Work Text:
It's Jensen's idea.
They've just finished shooting. The end of another season.
They sit in Jensen’s trailer, celebrating.
Jensen’s feeling a little tipsy. A little melancholy. A little brave.
They reminisce about their favorite episodes.
Misha says he loved playing Casifer, the challenge was invigorating. But if pressed to choose, his favorite would be 'Hells Angel'.
Jensen chooses 'Baby'. The episode was special, the car a part of him now. The metal pregnant with memories as infused into his very being as this show. His brother. The man in front of him.
His only complaint that Misha wasn’t physically in it.
He cups Misha’s cheek. Laments his regret with sucking kisses to his clavicle. Trails his mouth up his throat. Nips at his lip.
Kisses him deep, and desperate.
It dawns on him that they’re not going to see baby for weeks.
The crew has packed up. Cavernous set deserted and silent. An idea sparks in his whiskey, lust addled mind and in the moment, it’s brilliant. The best he’s ever had.
He lures Misha to the empty garage with a siren-song of whispered promises. Presses him against baby's side and kisses him raw and reckless. Devours him. Rocks against him until they’re both panting, and aching.
Misha's heart pounds under his palm. His own answers. They synchronise, and soar.
Blood roars in his ears.
They tear at each others clothes in a frantic bid to get at the naked skin beneath. Mouths and hands map the other’s flesh. Devoted. Hungry.
The only sound is the creak of weathered steel, harsh breaths and wrecked moans.
He reverses their positions. Fumbles behind him and opens baby's door. Scoots inside backwards, on his hands and butt. Pouts prettily at Misha and begs "Please Mish, please..."
Misha follows. Irresistibly drawn to the need in his voice. The flush of his skin. The desire in his eyes, dripping from his lips.
Misha slides on top of him. His skin is hot. Parched. Eager.
His weight settles satisfying across his body.
Misha stills and drinks him in. Leans down and kisses him. Slow. Drugging.
He’s addictive.
Jensen’s greedy.
Misha drags his lips across his throat. His nipples. His stomach. He sits back on his heels. Pushes Jensen's legs against his chest and settles his feet on baby’s ceiling. Buries his face in his cleft and laps messily at him.
Jensen whines.
Misha sits back. Demands entry. Presses his cock steadily inside.
Jensen trembles. Holds his breath. Rises up to meet him as he buries himself in a single thrust.
The stretch and burn is welcome. Craved.
They’re both debauched. Desperate. Misha thrusts wildly. One hand, fingers like steel, grasps Jensen's hip. The other cinches his ankle. Immobilises him as he fucks him hard, and deep.
He grunts with every buck of his hips.
The sound makes Jensen wilder.
He plants his feet on the ceiling, braces himself with one hand. Grips his own knee with the other.
Anchors himself so that he can rock his ass up onto Misha's cock. Frantically impales himself to the hilt. Over, and over.
His head thrashes from side to side in hedonistic pleasure. Wordless, keening moans slip from his lips.
Baby's leather cradles him. Her scent envelops and comforts.
She feels like home.
Misha’s cockhead drags over his prostate with every stuttered thrust.
Stars bloom behind his eyelids.
He forgets to breathe as he feels Misha swell inside him.
Everything explodes.
...They won’t see baby for weeks.