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The circular booth in the corner of the restaurant was high backed and secluded—add in two glasses of whiskey and only a small appetizer to soak them up, and it’s the perfect mix for Jensen to get a little handsy.
“Jen! Stop it! Someone is going to see you!” Misha growls, shoving the man’s hand off his thigh.
“No one can see us back here” Jensen mumbles, leaning in to brush his lips along his friend’s neck.
Misha only scoots to the other end of the booth. “They might not see your hand but they certainly can see your face, and it should not be rubbing against mine!”
The slightly drunk and frustrated actor rolls his green eyes as he plops his head back against the cushion. “Man, we’re in Vegas! I shouldn’t be the one telling you to loosen up. What’s your deal?”
“What’s my deal? Phoenix is my deal! Having to have multiple conversations with West about ‘grown up relationships’ is my deal! You, suddenly turning into Mr. Care-Free is my deal! The sunset picture, the little comments here and there …" he huffs, tossing his hand up with his voice “I’m glad you’re finally relaxed about all this, Jen, but we should really be more careful.” Misha’s eyes mold into a weighty concern as he stares Jensen down.
“Phoenix was nothing to worry about. I don’t think that maid even knew who we were” Jensen offers, reaching out to rub Misha’s hand as it sits tensely on the seat.
“It’s still a person who saw us in a fairly compromising position” he hisses, pulling his fingers back.
Jensen laughs, harder than he normally would but the liquor coursing through him is making his funny bone extra sensitive. “Compromising position? Dude. I just had my shirt off and was drinking coffee, and you were at the other end of the room on your cell. Fully clothed I might add. She probably thought we were brothers or something.”
Misha sulks, turning away to look at the rest of the dark restaurant. Low burning neon lights line the edges of every surface. Some bass filled tune is thrumming the air and each waiter has a hairstyle that is defying the laws of physics. It’s a bit “trendy” for either of their tastes, but Jensen heard good things about the food and suggested they try it if they had a moment to themselves. He wanted to at least find some time with the guy, considering the weekend was going to be more packed than usual.
“I just think—” Misha begins, still looking away but Jensen is already losing himself in the edges of his friend’s jaw, “we should cool it while we’re here. We all have people coming in—family, friends and what-not. It’s not like we’ll have a bunch of time to spend together anyway. I just think with all the extra eyes, we should play it safe and keep our distance. Don’t you agree?” The man finally faces him again—a green light, catching the blue rings, shocking Jensen’s whiskey-soaked system.
“Uh, yeah. Man, if that’s really what you want, I’ll back off. I was just thinking this weekend is going to be a lot of fun and … well, you always make things more fun—so I was just thinking … but … no, it’s fine. Yeah, I’ll back off.”
Misha smiles at him, letting his bristling shoulders smooth with relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He reaches out and squeezes Jensen’s arm, making him shiver as he holds his breath in.
Jensen then nods pathetically, not liking this sudden change in mood. He glances back towards the guy at his right, desperately wanting to feel his skin now more than ever. “I can’t guarantee I won’t forget though—you’re hard to resist” he mumbles a moment later, picking up his glass and tossing his friend a flirty wink while taking another sip.
“You have a way of being so comforting while also being no comfort whatsoever. It’s truly a talent, Jensen.”
“What can I say? God gave me a gift!”
A waiter pops his head into the booth, killing any plan Jensen was brewing to steal a kiss while the tension was broken. “Can I get you gentlemen anymore drinks?”
Jensen looks up at the kid—he’s probably mid-twenties and his eyes are shining happily as they dance between them. “Nah, man. I think we’re good. Thanks.”
“Of course, Mr. Ackles … big fan by the way. You too Mr. Collins.” The young waiter blushes slightly before taking a step back from the table. “Oh! And your food will be right out. Sorry for the delay. Busy evening.”
Jensen grins wide, lifting up his nearly empty glass in the kid’s direction. “Not a problem, bud. We’re good.” He brings his drink back to his lips, grinning along the edge and winking at the waiter before gulping down the rest of his whiskey.
The young man laughs, blushing harder, giving them a small wave as he finally walks away.
Jensen glances over to Misha, finding that he’s being thoroughly glared at. “What?” he spits, his brows clamoring together.
His friend rolls his eyes, letting a haughty smirk peek onto his lips. “Oh, nothing. Just didn’t think the waiter was your type.”
Jensen grins evilly, setting down his glass and sliding it to the other end of the table. He leans in to whisper low and deep to his tense co-star. “Well, you always say I should think about the fans more.”
“You’re a dick.”
“Are you jealous? You can come over here and stake your claim” Jensen whispers, finally leaning back and spreading his body wide across the booth.
Misha’s eyes turn into heated slits, seeping out judgment in a steady flow. “No. That’s okay. The waiter can have you.”
Jensen sits back up with a grumble, straining his neck and lifting his hand to flag down anyone in an apron. A waitress walks up to the booth, smiling with eyebrows raised. Jensen glances back to his friend, twisting his lip up in a smirk. “I think I will take another drink.”
Misha laughs, leaning to the side to pull out his phone. He begins swiping at the screen, slowly losing all need to keep Jensen in his sights. “Yeah, you do that.”
***
Jensen walks into the green room, looking around at the band as they continue chattering about the night’s set—not noticing that he’s even there. He turns and sees Misha in the corner, talking to some of the volunteers, smiling big and gesturing wildly—completely lost in his own conversation. Jensen stops a moment, watching the man and loving each “um” and “uh” he utters; but quickly grimacing as yesterday’s conversation in the restaurant rushes back to him. I’m backing off, he thinks while nodding softly to himself … doesn’t mean I can’t look. He slides over to the far wall, leaning against it as he watches Misha’s eyes shine and his ears perk intently with one of the volunteer’s words.
“I know we need to practice it, Rich, but Gil isn’t here and I can’t really run a sound check without a voice.”
“Why don’t you just sing it?”
“I can’t hit those notes! It’s not a me type of song.”
Jensen’s attention is pulled back to the band—Rob and Rich are standing at the edge of a circle of chairs, bickering as they always do while the rest of the guys look on, like children stuck in the middle of their parents’ squabble.
“Now you’re just being difficult!” Richard hisses. His arms pull tight across his chest as he puffs it out and glares at his friend.
“What’s the issue, fellas?” Jensen yells, making everyone in the room quiet and turn to stare at him. The warmth of Misha’s eyes looking him up and down burns a wide grin into his cheeks.
He finally glances back just as Rob begins to speak. “Gil isn’t here to rehearse this song and it’s the last one we need to get in before the set tonight.”
“What song?” Jensen asks, finally pushing off the wall to walk towards the band.
“Thinking Out Loud. It’s that Ed Sheeran tune” Rich offers, quickly leaning back when he finds Rob glaring at him. “What? He asked!”
“Yeah, he asked me” Rob snaps back, rolling his eyes as he looks to Jensen once more.
Jensen can’t help but chuckle, these two are better than any melodrama. “Relax guys, I’ll sing it if you need someone to fill in.”
Rob’s face lights up. “Really? Do you know that one?”
Jensen smiles, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging. “Yeah, I know that one.”
“And you won’t mind? It won’t mess you up? You’re already all geared for your own set.”
“It’ll be fine, man. I don’t mind.”
“Awesome!” Rob chirps, turning back to face the rest of his band-mates. “Alright guys, set up! We got a lead!” The other men smile and sigh, some clapping with relief as they pull themselves upright and ready their instruments.
It only takes another five minutes before they’re handing Jensen some headphones for the playback; as well as an i-Pad with the lyrics, just in case. Jensen sets the tablet aside, knowing there’s really no need for it. He has a soft spot for this song. When he’s alone in his car where no one can tease him and he doesn’t have to feel bad for being such a sap, he will belt out every note with as much passion as he can muster—because why not? After all, he just happens to be lucky enough to have two people it can apply to.
“You ready, J?” Rob asks, leaning up to catch Jensen’s eye.
“Yep, count me in.” Jensen turns back to hold the mic steady to his lips, letting his eyes dance around the room. Stephen taps his sticks, counting out the beats as the rest of the guys pull in. Misha falls into Jensen’s sights just as the song starts.
“When your legs don’t work like they used to before,”
He watches as Misha stands in the doorway, arms folded, biting his lip to hold back a smile.
“And I can’t sweep you off of your feet.”
Jensen grins at him, closing his eyes after a moment to think about Danneel—how she giggles whenever he picks her up. The way her soft hands clasp at the back of his neck and she buries her head underneath his chin, just holding him tight.
“Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?”
He opens up once more, looking back to his friend as he sways, wetting the corner of his mouth quickly—his tongue dancing on the memory of how Misha’s feels.
“Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?”
Misha grins, shaking his head and looking away.
“And darlin’ I will, be lovin’ you, till we’re seventy.”
Jensen pulls his lip between his teeth as he takes a breath, thinking about how Misha’s eyes would crinkle at the edges as he laughs—saying something like “I would be seventy four if you were seventy, Jen.” Humor hugs every word of the next verse.
“And Baby, my heart, could still fall as hard, at twenty three.”
It’s true. It could. Over and over.
“And I’m thinking ‘bout how, people fall in love in mysterious ways,
Maybe just a touch of a hand.
Well me—I fall in love with you every single day,
And I just want to tell you I am ... ”
He finishes out the song—filling the room with a thousand looks and thoughts of blue eyes, glossed lips, messy hair and gentle arms that hold him—hold their daughter, hold his world. The last bits of the melody fade and Jensen finally turns and nods at the guys, giving them a questioning-thumbs up.
“Did that all sound good?” Rob asks, gazing upon the whole group. A mixture of yes’s and nods are collected before he smiles and walks up to Jensen’s side. “That was really awesome, man. Thanks!”
“Awesome? That was fuckin’ amazing!” Rich booms, rushing at the two men, from seemingly out of nowhere. “You should really consider singing that on stage! The fans would absolutely shit themselves!”
Jensen tilts back with a hearty laugh. “Yeah, right! No … I think I’ll leave this one to Gil.”
Rich frowns, shaking his head before placing his hands firmly on his hips. “I’m serious, J. You really should think about it. Gil—he always has a love ballad up his sleeve, but they wouldn’t expect it from you. It really would knock them on their asses.”
Jensen smiles, watching as the man’s amber eyes widen, trying to force an agreement. “Sorry, man.” And with that, he clasps his hand on Rich’s shoulder before walking away. As he gets closer to the door, he looks up to find that Misha is no longer there. His heart drops—he really was hoping to get to talk to the guy after that, even if that was all he was allowed to do. It would be enough. He feels something brush his ear and he realizes he still has the headphones in. He pulls them out and wraps them around the receiver that was in his pocket. Turning back, he shouts to grab Rob’s attention. “Heads up, man!” The device is quickly tossed across the room and into Rob’s hands. Jensen gives him another thumbs-up, catching sight of Rich just before he makes his way out the door.
“Think about it, dude!” his friend hollers, pointing back to the microphone stand. “The fans would love it!”
“No need, buddy! It’s a bit too sappy of a song for me anyway.”
***
The lights are burning against his skin and he whips around, ripping off his over shirt. The screams that erupt are deafening. The hotel is going to get some complaints about this one. Jensen spins back, gripping the microphone hard and waiting for his cue in the beat.
“Motoring!
What’s your price for flight?
You’ve got him in your sight!
And driving through the night!”
He blows out each word, pumping up with the screams, the drums, with the energy surging in every atom of the room. He’s drunk on it—or high—or both. He loves it; and before he can let a solitary moment of doubt sink in, the guitar wails and he’s jumping into the air, falling back down and singing out the next verse. Jensen moves about the stage, bouncing his head with the rhythm and grinning at the band. This is fucking awesome! The song finally starts to slow again and he takes a deep breath, going back to the front of the stage to face the crowd.
“Sister Christian,
The time has come,
And you know that you’re the only one
To say, okay.
But you’re motoring.”
He tilts his head back with his big finish, feeling the crowd’s cheers more than he can hear them. His piercing note sings through the air, silencing every soul—even causing the instruments to fade into the ether. He feels accomplished. He feels free.
Jensen can’t get the smile off of his face as he climbs back stage.
“Dude, that was fucking awesome!” Jared booms, grabbing him and pulling him into a hug.
Jensen laughs and squeezes his friend back. Another set of arms are suddenly around them both and he cranks his head to the side to see Jeff smashing them all together.
“So proud of my boy!” he laughs.
“Aw, thanks, Dad!” Jensen chuckles, finally wriggling out of the web of limbs he found himself in.
The next several minutes are filled with more pats on the back and compliments. He tries to revert to his old, humble self, but it’s hard—he’s proud and he has to admit— he likes the feeling. When the excitement finally calms a little, they gear up for the big finale. Soon, he’s back on stage singing “Carry On My Wayward Son” with everyone who has become his family over the past ten years—well, almost everyone.
“Hey, where’d Mish go?” Jensen asks Jared once they all get back stage again.
His tall friend looks nervously around the room. “He was here earlier, but as soon as you finished your song, he slipped out the back door.”
Jensen frowns. The guy had been avoiding him all day and he’s not sure if he’s just trying to do what he said he would and keep his distance, or if something is really wrong. “Okay, I’m going to see if I can find him. Cover for me, would ya?”
Jared nods and smacks him on the back as Jensen slips out of the crowd. He’s quickly in the elevator and heading up to Misha’s room—it’s about the only place he can think that the guy would be at this hour. Maybe he’s not feeling well. Maybe he’s catching whatever Jared has. He knows that some bug has been going around, and it’s a kinder explanation than the guy being so pissed that he can’t even stay in the same room as him. Although, he just saw Misha a half hour ago—he looked fine. What did I do?
“Mish?” Jensen yelps, knocking hard on his door. “Mish, you feeling okay?” He steps back as the handle starts to turn.
The door cracks open and angry eyes peer through. “What are you doing up here?”
Jensen fidgets in place, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I was worried about you. I haven’t seen you much all day and you’ve … kinda been dodgin’ me.”
He watches the man sigh and press his forehead into the edge of the door. “Yes, I said I wanted to keep apart this weekend.”
“I know, but—I didn’t think that meant you’d avoid me completely!” Jensen grumbles, looking up at his friend and taking a small step forward.
“I didn’t either, but …”
“But what?”
“You know what!” Misha hisses, glaring darkly from the blackness of the room.
Jensen shrugs. “I can honestly say, I don’t.”
His friend growls, flinging the door wide just before reaching out and yanking Jensen inside. “You and your stupid songs!” Misha thrusts him against the wall, slamming the door shut and bolting the lock after another second. “You had to sing every fucking word—fucking perfectly!”
Jensen is wide eyed—shock plaguing him a moment before he finally starts to comprehend what has really been bugging his friend this whole time. A grin blooms across his lips.
“Don’t you smile all smugly at me! See! I knew you were doing that shit on purpose!” Misha pushes his other hand into Jensen’s chest, keeping him still as he hisses. “I tell you I want to be hands-off this weekend, so you make me want to strip you down with everything you do!”
Jensen stays planted against the wall, Misha’s hands—holding him tight at the shoulders, but even while being pinned, he knows he has the most control here.
“God damnit! Do you know how hard it is? Do you know how much will it took not to just fucking mount you today?”
He’s not sure why he does it, or what brought it into his mind, but he thinks it might be the best thing he’s done in a long time. With slanted eyes and a playful smirk, Jensen leans in—barely a bite away from Misha’s lips.
“You’re motoring … what your price for flight?”
Fingers dig into his arms, yanking Jensen to the other side of the room and throwing him on the bed. Starved blues devour every inch of his body, shredding away his clothes, leaving him naked in record time.
“You’re going to pay for that” Misha growls, rearing up to rip away at his own shirt and pants.
“In finding Mr. Right …” Jensen sings breathlessly, licking his lips as his friend pulls off his boxers.
“Fuck you!”
“You’ll be alright tonight.”
Jensen is muted by a heavy body crushing his own and a slick tongue, attacking every last thought he had been trying to push out. Lightening hands rake across his skin—feeling, gripping, pinching … trying to pull him closer and losing patience when all the distance had been spanned.
“Roll over” Misha commands, harsh and airless, still biting at Jensen’s chin.
Jensen laughs. “You’re not wasting any time, are you?”
“I’ve just gone through a whole day’s worth of foreplay, Jensen … roll- the fuck- over!”
Jensen shakes, feeling himself harden and ache with the mix of power and fury pulsing from his friend. He does as he’s told, rolling to his stomach and turning his head to the side, just in time to see Misha bounce off the bed and over to his duffle bag in the corner. He pulls out a ziplock with a small bottle sealed inside—a bottle they’ve become very accustomed to over the past couple of months. His cock leaks onto the sheets and warms the skin of his stomach as he waits for the man to return. The mattress shakes as Misha climbs back on, clicking the bottle open as he positions himself behind Jensen’s body.
He moans and Jensen can feel his friend’s eyes soaking him up. “Scoot back”
Jensen complies again, moving backwards and lifting himself up slightly so the man can use him. Misha’s hand is soon on his hip, pulling him in closer to his waist. Cold drops hit his tender skin, and Jensen jumps. Soon after, goosebumps and shivers quake across his flesh as the man slides his thumb over Jensen’s rim, attempting to soothe his tensed muscles; but the anticipation is keeping him tight and that alone is enough to make Misha groan.
“You need to loosen up for me …” he whispers, obviously trying to sound softer than before, but Jensen can still hear the desperate need in his voice.
He breathes in deep and thinks about his toes—the little trick that the man taught him their first time around. Hey … if it works. He feels Misha’s thumb make another pass, this time, slipping into him slightly, making his stomach tense and burn.
“You alright?” Misha asks, seeming much more genuine now.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Jensen frowns , not liking that the gruff, dominating side of his friend is already slipping into the shadows. “But if you don’t hurry up, you’re going to make me have to sing to you some more.” He hears the man hum, low and hoarse, just before pushing his thumb deeper. Jensen gasps, grabbing the sheets and burying his face into the mattress to try and stifle his moan. The man swivels his finger inside him, hitting every, hungry nerve, making Jensen’s eyes bulge and his cock throb. “Fuck, Mish!”
“Never heard of that song before” his friend laughs, darkly.
“Fuck you!” Jensen breathes, twisting his head to look back just as the man finally pulls his hand free.
“Other way around.” Misha purrs, giving him a devious wink before moving up and pushing the head of his cock past Jensen’s tight ring of muscles.
White flashes snap and burn across his mind as his friend thrusts inside him. Jensen whips his head back, reaching out for a pillow and pulling it tightly to his face. Misha rams him again, hard, while his fingertips gouge Jensen’s hips and pull him back over and over. Jensen’s insides jostle with each collision, but then a delicious heat swells at the end, filling him up, making him push back to add more weight to each pump.
“You like it hard, don’t you?” Misha barks, hammering into him with every last bit of his force.
“God damnit!” Jensen screams, praying the pillow will muffle the noise. He feels his cock swell beneath him.
Misha knows him too well—he knows that’s a yes, and he somehow finds a way to plunge deeper, hit harder—attack Jensen’s insides until he’s nothing but a vibrating mess under the man. Jensen starts to throb and he desperately wants to stroke himself over the edge, because this feels like too much—as if he’s surpassed pleasure into a hissing blur of white noise that he can’t come down from. His friend is riding him too hard, he can’t distinguish himself anymore—from his head to his feet, he’s morphed into one, raw, pulsing nerve.
Then Misha slows, as if he knows—as if he can read his friend’s mind in this moment; and the moment he does, Jensen begins to fall apart, feeling each section of himself separate and buzz with the touch of the man inside him. A smile pulls across his cheeks and he slides back, rocking his body along Misha’s cock, making the man growl and tremble.
“Damnit, Jensen!” Misha groans, letting his friend take the lead for a moment. Jensen falls back again, feeling himself smash against Misha’s hips. They both gasp with the sensation. “You are going to kill me!” With that, Misha digs his fingers into Jensen’s sides once more, thrusting into him hard and sending electric shocks throughout his freckled body.
“Fuck!” Jensen bites the pillow, hating the texture on his teeth but it's muted when he begins to shake, just before spilling out, smearing a mess across the sheets—and it only smears more as Misha continues to push into him, his rhythm faltering finally as Jensen feels the man swell against his insides.
“Shit!” Misha blurts, giving one, final thrust—quickly letting his warmth burst throughout Jensen’s body. The man gasps as he rides the aftershocks of his release; and even in his exhausted state, Jensen manages to tense himself around his friend, chuckling as Misha whines and grips his hips harder. “Okay … shit! Stop!”
Jensen smiles, finally relaxing so the man can slide out. He lets his body slip flat onto the mattress, no longer capable of holding himself up.
Misha is soon falling onto the bed beside him, a sleepy smile on his face as his tired eyes dance in the mossy greens. “So much for keeping our distance.”
Jensen grins, somehow finding the energy to reach out and pull himself alongside his friend. He winces as the mess underneath him slicks and cools, but the feel of Misha’s body warming his own quickly distracts him from the displeasure. He scoots his head forward, nuzzling his nose against the man’s cheek just before laying a kiss on the side of his mouth. “I admit, man … that was one of your dumber ideas.”
Misha rolls his eyes, shoving him lightly with his shoulder. “It was a good idea until you fucked it up.”
The room quiets, only the sounds of the Vegas strip below to fill their ears. Jensen looks across to his friend’s face—his sagging eyes, his dried lips … hair that looks like it just went through a hurricane. The feeling floods inside him, giving life to a whole new smile that he thinks might have never graced his face up until this moment. Jensen gives Misha one more kiss before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath—words of a song on the ready to say what he just can’t quite get across.
“Maybe we found love right where we are.”