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“Okay. Where are they?”
Misha jumps at Jensen’s voice, seemingly loud in the quiet of the apartment, where the only sound for the last ten minutes has been the crackling of the realistic gas fireplace and the melodic sounds of the soft-rock playlist Jensen put on when they’d finished dinner. He tips back the last of the amber liquid in his glass and looks over at Jensen, who until thirty seconds ago had been relaxing on the couch with his eyes closed, legs slung over Misha’s lap, working on a serious food coma.
“Where did that come from?” he asks with only a slight hint of confusion.
Misha’s pretty confident he knows exactly what Jensen’s talking about. He’s only surprised It’s taken him this long to bring it up.
With the only light in the apartment dancing off the flickering flames, Jensen’s handsome face is half in shifting shadows and Misha is, as always, helpless in his desire to touch. His fingertips brush the lines at Jensen’s hairline and up into his spiked hair, still a little stiff from whatever they used in it at work today. Jensen leans into it and groans appreciatively.
“Mmmm. Feels nice. Now, where’s my gift?”
Misha sets his now empty glass on the coffee table and tugs Jensen properly into his lap, kissing him on the forehead.
“I feel like should be offended,” Misha says, his fingers dancing playfully along Jensen’s thigh while his eyes stay straight forward; blue locked on green. “Your beautiful wife assured me that ski jacket was exactly the one you’d been eyeing and it was very expensive.”
Jensen at least has the manners to look contrite.
“Sweetheart, l adore the jacket. I adore you. It’s just—,”
“Just what, baby?” Misha prods, enjoying Jensen’s flustered confusion
“My socks,” Jensen replies, pouting and Misha laughs. The whole thing is just so endearing.
Their first Christmas as friends, Misha had knitted Jensen a pair of traffic cone-orange socks as a gag gift. Jensen loved them so much, Misha has made him a pair in a variety of different colors and patterns for every holiday since, and Jensen, the sap, swears they’re his favorite gift. This afternoon, when they’d exchanged gifts in Jensen’s trailer after the official party at work, Misha had given Jensen the aforementioned jacket and a bottle of Angel’s Envy, but no socks.
Jensen looks so put out, Misha can’t help but lean in for a kiss, but he finds himself thwarted when he smacks his lips on Jensen’s palm.
“Uh uh,” Jensen says shaking his head and keeping his hand firmly planted over Misha’s mouth. “None of that until I see my socks.”
“What if I didn’t have time this year?” Misha mumbles against Jensen’s warm skin, only briefly considering the myriad of other ways they could make use of Jensen’s fingers this close to his mouth.
Jensen slips his hand down to Misha’s chest and gives him a playful shove. “You’re full of shit,” he says with a rumbling laugh that makes Misha grin. Jensen’s laugh is easily in his top ten favorite things. Right up there with Vicki’s comforting hugs, West’s endearing stories, and Maison’s fresh-faced smile. He grasps Jensen’s hands.
“Okay,” he starts with a gentle squeeze. “Since you went back to the farmers market in Bellingham and found the exact potter that makes the beautiful hand-thrown bowls that I love, and then bought me an entire set without me having a clue, I might still have one small surprise for you.”
Jensen actually bounces and Misha can’t help but get caught up in the excitement. He’s still incredibly touched that Jensen took the time to do something so wonderful and personal. Jensen is always full of surprises and it feels right doing this for him now. Seeing Jensen so animated has Misha reaching into the couch cushions for the carefully wrapped gift he’d placed there earlier.
“Maison wrapped it,” Misha adds hastily when Jensen turns the soft, crumpled pile of old recycled computer paper tied with a red ribbon. “She insisted since it was for Uncle Jensen.”
Jensen’s cheeks heat up and his blush is undeniably cute. Misha wants to kiss him again.
“Tell her I love it! She did a great job. Thank you.”
Knowing his little girl will be thrilled by the compliment, Misha nods his head,
Now that the pleasantries are over, Jensen rips into the paper pulling out the brightest, most colorful pair of socks in existence. It took Misha forever to make them; to get all the color blocks perfect.
“Couldn’t decide on a color this year?” Jensen asks, laughing softly under his breath as he pulls the beautiful, soft, rainbow wool socks out of the paper. “These are incredible, Mish!”
“I thought,” Mish stumbles, “that maybe rainbow socks might be appropriate for us this year, well you know, considering, well the show and all?”
He’s not sure why he’s suddenly rambling. They’ve been privy to their characters’ relationship direction for months, if not years, so his apparent sudden nerves are stupid. He’s ready to suggest they move on from the socks and have another drink when he finds himself being thoroughly kissed, which he’s instantly on board with.
It’s too easy to get lost in Jensen’s kisses. Misha closes his eyes and falls into the way Jensen’s fingers weave through his hair and find purchase, and in the way their tongues connect, a continual back and forth of swollen lips and warm breath. It’s not long before Jensen’s pulling away and Misha sighs in indignation. They just got started. Jensen takes his hand and clasps their fingers together looking at Misha with his heart in his eyes.
“You know full well those socks don’t have a damn thing to do with Dean and Cas finally getting their heads outta their asses.”
And there it is. Misha feels even more ridiculous now, trying to give Jensen a pair of fucking rainbow socks to signify the change in their fictional characters, fictional gay relationship, on a fictional tv show; when they just spent the hour before Misha made dinner very vocally and very real-life fucking and sucking and enjoying every second of it.
“Oh, my god.” Misha tips his forehead to meet Jensen’s, unable to contain his laughter. “You’re right. Dean and Cas have a loooong way to go before they catch up to us.”
“Jensen’s laughter rings through the room and tickles against Misha’s face before he finally calms down. “Well, for what it’s worth,” Jensen finally says as he shifts his legs off Misha’s lap and grabs the socks, first stripping off his store-bought ones and then tugging his feet into the bright new ones Misha put so much of his time into. “These are the best socks you’ve ever made, hands, or feet, down.”
Misha can’t help but smile as Jensen stands and wiggles his toes. Jensen looks happy and proud and it makes Misha’s eyes itch knowing this is the last time they’ll see each other until the new year. “They look great, babe!” he says, meaning it.
“They do, don’t they?” Jensen replies, looking down at his feet. “And, sweetheart? I’m really proud of our love too.”