It's like being on edge, wired up, waiting for something that might destroy the mood. They're more at ease now with each other, and it's graspable between them, and god, it feels good.

“Let me just ask you one question,” Misha says, stopping in his tracks when they reach the door. “Did you come here on your own, uhm, intention? Or did... Jared say something?”

Jensen smiles and Misha notices with delight that he is, in fact, blushing like a little boy busted with his hand in the cookie jar. “Jared may or may not have sent me a memo that he kind of gave you a piece of his mind so you would talk to me?” he replies, grinning lopsidedly.

Misha slaps his hand over his eyes, groans. After rubbing his eyes for a short moment, he drops it and finds Jensen still smiling amused in front of him. “Well, I can't really say I hate him for that, now can I.”

“You could.”

After a short moment of hesitation, Misha shakes his head. “I won't.”

Jensen turns towards the door, lays his hand on the handle before he spins on his heels again. “Good luck for tomorrow, Mish.”

The nickname, no matter if it was used on purpose there or not, stirs up all those repressed feelings Misha tried to shove down as best as he could for this conversation.

“Thanks, Jen,” he responds.

Apparently, the nickname has just the same effect on Jensen as well, because he visibly flinches. Then Misha is met with dark green eyes that are sparkling with all kinds of emotions, conflicted inwardly just like he feels.

It feels unfair to let Jensen go like that, after he had the balls to tell Misha everything.

It doesn't take much convincing himself to step forward, right into Jensen's personal space, and the same green eyes widen suddenly. Misha's eyes fall down to Jensen's lips, which look like Jensen did a lot of biting on them during the past week. Misha leans towards Jensen, tilts his head up slightly and pulls Jensen down with a hand wrapped around his neck.

They kiss, just a peck on the mouth, lips meeting in a simple, sweet encounter.

Jensen gasps for air when Misha steps back.

“I just thought you should know,” Misha says with a secretive smile.

Jensen huffs out a short laugh, lets his head drop. But he's smiling as well. “Promise me to think about what I said?”

“Promise. Scout's honor.”

Jensen laughs before he opens the door, and it makes something inside Misha warm up at the thought that he eventually made Jensen happy again.

***

When Misha closes his helmet the next day, looking up at his newly built and tested rocket, an incredible mix of feelings is swashing over him. There's pride, because his minions made this – a giant, albeit blue rocket with a yellow capsule at the top – but there's also something strange that Misha is too afraid to name just yet. However, he's able to narrow it down to 'something that has to do with Jensen'.

And whoa, just thinking his name makes Misha's stomach tingle like a bunch of butterflies are going batshit insane in there.

Misha takes a deep breath and steps into the elevator to the top of the rocket.

Right beside the hatchway to the rocket chamber there's Jared waiting for him, clipboard in hand and ticking off the last things on his list. A minion runs in and out at his command.

“You ready?” Jared asks with a worried glance at Misha when the latter appears and stops in front of his friend.

Misha nods solemnly, but doesn't say a word.

“Good. The rocket is ready, too. Take-off in T minus ten minutes,” Jared says, shooing the minion out of the rocket with a wave. “Only a regular crew of five minions on board. Supplies are loaded. There's oxygen for at least five days and food for ten.”

Misha's eyes meet Jared's, and damn the guy for being so tall and making Misha tilt his head up at him. Jared seems sure of himself, convinced that everything is alright, and Misha may know that he is a great actor, but Jared would never lie to him. Especially not about something as big as this.

Jared raises his hands to hug Misha one final time. “Good luck,” he whispers into Misha's ear.

“Thanks, I'll need it.”

“Not with me at base control. Now get in there,” Jared laughs, and shoos him into the rocket just like he had shooed the minion out just a minute ago.

***

They left the earth orbit a few minutes ago and surpassed the sphere that would block radio connection. It had been a dream start, so far, and despite the physically demanding exhilaration, Misha feels good. He's in space, for crying out loud, and how could that not be awesome?

The radio crackles. "Misha? You there? Over."

"Roger that, Jare. Over."

"Are you fine? Over."

"Just peachy, everything works, minions are also save. Over."

"Good. Call me when you need something. I'll get back to you as soon as you approach the moon. Have a good flight. Jared over and out."

"Okay. Over and out."

It's silent for almost half an hour. In that half hour, the second fuel tanks fall off the rocket as planned, reducing it to the capsule with Misha and his minions in it. The silence is relaxing, and Misha wallows in the quietness around him. Even the minions are silent, it's almost eerie, but then again - the beauty of nature around them, the earth clearly visible beside them, even the minions are awestruck at the sight.

Until the radio's white noise flickers up again.

"Houston to Rocket Man," a voice says. "Please come. Over."

And Misha knows that voice instantly, smiles to himself as he realizes who's calling.

"Rocket Man to Houston," he answers amused. "How did you get my frequency? Over."

"Someone might have given it to me. Very tall, floppy brown hair. Said you would need some company up there."

Suddenly, there is a faint chord, the beginning of a song coming from the radio.

"Don't you dare blast some cheesy piano music up here. I don't have a wife to miss," Misha teases.

The other end of the line goes quiet, but through the white noise, Misha swears he hears something that sounds like a sharp intake of breath. Like Jensen wanted to say something, but decided not to.

"No Elton John for you then, Rocket Man," he chuckles instead, about two seconds too late. It seems a bit off.

"And now I've got that song stuck in my head. Thank you very much, you fuckball."

Jensen laughs warmly through the line, and Misha shudders physically at what that sound does to him. "But there's some truth in it. You're not the man they think you are at home."

“Huh.”

“I hope you're not as high as a kite, though.”

"Please. I'm still a trained professional."

"Hate to break it to you, but no, you're not, moron."

"Are you trying to win my heart by playing sappy music and insulting me?" Misha laughs.

"Maybe?" Jensen replies cheekily, but there's a hint of bitterness in his tone. A hint of what's really standing between them. "Is it working?" he adds and the smile is clearly audible in his voice.

Misha huffs and thinks of an answer. Is it working? Jensen's charm is doing some magic to him, no denying that, but... brain says No, because Jensen is still dangerous. For all Misha knows, he could wreck havoc on his lab in an hour while Misha is gone. Not that he believes Jensen will.

Deep down, Misha wants to believe that Jensen is honest with him. Every fiber of him wants to.

He still hasn't got an answer, when Jensen's voice, worried and concerned and genuinely caring, sounds through the speaker of Misha's radio.

"Just... come home in one piece, okay?"

Misha swallows, knows by Jensen's tone that this is nothing to joke about for him. After inhaling deeply to calm down, he eventually says, "Okay."

There are a few seconds of silence between them, again. Eyes zoning out and staring into space - literally - Misha almost flinches when there is a line added, quietly.

"I'll be waiting for you."

***

You could probably say a lot about space in general – that it was black, lonely, and cold as hell.

Damn, Misha still had that Elton John song playing in his head.

But space is also wide, and traveling to the moon takes time, which is the reason why Misha flips on the autopilot and retreats to his cell to sleep. It's not comfortable, not in the least, to stand and strap yourself against a wall so you don't float all over the place. With a last call to Earth, Misha tells Jared to wake him when they've reached shooting range to the moon.

Truth be told, Misha hadn't slept very well in quite some time. Not like that Thursday night, drunk and curled up in Jensen's arms. It had gotten better last night, after they talked about some of the stuff that was going on. The tension obviously had its effects on him, which never happened before, but then again, he also has never been in -

No, not thinking about that. Too soon.

However, Misha's thoughts still run in circles as he tries to ignore the uncomfortable position and fall asleep, both to no avail. It doesn't work, and just makes him think even more about Jensen.

Trust and forgiveness, that's what it needs.

Forgive Jensen for lying to him? Well, okay, Misha could do that. In fact, deep down inside, he already had, and he knows it.

Trust Jensen? That is the problem.

After struggling for about an hour, Misha falls into some kind of restless dozing state. It barely helps him relax.

Everywhere around him is Jensen, his warm voice, rolling laughter, deep green eyes, freckles, the smell of his aftershave lingering in the air. Misha wants to touch him, but is unable to reach him with his feet glued to the spot.

Teasing nightmares suck, Misha decides and consciously pinches his left wrist to wake up.

He wakes up to Dave pulling at his sleeve. “Mee-maw?” he says, worry in his tone.
“I'm fine,” Misha grunts, still half asleep, and yawns.

“Ground control to Rocket Man,” the radio chimes in. “Over.”

Misha loosens the straps and heads for the control panel. “Seriously, Jared? You, too? Over.”

“Sorry, man, it was too funny. Why don't you two just get on with it already? Over.”

“Because I'm in space and he's on Earth? Over.”

The eye-roll in Jared's voice is obvious when he replies. “Apart from that, smartass. Over.”

“I still need time to think. Leave it, Jared, I'll do whatever I need to when I'm back home. How far do we have to go until the plan can go into phase two? Over.”

“You are almost within range, just wait another five to ten minutes and we can begin. Which was the reason I called you. Over.”

“Great, I'll have the minions get everything ready. So long – over and out.”

“Confirmed. Over and out.”

The minions have heard most of the conversation, as it turns out, because they're scattering into all directions as soon as Misha turns around. He still takes a deep breath and says loudly, “Dave, Chuck - paint. Joe, Sam - shrink ray. Nick, you stay here with me.”

He is answered by a few “Yessirs!” and “Aye”s in high-pitched voices as the minions go to work.

They arrive in moon orbit eight minutes later.

“Okay, Sam, fire up the shrink ray!” Misha orders.

The blue lightning strikes the Earth's satellite within the next seconds and Misha watches pretty impressed as it folds the moon to a round rock the size of... well, he had predicted a soccer ball, but it's more like the boulder rock from Raiders of the Lost Ark. But hey, it's perfect to paint.

Before they start to paint the moon, Misha orders another shot from the armed laser gun of the rocket, set on low power. It heats up the moon just enough to let the surface melt and cool back down, therefore effectively creating a dust-less, hard ground for the paint.

“Dave and Chuck, you have fifteen minutes. Go!”

After Misha's approving nod, Nick opens the air lock. The two minions, clad only in air supply helmets, drift out into space, and Misha can see from here that they're giggling and laughing. He can't help but smile to himself – it's nice to see that they're enjoying their job.

Dave starts at the top with bright red color, Chuck at the bottom with violet. They're painting the shrunken moon quickly and Misha watches delighted as it slowly takes on all the colors of the rainbow, one after the other.

Feeling bold all of a sudden, Misha picks up the radio. “Rocket Man to Houston, please come.”

It takes only a few seconds. “Hey Mish. Over.”

“Can you see anything down there? Over.”

“It's daytime, you know. So, no, I don't see anything, unfortunately. How's it going? Over.”

Misha grins to himself, the warm sound of Jensen's voice prickling in his veins and making his heart jump. God, he gets cheesy these days. “Very good. We just started painting. Over.”

“I'm looking forward to the result. Imagine people's faces when the moon rises for the first time painted in rainbow colors,” Jensen chuckles. “Over.”

“Please promise me to go into the city tonight, Jen. Have a beer with Jared or something. I need someone to witness this and tell me later. Over.”

“Will do. When will you be back? Over.” Jensen says. He sounds more serious again.

“Tomorrow, about noon. Over.”

There is a moment of silence between them, and Misha stares idly at Chuck, who just began with the yellow paint around the middle.

“Can you two just go on a date, for crying out loud?” Jared's mock-annoyed voice breaks the silence.

“Shut up, Jare,” Misha blurts out, a bit shocked even though he knows both of them had heard their respective conversations earlier.

“I'll be there,” Jensen says. “Over and out.”

“Thanks,” Misha answers. He doesn't say over and out. Mainly because Dave catches his attention that second, by getting the red paint out again despite the fact that he was already finished with the top. The high-pressure painting machines the minions use can be varied by applying different attachments to adjust the spray – Dave puts on the tiniest one for a fine painting streak.

“Dave, what are you doing?” Misha asks firmly over the intercom.

Dave just waves at the window of the rocket and gives Misha a thumbs up. Misha frowns. Something about this is so not right, and he-

Misha's eyes widen in shock. Panic rushes through him like a wave, and a lump settles firmly in his throat.

Dave.

“Dave!” he shouts, only realizing the following second that he didn't press the intercom button. “Dave, what... Stop that!” Misha orders, this time clearly over the intercom.

Dave turns around shortly, but shakes his head.

Why did he let Dave, of all the minions, out there with the spray paint? Dave who bonded with Jensen, Dave who sulked like he was the one with the heartache when Jensen had left for a week?

Oh god, Misha really had made it too easy.

His thoughts run a mile a minute. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Misha curses at himself and hits his head with a flat palm. Why had he trusted Jensen? It had even been his fucking plan. Why on earth had Misha thought this would all go well? Jensen is a villain, Jensen is Mystic J, and of course he'd sabotage this. It would be the end of Misha's career, one final humiliation to wipe him off the rack, and he's done. Misha wants to reach for his space suit, but he knows it'll take him too long to put in on properly before he could stop Dave.

It's over. Misha covers his face with both hands, feels how shock, panic, and humiliation sink into his bones and leave him in a heap of self-pity and desperation. No, he won't cry, although he feels very much like it. Expecting the worst, Misha peeks through his fingers at Dave working on the moon.

Moving and painting as quickly as possible, Dave has started to draw a heart in the middle of the bright yellow band. Then writes the letter M in one corner, and Misha's heart jumps up to a maddening pace. It takes Dave exactly five more seconds to paint a + in the middle of the heart, and a J in the opposite corner of the M.

There's “M + J” in a heart written on top of the moon. Well, it could be worse. As soon as the moon will expand again, it would probably be recognizable from earth, if you have a telescope. But, it could really, definitely, be much worse.

“Dave, in here. Now,” Misha grinds his teeth. Doesn't mean he's not angry at his disloyal minion.

Surprisingly, the minion pulls himself obediently back into the air lock by the rope that tethers him to the ship.

Relief washes over Misha as soon as Dave is away from the moon, a giant load is off his mind. He releases the breath he wasn't even aware of holding when the air lock closes. Misha has a rant and tons of punishments ready when Dave steps into the rocket chamber towards him. After taking a deep breath, he is ready to dive right into an epic speech of why you don't get good personnel these days any more, but is stopped by Dave.

The minion stands in front of him, hanging his head in a silent apology and toeing shyly at the floor, and holds up a piece of folded paper to Misha.

Like that would explain anything.

Misha snatches it from his tiny hand, still annoyed and frowning and, okay - frightened, and unfolds it. His eyes go wide as he starts to read. It's a message, written in neat, tall handwritten letters. Misha swallows.

Misha,

I know you don't trust me, and believe me, I understand.

Yes, it was me who asked Dave to paint that heart onto the moon. Guilty as charged. But, I hope you now see how easily I could have sabotaged your plan completely, but didn't. Because I wouldn't do that, period.

Because for the first time in my life, I realized there are more important things to achieve than sabotaging people and being evil. You were the one who made me see that. And I hope I made you see that, too. Plus, that I can be trusted.

If you want to give it a shot - I'll be waiting, no matter how much extra time you'll need. Take as long as you want. I'll be there.

J.

Misha reads it at least three times before he folds it back together and stuffs it securely in the pocket on the inside of his suit. His heartbeat is erratic by now, he feels it pounding hard under the touch of his hand on his chest, he feels the blood pulsing on his temples, feels like the ground would drop from his feet – as if that was even possible, with him being in space and floating in mid-air right now.

Turns out, the letter does explain everything.

Jensen, Misha thinks affectionately, shaking his head. Just thinking the name makes Misha's stomach do a somersault and his head spin.

God, he wants Jensen. Has never wanted him as much as he does right now. Because if that, that right now, didn't prove that Jensen is trustworthy, then... Misha loses any ability to think coherently when he states, for the first time, to himself that it is definitely okay now to want Jensen. That he has every right to trust him and believe him. That was one scary moment up here, and Jensen could really have- no, Misha doesn't want to imagine what could have happened. He refuses to think about it, too many happy thoughts spinning in his head right now, and that should stay like that.

And Misha wonders why it didn't come to him earlier when he realizes that he knows exactly what to do now.

He won't let Dave paint over that heart in the middle of their rainbow flag. It should remain there, forever a reminder of how Jensen proved himself to Misha. Looking at the moon, newly rainbow-colored with the heart clearly visible in the middle, Misha finds a dopey smile on his lips and a warm feeling curling in his belly.

“Let's go home, guys,” Misha softly tells the minions and sighs quietly, still smiling, right when the radio crackles to life again.

“Misha, you've got two minutes left to leave the orbit of the moon. It will expand soon. Over,” Jared says urgently.

“Roger that. Return to Earth initiated. See you in a few hours, Jared. Go get a beer with Jensen. That is an order. Over and out.”
“Yes, boss, over and out,” Jared laughs, and if he just knew what happened right now, Misha thinks and smiles happily to himself. If he just knew about the kind of epiphany Misha just had.

Jensen will probably tell him about the heart on the moon. Anyway, those two will have to get used to each other, because the way it looks now, they'll see a lot more from each other in the future. And somehow, Misha knows that Jared and Jensen will get along just fine. The thought makes him smile even more.

***

They find a nice, little bar in the city center as soon as night falls. Some ice hockey game is flickering on the TV over the bar as they enter and sit down at the counter.

Jared eyes him curiously, like all the fucking time, and Jensen can feel his gazes from the side. The guy isn't dumb, he knows there's something going on.

Misha hasn't called since they finished painting the moon, but he must have read the note by now, Dave surely gave it to him already. The mere knowledge of that makes Jensen nervous.

Because for one, his feelings have decided to go on a roller coaster, snapping from barely being able to await Misha's return because he's absolutely sure they'll make out the minute they see each other – to being completely convinced that Misha hates him, will slap him across the face and never talk to him again.

God, feeling this unsure sucks ass.

Oh, and because secondly he hasn't talked to anyone about it. Not even Jared, who – Jensen has to admit – is a damn nice guy. They get along perfectly. If there weren't those knowing glances.

“Scotch, and make it a double,” Jensen orders immediately.

“Yeah, for me, too,” Jared adds.

They share a knowing grin before both of them look at the TV, eyes strangely drawn to it.

The barkeeper places two glasses in front of them. Jensen thanks him quietly and asks him to turn up the volume of the TV, because ice hockey is on break. The news is on, and the moon just began to rise. Scientists all over the world have realized what was going on.
“The moon is red!” someone shouts through the bar. “Like, really, painted red!”

“Is that a flag?” another guy asks.

“It's the Chinese flag! Damn the communists! I knew it!”

Jensen quietly chuckles into his glass, and Jared is two seconds away from laughing out loud.

“Look! It's also yellow! Isn't that the German flag?”

“Nazis! Fuck!”

“What? The German flag is black, then red, then yellow. That ain't some Nazis, boy.”

“Then it's Spain! I thought those guys were broke, how could they even afford-”

“Green! There's green!”

It's quiet for a second, before someone asks totally confused: “Uhm... did someone piss of Bolivia?”

And that's fucking it. Jared splutters his drink all over the bar and bursts into laughter and it takes all of Jensen's self control not to double over from laughing so hard. By the time their eyes meet again, Jared's eyes are watery and Jensen gasps desperately for air.

“Hey, I know a place where we would rather be now,” Jensen says quietly in-between gulps of air. Then he clinks glasses with Jared, and they both empty their scotch in one go. After throwing a few bills on the counter, they head for the door.

The patrons of the bar still stare at the TV, fascinated with what is going on.

“Guys,” Jensen shouts out. “It's a rainbow flag. Gay pride!” and punches his fist in the air for emphasis.

And with that Jared pulls him out of the bar by his wrist, and they are giggling like teenagers as they run down the street. Who knows how many homophobic assholes were in there? Jensen stops after two blocks, grinning widely as he leans against the wall of a house to take a deep breath.

“Dude,” is all Jared says, laughing as he finds his voice again. Then, all of a sudden, Jared pulls at his shoulders and wraps Jensen in a giant bear-hug. “You are awesome.”

Jensen just laughs, because he's still out of breath and the hug does nothing to fix that. Rather the opposite. However, he hugs Jared back.

“Please marry Misha,” Jared flat-out says with another gasp.

“What?” They push apart, hands still lingering on shoulders and waists, but Jensen can just stare at Jared in disbelief. Did he really just say that?

Jared huffs. “You two are like little kids fighting over a toy in the sandbox, I swear. He likes you, you like him, you two could kick ass together, so where's the problem?”

And despite Jared's huge smile, Jensen feels just as unsure as he had for the past week. His tone is quiet and serious as he answers, “How should I know? Misha doesn't trust me, and I'm not stupid enough to not get why that is.”

“But apart from that... You really like him, don't you? You won't lie to him, ever?” Jared prods.

“Of course not,” Jensen replies. Isn't it obvious? “I'm in love with the guy,” he blurts out, slapping his hand over his mouth immediately after. He didn't really intend to spill that particular news to Jared.

Jared gapes at him for a second. Then, quietly, “Did you tell him?”

“Yeah, I did. The night before the launch of the rocket, I went over to his house and told him,” Jensen shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

“And? What did he say?” Jared asks, excited and bouncing like he's one of the minions.

“Not much, just said he'd think about it,” Jensen says, but a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “He did kiss me goodbye, though.”

Jared all but throws his arms into the air. He mutters under his breath, and all Jensen picks up on is something like “That guy, I swear, unbelievable.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just, you two are gonna work this out when he's back. You have all my blessings, but if you ever hurt him, prepare to suffer, because I've got a lab full of minions. Is that enough for the best-friend-speech?” Jared asks firmly, head tilted down and eyes fixed on Jensen's.

Jensen grins. “It is.”

“Good. And I know you've only got one minion on your side. Don't think I don't know what happened up there,” Jared reciprocates the grin before he pulls Jensen further down the street. “I thought you wanted to go somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, still a bit nonplussed by how easy Jared takes it. He quickly leads them through a narrow back alley to Rochester Street, or how the locals call it – Liberty Street. It's the main street of the city's LGBT scene, and it's currently turned into a giant festival. People are literally dancing in the street and Jensen sees women dancing with women, guys with guys, kissing and waving rainbow flags. Music is blasting out of the open doors of the clubs and bars, and shining from above, there's the rainbow-colored moon standing high in the sky.

Jared takes his hand and squeezes it lightly. “Look at what we've done,” he says, awestruck.

“It's a shame that Misha can't see this,” Jensen responds, absent-mindedly taking in all the happy people around him, and thinks, Maybe doing something evil can also be doing something good. It feels a lot better, anyway. He never paid that much attention to the results of his heists and plans. Mostly, he felt accomplished when he saw the subjects of his plan suffer, and not the people whom he probably helped with it.

In the meantime, Jared has pulled out his smart phone and started to film the scenes around them, the moon above and Jensen beside him. “Do you want to say anything in this history-changing moment, Jensen?”

“I miss you, Misha,” Jensen says, firmly into the camera, and smiles a bit sadly. He knows the video is for Misha, for when he comes back, and he can barely wait.

Jared films for another few minutes as they walk down the street, meeting various people, kissing each other, cheering and partying on they way. One guy even walks straight up to Jensen, hugs him and tries to kiss him. Jensen barely has the time to burst out “Sorry, taken!” and instead gets a kiss on the cheek. The guy strolls off with a dopey smile, and Jared all but dies from laughing so hard. And, of course, he has captured it all on video.

“'Taken', right,” Jared breaks down in another laughing fit.

When they have the time, Jensen looks up into the cloudless sky and checks if the red heart in the middle of the yellow band can be seen from here. Sometimes he thinks he can make out a red dot, but it's definitely not readable without any technical help.

But it's there, and he knows it.

Smiling to himself, Jensen notices that Jared has put the phone down and slipped it back into his pocket. When he catches Jensen's eye, he wraps one of his long arms around Jensen's shoulders and squeezes him gently. “He'll come around, you'll see,” he says quietly. Then, louder, “Come on, let's get drunk!”

Jensen is pulled towards a bar where the barkeeper has decided to hand out free beer to everyone passing by, and the rest of the night only stays in Jensen's memory as a night of blurry happiness and hazy rainbow colors everywhere.

***

It's mid-afternoon, and Jensen sits on the stairs of Misha's patio. The hangover wasn't so bad, really. He mostly had beer the night before and he can take to that pretty well. So the sun shining brightly in his face is not really a problem. It's warm and comforting, somehow.

Jensen is nervous as fuck.

Because Misha should be home any second now. Jared alerted him two hours ago that Misha's capsule had landed securely in the Atlantic ocean, as planned, and that he was about to pick him up with their helicopter. Jensen had first taken a deep breath, then a thorough shower, in which he had taken all the time he needed and more. He knew once the waiting would begin, he would be ready to crawl out of his skin.

Which is exactly how he feels now.

Take a deep breath. And another one. Jensen closes his eyes, tries to calm down, but to no avail. His stomach is in knots and he is ready to cheer and break into tears at the same time. It's hope that holds him up, so much hope, but fuck-

Jensen leans sideways against the wooden pillar of Misha's canopy. The rough texture against his skin keeps him grounded, somehow, but it does nothing to calm his erratic heartbeat. He sits there for what feels like an eternity, but can't be much more than a few minutes.

His eyes snap open when he hears steps.

It's Misha, walking down the paved path towards his house, towards Jensen. He has his helmet hanging from his arm and he's smiling. And all Jensen can do is smile back.

“Hey, Mystic J,” Misha greets him, smirking.

“Hey yourself, Mischievous Misha,” Jensen says back and has to blink into the sun as he looks up at the other man.

Misha buries his hands in his pockets and comes to a stand in front of Jensen. A chuckle escapes his lips as he grins. “I think we need new villain names.”

Jensen bursts out laughing. Finally the tension leaves him and is replaced with an easy kind of anticipation. The tingling in his stomach, like a bunch of butterflies gone crazy, is back, but it feels good this time. Like the world is pleasantly spinning around him.

“How was your landing?” Jensen asks in a last attempt to make some small talk.

“Bumpy,” Misha answers, eyes never breaking the contact with Jensen's. “I think my ass will hurt tomorrow, and not in that special, memorably enjoyable way.”

They both laugh again, but the tension between them has turned to something different, charged with undeniable lust.

“Did Jared show you the video?” Jensen asks tentatively.

Misha's smile gets just a tiny bit wider before he crouches down on his haunches in front of Jensen. Now that they're on eye level, Jensen can see a spark of hope in his impossibly wide blue eyes as well. There's a softness in his face that Jensen never expected, but right when he thinks he could pinpoint down what's going on inside Misha, he hangs his head onto his chest. “Yes, he did,” he says, his voice low and amused.

Jensen watches in silence as Misha apparently collects himself, preparing to say something meaningful. Or something. He's distracted by his heart, which is beating so loud Misha can probably hear it. It's a cliché, he knows that, but he feels like passing out by the time Misha raises his head again.

However, Misha averts his eyes, looking somewhere at his side when he says, “Look, I think we both know we're beating around the bush here.”

Jensen's breath hitches for a moment, but he finds himself nodding and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I know.”

Eventually, Misha's eyes meet Jensen's, and they both smile gently at each other. As cheesy as it may sound, Jensen feels like time is standing still in that very second and he thinks he's drowning in Misha's deep blue eyes. Misha seems to make a decision then, leans forward, takes a small step towards Jensen and kneels down on the stair between Jensen's legs. He's so close, right there, and Jensen's hands drop reflexively to his hips, holding him in place. Misha's hands wrap gently around Jensen's neck and pull him down into a kiss.

It's soft and tentative, lips grazing against each other's, exploring and mapping out every square inch of skin. The kiss is so different from the ones they had before, sweet and innocent, somehow, and they both smile into it, breaking apart after a few seconds because neither one manages to keep the laughter from erupting. Misha buries his face in Jensen's neck, and Jensen can hear how he inhales deeply. Jensen's nose ends up in the dark mop that is Misha's hair. He closes his eyes, simply enjoying the moment, wallows in the happiness spreading in his chest, and Jensen feels like he just might spontaneously combust. It's surreal.

All he can do at this point is hold Misha tight, wrap his arms firmly around his waist and hold on for dear life.

When the last remnant of tension finally leaves, Jensen chuckles lightly and kisses the top of Misha's head. “God, I was so nervous, you have no idea.”

“Me too,” Misha mumbles into his neck, warm puffs of air making Jensen shiver. Then Misha kisses back, right onto the pulse point at his neck, and oh, Jensen's body is definitely on board with that.

“Should we move this inside?” Jensen asks quietly. There's PDA and then there's making out on the front porch, and Jensen doesn't really want the neighbors to see what they're doing here.

He almost regrets having asked for that when Misha gets to his feet and offers his hand to Jensen, pulls him to his feet after Jensen grabs it. Neither one of them is letting go, they're just standing there holding hands until Misha finally jumps up the stairs to the door to unlock it.

When the door opens and they step in, it's eerily quiet. Eerie because Misha's house is usually filled with bouncy minions, who fuck shit up one way or another. Jensen closes the door behind them, shooting an irritated glance at Misha, who just shrugs.

As it turns out, the minions have all hidden in the living room and startle them with a shower of confetti and cheering so loud that Jensen thinks his hearing is busted for the next few days. Jared stands in the middle of them and claps his hands with a wide grin.

Misha still hasn't let go of Jensen's hand, and Jensen is far from initiating that.

Jared notices, of course. Jensen knows him well enough by now, he surely watched all of it on some security camera somewhere.

“Congratulations!” Jared shouts over the cheers and whooping of the minions.

Jensen just grins at him and pulls Misha closer by his hand, the two of them sharing a short glance. It's really nice, knowing that they're so supported.

“But,” Jared says, “I think you might wanna go over to Jensen's. I'll keep an eye on our little friends. And Misha, you probably need this.”

And with that, Misha is handed a backpack. “Is that...-”

“- an overnight bag, yes. Off you go, guys.”

Misha grins at his friend before punching his shoulder lightly. Jared just laughs, still does when Misha wraps his arm around Jensen's waist and they leave the house together.

***

Only when they enter Jensen's house and Misha drops his backpack in the hallway, does he realize that not only is Jensen right here, with him, but that he finally is allowed to touch him, too. Just like that. And just like that, Misha does. Wraps his arms around Jensen and holds him close, because he can do that now. Jensen chuckles warmly and leans his forehead against Misha's.

A few soft kisses later, Misha looks up at Jensen, a sudden idea striking him. “Hey, uhm... can I see your lab?”

It takes Jensen a few moments to respond, apparently because he's pretty thrown off by the question. “Yeah, why not,” he answers eventually, seemingly startled by his own words.

Grabbing Misha's hand, Jensen pulls him upstairs, into his bedroom. Momentarily confused, Misha looks around, then raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I never thought you were that easy, Jen.”

“You have no idea,” Jensen shakes his head and smirks.
Misha holds his gaze and asks boldly, “Show me, then.”

Before Misha can even catch his breath, Jensen has pinned him against the door of the built-in closet and his lips are captured by Jensen's demandingly. His touch, one hand on Misha's hips, the other beside his head against the wooden door, is possessive. He doesn't bother to ask before his tongue works its way into Misha's mouth, runs over the sensitive inside of his bottom lip, nibbles gently at it before grazing it with his teeth for contrast. Misha is rendered speechless, feels like two seconds away from melting into a puddle of goo, breathless at the passion in Jensen's moves.

Jensen keeps his crotch at a safe distance from Misha's and is careful that they aren't touching, even when he pulls back and leaves Misha gasping for breath, head leaned back against the closet. However, Misha won't have that. Oh hell, no. Quickly, he reaches for Jensen's hips, pulls them against each other to shove his knee between Jensen's legs, push hard and only once against the hard line of Jensen's cock, trapped in his jeans.

When they push apart this time, Jensen groans frustrated and his eyes are clouded when they focus back on Misha, who is panting. It's like they're both trying to drive the other one insane with need. Well, challenge accepted. Misha leans forward to steal one last kiss, a rather innocent one, from Jensen's lips, before he asks, “So? The lab?”

After a few times of blinking, Jensen nods, “Right. This way,” he says and opens the door to the closet.

There's an elevator hidden behind.

“Okay, that is cool,” Misha acknowledges in amazement and is met with Jensen's wide grin as the latter pulls him into the car while pushing the button down with his other hand. He stumbles forward and more or less accidentally lands in Jensen's arms. But seeing as he's already here, Misha uses the leverage and the coziness of what little space they have in the car to push Jensen back against the wall this time. In contrary to Jensen, he doesn't try to hide his desires in the least. Their bodies touch from head to toe, including Misha rolling his hips up into Jensen's gently, again and again. Jensen's breath hitches audibly at the first thrust, and it feels damn good to Misha, knowing that he's the reason for that.

Misha is ready to call off the visit to the lab and fuck Jensen against the side of the elevator car here and now when Jensen drags him out with a wide grin. “So, this is my lab,” he says, gesturing widely to show off the room as if nothing had happened between them just seconds ago.

“That's the ice beam and those are my old cookie robots. Since you're the only one using them any more, I sorted them out-” Jensen teases, but gets interrupted.

“Please. Even I discovered a much easier way to spy on people these days.”

“You mean that little button bug of yours?”

The smile on Misha's lips falters as he realizes slowly what that truly means. Not only did Jensen know from the very beginning, no- that episode, that one night of him on the couch -

Oh.

“You knew?” Misha manages eventually.

“'Course!” Jensen answers. “You could have fooled anyone who didn't know about this stuff, but me-”

“Then you did it on purpose,” Misha interrupts him, stating the obvious.

Jensen's eyes meet his, staring for a moment, but he gets what Misha is talking about. That much is pretty obvious by the slight blush on his cheeks – and fuck, grown-up people shouldn't be allowed to look so adorable and sexy at the same time. Thinking that this is the man that made Misha all hot and bothered by stripping and masturbating on his couch sends a jolt of excitement down his spine.

“Yes, I did. But you can't possibly tell me you didn't like it,” Jensen replies playfully.

“As a matter of fact, no. I only jerked off to that image at least ten times during the following 48 hours because the color of your sofa was so fucking stimulating,” Misha deadpans.

Jensen gapes at him for a second, but then chuckles deeply and so damn seductively. That sound alone makes Misha want to drop to his knees and suck him down.

Luckily, they are still walking through the lab, or else Misha would have grabbed Jensen and thrown him onto the next horizontal surface to fuck him senseless at least ten times by now.

Then again, this unique kind of sexual tension, that pleasant anticipation buzzing like an electric current between them, is something special, something to enjoy. It's one of those feelings you only get at the beginning of a relationship. So, yes, on some level, Misha wants to take it slow.
“So you were already interested back then? What was it, the day after we met?” Jensen asks him, teasingly, but the serious undercurrent is clear in his tone.

“Well, I thought it was a sexual thing. I mean, if I had met you in a bar or something, I would have hit on you so hard you wouldn't have realized what happened until you were falling into my bed.”

“Right back at you,” Jensen says quietly in response and shoots Misha a cheeky grin.

“But, as you know... things happen. Happened. I couldn't ignore it any longer. And right when I decided that I didn't care, you turn out to be Mystic J, of all the people.”

Jensen's eyes rest on him, watching him carefully as he waits for a few moments before asking, “So? Where are we now?”

Misha looks firmly into his eyes as he declares, “I wanna give it a shot. I can't promise you everything you ever wished for in a relationship, because I've only had one and you know how that ended. But it's you, and you know who I am and who I'm not, and I-” he takes a deep breath, trying to collect his courage for that, “- trust you. That's a lot coming from someone like me, and you know that.”

“I do, and I respect and honor that,” Jensen answers seriously, “but all I can say is...” he shrugs a bit helplessly, and Misha has the feeling that something big is coming up. Jensen bites his lip.

Misha stops, turns towards Jensen and kisses him shortly. “Yes?”

It's Jensen's turn to take a deep breath, and he huffs out a short laugh before he raises his head again to look at Misha. “I know it's cheesy to say, but if that is what falling in love is like, I really don't wanna have to do it again.”

Laughter is rising in Misha's chest, from deep down, so very happy and glad and too awestruck to even realize that this is really happening. At a loss of what else to do, Misha just wraps Jensen in a loving hug, squeezes him tight and kisses his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ll have to,” he says with an impish smile and kisses Jensen again, full on the lips, and it's not like the sexual tension left, but right now, it's comforting and gentle, the way they kiss without urgency. Just being here, in Jensen's arms, lips meeting slowly, nibbling and sucking at the respective other ones, it's perfect.

Jensen's smile is soft when they break the kiss after countless moments. “C'mon, I'll show you the lab. Properly this time.”

Taking Misha's hand into his, Jensen guides him through the neat and clean lab that includes four rooms - one full of testing equipment and chemicals, the second a storage room, the third a test area and the last one a room with a giant screen on the widest wall.

“What is that?” Misha asks confused, when he sees it for the first time.

Jensen chuckles lightly. “That, my friend, is Jackie. Jackie, meet Misha.”

A tinny, flat voice responds as the giant screen flickers to life. “Welcome.”

“She's my supercomputer,” Jensen explains with a proud smile. “And my latest invention.”

“But Jackie?”

“Well, I may have been drunk when I named her? On whiskey? And watching Dr. Who?” Jensen's grin is wide as he scratches his neck. “Anyway. Jackie, test.”

“Intentions, Sir?” the tiny, but now clearly female voice asks.

“Partner, as in boyfriend.”

A porthole in the wall opens, revealing a robotic arm that stretches quickly out towards Misha. Things are going so fast that he can't even blink or protest before the robot has held open his eye with a second arm, holding a torch in his face and checking his eyes while another arm grabs his wrist, feels the pulse. Misha flinches when he feels a sudden piercing sensation at the fingertip of his thumb, but can't look because the robot still holds his face firmly.

The robotic arms are gone as soon as they had appeared.

“What the hell-” Misha begins, but is interrupted by Jackie.

“Subject is healthy. Blood sample normal, no viral infection. HIV negative. Hormone levels normal, Oxytocin and pheromones increased.”

When Misha turns towards Jensen, unsure if he should laugh or glare at him, Jensen shrugs. “Sorry?”

“Jackie, could you do that to him, too?” Misha says quickly.

Much to his own surprise, the robot follows his order, captures Jensen in the same head-lock and takes blood from his fingertip.

“Master is healthy. You should probably change your contacts, though, sir. Blood sample normal, no viral infection. HIV negative. Hormone levels normal, Oxytocin and pheromones increased.”

Misha laughs loudly at Jensen's startled face.

“Why did you obey?” he asks, confused.

“I am programmed to follow you and your partner's orders, sir. You declared Misha as your partner.”

Jensen blinks a few times as if he just realized that yes, the machine was right. Still grinning, Misha reaches around his back to place his hand at Jensen's waist. “Glad we cleared that up,” he says, and can't help but smirk.

With a sigh, Jensen places a short peck on his lips. “So, what do you say?”

“It is pretty impressive. I like it,” Misha nods reassuringly as he looks all around himself. “It's so quiet down here. I can't remember the last time my lab was so quiet, without Jared and the minions.”

“You gotta show me some time, too,” Jensen smiles.

“Will do.”

Their eyes meet for a short moment, before Jensen looks to the floor and apparently struggles with saying something.

“Spill, Ackles,” Misha nudges him with a soft smile.

It takes a moment of biting his bottom lip and a flinch before Jensen responds. “You know, I'm quite unsure about this myself. Don't get me wrong, I want this... I mean, I want us to work, and I'll do my best, but what if- I mean, we both got a lot to lose. What if we don't work out?”

He's right to think of that possibility and Misha knows it as well. The truth can be uncomfortable sometimes, but Jensen and Misha need to talk about this. “Then we'll stay friends, because we're awesome like that,” he states, looking straight into Jensen's face. He means it, with all the seriousness he can muster. “Plus, we'll both sign a contract to never use our knowledge about each other against each other. Until we have that down, it's a gentleman's agreement, if you will. You've got my promise. Scout's honor.”

Jensen's smile has gotten increasingly wider and more relaxed with Misha's words, and when he's finished, Jensen nods. “You've got my word, too. And I don't say something like that easily.”

“Okay,” Misha says. Then he wraps Jensen up in his arms, hugs him closely and gently runs his hands over the small of Jensen's back. The other man has his right hand tangled in the hair at the back of Misha's head, playing around with the curly black strands there.

“Okay,” Jensen whispers in response, and the intimacy of the situation makes Misha shudder pleasantly to his bones.

They spend some time together in the lab after that, Jensen showing off some particular equipment of former plans of his, inventions he's working on – which Misha also has one idea or two about and once they have time to work on this, they'll put them to a good use. Misha is truly impressed and at the same time can't wait to show his own lab to Jensen some time.

When it turns to evening, Jensen suggests returning to the main part of the house to make dinner.

“Would you mind if I took a short shower?” Misha asks when Jensen pulls out a sauce pan. “I haven't really had time, you know... traveling to the moon in a rocket and stuff.”

Jensen laughs. “Sure, just take what you need. Towels are in the bathroom.”

Misha returns fifteen minutes later, clad in a clean shirt and clean pair of jeans, and finally feels completely right again.

“I think I should call my mom,” he says, a bit absent-mindedly.

“Why would you call your mom?” Jensen replies from the stove, frowning into the pot he's currently stirring some mashed tomatoes into.

“She's always nagging about me not sharing any news with her.”

“Oh, I see. Mine's the same,” Jensen grins. “Feel free to use the land line.”

“Thanks,” Misha says while picking up the phone that's hanging on the wall beside the kitchen cabinet and dials the number he knows by heart.

His mom answers the call within the first two rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom, it's me,” Misha says calmly but can't hide the smug smile in his tone.

“Misha! Did you do that with the moon?”

“Yup.”

“Well done, honey. Very well done,” and for once, she sounds truly, genuinely proud of him.

Misha sighs, feeling incredibly happy about the current situation as a whole. “Thanks, Mom. I do have some other news as well, by the way.”

“And what is that?” she sounds suspicious.

“Remember that other issue I told you about?”

“With Mystic J being your neighbor?”

“Yes, that. He's... His name is Jensen.” Jensen turns his head around at his name being mentioned and smiles lopsidedly at Misha. “We've worked it out. He's my boyfriend now.”

The line goes silent for a few seconds. “Really? That's... wow, that's great. Can you put him on the line?”

Misha gestures for Jensen to come over to him and pick up the phone, and Jensen nods and just hands the wooden spoon to him.

“Yes?” he says into the speaker. Then, “Hello, Ma'am.”

Then there's a short silence from Jensen's side, and Misha tries not to stare as Jensen nods a few times but says nothing. Misha also tries not to think about the riot act his mother most likely reads to Jensen right now and rather focuses on the seriously deliciously smelling pasta that Jensen whipped up in the meantime.

“Yes, I can assure you of that,” Jensen confirms eventually. Another few moments later, Jensen laughs. So it couldn't have been that bad.

Misha swallows heavily and releases the breath he wasn't aware of holding.

“Sure, will do, Ma'am. You, too.” And with that, Jensen hangs up the phone.

“Everything fine?” Misha asks and gives the cooking spoon back to Jensen.

Jensen smiles gently. “Don't worry, I know how to handle that kind of mom from experience.”

Misha grins and cuddles wordlessly into Jensen's back to look over his shoulder. “I'm glad it went so well,” he replies quietly and turns his head to kiss Jensen's cheek fondly.

However, Jensen grimaces afterwards. “At least you could have shaved,” he teases.

“I didn't know if I was allowed to use your razor and Jared hadn't put mine into the bag,” Misha pouts.

Jensen kisses his cheek again and chuckles. “Just joking. I don't really mind. I like growing mine out from time to time as well.”

“Like, growing a full beard?” Misha asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yup,” Jensen nods and turns back to his pasta.

Misha uses the distraction to bite into Jensen's jaw, enjoys the prickling feeling of Jensen's five o'clock shadow against his lips. “I'd love to see that,” he adds, his voice automatically dropping to a lower, rougher tone, and is rewarded with Jensen moaning lightly.

“Did I ever tell you that your voice is better than porn sometimes?” Jensen bursts out. If Misha looked close, he might make out a faint blush on his cheek. He does look close, and he doesn't seem to imagine that.

“Look who's talking.”

“Yeah?” Jensen asks back, his own voice now altered deliberately to a dark growl that goes straight to Misha's dick. A smirk is plastered to his face when he turns his head to Misha, but quickly gets wiped off by Misha leaning in. He captures Jensen's plush lips in a needy, open-mouthed kiss, just a few short moves with a flicker of tongue in-between, and feels Jensen match his moves before he pulls back.

On some silent agreement, they both focus back on the pasta and pretend that they didn't just share one of those hot moments that left both of them so obviously flustered and aroused.

It's like they're dancing around each other, testing the waters, teasing, and prodding. Misha enjoys it very much, especially the teasing. How could he have lived all those years without any of this?

Jensen interrupts his train of thought with his ever-persistent smile. “Mish, you wanna set the table, please?”

“Sure.”

They work seamlessly around each other, just groping each other when Misha has to slip past Jensen to get to the drawer with the cutlery, but that's just playful teasing, again. It feels great.

They have pasta and a glass of wine each and watch a movie afterwards, and it would all be such an obvious date if Misha just admitted it to himself. Part of him still indulges in the possibility that this feels too good to be real.

That part, though, is shut up the second they go to bed. Because Jensen may have shown him the guest room a few minutes ago, but still says quietly, “I wouldn't mind if you'd shared the bed with me tonight, though,” when they stand in front of the door to Jensen's room, both clad in their sleepwear.

“Sometimes, you're just too polite, Jen,” Misha laughs.

“Don't laugh at me,” Jensen pouts, and oh, that is just not fair. Not with lips like his. “I'm not experienced in this kind of... stuff.”

“So what? I'm rusty, too,” Misha shrugs with a smile.

Jensen watches him closely, until Misha steps towards him, places one hand on his waist and opens the door with the other to shove him gently into the room. On the way to the bed, they kiss, and the proximity of something so intimate seems to have the same effect on them – they get shy. Misha barely dares to use tongue during the kiss, and Jensen sits down awkwardly on the bed, careful not to push Misha down with him.

“Look, I just don't want to rush anything,” Jensen says, then, and it does nothing to lessen the awkward tension between them.

“Me neither,” Misha shakes his head.

After a moment of silence, they sigh simultaneously. When Jensen's green eyes look up at Misha from where he's sitting on the bed, Misha can't help but giggle. “We're worse than teenagers at their first sleepover.”

“Well, that last time, we were pretty plastered,” a grin tugs at the edges of Jensen's lips as he answers.

Heaving another dramatic sigh, Misha flops down on the other side of the king-sized bed and pulls the duvet up to his hips. Jensen follows suit, ends up lying on his side beside Misha so the latter has perfect access to kiss him softly.

It's not a time to talk, so Misha runs his hand down to Jensen's waist and slides their bodies close together under the sheets, holds him firmly in place as his lips trail along Jensen's. They kiss languidly, slowly, simply enjoying that they can, and somewhere along the way, Jensen's hand lands on Misha's cheek and strokes it gently. Jensen's body is warm against his and Misha can feel the trained muscles rippling under his skin as Jensen presses closer towards him.

When Jensen gasps for breath for a quick moment, Misha uses it to laugh softly. He's happy, like, truly found his Zen right here in Jensen's arms. Jensen matches the laugh before he leans back in, one arm wrapped around Misha's shoulder now, and they pick up where they left off.

As a matter of fact, they fall asleep like this, foreheads resting against each other, breathing softly, noses touching just slightly.

It has been an exhausting, stressful, amazing day. And it has been completely worth it.

***

When Jensen wakes up the next morning, he's sprawled out on his belly like a starfish, with one arm flat across Misha's chest and the other man's arm under his chin. The sun hasn't risen just yet, but the red sky is dipping his bedroom in a warm, cozy light. Misha looks peaceful and relaxed, and Jensen takes a minute to appreciate the view, lets his eyes take in the sight of his... whatever Misha is right now. Lifetime partner sounds too serious, boyfriend too much like high school crush, better half like they've been dating for years and...

Partner in crime. Yeah, that probably cuts it. Jensen grins, still quite sleepily.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jensen leans over Misha, whose plush pink lips are slightly parted, huffing out short puffs of air.

Jensen tilts his head down to brush his lips softly over Misha's, to place little cat licks on his full bottom lip and to run his knuckles gently over Misha's cheek. After a few moments, Misha blinks dazedly into the light and up into Jensen's grinning face.

“Good morning, Mish,” Jensen greets him in a sleep-hoarse voice.

“Mornin',” Misha mumbles and leans upwards to kiss Jensen shortly.

They sink down into the sheets together, kissing lazily and using the fact that they've got all the time they need to fully wake up, right until Misha playfully bites and nibbles at Jensen's bottom lip. Which, in turn, makes him groan lightly.

Jensen chuckles when they pull apart and is met with Misha's electric blue eyes, sparkling with mischief and something deeper and darker. “Are you a morning person?”

A smirk curls up the edges of Misha's lips. “I think that's something you should find out for yourself,” he says quietly with a wink. Then he grabs the wrist of Jensen's hand that's still rested idly on his chest, and drags it down to his crotch. Instinctively, Jensen closes his palm and finds Misha's cock, hard and swollen, curving up towards his belly and straining against the fabric of his boxers.

“Oh,” Jensen recites the wittiest rejoinder ever known to man. He stares for a moment or two, absent-mindedly massaging the bulge under his hand, and feels a jolt of arousal flash through him when Misha moans blissfully.

The mood between them has shifted so rapidly that Jensen reflexively holds his breath in anticipation. Without further ado, he shifts his position quickly, covering Misha's body completely with his own, left leg pressed into Misha's crotch, rubbing it gently up against his erection. Misha rolls his hips slowly against Jensen's in response, slows his movement down just for a split second when he reaches the point of the most friction.

Jensen sighs. “Could we... you know, not go slow there for a minute?” he manages to growl, needing and frustrated and god, he needs to come right the fuck now. And he refuses to take care of that in the bathroom by himself.

He wants Misha, right here, right now.

Luckily, Misha's answer is a low, rumbling laughter, before he rests his full weight on hands and feet, driving them into the mattress to gain leverage, and flips them over so he sits right atop Jensen, riding him. “Hell, yes,” he groans, the relief in his voice obvious.

There is no word on Earth for how much Jensen loves that position.

Especially when Misha pushes down, drags his crotch over Jensen's to make him groan again. Urgently, Jensen grabs Misha's face in his hands, pulls him down and into a searingly hot kiss while he thrusts his hips upwards to meet Misha's.

It's dry humping, and they're moaning like teenagers during their first time, but Jensen so does not care. Because it feels amazing.

Hands are roaming over the respective other one's body, exploring firm muscles under tanned skin and little dips of skin in between, and Jensen learns that Misha is ticklish. Especially when it comes to that spot at his back, not really at the level of his waist, maybe a few inches above. Jensen also learns that Misha gets incredibly turned on by a hand placed on his lower back and shoving him down onto someone's cock. Jensen's, in this case. And oh god, Misha pleading and writhing on top of him is something else.

Jensen wraps both arms around Misha's waist, holds him firmly in place and dry-fucks him for all he's worth, making them both pant and gasp into each other's mouths as their tongues meet in a desperate encounter. The arousal curling his stomach and sending waves of pleasure through him leaves Jensen not only breathless, but also fearing that this could really be over too soon.

He wants to reach down, massage Misha's dick again, but the latter captures his hand swiftly, entwines his fingers with Jensen's and presses their hands down onto the pillow. It's a sweet gesture, and Jensen can't help but wallow in the surge of desire that seeps through him at the possessive, demanding move.

Misha knows what he wants in bed. Jensen really loves guys who fit that bill.

When their lips lock for the next time, Jensen uses his other hand to cradle the back of Misha's head with it, kisses him senseless until Misha lets go of his hand.

But then, finally, it's on.

With a quick move, Jensen's hands slip under the waistband of Misha's boxers, run over his firm, trained ass once before pushing the piece of clothing down to the other man's thighs. On the way up, Jensen takes hold of the t-shirt and shoves it up to Misha's shoulders, fingers tracing around and over Misha's sensitive nipples on the way. Misha shudders pleasantly, and Jensen just grins.

“Off with it,” Jensen orders, his voice low and rough, and he can almost see Misha shudder visibly as he speaks. Seems like he likes that sound.

Misha is off the bed and naked within seconds. And looking him over from where he's laying, Jensen can only approve. Misha might not be built, but he's muscular in all the right places and his skin is that perfect light brown that comes with a natural tan, not too much. His cock, though, makes Jensen's mouth water.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Jensen shifts to the edge of the bed where Misha's standing, bends over and swallows his dick down in one swift motion. He is rewarded with an appreciative groan from Misha, who seems to be a bit surprised by Jensen's quick decision. The head of Misha's cock rests on his tongue, and Jensen circles the sensitive gland with it until Misha moans again.

Jensen knows exactly what he must look like from Misha's point of view, has heard enough times how beautiful his cocksucking lips are, but he also really doesn't mind in this moment. Hey, he's all for giving Misha the greatest view possible. When he lets the other man's cock slide slowly out of his mouth, sucking him through it, and mouths the head with his lips, occasionally flicking his tongue out to lick caressing stripes over the tip, Jensen looks up at Misha. His eyes are hooded, at half-mast, lips parted as he pants for air, and he looks so deliciously disheveled that Jensen doesn't think twice. He dives back down again, bobs his head up and down and lets his tongue work its magic whenever he can. Misha is very responsive to everything Jensen does – no touch goes unnoticed, not even the one of his hand on Misha's hip that slides down to his ass. Grabbing it firmly and shoving Misha further down his throat, Jensen moans around the dick in his mouth.

“Jen,” Misha moans, “Jen, look at me.”

Pulling off, Jensen tips his head back to look at Misha. “Yeah?” he questions, a bit confused. “Is it... okay? Something I should-”

Misha shakes his head vehemently. Then holds on for a moment, and eventually nods. “Could you go a little slower? And can I-” he lifts his right hand, indicates lying in on Jensen's head with a quirked eyebrow.

Jensen gets it immediately, though. “Sure.”

Misha's hand is in his hair, entangled in the light brown strands, and holds him loosely. Jensen quickly takes his cock into his mouth again after grazing his lips playfully against the head. When his lips meet the base, the grip of Misha's hand tightens, keeps him there for a few seconds as he fucks into his mouth, small, shallow thrusts that are enough to keep Misha moaning obscenely and Jensen whimpering with need beneath him.

With a frustrated groan, Misha suddenly pulls his cock free and leans heavily down onto Jensen's shoulders.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just- need a second,” Misha pants, then swallows and grins. “Oh god, I'm really rusty.”

Jensen chuckles, mouth rested against Misha's hipbone now as he reaches around and cups the other man's ass in both hands, squeezing tight. He nuzzles his nose into Misha's groin, the fine rasps of trimmed pubic hair against his cheek as he slowly laps his tongue at the base of Misha's cock. Misha groans again at the view he enjoys without doubt, and Jensen responds by running his tongue all the way along the underside of his cock until he reaches the head again. Sucking it into his mouth, Jensen sighs. Yeah, he could definitely get used to that.

Right then, Misha pushes him away – again – by his shoulders, and before Jensen can so much as protest, Misha has pulled his t-shirt off, thrown him onto the bed sheets and pulls down his boxers. With a hungry, appreciative gaze, he falls to his knees between Jensen's spread legs and leans forward to return the favor.

And oh, this is hotter than any of the many masturbation fantasies Jensen had had during the past days. Misha's lips are already swollen from the biting and kissing, but wrapped around his cock, they look even more perfect. And don't get him started on how it feels – tight, wet heat of Misha's mouth around him, sucking him down, long tongue curling around the head – it's obscene what the guy is able to do with it. Jensen's head falls back onto the bundle of bed sheets as a needy growl falls from his lips.

“Jeez, do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?” Jensen moans out.

Misha lifts his head, and Jensen almost regrets having said anything at the loss of contact. “Somebody not impressed by my cocksucking skills?” he smirks teasingly as he looks up.

Jensen almost comes right then and there, just because Misha is lying between his legs with his mouth on his cock, currently running his lips up the length of it, nibbling and licking along the way. And those blue eyes, of course, looking up at him big and innocent. Jensen huffs out a short laugh. “God, no-”

He is interrupted by Misha going down on him in earnest that very second, sliding his mouth up and down his cock, full lips reddened and stretched around the girth of it. A loud moan escapes Jensen's throat, almost embarrassing how needy it is, but Misha uses his hand to stroke Jensen's dick where his mouth doesn't reach.

It takes every ounce of willpower Jensen has to stop Misha. “Sorry, but seems like I'm 'rusty', too,” he chuckles when he pulls Misha to his feet and down on the bed beside him. A grin spreads on Misha's lips in response, while Jensen trails his hand over his chest and stomach until he reaches down and wraps his fingers around the base of Misha's cock. Jensen latches his mouth onto Misha's neck, sucking there lightly, not wanting to leave a bruise – they are not teenagers anymore, despite the fact that they sometimes act like some – licks in between, and elicits a pleasant groan from Misha when he kisses the sensitive spot over his pulse point. His own erection presses against Misha's hip, and Jensen gently rubs it over the skin there, shallow, delicious thrusts that just manage to make him more aware of how hard he is right now.

Jensen lifts his hand from where it had gently caressed Misha's cock and balls beneath, tips the index and middle finger at the other man's plush bottom lip. Without asking, Misha locks eyes with Jensen and sucks the two fingers inside his mouth, and just the picture of it makes Jensen groan and rut against Misha's hip once more. Then he leans in and licks along the spot where Misha's lips stretch around his fingers, teasing the soft flesh there, and feels Misha shudder. After a short kiss against the corner of Misha's lips, Jensen withdraws his spit-slick fingers, and immediately reaches down behind Misha's balls to circle his entrance with his middle finger.

Misha's eyes roll to the back of his head and his eyes press shut as he buries his head in the crook of Jensen's neck. He writhes and moans, presses down onto the fingers, but Jensen's won't have any of that. Instead, he teases Misha with short thrusts against the ring of muscle without really slipping in, a few times until Misha groans again, clearly frustrated this time.

“Just do it, for fuck's sake,” he swears, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

God, hearing Misha curse is hotter than it probably should be, Jensen states quietly to himself, chuckles and breaches Misha with his finger, slipping in to the first knuckle, until he feels Misha's muscles clench and his breath hitch. “You okay?” he asks after a moment.

Breathing hard, Misha looks up at him. “Yes, just, go slow. Gimme a second.”

With a gentle smile, Jensen nods and leans down to kiss him, long and deliciously slowly, until he feels the muscle around his finger relax and accept the intrusion. Jensen carefully pushes in a bit further before he withdraws again and repeats those small thrusts, so small they barely count as thrusts. Misha grimaces underneath him, and his whole body goes taut. Jensen stops again to kiss him soothingly, but when he lifts his head a few seconds later, Misha shakes his head. “Sorry, would you mind if we not-?” he leaves the sentence unfinished, but Jensen gets it.

“If you don't want to, we don't have to,” he replies with a shrug and a smile, and it really is as simple as that. Jensen slowly withdraws his finger and leans over Misha's body to get a tissue from the bedside table to wipe his finger clean.

Misha watches him with a troubled expression and idly strokes the small of Jensen's back with his hand.

While he's already digging in his bedside table, Jensen gets the usual supplies out as well. Misha raises an eyebrow when lube and condom fall down onto the sheets beside him, and Jensen just winks as he throws one leg across Misha's hip, straddling him. Wordlessly, he grabs for Misha's right hand that's still on his lower back, reaches for the lube and pops it open, spreads a generous amount over Misha's fingers.

Blue eyes widen as Misha gets what Jensen is up to. Jensen, on the other hand, smirks as he guides Misha's hand back around himself, between his ass cheeks, where the tip of his finger immediately finds Jensen's entrance.

“You don't need to be so careful with me, Mish,” Jensen says hoarsely as he leans forward, covering Misha's body with his, “I'm pretty used to that-”

However, he still gasps for air when the first finger slips in in one, fluid motion. “Yeah, I almost forgot you like to do that when you get yourself off,” Misha notes amused and angles his finger forward, meeting Jensen's prostate dead on. Jensen arches his back into the touch instinctively.

Rubbing the tip of his finger over Jensen's prostate again and again, Misha turns him into a panting mess, and Jensen is that close to either coming or begging when Misha withdraws the finger. Jensen feels almost empty without it, but Misha quickly replaces it with two fingers, just resting them there to let Jensen get used to them. After a short while, Jensen feels his body relaxing, enjoying the pleasant feeling of being so full, and lets go. And because Misha doesn't move his hand, the bastard, Jensen begins to rock softly up and down on his spot above his hips.

Misha smirks at him when Jensen opens his hooded eyes. “My turn next time,” Misha states, and Jensen nods dazedly as he pats the bed beside Misha, searching for the condom packet. When Jensen fingers close around it, he stops the movement of his hips, opens the packet and rolls the condom over Misha's cock. The latter still has his fingers buried deep in Jensen's ass, not thrusting, just resting there as he repeatedly strokes the tips over Jensen's prostate, makes him shudder every single time.

Lifting himself off Misha's fingers, Jensen shifts forward over the other man's dick, holds it with his fingers wrapped around the base as he sinks down onto it. Jensen pants and throws his head back when the head slips into him, waits a few seconds to get used to the straining sensation, and takes it in inches from there, slowly bearing down until he's sitting flat on Misha's lap.

Oh, fuck.

Jensen barely finds words to describe how much he missed this. Feeling so filled up, Misha's cock buried balls-deep within him, stretching him so perfectly – Jensen absent-mindedly reaches behind his back, down to where his muscle is straining around Misha's cock, traces along the place where skin meets skin, and Misha sighs beneath him as Jensen's fingers trail across his balls. Jensen chuckles huskily.

Leaning forward once again, Jensen gently kisses Misha, and when they both start to move in unison, the feeling is changing once again, from a bit weird to deliciously arousing. Not that Jensen wasn't hard as fuck already, but this – this drives him straight to the edge, and he has to stop after a few thrusts to gasp for air and regain his self-control.

“Shit, I'm so close already,” Misha grunts beneath him, hardly able to control himself, and hides his face in Jensen's neck. He also uses that position to nibble and bite at Jensen's neck, down to his collarbone, and that is just not fair.

“Yeah, me too,” Jensen says. No use denying it.

“Can we blame this on long absence and all that later?” Misha asks, grimacing when Jensen rolls his hips down once more, picking up their agonizingly slow pace.

“Yup, I think we totally can.”

Their eyes meet once more, and Jensen can see the heat sparkling in Misha's blue ones – what little of the blue that's left around his blown-wide pupils. Misha places his hands on Jensen's hips, holds him there firmly when he thrusts upwards, hard, just a few times until his body tenses all over, hips stuttering and his back arching up. A long, uncontrolled groan escapes his lips as Misha comes, and Jensen can feel his cock twitching and pulsing within him, and that's just too much right now.

He reaches between their bodies, strokes his own dick with his hand until he follows Misha with a choked-off moan that's muffled by Misha's mouth on his, kissing him passionately. Long, white spurts hit Misha's chest and stomach, one droplet even landing on his chin, discovered by Jensen when he pulls away to catch his breath. He laughs lightly before he dips his head down and licks the sticky fluid from Misha's stubble-covered chin.

“Oh, wow,” is all Misha says afterwards.

Jensen places a short, loving peck on his mouth before he shifts forward, lets Misha's cock slowly slide out of him and drops down beside Misha. The blue-eyed man's hair is tousled and messy, and Jensen runs his hand through it, smoothing it back down to ruffle it again.

Misha laughs affectionately and pulls Jensen closer, their bodies slotting together.

“Misha, condom,” Jensen says with a grin.

“Right. I almost forgot,” Misha answers and reaches down to pull it off. Jensen quickly hands him a tissue to wrap it in. “I meant it, you know,” Misha adds quietly.

“What?”

“That next time, it's my turn,” Misha smiles.

“Yeah, I'm okay with that,” Jensen answers seriously.

Misha kisses him then suddenly looks a bit worried. “You know, I have issues sometimes, to let someone else have control. Like today. But please don't get me wrong, I trust you. I do.”

“I know,” Jensen smiles gently, runs his hand over Misha's cheek. Misha's expression relaxes as he cuddles into Jensen's chest.

They lay like that for countless minutes, Jensen playing with the strands of Misha's hair while the other man kisses his chest lazily, until Misha jolts up. “Uhm... don't you have to work today?”

“Yeah,” Jensen drawls lazily. “In about two hours.”

“Well, then I'd say, you go hop under the shower, and I'll get some breakfast going.”

Jensen buries his nose in Misha's hair. “Don't wanna stand up.”

Misha laughs against his neck. “We can cuddle when you're back home.”

“'m not cuddling,” Jensen mumbles, and Misha laughs again before he more-or-less pushes him out of bed.

Jensen stumbles to his feet, flips Misha the finger and heads for the bathroom. And if he's really aware that he's buck naked and teasing Misha with the sight, then, well. He turns around one last time, winks at Misha and shakes his hips.

Misha groans and falls back into the sheets.

The grin on his face is persistent, through the shower and shaving and when he's leaving the bathroom only clad in his boxers, Misha is sitting on the small balcony. The table is covered with two plates and cups full of coffee and it smells delicious. Plus, Misha also only wears his boxers.

He made pancakes and there are fresh apples and bananas cut on top of them. And bacon and Nutella.

“Trust me, you'll like it,” is all Misha says.

Jensen shrugs and dives into his breakfast, and all he can think is that this, the way it is right now, is perfect. Having breakfast at sunrise on the balcony, with a half-naked and post-coital Misha, that's perfection.

The pancakes also taste wonderful, and Jensen tells Misha as much.

***

Two months later, the governments of two states decide that after the great results the rainbow-colored moon left in a large part of the population, it was time to allow gay marriage. To much of the conservatives' obvious dismay, that is.

Jensen and Misha couldn't be happier about it.

Because that means more protestors in front of the White House. And that, of course, means they are finally able to screw with them, big time. It had taken a good planning session with Jared and the minions, but now the time has come to implement it.

“You ready?” Misha asks from beside him.

Jensen nods in response. “Let's go.”

They walk straight up to the fifty, maybe sixty people piling in front of the gates, Jensen with a megaphone in hand, Misha with a large plastic box.

The guy up front holds a sign that says 'Homosexuals will not inherit the kingdom of god', on the sign of the women next to him is written 'Sodomites will go to hell.' Misha snorts indignantly, but only for Jensen to hear. Then he places the box in a good distance to the crowd, and Jensen winks at the guard to let them know they are those two guys. They managed to sneak in a note to them beforehand. Turns out the security guys are just as annoyed by the protestors as Misha and Jensen are.

Misha jumps onto the box and Jensen steps up beside him. After clearing his throat, Jensen lifts the megaphone to his mouth and pushes the button.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for coming today!” his amplified voice sounds over the crowd, and people go quiet within seconds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen notices that Misha's lips curl into a small smile. Well, it may or may not have been Misha who called a few conservative parties to set the date for today's protest action. His eyes are sparkling amused, and even after two months of basically living together, sleeping together and backing each other up in their plans, Jensen barely can take his eyes off the other man. Focus, Jensen, he tells himself. He's got a job to do here. Jensen sees that Jared is in place, right at the back of the crowd, and grinning at him. He gives him a thumbs-up to show that he's ready.

“Don't worry, I won't hold you up that long,” Jensen says. “I just wanted to say that I'm very happy that in a country where everyone is able to speak their own opinion and live along to their own beliefs, that there are still people out there who care about telling others what they should do instead. It shows that you care about others, and,” he points to the man and woman up front, “about their afterlife.”

He receives some strange glances from a few people. Apparently, they already sense that something here is not the way they expected it to be. Jensen smiles overly sweet.

“If you're wondering who we are – you can just call me J. Maybe you've heard of me before.”

Eyes snap wide open all around the crowd. Some people turn to each other, start whispering questions.

“And this is M, my partner in crime,” Jensen says, pointing to Misha.

The expressions have turned shocked by now. But, apparently they're so shocked that no one moves or attempts to run away.

“Don't worry, you know that massacres are not our style. Anyway, we've got to tell you something. You know, the whole painting the moon in rainbow colors thing? That was us, beginning to end. So I hope you enjoy our constant reminder that there are people out there that suffer from you trying to make their lives miserable. And you know what? Being gay is not a choice, but being a homophobe is.” Jensen makes a dramatic pause, waits for his words to sink in before he continues. “Oh, and the moon is also a reminder for you that there are also people out there that don't give a crap about your bullshit opinion and are very happy that way.”

The people track his every move as Jensen lifts his unoccupied arm, wraps it around Misha's shoulders and pulls him into his chest to kiss him lovingly.

An uproar of disgusted yelling, almost deafening, reaches their ears, but Jensen really couldn't care less. Misha's lips are drawn into a grin, and Jensen can't help but also smile into the kiss. He's proud, so proud of standing here, standing up for what they've done, for their sexual orientation, in front of basically the whole world, because they also alerted some reporters from various TV stations. When they break apart, the crowd looks ready to beat them up, but the security guards handle them just fine.

Jensen lifts the megaphone once more, his arm still around Misha's waist. “So, I hate to break this to you, but here are two men standing in front of you that love each other no matter what you're trying to tell them. No matter how you think they should live their life. I bet we have more fun in our life than you will ever have, because we are happy with who we are and not miserable and hating on others. We don't feel obligated to ruin other people's lives. But telling you this won't ever make you understand, and I know that. All I gotta say is this: enjoy our J&Ms.”

When he puts it down, Misha quickly grabs the megaphone and pushes the button to speak. “Oh, and just for the record,” he says, pointing at the woman with the Sodomites-will-go-to-hell-sign, “I think hell will be fabulous.”

Jared chooses that moment to fire the grenade-sized bombs he rolled through the crowd without them noticing. They go off in one single poof, covering the crowd in a pink cloud, and Jared, Jensen, and Misha use the moment to run around the nearest street corner. The fog doesn't spread, it's not supposed to. They developed it like that.

When the cloud lifts, there are men kissing men and women kissing women, and their signs lay discarded on the floor. Even the guards started to make out with each other.

It's hilarious.

The three of them simultaneously break into a loud laughing fit. Jared snorts with laughter as he slides down the fence he's leaning against, sits on the floor with tears in his eyes. Misha has his arm around Jensen's shoulders and chuckles into his neck. Happiness spreads through Jensen in waves. Everything is perfect, everything went according to plan. “You guys,” he gasps through Jared's and Misha's hysterical laughing, “Usually, I would find any same-sex orgy hot, but this-” he points to the bunch of mid-40s housewives going at it, “- is not hot, that's simply awesome in a very pathetic way.”

Misha gasps for air to calm down a bit, then grabs Jensen's face with both hands and kisses him senseless.

When they pull apart, Jensen grins at Misha. “You should probably call your mom.”

“Yeah, I should,” Misha grins back and pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial the number.

She doesn't even get to say hello. “Mom, you might wanna turn on the news,” Misha says immediately after she picked up.

***

Three days later, they receive the letter.

They're in the Evil League of Evil, both of them. The vacant seat goes to J & M, the duo that battled for the equality of gay marriage and won without committing a crime, but just a couple of stupid pranks.

THE END.