Misha probably should have been more interested in the whys and hows of Castiel’s appearance on the Supernatural set than he was in the taste of Castiel’s tongue, but any guilt he might have felt was swiftly pushed aside when Vicki walked in on them kissing, pointed at both of them, and said, “This is going on camera later,” before leaving them to it.
Castiel was so rigid it looked painful, like he’d had a rod shoved straight up his ass and through his spine to keep him in place, and Misha was determined to make him relax.
He could have pretended the massage he gave Castiel was entirely innocent, but Castiel wasn’t an idiot and Misha didn’t have the patience to keep his hands off Castiel’s ass, too tempted to dig his fingers in everywhere he struggled to reach on his own, and maybe it was strange to slide oiled fingers inside Castiel before ever touching his cock, but the angel didn’t seem to mind.
He knew his own prostate very, very well, and when he found Castiel’s exactly where he expected to be it was a thrill to watch Castiel react, moaning, pushing back into the touch with movements that were stiff but not anywhere near as awkward as before.
Misha pressed a kiss to Castiel’s back, wrapped a hand around the angel’s erection, and grinned as he said, “Let’s get that stick out of your ass.”