From the moment the hotel room door clicks shut, it takes Jensen approximately 0.2 seconds to spin Misha around and pin him to the coffee table, the backs of his knees knocking against the wood. Jensen seals his mouth to Misha’s jaw, places open-mouthed kisses along his stubble as he works the buttons of that stupid pea coat.
“Fucking finally,” he mumbles between kisses. “Got you alone.”
Misha huffs out a laugh. “And here I thought you actually wanted me to show you that Tuscany tourism book.”
“Mmm. Maybe later.”
Jensen shucks off the coat and immediately gets to work on the button-down underneath. Vaguely, he feels Misha’s hands on him, then a fist in his hair dragging his head up for a sloppy kiss.
It’s been a long day.
He smooths his hands over Misha’s torso, then his arms, feeling the muscles working under his skin as Misha slides off the shirt. “You’ve been working out.”
“God, yeah. Fucking hot.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Jackles.”
“So hard,” Jensen goes on, tracing more kisses down Misha’s neck and collarbone, “keeping my hands to myself, when you look like that.”
Misha snorts. “You know, you can’t just flatter me into doing whatever you want.”
“Yeah, well.” He pulls back, yanks off his own shirt and pulls their hips together. “Evidence suggests otherwise.”
“Fuck you,” he says, no real bite in his words. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoyed me humiliating myself in front of hundreds of people.”
“Who says I didn’t? Like it when you blush.”
“You asshole.” Misha grips Jensen’s hips and spins him around, then falls to his knees between Jensen’s legs. “If you want me to blow you, just ask.”
“Yeah? How’s this–you’re smart, you think on your feet; you give amazing blowjobs and moan like a fucking pornstar in bed–”
“Shut up,” Misha says, yanking down Jensen’s zipper.
“–and I gotta say, I really like your dick–I mean, that’s quality equipment you got there, Mish–”