Jensen hears the knock at his apartment door just as he’s pouring out a second drink for whom he hopes is standing on the other side of it. There had been no invitation, of course, never in so many words, but they do this sometimes, sensing the need to as they go, where, after a long day of work, Misha will come over, and they’ll sink into each other. It’s not always sex—although there is sex (fucking great sex, when the mood arises, literally and figuratively)—and actually often on these evenings they never really get past second base, either out of exhaustion or simply no need to, enjoying too much the easy distractions of whatever movie they put on, or TV show they tune out to as they settle between each other’s arms.
Jensen kind of relishes these moments more than any other, if he’s honest. Oh, it’s not that he doesn’t love Misha’s special brand of excitement when the guy decides he’s really gonna have a good time, and that everyone in his vicinity is going to join him. He also loves when those wild days turn into wild nights and coming so hard he forgets he exists, but despite Misha’s astounding ability to make Jensen want to shuck his more reserved nature, sometimes sitting at home and nursing a beer or a whiskey in the other’s comforting presence was just enough, and just right.
The set today had been tense, too, to say the least. Jensen was a consummate professional of course, but he was susceptible to a little character bleed in his character’s most vulnerable moments, and today had been the textbook of that.
Misha’s keys click in the latch just before the door wings open, and Jensen lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding at the sight of his friend’s welcoming grin.
“Started without me, I see,” Misha lightly jokes, gesturing towards the untouched drinks on the kitchen island counter.
Jensen picks up the glasses and hands one off to Misha. “Nah, you just have perfect timing.”
“Just another one of my ‘special skills’,” he teases, making Jensen laugh as he remembers he the hilarious reveal of Misha’s old CV last summer. It had since become something of a running joke between them.
“One day you’ll have one people will actually hire you for,” Jensen jokes back.
Misha gasps in mock affront. “Are you implying that I was not hired to play Cas on the basis of such illustrious skills as ‘Appalachian clogging’?”
Jensen grins around the lip of his glass as he takes a sip. “Yep.”
Misha nods in contemplation, and then smiles smugly. “It’s true that my astonishing good looks were probably the more decisive factor.”
His responding laugh rings loud in his living room before he falls silent and turns to sit down on the couch behind him. He’ll let Misha have this one. After all, when it comes to Misha’s looks, he can’t really in good faith argue against it. Misha follows behind him, placing his own glass on the coffee table before claiming a stop for himself on the couch as well.
“I should really pitch an episode where Cas goes clogging, now that you mention it.”
“Anything to get out of the suit, huh?”
Misha groans as he flops down on the couch length-ways to lay his head in Jensen’s lap. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have some,” Jensen chuckles down at him. “Sometimes it’s really hard not to tear it off you.”
“And now we’re back to my laudable handsomeness again.”
After a short but amiable silence, with Jensen idly stroking his hands through Misha’s hair, Misha finally broaches the topic. “Tough day, though, today.”
“Yeah,” Jensen sighs tightly, fingers stilling ever slightly against Misha’s forehead.
“Sorry about pretend beating you up,” he offers lightly, but observing the taut line of Jensen’s shoulders, promptly sits up. Jensen’s dejected hand falls onto his thigh. “You’re okay though, right?” Misha prods gently, worried crease on his forehead looking appalling adorable even in Jensen’s residual anxious state from work.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m—“ he starts to say, but he’s cut off by his own hitch of breath, as Misha cups his cheek in a poignant echo of earlier that day.
Misha’s voice soft and warm as his hand against his face. “Jensen,” he says.
And it’s then that Jensen just lets go. He turns his cheek into his friend’s palm and dives his head in to capture his lips. “Fuck, Mish,” he groans into them, letting out all his tension into the fervour of the kiss.
He feels Misha’a hand curl behind his ear as it had done earlier that day, an unscripted moment of tenderness that had flowed through Misha’s fingers to hold Jensen’s—Dean’s—face. He feels the same light touch now, thumb gently rubbing across the corners of his closed eyes, holding him there, steady. He tastes the alcohol on Misha’s lips, soft and pliant beneath his, always welcoming.
"Feel better?" Misha smiles as he pulls away slowly, hand dropping to where Jensen’s shoulder meets his neck. His cheeks are flushed and his hair strewn boyishly from when Jensen’s fingers had carded through it, and yeah—Jensen definitely feels alright. He moves to pick up his drink from where it had been relegated from his hand to the coffee table, and takes a sip, eyes never leaving Misha’s as he continues to relax under his grip.
"You should add ‘character bleed crisis responder’ to your CV," Jensen jokes, setting his glass down again and leaning back into the couch. Misha’s arm curls around his shoulder as he shifts back too, slouching contentedly into Jensen’s warmth.
Misha laughs and it vibrates through his body, physically infectious. “Is that you giving me your blessing to go around kissing every actor who gets too into their character?”
Jensen frowns in mock consideration. “No, better not, acutally,” he concludes, and then grins, turning his face into Misha’s. “You wouldn’t be half as good at it without anyone else.”
"A criticism I will gladly concede," Misha chuckles in reply, and steals another kiss.
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