![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
FIC: What Rough Beast
Title: What Rough Beast
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance and beanside
Rating: Adult
Pairing: JDM/JA
A/N: Retriever-verse.
In the three days it took for the poison to work its way out of his system, Jeff figured a couple things out about his Librarian.
First, he was stubborn. That was actually kind of a relief. He didn't want someone who would give way with a little push. It was one of the great failings of the Retriever program, at least as far as Jeff was concerned. Most of the children who applied had never had heartbreak--had never found anything they couldn't bully out of someone. It made them soft, lulled them into thinking that they'd never lose. Made them unlikely to survive when they found something stronger than them.
Second, Jensen was afraid. Even when he wasn't in Jeff's sight, there was the low-level pulse of Jensen's fear. Oddly, he seemed less afraid when Jeff could see him. Maybe then the Librarian training kicked in. Jeff listed it as one more thing that they'd have to eventually settle, but for the moment it scraped at his instincts.
Lastly, Jeff had finally realized that Jensen's stuff wasn't coming. There were no boxes of books or clothes, no furniture. Apparently his new Librarian came with a suit of clothing, and not much else. Jeff could certainly afford to outfit his El, but it rankled that Jensen hadn't told him it was needed. Jensen might've worn that one suit until it fell apart before he went to Jeff for help. It was Jeff's job to see to his El, his privilege, and instead Jensen washed his clothes in the sink and slept on a pallet beside Jeff's bed. It made Jeff want to grab him by the scruff and shake him. Instead, he called his tailor. That would have to do.
He wasn't sure how much of it was the instinctual urge of the Retriever to hold and protect his El, and how much of it was that he was coming to genuinely like Jensen, but Jeff found himself missing Jensen when he wasn't nearby. It was galling that after six months of fighting against having a Librarian, he was falling back to the familiar rhythms of need.
It didn't help that the poison had effectively tied Jeff to the bed. He felt unsteady, and that in addition to the endless grind of Jensen's wariness left him raw. He wanted to get up and follow Jensen wherever he went. He wanted to pull Jensen into bed and curl around him, press his face to the warm fragrant hollow of Jensen's nape. It made Jeff sharp, impatient, and that only made Jensen retreat farther.
No, it was time to get up and stretch his legs. Maybe he would shower while he was at it; he didn't mind his own stink, used to it from weeks in the field, but Jensen was probably accustomed to cleanliness. At least, Jensen cleaned like it. Jeff's apartment hadn't been so well-organized in months.
Jeff stood. He wobbled, as he had on every trip to the bathroom, then steadied himself on the wall. The pain in his side was a good one, the burn of muscle rather than gut-deep agony. He bore it, teeth gritted, and was perversely satisfied to feel hurt after so much time resting.
There was no skitter of Jensen's alarm, no response from his El. Jeff had assumed that meant Jensen was gardening, or relaxing for once, but as Jeff's painful steps took him to the living room he saw Jensen on the couch. Jensen sat very still, one hand cupped in the other and his face empty. His lips moved in silence. Checking the Uplink, then.
Jeff shuffled past, trying not to disturb him. He only made it a few steps before Jensen inhaled sharply, as if he was in pain, and snapped back to attention. It took Jensen a moment to orient, the whites showing briefly around his eyes. Then he stared at Jeff like he was some kind of ghost, the color draining from Jensen's (already pale) face. This fear swamped Jensen's usual wariness, dragged it under to drown.
Jeff stepped towards the couch like he was drawn by a magnet, putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Hey," he said. "It's only me."
Jensen stared at him, that same terror in his eyes, then blinked and seemed to shutter down. That fear closed away, leaving only its scent behind. Jensen swallowed and said, "What are you doing out of bed?"
"Walking very slowly to the bathroom." Jeff squeezed Jensen's shoulder. "Did I startle you?"
"I- no. No. I'm simply concerned for your stitches. You should sit."
"Right." Jeff's hand itched to press his thumb deeper into the ridge of Jensen's collarbone, to mold him until he found the source of that stark terror. Like air trapped in his clay, a hidden threat that would make the pieces shatter when they were fired. Jeff satisfied himself with simply stroking his thumb along the bone, seeking calm in the touch. "Jensen," he said finally, when he could speak easily, "I won't ask to climb in your head. You don't owe me that. But don't lie to me."
Jensen flinched a little, his cheeks coloring. "I am sorry," he murmured, the fear sharpening again. That secret fear.
Fear of what? Discovery? Jeff himself?
Jeff stared down at Jensen's upturned face. The perfect Librarian for Jeff: beautiful, dedicated, haunted. Jeff liked him. Jeff trusted him. The spark of suspicion got inside his head and lit a bonfire.
"Did you get the report off to your superiors?" Anger made Jeff's voice quiet, and yet it wasn't for Jensen. He touched Jensen's shoulder, seeking comfort. "Am I to the Administrator's satisfaction?"
Jensen's attention jerked to Jeff's face. "You think I've betrayed you?"
"I think you would follow orders."
Expression hardening, Jensen said, "You are the Retriever. You can hear in my heartbeat if I lie. Ask what you want to know."
Jeff leaned on the back of the couch, close enough to kiss. His wound throbbed, but he couldn't sit. Not until he knew. "Are you here to spy?"
Holding Jeff's eyes, Jensen offered his wrists and waited for Jeff to encircle them. Jeff did, resting his thumbs on the pulse. Jensen said, each word enunciated sharply enough to cut, "I am no spy. I serve only you."
Jensen's heart beat strong and steady against Jeff's thumbs.
Damn the Retrievers and their drugs. Damn these rages.
With a hard sigh, Jeff bent until his forehead rested against Jensen's bared wrists. Jensen's scent, fear and stubbornness, rose up into his head. A balm.
"Though I don't doubt that they would track you," Jensen said, letting Jeff hold him, "I am... imperfect. They do not trust me."
Much like you.
Jeff rubbed his cheek against Jensen's wrists, letting their scents twine. It was an old symbol, protection and promise. His mouth brushed Jensen's skin, a secret kiss, as he murmured, "I'm a fool. I apologize. That's no reward for you saving my life."
Jensen's fingers twitched, his pulse fluttering under Jeff's mouth. He didn't tug against Jeff's hold; there was no struggling with Retrievers, no running from them, unless you wanted to raise their blood. "Get off the floor before you rip your stitches," Jensen said, then cleared his throat and added, "please."
Jeff smiled against Jensen's skin. "As you like."
He let Jensen help him up onto the sofa, smiling when Jensen seemed startled that he was sitting so close. Jeff settled in and held his arm out for Jensen to sit beside him. Jensen went, curling into Jeff's body like he fit there.
"Can I get you anything, Jeff?" Jensen spoke into Jeff's shoulder, voice muffled.
"No, thank you. I was thinking, though. I'm feeling better today, maybe tomorrow we could go for a walk in the Quarter."
"Was there something you needed to purchase? I could fetch it for you," Jensen offered quickly.
"I'd like you to come with me, if you don't have other plans, but I need to stretch my legs."
"Of course. I live to serve," Jensen replied.
God, he must be feeling better, if those simple words were enough to make Jeff's body come to life. He could smell his scent on Jensen, smell the mingling heat. He wanted to touch, to pull Jensen beneath him and take. To claim.
Instead, he brushed his cheek against Jensen's shoulder, feeling the catch of his beard on the rough spun fabric of Jensen's suit. "I should get cleaned up. Shave, shower."
"Of course." Jensen came to his feet. "I will assist you."
Jeff's lips quirked. Somehow, that hadn't sounded like a request from his Librarian. There was definitely a backbone under all those layers, a little steel under the gorgeous exterior. The thought made him laugh, earning him a look from Jensen that reminded Jeff of nothing more than a felren kit who had its fur rubbed the wrong way. "I'm coming," he assured Jensen.
Jensen shook his head. "No, stay put, I'll run the bath."
Jensen was gone before Jeff remembered that he hadn't agreed to a bath. He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. Jensen deserved his victory; Jeff had been unfair to assume that he was reporting back to the Administrator. As relieved as he was to know for sure, he'd insulted Jensen and he knew it.
But if Jensen wasn't afraid of being caught, then what had him so terrified?
Authors:
nilchance and beansideRating: Adult
Pairing: JDM/JA
A/N: Retriever-verse.
In the three days it took for the poison to work its way out of his system, Jeff figured a couple things out about his Librarian.
First, he was stubborn. That was actually kind of a relief. He didn't want someone who would give way with a little push. It was one of the great failings of the Retriever program, at least as far as Jeff was concerned. Most of the children who applied had never had heartbreak--had never found anything they couldn't bully out of someone. It made them soft, lulled them into thinking that they'd never lose. Made them unlikely to survive when they found something stronger than them.
Second, Jensen was afraid. Even when he wasn't in Jeff's sight, there was the low-level pulse of Jensen's fear. Oddly, he seemed less afraid when Jeff could see him. Maybe then the Librarian training kicked in. Jeff listed it as one more thing that they'd have to eventually settle, but for the moment it scraped at his instincts.
Lastly, Jeff had finally realized that Jensen's stuff wasn't coming. There were no boxes of books or clothes, no furniture. Apparently his new Librarian came with a suit of clothing, and not much else. Jeff could certainly afford to outfit his El, but it rankled that Jensen hadn't told him it was needed. Jensen might've worn that one suit until it fell apart before he went to Jeff for help. It was Jeff's job to see to his El, his privilege, and instead Jensen washed his clothes in the sink and slept on a pallet beside Jeff's bed. It made Jeff want to grab him by the scruff and shake him. Instead, he called his tailor. That would have to do.
He wasn't sure how much of it was the instinctual urge of the Retriever to hold and protect his El, and how much of it was that he was coming to genuinely like Jensen, but Jeff found himself missing Jensen when he wasn't nearby. It was galling that after six months of fighting against having a Librarian, he was falling back to the familiar rhythms of need.
It didn't help that the poison had effectively tied Jeff to the bed. He felt unsteady, and that in addition to the endless grind of Jensen's wariness left him raw. He wanted to get up and follow Jensen wherever he went. He wanted to pull Jensen into bed and curl around him, press his face to the warm fragrant hollow of Jensen's nape. It made Jeff sharp, impatient, and that only made Jensen retreat farther.
No, it was time to get up and stretch his legs. Maybe he would shower while he was at it; he didn't mind his own stink, used to it from weeks in the field, but Jensen was probably accustomed to cleanliness. At least, Jensen cleaned like it. Jeff's apartment hadn't been so well-organized in months.
Jeff stood. He wobbled, as he had on every trip to the bathroom, then steadied himself on the wall. The pain in his side was a good one, the burn of muscle rather than gut-deep agony. He bore it, teeth gritted, and was perversely satisfied to feel hurt after so much time resting.
There was no skitter of Jensen's alarm, no response from his El. Jeff had assumed that meant Jensen was gardening, or relaxing for once, but as Jeff's painful steps took him to the living room he saw Jensen on the couch. Jensen sat very still, one hand cupped in the other and his face empty. His lips moved in silence. Checking the Uplink, then.
Jeff shuffled past, trying not to disturb him. He only made it a few steps before Jensen inhaled sharply, as if he was in pain, and snapped back to attention. It took Jensen a moment to orient, the whites showing briefly around his eyes. Then he stared at Jeff like he was some kind of ghost, the color draining from Jensen's (already pale) face. This fear swamped Jensen's usual wariness, dragged it under to drown.
Jeff stepped towards the couch like he was drawn by a magnet, putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Hey," he said. "It's only me."
Jensen stared at him, that same terror in his eyes, then blinked and seemed to shutter down. That fear closed away, leaving only its scent behind. Jensen swallowed and said, "What are you doing out of bed?"
"Walking very slowly to the bathroom." Jeff squeezed Jensen's shoulder. "Did I startle you?"
"I- no. No. I'm simply concerned for your stitches. You should sit."
"Right." Jeff's hand itched to press his thumb deeper into the ridge of Jensen's collarbone, to mold him until he found the source of that stark terror. Like air trapped in his clay, a hidden threat that would make the pieces shatter when they were fired. Jeff satisfied himself with simply stroking his thumb along the bone, seeking calm in the touch. "Jensen," he said finally, when he could speak easily, "I won't ask to climb in your head. You don't owe me that. But don't lie to me."
Jensen flinched a little, his cheeks coloring. "I am sorry," he murmured, the fear sharpening again. That secret fear.
Fear of what? Discovery? Jeff himself?
Jeff stared down at Jensen's upturned face. The perfect Librarian for Jeff: beautiful, dedicated, haunted. Jeff liked him. Jeff trusted him. The spark of suspicion got inside his head and lit a bonfire.
"Did you get the report off to your superiors?" Anger made Jeff's voice quiet, and yet it wasn't for Jensen. He touched Jensen's shoulder, seeking comfort. "Am I to the Administrator's satisfaction?"
Jensen's attention jerked to Jeff's face. "You think I've betrayed you?"
"I think you would follow orders."
Expression hardening, Jensen said, "You are the Retriever. You can hear in my heartbeat if I lie. Ask what you want to know."
Jeff leaned on the back of the couch, close enough to kiss. His wound throbbed, but he couldn't sit. Not until he knew. "Are you here to spy?"
Holding Jeff's eyes, Jensen offered his wrists and waited for Jeff to encircle them. Jeff did, resting his thumbs on the pulse. Jensen said, each word enunciated sharply enough to cut, "I am no spy. I serve only you."
Jensen's heart beat strong and steady against Jeff's thumbs.
Damn the Retrievers and their drugs. Damn these rages.
With a hard sigh, Jeff bent until his forehead rested against Jensen's bared wrists. Jensen's scent, fear and stubbornness, rose up into his head. A balm.
"Though I don't doubt that they would track you," Jensen said, letting Jeff hold him, "I am... imperfect. They do not trust me."
Much like you.
Jeff rubbed his cheek against Jensen's wrists, letting their scents twine. It was an old symbol, protection and promise. His mouth brushed Jensen's skin, a secret kiss, as he murmured, "I'm a fool. I apologize. That's no reward for you saving my life."
Jensen's fingers twitched, his pulse fluttering under Jeff's mouth. He didn't tug against Jeff's hold; there was no struggling with Retrievers, no running from them, unless you wanted to raise their blood. "Get off the floor before you rip your stitches," Jensen said, then cleared his throat and added, "please."
Jeff smiled against Jensen's skin. "As you like."
He let Jensen help him up onto the sofa, smiling when Jensen seemed startled that he was sitting so close. Jeff settled in and held his arm out for Jensen to sit beside him. Jensen went, curling into Jeff's body like he fit there.
"Can I get you anything, Jeff?" Jensen spoke into Jeff's shoulder, voice muffled.
"No, thank you. I was thinking, though. I'm feeling better today, maybe tomorrow we could go for a walk in the Quarter."
"Was there something you needed to purchase? I could fetch it for you," Jensen offered quickly.
"I'd like you to come with me, if you don't have other plans, but I need to stretch my legs."
"Of course. I live to serve," Jensen replied.
God, he must be feeling better, if those simple words were enough to make Jeff's body come to life. He could smell his scent on Jensen, smell the mingling heat. He wanted to touch, to pull Jensen beneath him and take. To claim.
Instead, he brushed his cheek against Jensen's shoulder, feeling the catch of his beard on the rough spun fabric of Jensen's suit. "I should get cleaned up. Shave, shower."
"Of course." Jensen came to his feet. "I will assist you."
Jeff's lips quirked. Somehow, that hadn't sounded like a request from his Librarian. There was definitely a backbone under all those layers, a little steel under the gorgeous exterior. The thought made him laugh, earning him a look from Jensen that reminded Jeff of nothing more than a felren kit who had its fur rubbed the wrong way. "I'm coming," he assured Jensen.
Jensen shook his head. "No, stay put, I'll run the bath."
Jensen was gone before Jeff remembered that he hadn't agreed to a bath. He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. Jensen deserved his victory; Jeff had been unfair to assume that he was reporting back to the Administrator. As relieved as he was to know for sure, he'd insulted Jensen and he knew it.
But if Jensen wasn't afraid of being caught, then what had him so terrified?