obstinatrix | Fic: Kama (Jared/Jensen/Misha, NC-17)

Title: Kama
Pairing: Jared/Jensen/Misha
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~3,000
Summary/Notes: Punjabi dance music and coloured cocktails aren't exactly Jensen's thing, but Jared and Misha are happy to provide compensation in kind when the night's over. Happy birthday,

majestic_shriek. :)

"I hate this song," Jensen yells into Jared's ear over the crazy throb of the music, the shriek of sitars and the pounding Punjabi beat setting his hips grinding into Jared's ass despite himself. The song stalls, whatever the fuck it is, and then picks up again, taking Jensen with it. Jensen doesn't understand a word of it, and it's starting to get kind of fucking annoying.

It's hot in the club, sticky, and Jared's shirtless, thumb tracking the pulse on the inside of Jensen's wrist as he shoves back against him. His head is tipped back onto Jensen's shoulder, sweat-damp strands of his hair clinging to the hollow of Jensen's throat and he has the gall to laugh, damn him, like Jensen isn't as out of his element in here as a fish heading down main street on a goddamn bicycle.

"You don't even know this song," Jared shouts up at him. The kohl under his eyes has bled out in the heat. It should probably look stupid, but instead it lends him this dirty, debauched quality that makes Jensen want to sweep the nearest table clear with his wrist and spread Jared out on it. Fuck.

"I know it ain't classic rock," Jensen counters. Jared's hips have caught up to his own slow grind, circling, and the blade of his hipbone rubs against the inside of Jensen's wrist, the heel of his hand, with every twist of Jared's torso. Jensen runs his thumb down the line of it, smearing sweat and glitter. "Can we go yet?"

"Whoa, whoa," a familiar voice breaks in, and Jensen's heart sinks as Misha hoves into view with what looks like an armful of drinks, a rainbow of color in the crook of his elbow and no sign of the beer Jensen sent him off for. "Who said anything about going home, grandma?"

"Who said anything about a blue cocktail?" Jensen shoots back, but he takes the glass Misha thrusts in his direction and takes a sugary sip. "Such a kid, Mish."

"You're just jealous I know how to have a good time," Misha counters. Jared has a hand outstretched for his drink, and Misha's quick to oblige, curling Jared's long fingers around the glass and leaning in to lick wetly up the tendon straining in Jared's throat. "Don't I, babe?"

"Fuck yeah," Jared says, teeth flashing around a grin. His free hand snakes up into Misha's hair, fists there, and Misha lets himself be pulled until their lips slot together, the hollow of Jared's throat left shining with spit and their tongues working wetly in the space between their mouths. Jensen bites his lip, heat flashing in the pan of his pelvis, and inches in closer, rubs his damp open mouth against the nape of Jared's neck.

"I'll show you a good time," he interjects. His thumb is still working restlessly on Jared's hip, and he can feel the shift of tension in the denim under his hand as Jared's cock thickens, distorting the line of his jeans. They're hot like this, pink mouths and pink tongues and the muscles straining in Jared's forearm, and Jensen doesn't exactly see what good it's doing them, sticking around here when they could all be in bed already. He slides his free hand up Jared's back, traces the line of his jaw; rubs his thumb at the corner of Jared's mouth until Jared hums under his breath and licks at it, kittenish swipe of his tongue that makes Jensen shudder. "Mmmm. Come on, guys; doin' it standing up's for kids."

Misha pulls back at that, shoots Jensen a dark-eyed look over Jared's shoulder, and his hair is mussed from Jared's fingers in a way that just makes Jensen itch to make matters worse. "What, you wanna play grown-up games, Jensen?"

Jensen's more than half-hard, now, thickening against the crease of Jared's jeans, and he can't help the way he sways in, curls his hand around the nape of Misha's neck on impulse and hauls him in. "Let me take y'all home and see," he says, and mouths at Misha's lower lip, sucks at it until Misha's breath hitches.

Between them, Jared's more than a little the worse for wear, nipples making taut little points on his chest, back this sinuous arch that thrusts his ass backward into Jensen's dick. "Can hear your Texas, Jen," he warns, voice low and pleased, and Jensen laughs, rocks forward so Jared can feel the clear line of him through their jeans.

"Come on home, then," he says, low, "and you'll feel it, too."

*

It's a ten minute walk back to Misha's apartment but they make it in five, shoes and socks toed off in the hall before the stumble into the bedroom. Jared's shirt is tucked into the waistband of his jeans like he's been playing tag football and it hits the floor with his pants, belt jangling as he kicks the tangle aside and practically dive-bombs Misha's bed.

"You guys coming," he chides, legs splayed wide, "or you gonna leave me to my own devices?" There's a dark spot of damp on his grey boxer-briefs where his dick has leaked, and Jensen can see the fat head of it outlined beneath, straining against the fabric. Jared's eyes are on Jensen as he presses the heel of his hand to the bulge, shoves his hips up dirtily into it, and Jensen groans, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

"Bet your ass we're coming," Jensen growls, and Misha laughs, bed dipping as he shoulders his way up between Jared's spread legs, noses at the soft heaviness of his balls through his shorts.

"Inspired choice of words." Misha's voice does this thing when they're doing this, all dark and burred and rasping, and Jensen can practically taste it now as Misha sucks at Jared through the cloth, tongues at the shape of him.

"Fuck, Jared," Jensen gets out, chest contracting at the sight. His clothes seem set on conspiring against him, but he breaks free of them eventually, kicking them aside in a messy heap and kneeing up onto the mattress, settling himself against Jared's side. "Misha."

When he leans in, Jared opens to him at once, soft mouth yielding and then pushing back against Jensen's in a hard, wet slide that goes straight to Jensen's dick. Jared always kisses hard, intense and deep and probing, but there's something about him when he's drunk that makes Jensen weak, something unrestrained and gorgeous in the way his jaw goes wide, the way his tongue fucks easy to the back of Jensen's mouth. Jensen rubs his thumb over the long tendon in Jared's neck where Misha had his mouth, the tiny red mark in the hollow of his throat, until he can fist a hand in Jared's hair, tugging until Jared breaks away on a moan.

"God," Jared pants, and then he's splaying his legs wider again, restless, toes curling into the mattress, pelvis hitching up against Misha's face. "Aw, fuck, enough of this, man." Jared's free hand is on the back of Misha's head, cradling his skull, fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively. Misha's worked Jared's dick out, by now, through the split in his boxers, and it strains up red and glistening with spit, jumping as Misha tongues at the crown. "Fuck me, already."

"That what you want, huh? Big surprise." Misha catches Jensen's eye and grins as he curls his fingers under the waistband of Jared's shorts, hauls them down over his hips, down the endless stretch of his legs. Rid of them, Jared's just miles and miles of unbroken tan, and Misha runs his palms up the insides of Jared's thighs, forces them up and back and wide so Jared's breath catches. "Me or him?"

"Mmm." Jared's head tosses on the pillow, movements loose and urgent with alcohol and want, and he rocks his hips again, arches his back. "Either. Both, Jesus, just --"

"Christ." Jensen had planned on holding off a little, letting Jared decide -- letting him beg -- but if Jared's gonna say shit like that, Jensen can't be expected to restrain himself. There's a sheen of sweat in the centre of Jared's chest, licking the delineations of his muscles, and Jensen leans over almost upside down to tongue at it, rub his lips wetly over a nipple until it tightens into a point in his mouth. "Fuckin' slut, Jared, look at you."

"Who -- oh." Whatever Jared was about to say is lost under the wave of visible want that seizes him when Misha leans in, opens his mouth over Jared's tight little pucker and sucks. Misha's not one for half measures, never has been, and he's right in there, tongue making slick, dirty sounds as he licks Jared open, stiff little thrusts against Jared's hole until it gives for him, sucks him in. Jared's dick is flat to his stomach, now, drooling a shiny smear of precome on his abdomen, and Jensen presses his palm to the shaft of it, rubs at the head upside down.

"You were saying?" he prompts, only a little breathless. Jared laughs, like Jensen's being ridiculous, and arches his neck, hips caught in this restless drive between Jensen's hand on his dick and Misha's tongue in his ass, fuck.

"Was saying," Jared manages, tight and strained, "I don't care, just -- Jensen -- " and he makes a grab for Jensen's dick, long fingers wrapping around it, jacking at it upside down. His lips part, heap tipped back in open invitation, and, God, Jensen's only human.

"Oh, God." He's leaking, slick pearling up out of his slit, and it catches wetly on the swell of Jared's lower lip as Jensen pushes the head of himself against it, pulls away just enough to see the string of precome glistening between his dick and Jared's mouth. "You want this, Jay? Want me to fuck your mouth?"

He shifts, barely perceptibly, but Jared chases him, throat working long and sexy and wanton. "Yeah," he says, voice breaking tellingly as Misha works a finger into him, the sound of it wet and obscene as Misha starts to fuck it in and out. "Yeah, God --"

And then his head tips back, lips closing around the tip of Jensen's cock, and Jensen's done teasing, he's -- God, he's fucking done.

Jared's mouth is as big as the rest of him and he gives head with the same enthusiasm he reserves for everything, opening his throat as he fucks his mouth down to meet his fist, drooling all over so the sound of it is dirty-wet and glorious. Like this, throat tipped back and head practically pinioned to the bed by Jensen's dick, he can't exactly go at it the same way, but he gives it a good fucking try, craning his neck to take Jensen in, long, slow sucks at the first few inches as he works the head with his tongue. He's panting, lips smeared with spit and precome and chest heaving with effort, and it looks fucking awesome but Jensen knows it'll be easier, in this position, if he lets himself fuck down into Jared's mouth like he wants to. Jensen's hips are tingling with the urge to just do it, hold Jared's face and fuck it hard, and then Misha pulls back, spreads Jared wide with both hands and, God, now it's really on.

"Ready?" Misha prompts. His knuckles are white, fingers pressing into Jared's thighs hard enough to bruise, and his hips are working in these incremental circles, teasing. The moment Jared nods, though, there's no tease to it any longer, Misha biting his lip and shoving home in one long, smooth slide that makes Jared's whole back arch. He's leaking like crazy now, tacky white pool of it on his stomach, and Jensen can't hold back any longer; doesn't see why he should.

"Ready," he says, as if Misha had been talking to him, and thrusts in.

It's gentle at first, little rocking motions that Jared takes easily, moaning in his throat so the vibrations shoot right up Jensen's dick and into his balls, into his pelvis. Jared's got one fist around the base of Jensen's cock, jacking him loosely, and the flat of his tongue rubs wet against Jensen's slit just -- God -- just right. But they've been on edge forever, the three of them, and Misha's long, steady strokes don't take long to dissolve into ragged little jerks of his hips, dick crammed in deep as he grinds against Jared's ass, rubs right over his prostate. Jared's shaking between them, Jensen's dick jerking against his lips as his body judders up the mattress under the impetus of Misha's thrusts. Jensen gets a hand in his hair, twists hard enough to set Jared jackknifing with shivers, but it doesn't seem to do much to hold him still, Jensen's dick slipping out to smear against Jared's lower lip as Misha fucks in harder, pounding Jared deeper as he gets close.

"Oh, fuck," Jensen hisses, fingers clenching in Jared's hair, and he grabs at his balls, rolls them in his palm, wet with precome and Jared's spit. His pulse is rushing in his ears, now, and everything's starting to blur, every impulse in his body centring back to the wet heat and suction around his dick, the driving need to fuck deeper into it, faster. "Jesus -- Christ --"

His stomach spasms as he starts to come, muscles leaping and hips jerking and he forces himself back onto his haunches, cock spurting white over Jared's cheekbones, into his pink open mouth. Unstoppered now, Jared forces his head back spasmodically and moans, hand flying down to cover Misha's on his own dick, their fingers slotting together as Misha pistons in and out. Jensen knows the tight clench of Jared's body all too well, and his stomach clenches with aftershock at the look on Misha's face as he thrusts in and stills, Jared stuffed full and whimpering and nearly, nearly there, God.

"Shit, you guys," Jensen murmurs, stretching out an arm bonelessly to thumb at Jared's nipple, skate fingertips over his ribs. "So fucking hot."

That does it. Misha's always quiet when he comes, but his teeth drive into his lower lip hard enough that it blanches as he seizes up and shoots, hips still working brokenly as he pumps into Jared. His hand is still moving on Jared's dick, smears of precome coaxed out with every slick stroke, and Jensen's leaning over before he can think about it, muscles pulling in his flanks with the stretch. He sucks at the crown, presses his tongue into the slit until it opens, and then Jared's coming with a jagged cry, long pulses of it smearing sour over Jensen's tongue and drooling down onto his chin, onto the bed, Jesus.

"Jesus," Jensen breathes, rubbing his face against Jared's sweat-tacky stomach, and Misha laughs, flopping over onto the bed at Jared's side.

"That's one word for it," he says. "Man, I'm so glad we listen to you sometimes."

Between them, Jared's a breathless heap on the bed, fucked-out and come-smeared and heaving with exertion. His mouth is half-open, spit-shiny, and Jensen feels a wave of fondness roll through him as he looks up the length of Jared's long body at his slack face, colour high and eyes closed.

"Next time," Jensen says, as articulately as he can manage, "You can listen to me sooner. How's that?" He pokes at Jared's stomach, makes little circles with a finger just to feel the muscle jump. "Jay?"

"Mmm," Jared murmurs, and turns his face into the pillow. Jared gets like this when they've fucked him this way, wordless and half-unconscious on it, but Jensen can't blame him really. Not when the little furrow between his brows just makes him feel all the fonder.

"That's a yes," Misha translates, flinging out a hand to pet at the side of Jensen's neck, uncoordinated but sincere. "Also, 'sleep time'." He squints up at Jensen over the broad, smooth expanse of Jared's chest. "What'd you say?"

Jensen doesn't need to ponder too hard to know he could probably get behind that. "Deal."

Misha smiles back at him, sleepy and pleased, and it's a smile Jensen thinks he'd like to go on seeing as he falls asleep on Jared's shoulder in a room that smells of sex and club-glitter and them.

"Good," Misha says. And it is.

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Fic: Kama (Jared/Jensen/Misha, NC-17)

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