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“Jensen give me my fucking pants back!”
Misha lunges toward Jensen in a lame attempt to try and take his jeans back from him. Jensen cleverly jumps back and sprints to the other side of their hotel room, hiding Misha’s pants behind his back.
“What pants? I didn’t take your pants,” Jensen replies innocently. He bats his eyelashes at Misha, grinning mischievously.
Misha shakes his head slowly, pointing an accusing finger at Jensen.
“I saw you put them behind your back, you dick,” Misha says, crossing over to Jensen and placing his arms on the wall behind Jensen, trapping him.
“Yeah, you love my dick,” Jensen smirks, winking at Misha. Then he slides underneath Misha’s arms before Misha can stop him.
Misha sighs dejectedly, “Come on Jen, I have to be at the convention in an hour. I can’t go onstage without pants.”
“Sure you can!” I’m sure the fans will love it, I know I do!”
“That’s it, I’m going to get you,” Misha growls. He runs across the room and tackles Jensen onto the bed, grabbing for his pants but Jensen cleverly distracts him by sticking his hand down Misha’s underwear, sliding his hand down Misha’s dick.
“Goddamnit Jen,” Misha groans. He rolls them over and kisses Jensen roughly. It distracts him long enough for Misha to snatch the pants out of Jensen’s hands and start to get away, but no before Jensen’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him back. Jensen’s fingers snake underneath Misha’s and he gets a hold of one pant leg, pulling it tightly.
Misha tugs on the other pant leg. They tug back and forth, playing tug-of-war with Misha’s jeans.
Jensen gives the fabric in his hand a sharp tug and there’s a ripping noise. Misha’s pants split right down the middle and the force sends them both tumbling off the bed and onto the floor.
“Oops!” Jensen sing-songs from the floor. Misha glares at him underneath the bed with a gaze so fiery Castiel would be proud. Jensen gets the hint, scrambling off the floor and booking it out of the room.
Misha is going to kill him or fuck him until he can’t see straight. Probably the latter because that’s just more fun.
“You better run you little shit!” Misha yells after him.
Misha rises to his feet running his fingers through his hair. He glances over at his suitcase in the corner of the room. He can see from where he’s standing that he doesn’t have any other pairs of pants. He brought his kilt - Jensen likes Misha to fuck him while wearing it - he could wear that, but it doesn’t match his shirt. He could borrow some of Jensen’s. No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Fuck. He has forty-five minutes until his panel starts, the only logical thing is to do it put on the kilt and stop by a store on the way there.
So he does.
It’s a little hipstery-looking store with a shit ton of pants. The clerk gives him a strange look when he enters her store wearing a red and brown kilt, blue button up and tan jacket. He ignores her and beelines over to the racks of jeans and multi-colored pants. Frantically he searches through the racks for something, anything in his size. There’s nothing. Except for one pair that just happen to be fucking pink. Misha glances down at his watch, fifteen minutes. These will have to do.
“Fuck Jensen,” Misha mumbles under his breath, ripping the pants off the hanger and heading into the changing room.
He changes into the pants and stares at himself in the mirror. They still don’t match but at least these are better than the kilt or his underwear.
He gets to the convention five minutes late and rushes to the backstage area of the main panel room.
When Jensen sees him backstage he bursts out laughing, “Nice pants Mish.”
Misha narrows his eyes at him, “Shut the fuck up.”
“Awwwww,” Jensen says, sliding over to him, just out of view of the audience and presses a kiss against his cheek, “You know you love me.”
Misha rolls his eyes, “Yeah well, you’re gonna get it later.”
Jensen grins, “I can’t wait.”
Misha flips him off over his shoulder and then steps onstage.