FIC: If Bird or Devil (1/2)

[nilchance]

Title: If Bird or Devil (1/2)
Authors: nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: JDM/Misha Collins, JDM/JA
A/N: In which Jeff is a professional dom, Misha is his boy, and Jensen is a catalyst. Mythological themes.




Jeff wakes up being kissed. It's not a bad way to start the morning. He reaches out to pull Misha closer and finds himself gripping his own jacket, Misha kneeling beside the bed.

He squints one eye open. Misha's smiling at him, his packed bags at his side. There's nobody else for them to wake up, but Misha whispers, "Hey."

"Hey," Jeff murmurs back. He remembers now: the rally in Massachusetts, Misha agreeing to help out his mom. That Misha is going to bail her out of jail if need be is unstated but implied. It's going to be a long week without him, an empty loft and several assignations to get Jeff by without his boy. He thumbs the dark circles under Misha's eyes and says, sternly, "You sleep on the plane, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Misha says without venom. Nudging Jeff's hand to the side of his face like a cat, Misha adds, "I packed Benadryl and everything, Mom. I'll be fine."

"Sure." Jeff takes his hand back long enough to unsnap the leather band around his wrist. He holds his open hand out, expectant, and Misha lays his wrist down. Jeff closes his fingers around Misha's wrist, squeezes once just to watch Misha shiver, then carefully fastens the leather band. It's not a collar, but it'll do. "Call me when you get in."

Solemn-eyed, Misha nods and leans in to kiss him. It's a scratchy kiss, stubble on stubble, less sexual heat and more something to hold them over. Still pressed in too close for Jeff to see, Misha says, "Can I ask you for something?"

Jeff pulls back a little, propping up on his elbows to study Misha's face. "Yeah, sweetheart," Jeff says softly. "Ask me."

"Tonight. When I'm gone. I want you to--" Misha stops, his face looking hot, struggling to get the words out. It's been years since Misha was shy about asking for anything, and that tugs deep at Jeff. Misha looks at him, eyes almost feverishly bright, and swallows. "Another boy."

"I top other boys all the time," Jeff teases, mostly to watch Misha fidget.

"Not like that. Jeff."

"Uh-uh." Jeff stretches out his hand and catches Misha's chin, cupping it, forcing Misha's head up. Misha's pupils blow, and Jeff tries to remember his flight departure time. This is so unfair. "If you want it, you say it."

Misha closes his eyes for a moment, trying to pull his words together, then breathes out. "Bring another boy home and fuck him. Like you'd fuck me."

"Not exactly like that."

Misha raises his eyebrows. "Not exactly?"

"Let me show you," Jeff says, and pulls him back into bed.
*****
On the reception desk at Fringe, there's always a vase with a white flower. The type rotates by season, lilies and roses and peonies, but it's always white. The flower never gets a chance to wither before it's replaced again. Jeff should know; he's usually the one replacing it.

Tonight it's a lotus. Jeff hands it to the girl behind the counter, who beams shyly at him in a way that only makes him feel old. He can remember being that young, new on the scene, easy to hurt.

"I brought your book back," she says. "Do you want it?"

It takes Jeff a second; Misha teases that Jeff thinks their bookshelves are a lending library for the next generation of kink fiends. Then again, Jeff's seen Misha pull aside young subs who are learning dangerous habits, so Misha hardly has room to talk. Yes, right, it was the Ethical Slut.

"Maybe when I leave, sweetheart." Jeff grins at her. "Might need my hands free tonight."

She perks up, and nearly spills out of her top. Jeff has the reflexive urge to cover her with his jacket. "Are you scening? Misha's not here. Can I see? Could I..."

Jeff tenses, ready to say no and trying to say it gently, when Jeremy's arm drapes over his shoulders. Jeremy smirks at him, his eyes half-lidded and too keen. "Hey, yeah, Jeff. Can we see?"

Jeff elbows him. "Asshole. You don't deserve me."

"Yeah, yeah." Jeremy winks at the girl, who straightens up and preens a little. "He's shy."

Just for that, Jeff grabs a handful of Jeremy's ass as he goes in.

It's a weekend night, and quieter than Jeff mostly sees it. His place is in his private appointment room or on the floor on Saturday night, providing the entertainment. There's a few scenes going on, Jeff sees them in the corner of his vision as he heads for the bar. The scent of the room, the leather and sweat, sinks him into a deeper place. His hands itch for Misha.

There's a new sign over the bar, drinks = no kinks, because one of the managers thinks he's clever. It's the bartender who ends up holding the line. Jeff gets a Coke and waits for Jeremy to catch up.

A rustling drag of sound snags him. Jeff tracks it to one of the scenes, and grimaces; Scott's back again. He always found partners, newbies or victims who didn't think they could find better. Scott kept his distance after the last time Jeff told him to listen to his sub's goddamn safewords or Jeff would shove that flogger down his throat, but apparently threats only worked so long. The manager wouldn't ban him, either, not until somebody got hurt.

Like Renee got hurt? The thought's bitter as ashes, but there's no proof. There's nothing down that road. God knows Jeff looked.

Scott has a newbie, backed him into a wall so Scott could paw his throat and whisper Penthouse filth in his ear. Jeff starts to look away, he wants no part of it tonight, but the newbie's eyes abruptly meet his and Jeff can't tear loose.

Green eyes, green as bottles and keen like glass. Bored, Jeff realizes, and the newbie's mouth turns up in a lazy smile.

Dangerous games, flirting over a dom's shoulder, but damn. The newbie's a bit of very pretty trouble. He wouldn't go down easy. No. He'd need some work, some inspiration before he'd even think about bending. Jeff can read the pride on him from here, the stubbornness and the will. He couldn't just be slung over Jeff's knee like the customers who came in wanting to call Jeff daddy. The newbie would need to be coaxed, to grip the headboard and keep himself there, to ask for it--

"Don't." Jeremy's voice breaks into his reverie, and Jeff jerks. Jeremy thumps his shoulder and nods at the newbie. "Freckles there isn't worth your time."

Jeff glances back at the newbie, but the spell's been broken. The newbie's eyes are closed, his face tipped up to the ceiling as if Scott's crude dominance is really doing it for him. Perversely, it reminds Jeff of his art history classes: an angel in Gomorrah, bearing rough human hands. Jeremy clears his throat, and Jeff looks back at him. He doesn't feign innocence. "Why, did you have trouble with him?"

Jeremy snorts. "Look at him, Jeff. He's either so raw he's a danger to himself and others, or he's a cop trying to get somebody on prostitution charges. Sam tried him out the other night and he didn't even know about contracts. He got flustered and walked. Besides, you've got your hands full with Misha."

"Heh." Jeff looks down at his glass, rotating it between his hands. "Yeah. Misha asked me to pick up a boy tonight."

"You're so whipped," Jeremy says, but there's no sting in it. For both of their sakes, Jeff pretends not to hear the longing in Jeremy's voice when he adds, "Need to get me one like that."

Leaning over, Jeff bumps shoulders with him. "There's always Ever."

"Ha," Jeremy says, "ha. As if I'd lower my standards. Have you noticed that Ever has a soundtrack of Barracuda that follows her around? It's true, even to the bathroom. Besides, her uncle could break me in half with his pinkie. This one time, Zach--"

Later, Jeff can't say why he looks up or why the glint of a razor draws his eyes. He remembers the look on the newbie's face, though, the fatigue and the hunger.

He's off the stool and in Scott's space before he knows he's going to move. Scott stares at him, the blade balanced between his fingers. It's so close to the newbie's bared throat. "What the fuck's your problem, Morgan?"

"No bloodplay on the floor, you dumb fuck," Jeff says. "Is that blade even clean?"

Drawing himself up to his full height, Scott pulls off the newbie. He gestures with the blade, because he's that flavor of stupid. "Why are you always riding my ass?"

"You wish he'd ride your ass," Jeremy drawls. He's at Jeff's back, and despite all his bitching he's pulled the newbie away a few steps.

Scott glares. "You're harassing me, you know that? You can't just--"

"Something going on here?" Jason's voice cuts through Scott's. He's in bouncer gear tonight, a black t-shirt and his dreads pulled back. Jeff would bet that Jason changed clothes when he saw Scott come in. There's a glint in his eyes that says he'd like an excuse to take Scott out back and make him hurt.

Scott blinks at him, still holding the blade. He lowers the blade, slow and wary, and Jeff can take a full breath again.

Jason's smile is all teeth, and his hand thumps down on Scott's shoulder. "How many strikes is this, Scotty? I know, we'll go outside and talk about it. Say goodnight."

As Jason frogmarches Scott out, Jeff can still hear Scott bitching. His veins thrum with adrenaline. Scrubbing his hands on his jeans, he looks over at Jeremy, who's talking low to the newbie. Something about 'did he cut you?' and 'here, sit, drink some water.' The newbie doesn't have the shocky look of a sub pulled out mid-scene; he stares at Jeremy like he's speaking a foreign language, but it's not fear.

Jeff clears his throat. "Sorry about that. You all right?"

The newbie nods, watching Jeff through his eyelashes. He takes the bottle of water from Jeremy and holds it.

"'M Jeff," Jeff says by way of introduction. "That's Jeremy. You?"

The newbie wets his lower lip, still staring at Jeff. "Jensen," he says. His voice is rusty, like he doesn't talk much, with an underlying thread of Southern. "You going home with somebody, Jeff?"

Jeff's body lurches suddenly and embarrassingly into heat. It's wrong, the kid needs nothing so much as a hot shower and a stern lecture on safety, but his cock isn't interested in ethics tonight. He wants Jensen, wants to put him on his knees and stroke him until he purrs.

If Jeff doesn't say yes, Jensen will just find somebody else to take home. Somebody like Scott. Jeff can rein in his libido and send the kid home untouched, with burning ears and a little more sense. If he's a cop, well. Jeff's only offering him coffee.

Jeremy hisses through his teeth, about to launch into all the reasons why Jensen's an idiot, but shuts up when Jeff shakes his head. He gives Jeff a hard look, a 'are you insane?' look, but eases back a step. He sees it, too, that it's better Jeff than some asshole who preys on the clueless. Thumping Jensen on the back, Jeremy says, "Good luck, buddy."

Jensen doesn't even look at Jeremy as he goes, still holding Jeff's eyes with an intensity that should burn. He looks feral, unfed and wild. Cop or not, it's a goddamn waste that nobody's taught him better, collared him and taken care of him.

"Shall we?" Jeff asks.

Jensen's mouth twitches up in a smile. It doesn't touch his eyes. "Let's."