FIC: Wrought Its Ghost

[nilchance]

Title: Wrought Its Ghost
Author: nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Misha Collins/JDM
A/N: Sequel to If Bird or Devil. Jeff is a dom, Misha is his boy.



"That Jensen cat," Misha says, his face pressed warm and humid in Jeff's neck. "He's a real charmer, huh?"

Jeff huffs out a laugh. He runs his fingers down Misha's back and up again, stroking along Misha's spine, feeling the knobs of his vertebrae. "Yeah, he's a frustrating asshole."

"I know a couple of those. Mm." Arching his back up into Jeff's touch, Misha hums. "I missed you."

"In between those witch circles?" The words slip out before Jeff can bite his tongue. He sighs and cups Misha's face, making him look up. "Sorry. Should we be talking about this?"

"I never said they were witches," Misha says softly. "I don't know what they are. Hell, Jeff, don't you think I want to think this is crazy, too? Because I do, I want it to be a stupid acid dream. I wish I'd never gone home. I wish we'd never met Renee."

Jeff hisses out a breath, reflexive protest, but it's true. In the darker corners of his mind, he's been thinking that since the cops turned up; it'd be easier if Renee never came to him for relief. There'd be no police file with Jeff's name on it, no Jensen, no dark secrets welling up like blood from the churned mud of battleground.

"But I did go home," Misha says, "and we did meet her and we can't go back now. No more use freaking out about that than about being into leather or liking cock. It all has costs. I am who I am. Still yours."

Jeff considers for a moment, then thumbs the dark circles under Misha's eyes. "You're pretty smart."

Misha snorts. "Liberal arts college burning man smart, maybe. But if there's room in the world for kink and headspace and luck, maybe there's room in it for oracles, y'know? We only perceive the surface of--"

"-- total reality, I know, I know." Despite himself, Jeff cracks a smile. "It turns my crank when you get all metaphysical."

"And it turns mine when you act like a pragmatic old man." Shifting, Misha puts his legs on either side of Jeff's, bringing their hips closer together. Up close, he looks the same as he ever does. Just Jeff's boy, not some mystical seer. "I need a shower. I smell like airport."

"You smell all right to me," Jeff says. Resting his hands on Misha's hips, he strokes bare hipbones with his thumbs. Misha's thighs close around him but can't stop him from gripping Misha a little tighter, hard enough that Misha wets his lower lip and leans into the pressure. "And yeah. You are still mine."

Eyes fluttering closed, Misha hums. "So what're you going to do with me?"

Jeff growls and slides his hands back, cupping Misha's ass and squeezing. Misha stutters out a breath, hitching forward on Jeff's lap before deliberately relaxing. "I should put you to bed."

Misha smirks, eyes still closed. "By all means, put me to bed."

Jeff cracks his hand down high on Misha's ass, against the bone where it'll sting. Moaning so soft, Misha grinds down into him. Ready.

"Did you do it for me?" Jeff murmurs, trying to put in his voice that he'll forgive Misha if he didn't. "Touch yourself when I asked?"

Hell, he doesn't know what went down over those few days in Massachusetts. He should've been there. And Misha's mom will damned well know that after Jeff calls her. That'll wait, though. Tomorrow. Misha's with him now, pulled taut with all the things he needs Jeff to help him carry.

"I did." Glancing up through his eyelashes, Misha nearly whispers, "Every time."

"Ah, that's my good boy." Jeff strokes his knuckles down Misha's cheek, smiling as Misha head-bumps into them. "Get to the bedroom now. On your knees on the bed."

Misha shudders hard, his breath easing out in a sigh. Already the weight on his shoulders seem lighter. This isn't about punishment, Jeff needs Misha to know that, so he softens the order with a kiss. Opening for him, Misha groans into the kiss, licking Jeff's mouth like a wolf showing belly. Jeff catches him, crushing their mouths together, biting Misha's lip until he knows it'll be bruised. It's not easy to break away; Misha stares at him, looking drugged.

"Go," Jeff reminds him. "Before I just bend you over the couch."

Misha goes, sliding off Jeff's lap, letting Jeff see that he's wide open. Sinking down to that quiet, vulnerable place. He's so hard, crossing his arms behind his back, presenting himself for Jeff's eyes.

Careful now. Jeff runs his hand up Misha's thigh and traces the strained denim over Misha's cock, scraping a little with his thumbnail to hear Misha's hurting, needing whimper. Then he makes himself lean back in the chair and reach for the newspaper, like he's actually going to ignore Misha instead of planning his approach.

It's a game Misha likes, sitting at Jeff's feet while he reads, going plugged and open until Jeff's ready to take him. He rocks on his heels, breathing ragged, then backs towards the bedroom.

As soon as Misha's gone, Jeff puts the paper aside and gets to his feet. He has a few minutes just to psych Misha out, not long enough for Misha to start napping, because Jeff has no intention of waking him up once he konks out. He puts Bisou's food down, ruffling her fur when she gives him a baleful look, and sets up what he'll need for Misha afterwards: a bottle of water, a big chunk of banana bread with peanut butter, aspirin. Then he makes himself pour a glass of orange juice and he drinks it slowly.

Time to be careful. Time to give Misha what he needs. He can be lost and scared as fuck later. He's steady. He's a stone. There's a deep calm in this, in putting himself aside a while, and a certain tenderness. Misha is his mate, his, and god help whatever fucker is stupid enough to threaten that.

Jeff finishes the juice and puts the glass in the sink. Steady now.

Down the hall to the bedroom, steps measured so they don't betray how much Jeff wants. He closes the bedroom door behind him and stands there for a minute, admiring the view: Misha kneeling naked on their bed, hips canted up and his cheek pressed to the bed, his skin pale in the light pollution coming through their windows.Shivering.

Jeff takes his time coming to the bed, taking off his shoes and his shirt. He makes sure Misha can see him stop at his belt, fingertips resting on the buckle. Misha sees; he shifts, his spine arching up in a perfect unmarked line.

"Thought you wanted to be marked up," Jeff says.

"Ohgod," Misha mumbles. "Yes. Yes."

"Three." Jeff unbuckles the belt, lets one end dangle for a second. "But it'll be hard. You good for that?"

"Please," Misha whispers, and turns his face so Jeff can see his eyes. "Yeah. I want it."

Jeff pulls the belt loose, watching Misha stare at it with such blind hunger. Once he has it free, he closes his fingers around the buckle, loops the still-warm leather around his fist. Misha wets his lower lip, hips pushing down into the bed.

Christ, it's heady. His dick is going to crack his fucking zipper. Jeff flexes his fingers, muscle-memory already warming the muscles of his arms. "Put my mark on you," he repeats. "Best thank me for them, boy."

"Fuck," Misha growls, and turns his face into the bed. "I will. Please. I need--"

The first crack of the belt is impossibly loud in the quiet. Misha's shuddering even before the stripe down his back starts to bleed to red. "Onethankyousir," all one gratified moan.

Jeff presses his thumb into the mark, less cruel than simply proving his point. Misha's breath hiccups out. "Mine," Jeff tells him, his voice stripped and dark.

"Your--" Another crack of the belt, and Misha blurts, "fuck, two, thank you. Thank you."

Stepping back, Jeff considers. The marks cross, unintentional artwork on Misha's back, and they'll be prettier tomorrow. But there needs to be three. He strokes his hand over the marks, the broken place where they intersect, Misha's fever-warm skin. Misha's moan is thinner, strung out.

"Your cock hard for me?" Jeff asks, and doesn't wait for an answer before sliding his hand under Misha. Misha arches to give him room, legs spreading wider, and Jeff hums as he finds Misha desperately hard. Misha flinches as Jeff rubs his thumb over the head and finds it wet with precome. "Yeah, you're leaking all over, sweetheart."

"Nn." Stomach muscles trembling, Misha buries his face in the comforter.

"Trying so hard not to fuck my hand," Jeff murmurs. "So good, Mish."

When he takes his hand back, Misha whines a second before biting the comforter to quiet it. Jeff can feel him tense, trying to anticipate the last hit, trying to breathe with it. Jeff rubs the thin, slick wet of Misha's between his fingertips, then slides his hand between Misha's spread legs, finding and slicking up the tight clench of his ass. Misha jerks in place, nearly raising his head before forcing himself down again.

"Gonna fill you up," Jeff says. "Tight little ass. Hungry. Shh," coaxing in a fingertip, teasing and retreating, until Misha hitches all over and spreads wider. "Always like that first time, no matter how many times I fuck you open. Ought to eat you out for a while. Make you open up for me."

"Jeff," Misha breathes out, rocking back against him. "Can't, I can't, please--"

"You'd come," Jeff says, "I'd just make you do it again. Yeah. Fuck, you want it bad, don't you, sweetheart?" Rubbing his finger over Misha's hole just to feel him clench inside, hungry, Jeff slides his hand down and cups Misha's balls. "All heavy and tight."

Misha shudders like Jeff hit him again, his hips jerking forward, his cock dragging on the sheets. Jeff can smell him, how ready he is to come without being touched, without permission. Reaching down, Jeff unzips his jeans, biting back a groan as his fingers fumble his dick free. He's throbbing, pulse heavy in his head and his cock, the tip of it slick. Kneeling behind Misha, Jeff drags his cock down the fever-hot cleft of Misha's ass, letting it rub against Misha's hole. Teasing, the slick fluttering kiss of it enough to make Jeff lose his goddamn mind.

From the muffled sound Misha makes, a garble of 'love' and 'yes' and 'please', the feeling's mutual. Rocking on his knees, Misha tries to back up on Jeff like he's in heat, only succeeding in rubbing Jeff's cockhead all tight and close--

Jeff takes the belt up with one hand, pinning Misha with the other. Still, he has to be still. The last stripe slices clean across both the others, not as vivid red, not as hard, but it makes Misha yell.

Dropping the belt, Jeff grabs Misha by the hips and hauls him onto his back, catching the end off Misha's sobbed "thankyou" before it's lost. It's messy, but Jeff hauls Misha's leg up and over his shoulder, fucking into him with one slow ruthless thrust.

Misha's face is wet, his eyes shocky-wide, but all Jeff has to do is bump his knuckles against Misha's cock and he jolts into spilling, coming in hard spurts that paint his belly and his chest. He doesn't scream, but it's a near thing. As he comes, it wrings Jeff's dick like a tight cruel hand, and he grunts as he fucks out his own orgasm in shallow thrusts that leave him wasted. He starts to tip over onto Misha and barely catches himself, staring down at his wrecked boy.

"Hey, shh." Jeff's mouth comes online before his brain. He strokes Misha, trying to stop the trembling. "Shh, honey, shh, did I hurt you?"

Misha seems to try to say something, but it's lost in a hiccuping breath.

"Okay. Okay." Easing out, Jeff checks automatically for blood. Nothing. He bullies Misha onto his side and bundles him up in the quilt, then wraps him up in his arms. "You all right?"

Misha coughs, or maybe laughs, and burrows into Jeff. "Hnn. 'Mfine."

"You sure? Here," Jeff peers over Misha's back and presses lightly at the edges of the marks. Misha hums, squirming in place, and Jeff grudgingly backs off. "Okay. I can get you a--"

Flinging an arm over him, Misha grunts and closes his eyes. After a minute, he manages, "Don't leave me."

Oh.

Gentling, Jeff murmurs, "I won't." The violence and confusion of the night wells up in him, uninvited, and he swallows. It's dark outside their windows, getting darker. He doesn't know what he'd do to protect Misha, how far he'd go. As far as Jensen had gone for Renee. Farther.

Tightening his arms around Misha, Jeff says, "I promise I won't."