Headspace of a dreamer. Mutlifandom, occasionally just pretty pictures, all of the things I care way too much about.
I should’ve probably mentioned that I’m horrible at writing smut (which is why it usually doesn’t see the light of day xD) but I tried my best.
Set in the Candid universe because I like it. ;)
In which Jensen wants sex but Misha has a bit different plans.
“Oh fuck, Mish, I’m – Misha?” Jensen’s slightly consternated expression is more than understandable, considering Misha had just abandoned his ministrations of Jensen’s cock in favor doing … whatever. Yes, more than a little understandable. Being with Misha is new and exciting at the best of times with the crazy shit he sometimes gets up to – bet generally speaking he doesn’t get up to it in the middle of having sex. “What the hell are you doing?” If he sounds pouty, well, he has every right to be. Nothing happens for a moment, so he follows it up with a tentative “Misha?” Somewhere in the back of his head is the fear that this is the moment Misha has decided Jensen’s really too boring for him. But no, Misha wouldn’t just up and disappear. So where the hell is he? The clicking of a camera shutter answers that question. Then Misha stands in front of him again, frowning down at the camera.
“You look completely unsatisfied,” he chides. Jensen just raises an eyebrow. Crazy photographer boyfriend and his voyeur tendencies.
“I wasn’t. Then you left.”
“Well, it won’t do. Just … do something about it?” Jensen gapes. This … isn’t really happening, is it?
“You want me to masturbate for your camera?!” Blue eyes look at him pleadingly before Misha moves in again.
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he murmurs into Jensen’s ear and that is when he says fuck it.
“You owe me for this.” With a sigh he settles himself back and tries to relax. Arousal still coils under the surface of his skin but it has dampened a bit. Jesus, the things he does for Misha. But that’s just the thing, really. Misha had thrown him off his trodden path the moment Jensen saw him, even if he had just been a face behind a camera then (not unlike now, funnily enough). He hadn’t been weirded out by him stealing into the dressing room and taking pictures without Jensen’s knowledge. He hadn’t been weirded out by the outlandish stories Misha came up with on their first date or by being woken up with a grin, a “I just threw your best friend out of your house so we could have sex” and a hand groping his ass and he certainly isn’t as weirded out by Misha wanting to take pictures of him now as he should be. Closing his eyes against the camera he wraps his hand around his cock, already slick from Misha’s earlier ministrations (and, God, the way Misha looked on his knees, lips wrapped around Jensen’s cock; how the electric blue of his eyes was only still visible as a sliver, the rest of his eyes blown black and clouded with lust; the noises he made like Jensen’s dick was something to be savored …), loses himself easily in the images behind his eyelids, in the feel of his hand and the much needed friction. He barely even registers the camera shutter’s insistent clicking. It’s good and he’s so close, on the edge of falling, but it’s not what he wants, not really. Stroking his thumb over the slit at the head he groans, throws his head back. He wants blue eyes, the warmth of another body turned into unbearable tight heat, wants broken moans and his name as a prayer on plush lips, he wants … “God, Misha …” His other hand comes up, teasing a nipple before continuing its way down – until it is stopped. Until lips cover his own and another hand closes over the one on his cock.
“So damn beautiful,” Misha pants into the space between frantic kisses and, “Fucking tease, Jen, such a fucking tease.” He abandons his cock in favor of drawing Misha closer, until there’s barely enough space left between them for the hands he really wants on him. God, he’s so fucking close, he just needs …
“Misha, please,” he moans out as Misha lets go, letting their cocks slide together rutting against him for a moment, at the feeling of Misha’s lips on his neck, his collar bone. Misha breathes out a “Yes”, grasps them both in his hand and Jensen is going to pass out any minute now from all the things that Misha does to him. He thrusts his hips up into Misha’s hand, losing rhythm quicker than he’d like. He used to be smoother than this but with Misha he seems to only be able to hold on and enjoy the ride. A few more thrusts and he’s there, spilling over Misha’s hand, over both of their stomachs with a cry. It seems to be enough for Misha, he’s coming just a moment later, muffling his groan in Jensen’s neck as he rides it out and collapses.
For a few minutes they just lie there, basking in the afterglow and catching their breaths before Misha heaves himself up with a long suffering sigh. He finds the nearest piece of cloth for a quick clean-up (it turns out to be Jensen’s boxers but he’s not really up to caring right now) and collapses half on top of Jensen again afterwards.
“Thanks,” he adds like an afterthought, which makes Jensen chuckle.
“You better not use those as blackmail material somewhere down the road.”
“That would entail I’d let you go, so no.” Jensen’s smile is genuine even as he buries his head in Misha’s hair.
“Good.” He isn’t planning on letting go either.