RockStarPeach

This was written for tattoo_lotus, based on the pornstar!Misha fantasy prompt she gave me.

I couldn’t follow your prompt exactly, because I don’t write non-AU RPS, so this is an AU where Misha is a porn star and Jensen is a director. So… I hope this is even close to what you had in mind!

Title: Beyond the Action
Pairing: Jensen/Misha… maybe?
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2300
Summary: Misha is the lone star of an adult film - written, directed and filmed by Jensen.

***

“That looks good,” Jensen says from behind his camera, reaches his free hand up to adjust the focus. He sounds cool, detached and professional and Misha swallows down a groan as his cock twitches slightly in his pants. He has to bite his lip and will it down again. He’s not supposed to be hard yet, but fuck Jensen is sexy when he’s focussed on the job, when he tells people what he wants and knows he’s going to get it.

Misha takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, leans back further into the mound of pillows at his back and shifts his hips so that his pelvis is tilted upward, his legs splayed lazily open. He rests one hand against a thigh, leg turned out and bent casually at the knee so that it’s flat along the queen sized bed, faded blue of his jeans blending in with the cyan swirl of the blanket he’s lying on. His other knee is bent, facing the ceiling with his foot planted level on the bed.

Jensen walks forward a little and steps to the side, angles the camera for a better view of Misha’s whole body as he moves.

“Perfect,” he says, standing still and relaxed, not shaking at all. Misha wants to ruin that, wants to make him cry and beg and realise that Misha should be worshipped, not bossed around. On the other hand, Jensen bossing him around really works for him, so… “Remember what comes next?”

“Of course,” Misha answers, in his ‘I’m not an idiot, I know how to do my job,’ voice. He even adds a pointedly arched eyebrow for good measure. The truth is, he’s read Jensen’s script (directorial notes, really, since there technically is no script) about twenty five times. He’s acted it out each and every time, too. So yeah, he knows what comes next. All too well.

Jensen just smiles slightly, the eye that Misha can still see crinkling at the corner, where his laugh lines are more pronounced.

“Good. Time is money,” Jensen tells him, still smiling. “Hit it, baby.”

Misha throws his head back and lets out a short, deep laugh. A warm sensation runs down to his belly as he turns his head back around, looks straight into the camera and licks his lips. He’s supposed to do this, this easy seduction, this slow strip tease, but when his face goes slack and he blinks from behind hooked eyes as he opens first one shirt button before his fingers play tantalisingly over the next, all he can see is Jensen.

This is Jensen he’s stripping for in his mind, Jensen who watches him as his knuckles graze his slowly bared chest and the sides of his shirt fall soft against his ribs. It’s Jensen he thinks of as he pops the top button on his pants and slowly lowers the zipper and it’s Jensen who’s getting turned on when he pulls his flaccid cock out and starts pumping it to hardness while he moans.

It’s not anybody else, not any of his adoring followers (even though he hasn’t forgotten them, of course not, never does) but despite having known each other for years, he’s never worked for Jensen before and he finds his concentration is more difficult to keep than he’d thought.

This, all of this, is for Jensen.

And the fucker knows it.

He waits until Misha’s cock is fully hard before he sighs, cocks his hips and swings the camera out of the way so that it’s resting on his shoulder, so that it’s still pointed at Misha but now he can actually look Misha in the eye.

“I know they always say ‘if ain’t broke, don’t fix it’,” Jensen says, sounding vaguely like he’s lecturing a reasonably talented little-leaguer on proper batting technique. “And you sell videos out faster than we can make ‘em, so clearly it ain’t broke. But I’ve seen you do this same damn thing with that same damn look on your face a dozen times already. You’re working with me now, and I don’t work with anything less than the best. I know you’re the best. Or at least, you can be. So quit fucking around and step it up. I know you read my notes.”

He smirks at that, lets his eyes trail down between Misha’s legs and chuckles softly when Misha’s cock jumps and a fresh bead of pre-come gathers at the slit. “I know you memorised my notes. Use ‘em.”

“You got it, boss,” Misha answers, his voice a lazy drawl as he sits up slightly, curls forward and grabs the hems of his shirt in both hands. He’s more lanky than muscular, but he uses what he’s got, feels the burn of the crunch as he tightens his stomach muscles and then expands them when he arches his back and slides his shirt off, tosses it carelessly to the side.

He’s not trying to fool anyone into thinking he’s some kind of sculpted god, but he knows that he’s got lines, good ones. Great ones, when he moves just the right way. Usually he doesn’t care enough. People love him the second they look into his eyes but Jensen said to step it up, so that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Because Jensen’s got damn good taste, the best in the business and out of all the guys out there doing this, he likes Misha best. Because Misha is the best.

Because Jensen has watched him do this, Jensen has seen his videos, over and over and he liked what he saw. Misha isn’t modest. He’s got no shame at all and he’s more than willing to admit that the idea of Jensen sitting at home, watching his videos, drooling over him like all the others… it makes him want to say ‘fuck the movie’ and spread his legs and curl his finger and invite Jensen into paradise.

Maybe later.

He’s pretty sure he can get Jensen to direct him in other ways, when it’s just the two of them. He’s looking forward to it.

For now though, he settles back down into his ridiculous nest of pillows, hooks his thumbs over the waistband of his pants and pushes them down, kicks them off with a precise flick of the leg.

Jensen clicks his tongue, smiles as it sucks off the roof of his mouth and winks before he gets the camera back in place. Misha takes that as his signal that this is the shot he better not fuck up and he wraps a solid fist around his shaft and bucks up into the touch.

He doesn’t moan. He usually does, but he’s not supposed to, this time.

No, Jensen doesn’t want the usual. He wants Misha calm, cool and jerking off like he’s proving a point, like he’s not doing this for his own benefit. Like it’s a ‘favour to all his adoring minions and they shouldn’t fucking forget it’. His exact words, written in messy scrawl in the blank space following the printed ‘Misha pulls himself for the camera’.

So, Misha gives it to him. Of course he does. Jensen gave him an order and even if this wasn’t his job, Misha’s not sure he could resist.

He lets one corner of his mouth curve up, pushes his free hand down the small of his back to catch against the tight black briefs he’s wearing and he arches his back to work them easily over his ass, down his thighs. He doesn’t look away from camera, thinks ‘You know you wish these hands were yours, that you were the one stripping me, touching me’ and he doesn’t have to hope it translates on film.

He knows it does, because Jensen tries to hide the sharp intake of breath but he can’t and Misha’s smirk grows when he thinks about how they’ll have to edit the sound on that part.

He kicks his underwear to the side, much like he did his jeans and moves his hand up and down over his cock a few more times, makes sure he’s good and turned on but thinks about how his landscaper started charging twenty percent more this year so he looks more pissed off than horny, which is what Jensen is going for.

Jensen seems satisfied.

More than satisfied, because his chest gets bigger, like he’s taking a deep breath, but he’s quiet when he lets it out again and his teeth close down over his bottom lip, like he’s holding back sounds of approval. And then Misha can’t help himself.

He does something he’s never done before, not for his audience.

It’s not even in the script.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze down over the tip of his erection and he can’t help the slight gasp that escapes. He knows he’s supposed to be playing it cool, but it feels good damn it. He quickly recovers and slides his tongue out between two rows of straight teeth while his other hand breezes casually over his torso, skips over the dips and grooves that he usually spends so much time on and his fingers move unerringly past his dick to cup his balls.

Instead of crying out in pleasure as he clenches his fingers tighter he narrows his brows, lets his audience know that they’re on his time, that he’s got better, easier things to do and he’s on the verge of calling it quits and going off to do them.

It’s not a lie, exactly. He does have better things to do, he thinks, letting his legs spread even wider as he thinks of Jensen watching his every move. But those things aren’t necessarily easier.

Then his eyes shift. Not much, not so the camera will notice, but they shift all the same. He looks at Jensen, at his uncovered eye, at his open mouth. His fingers slide lower, behind his increasingly full balls and even further.

He’s been fucked on camera before. He’s begged for it and cried because of it and been passed from one beefy dick to another before he’s bent them all over and made them beg right back.

When it comes to pornography, Misha has just about done it all.

But what he’s never done, is push three of his own fingers straight up his ass without any lube or any prep, sink them in all the way to the hilt and not even flinch.

And fucking hell, does he want to flinch. It hurts like a bitch and he knows people would get off hard on that, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead he lets them get off even harder on the way he shimmies his hips down further onto his fingers (which he carefully angles away from his prostate, but makes it looks the opposite) and jerks himself even faster, tilts his head back just enough that his throat stretches out enticingly.

He’s close. Fuck, he’s close and he wants so badly to drop his jaw, clench his eyes shut and spill out all over his hand, but Jensen doesn’t let him off that easily.

“Big finish,” Jensen says and Misha takes comfort in the fact that his voice is gruff and coarse, knows it comes from a desire that probably matches his own and he manages to scoff at the camera and give Jensen what he wants, one last time.

The hand on his prick speeds up a little and it sends him that much close to the edge, but he remains still, doesn’t let it show.

The fingers in his ass pump in and out a few times and he manages to relax his shoulders instead of tensing them up.

He deserves a fucking Oscar when his body lets go and he starts to come and he doesn’t even squint, just looks into the camera like he’s thinking about what he wants on his pizza later. He works himself through it and once he’s finished, when he’s no longer feeling the warmth and wetness against his knuckles he removes both his hands, wipes them on the bed on either side of him and pushes himself up so that he’s sitting straight, his hands braced beside his hips.

He expects Jensen to drop the camera then, call ‘cut’, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, doesn’t move, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink. Just waits. Waits for Misha to place his hand on his stomach, palm pressed against the slick mess of his jizz and he works it around a little, finally lets himself breathe deep and uneven, curls his toes when his wrist brushes against the head of his spent cock.

His eyes close – just a little, just for a second, he can’t help it – and when he opens them again, the camera is shut and hanging loosely by Jensen’s side and Jensen is standing right at the foot of the bed, smiling down at him.

“That’s a wrap,” he says, nudging one knee against the edge of the mattress. “Get dressed, you’re done here.”

High praise, from Jensen Ackles.

Misha rolls his eyes and breathes out heavily through his nose, falls back flat on the bed when Jensen turns and leaves through the door against the opposite wall. He’s not in the mood to shower in the shared bathroom down the hall so he uses the blanket on the bed to clean himself up before he slips back into his pants.

He doesn’t see Jensen again on his way out, but that’s okay. He saw the way Jensen looked at him. You can’t fake that, not unless you’re Misha.

He’ll be back.

END