Misha had seen him from across the room. He knew the guy's name, it wasn't anything as peculiar as 'Misha' but something an old man would enjoy being called by folks. Hmm what was it? Oh well, he could ask later. He knew they had mutual friends. Who in show business these days didn't have mutual friends? OH MARTIN! Yes, Martin. Good, now he wouldn't have to make his mild interest in the short, blonde man that obvious. Imagine what Jensen would say!
Shuddering to himself, he snatched another glass of champagne off the nearest table, meandering through the crowd, chit-chatting with passersby. He absolutely thrived at award show after-parties. The booze and laughter were right up his ally. Of course Vicki insisted he go with Jared and Jensen, she'd stay home with the kids. I am a lucky bastard. And he was, he truly was. He prayed his luck would hold out tonight as he crept closer to Martin.
Wracking his brain for what he could possibly talk about, he remembered Martin's work in that British detective show about Sherlock Holmes. Misha was certain Martin acted as Sherlock's assistant or something. Taking a quick deep breath and another campaign flout, he boldly stepped up next to the adorable man.
"You look like you could use a drink." Misha declared holding out the extra glass to Martin.
"Ha, fucking understatement. You use that line on all the men?"
Misha was shocked, yet pleasantly surprised, at martin's dry, witty humor. It mirrored his own, in a very British way.
"Only the short British one who looked positively delighted to be here"
"Good to know I'm the only one. Who the fuck are you, anyway?"
"Oh, right. Misha Collins. Here with the Supernatural cast, well, wherever the hell they all went." He extended his hand to shake Martin's.
"Bloody, sorry I didn't recognize you. Misha, eh? Interesting name. Mum drunk when she said that the first time?" He stuck his free hand out "Martin Freeman. I'm the guy that isn't Sherlock Holmes."
Misha laughed. Yes, Martin was very much like himself. Both sarcastic little shits, he could tell Martin was a kindred spirit the longer they discussed the horrid state of government affairs in their respective countries, their families, careers. Misha was praying Jensen didn't pop up in that annoying way he does just when its the most inconvenient.
Martin cleared his throat loudly, bringing Misha back to the present company. He blushed slightly when he saw Martin eyeing him greedily, unabashedly. He needed this now, before the chance passed.
"I need some air, after-parties get so crowded. Wanna join me?" He cocked his head to the side, smiling a gummy grin. Martin shrugged, gave him a half-smile that dimpled his cheek and almost made Misha lose his control right there in the dark corner of the party. Reigning in his urge to grab Martin's hand, he walked to the nearest side door and out onto the terrace. He took a moment to appreciate the skyline view of New York City, lights twinkling, soft breeze bringing the smells of warm pavement and Central Park right to them.
He felt Martin step up beside him, closer than they had been inside. His hand brushed Misha's, and the touch set his skin aflame. How do you proposition this bombshell of a man? Misha wasn't sure. He considered making a joke. It seemed to be the thing he and Martin had in common. Yes, a joke. Perfect.
"So, come here often?" Martin snorted laughter in response.
"Only when an angel of the Lord invites me to". Misha white-knuckled the railing now, for fear of toppling Martin right then. He decided laughing was better right now.
"Ha, yes well how could I pass up the chance to get you alone? It's elementary, my dear Watson." Good one bro, nailed it.
Martin choked on his mouthful of champagne. Misha knocked back the last swig of his champagne, setting the glass down a little too forcefully on the stone wall behind him. The glass shattered, slicing open an index finger. With a small gasp, Misha shook his hand in pain.
"Fucking shit. Just my luck." He popped the finger in his mouth, the cut small enough that it was less damage than a papercut, but still painful.
"Let me see it. Trust me, I'm a doctor." Martin's full megawatt grin coaxed Misha to place his hand in Martin's upturned palm. Martin chuckled, running his fingers over Misha's sensitive skin. It almost tickled, making Misha squirm. That seemed to entertain Martin, who continued the motion. Unfortunately, it entertained Misha's cock too. It was hard as a rock, pressing uncomfortably against his pants. He attempted to pull away, but Martin tugged him closer. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his stocky frame, close enough to smell the musky body wash he must have used while showering to get ready for the award show.
Losing control for one nanosecond, Misha moaned at the thought of Martin rubbing himself in the shower. Martins administrations stopped in his palm, and Misha gazed downward at his wide-eyed expression. Shit you asshole, you just ruined it. But Martin didn't drop his hand like Misha assumed he would. Instead, he grasped it, turned around, and began leading Misha towards the exit staircase. Bewildered, Misha stumbled along behind the man, watching his hips as he sauntered ahead.
Too busy staring at Martin's ass to pay attention to the surroundings, Misha realized they had stopped a few floors down from the party. Martin was using his unused hand to fumble with the key card to a hotel room door. Finally righting it in the slot, the door clicked open, allowing them entrance into what Misha assumed was Martin's room. He took a moment to look around, quietly awaiting Martin's plan. Hell if I know what the fuck is happening. Won't argue though.Swaying back on his heels, Misha continued his assessment of Martin's room until he heard the shower turn on. As if my cock wasn't hard enough, shit.
Curiously, he walked down the hallway, taking the one option for a turn. It led to the bedroom, which had a door on the opposite wall that was allowing a billowing cloud of steam out into the cool air. Misha could smell the heat, smell the lightly chlorinated water, the same musky body wash from before. Throwing caution to the wind, Misha stripped out of his suit and tie, dropping each article of clothing in a breadcrumb trail to the steamy bathroom.
Once inside, he was surprised that Martin had already gotten under the warm streams of water. He hadn't shut the glass shower door, however, and Misha was momentarily dumbfounded by the view. Rivulets of water coursed over Martin's body, finding their way down through the valleys between mounds of muscle, catching on the fluff of chest hair, matting it down to his rugged-looking skin.
Not bothering to make his presence announced, Misha stepped in behind Martin. He had to reach out, he had to touch the warm, wet, naked man standing before him. So he did. He took both hands and smoothed them out, splayed open on Martin's shoulders. Martin stilled for a moment, leaning back slightly into Misha's touch. Misha's cock twitched at the contact. He moved forward, hips involuntarily flexing towards Martin's shapely ass. As soon as his cock touched Martin, he found himself spinning around, bent over, having to use the ceramic tiled wall to hold himself up. Clearly I won't be topping this time. Misha didn't mind much. Power play wasn't his game, he enjoyed being enjoyed. And Martin's silence was a comfort - it took away any awkward verbal foreplay, no need for pretenses. They both knew what they wanted.
Martin placed his hand on Misha's back, pressing Misha forward, bending him to the perfect angle. He felt Martin's fingers exploring his puckered ass. At least he didn't just assume I was going to take it.Misha realized he hadn't even gotten a look at Martin's cock. For his body build, Misha assumed Martin would not leave him wanting. As the thought rattled around in his head, Misha heard a bottle open, and warm gel spilling onto his hole. Lube, in the shower. This man. Fuck.
One finger at a time, Martin teased Misha open. Definitely not as wide as he had ever been, but wide enough to make Misha certain he was correct about Martin's cock size. His own cock was hanging against his leg, thick with want. He refused to tease himself, not wanted to be 'that guy' who came before Martin even got started.
"You good?" Martin's gruff voice startled Misha out of his reverie.
"Mmm yes. Good" Less was more in the steamy confines of the shower. Less words, more sex. As soon as Misha thought it, he felt Martin's cock dip into his loosened hole. The tip was wide, as Misha had expected. And warm. Misha had forgotten how deliciously warm cocks could be. Once Martin seemed to get situated behind Misha, he gave one quick thrust, entering Misha with a grunt.
"Angel of the Lord, eh? How'd Daddy feel about this?" Somehow those words were hilarious and erotic simultaneously. Misha snorted, followed immediately by a moan of pleasure as Martin began a steady tempo of pushing and pulling Misha's tender hole. Unsure of what to do with his own erection, Misha reached around to grab the hand Martin had placed upon his hip. Using his own hand to guide, he intertwined their fingers and began to jack off himself. Martin's hand fit perfectly around Misha's cock, making it harder to resist simply spilling over that very moment.
Martin was relentless in his fucking, keeping the same tempo, hitting the same spot over and over, until both men were panting with the longing of release. Misha's skin was bright pink, matching Martin's from the hot water cascading over both of them. Misha felt his climax building more and more each time Martin hit that spot deep inside him. Fuck, do I say something? Is that like what high schoolers do? Fuck. "Martin, ugh, I -"
He seemed to know Misha's next words because for a brief moment, Martin came undone. He pounded Misha's ass harder, longer strokes came on Misha's cock, and with a loud, gruff yell Misha felt Martin spilling come into him. The sensation detonated Misha's own orgasm, come splattering the ceramic tiles in front of him. Martin undulated a few times, slowly extracting his cock from Misha's ass. He turned back to face the showerhead, rinsing himself off quickly. Reaching behind him, Martin grabbed Misha, dragging him forward under the stream. Bodies flush, the men proceeded to wash each other in silence. Once the lather was rinsed off, Martin turned off the shower, stepping out to grab his towel and hand Misha the extra.
Think of some witty one-liner to leave with. Misha racked his brain for something to say other than "Thanks for the anal sex, g'night." as he gathered up his clothes to put on. He didn't have to think long, because Martin stooped to grab one of Misha's socks off the bed, handed it to Misha, saying "Too bad they don't give awards for Hottest Anal Shower Sex Between Two Straight Men".
"Well, that wouldn't be fair. We'd win every time."
With a wink and a laugh, Misha grabbed his suit jacket and bounced out of the hotel room door, the resounding click of the lock as satisfying as the sex.