FIC: Outtake: New Years
Sep. 24th, 2012 12:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Outtake: New Years
Author: nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto, Jeff/Jensen
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse. This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse.
New Year's eve. This is not the sedate evening that Misha is used to sharing with Vincent, reading together with the classical station on the radio, waiting up for Adam's arrival from his debauched parties.
Jeff is hosting, because Jeff hosts everything and probably will until he dies, and it seems like everyone in the Trust is attending. There is no upstairs/downstairs party here, which puzzles Misha a little. Even Ever and Leah are still in town from Christmas, Ever perched on Leah's knee with Leah's arms linked around her hips. A ring winks distraction at Ever's navel. The etiquette is lost on Misha, whether to look or not, if it would seem admiring or leering. Jensen would be pleased to hear if Misha noticed his jewelry, wherever it was located.
Misha thinks of Jensen, secretly pierced, and then tries to think of something else.
It's Jensen's fault, as usual, the damn gifts Jensen gave him for Christmas-- the USB drive of tasteful pornography in several genres, the dilators in varying sizes. Or perhaps his problem the half-full glass of champagne that Misha split with Jeremy tonight. It feels like the champagne bubbles are in his blood, making him distracted and too hot.
His eye seems drawn tonight to every casual touch, to the fact that Zach and Wendy disappeared together for an hour and returned rumpled but pleased, to Leah's hand resting on Ever's hip, to the secret smile on Jensen's mouth when Jeff drops a kiss on his throat.
The world was less complicated when sex was just a confusing motivation, something that happened to other people, a noise on the other side of a wall.
He feels old tonight, although he knows Jeff is older and still seems undaunted by it. Or maybe he just feels distant tonight, although plenty of people have stopped by his seat with talk or food. Most lingered. Even Kane paused long enough to wish Misha well and to tap his beer bottle against Misha's champagne glass, which was strangely touching.
Even after Jeremy opened his life to Misha, Misha assumed that he would be as essentially alone as he was in Vincent's service. Instead Jeremy's circle treats him like found family, prodding and teasing him like he's been there all along.
"Hey," Jeremy says, flopping into the loveseat next to Misha. His eyes are bright-laughing. There's a flush to his face, his throat. Misha aches to follow that heat with his fingertips, to rest the pad of his thumb against Jeremy's drumming pulse.
You've corrupted me, Misha signs by way of greeting.
"Oh, I think your corruption was a group effort." Jeremy grins. "Why, what did you do now?"
Fantasizing about a lesbian's navel ring. Seems a cliche masturbatory endeavor.
"Ever's? Naw, she and Leah are bi and pretty poly." Jeremy raises his eyebrows. "I could put in a good word for you?"
Everyone in Jeremy's circle seems to think Misha understands Jeremy best, but there are times that they speak in parallel lines that will never meet. Misha has no intention of getting his cherry popped by virtual strangers, no matter how pretty they are together. Jeremy is not the jealous type, to be swayed to a declaration of intent by the sight of Misha with someone else; God knows Jeremy has seen Jensen kiss Misha in their lessons, and that only seems to aesthetically please him.
Misha shakes his head. No, thank you.
"Shame." Jeremy nods at Ever and Leah. "It is a nice ring. Ever's thinking about getting her nipples pierced. She said she'll take me with her and we can both get them done."
Heat tugs hard at Misha's groin. He bites his lip, and Jeremy's grin turns both dirty and shy. They look at each other for a moment too long and too hot to be friendly. Then Jeremy ducks his head, a curl escaping from behind his ear.
Sometimes Misha thinks that Jeremy's celibacy is a waste on par with leveling a forest for a golf course. Those times tend to be when Jeremy peels off his accountant drag to get into bed, the lines of his body covered by only one layer, like Amish pornography. That mouth, that ass... very much a waste.
Misha tucks the curl back behind Jeremy's ear, then takes his hand back. His fingers feel warm. I hope I'm invited to watch.
"Ah, Mish, you're invited everywhere. I love you. You--" Jeremy might have said more, but the stereo changes songs. He tilts his head, then holds his hand out to Misha. "I love this song. You want to dance with me?"
Instinctively, Misha pulls his cane closer. I don't know how to do that anymore.
"Bring the cane. Lean on me." When Misha doesn't move, Jeremy wiggles his fingers. "I'm not gonna let you fall."
I never doubted that, Misha signs. He flings his arm around Jeremy's neck, letting Jeremy help him up off the couch. They stay by the couch, close enough that Misha can fold back onto it if his knee protests; Jeremy puts one hand in the small of Misha's back and pulls them together, their bodies a breath apart.
Misha feels very aware of Jeremy's hips so close to his own, the flex of Jeremy's breath in his ribs, the intimate heat of Jeremy's body. Jeremy smells good, like spice and cigarette smoke. Jeremy's fingers span Misha's lower back, and Misha's breath hitches out. He doesn't know how Jeremy can overlook Misha's desire for him, can't smell it on him.
"Relax," Jeremy murmurs, his voice a bare rumble.
Misha rests his forehead on Jeremy's shoulder. His palm is sweating on the plastic grip of his cane. They cling to each other, two drowning men, and then Jeremy shifts or Misha twitches and their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces. Misha swears he can feel Jeremy breathing as if he’s the air in Jeremy’s lungs.
He used to find crushes ridiculous and obvious. He used to sit at Vincent’s knee, when he could still sit on the floor, and mock the romantic going-ons of Society. It seems important to recall those days now that he’s become what he disdained. Also, he understands why certain religions ban dancing.
They probably look ridiculous. But Misha feels the knot of suppressed longing loosen in his chest. Greatly daring, he cups Jeremy’s lower back to feel the muscles flex. He thinks of the lean shapes of them as Jeremy crawls in bed, the slope of his belly into his hipbones, the shadow of hair trailing down beneath his boxers...
Misha jerks his mind back into the moment. Soon Jeremy will let him go and he needs to be mindful, as the tiresome books on pain tell him, and--
Jeremy chuffs a laugh. “Mish. Breathe.”
Misha breathes. He is grateful that he’d taken Jensen’s advice on masturbation, because otherwise this moment would be embarrassing. Still humming, Jeremy strokes him down; Misha turns his head so his cheek lays on Jeremy’s shoulder.
They’re being carefully not watched, which is not the same as not being noticed. Jensen seems catlike in his pleasure, his pupil not completely failing the teacher. Sometimes Misha wonders, if Jeremy does break his vow of celibacy, if Jensen will want to watch and give notes.
They dance, if one is generous. Misha thinks about trying to sign to Jeremy that he knew how to dance before the accident: waltz, minuet, the occasional tango with Adam. He’s too aware that this dance is precarious, that he might fall and his allergy to pity would be sorely tested by Jeremy’s friends. He misses his voice, but he’s afraid he’ll break this intimacy with his signing.
“Don’t,” Jeremy murmurs, “you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We can just do this. Okay?”
Misha nods and closes his eyes, breathing in Jeremy’s scent and his closeness. He finds he doesn’t have to wrench his wandering mind back once he relaxes. He is in place, safe, satisfied with it.
They linger through the end of the song. Jeremy pauses like he wants to give Misha a chance to speak, but Misha tightens his arm around Jeremy’s waist and Jeremy goes back to their dance-not-dance. Their excuse. They stay together through three more dances after that, and they only break up because somebody announces, “Ball’s dropping.”
It sounds like Kane. Misha resolves to smother him with his own cowboy hat.
They break apart. Jeremy’s still pink, but it doesn’t seem to be from exertion anymore. His hand steals into Misha’s hand, and they go in the other room to watch the ball drop on the television.
Misha collects kisses from several people. Ever whispers in his ear, “you like that ring, I’ve got another couple you might want to see,” so that he chokes out a laugh; Jeremy squints at her sidelong. Jensen’s kiss is not the hottest they’ve ever had but isn’t strictly polite, and it makes Ever whoop. (Ever might be slightly drunk, Misha thinks.) Cate squeezes him hard and wipes off the smudges of lipstick from her kiss and from others. Even Jeff leans in and kisses him on the cheek, all bristly from the beard, before signing happy new year. Misha doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he can hear just fine, thank you, and that this counts as being nice to him, which breaks their rules; he signs it back.
Then Jeremy puts an arm around him and says, “my Misha, my own,” and kisses his lips. Misha kisses back, for tradition, and leans his cheek on Jeremy’s shoulder again.
I’m glad I’m here, Misha signs to Jeremy.
Jeremy beams. “I am, too.”
Author: nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto, Jeff/Jensen
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse. This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse.
New Year's eve. This is not the sedate evening that Misha is used to sharing with Vincent, reading together with the classical station on the radio, waiting up for Adam's arrival from his debauched parties.
Jeff is hosting, because Jeff hosts everything and probably will until he dies, and it seems like everyone in the Trust is attending. There is no upstairs/downstairs party here, which puzzles Misha a little. Even Ever and Leah are still in town from Christmas, Ever perched on Leah's knee with Leah's arms linked around her hips. A ring winks distraction at Ever's navel. The etiquette is lost on Misha, whether to look or not, if it would seem admiring or leering. Jensen would be pleased to hear if Misha noticed his jewelry, wherever it was located.
Misha thinks of Jensen, secretly pierced, and then tries to think of something else.
It's Jensen's fault, as usual, the damn gifts Jensen gave him for Christmas-- the USB drive of tasteful pornography in several genres, the dilators in varying sizes. Or perhaps his problem the half-full glass of champagne that Misha split with Jeremy tonight. It feels like the champagne bubbles are in his blood, making him distracted and too hot.
His eye seems drawn tonight to every casual touch, to the fact that Zach and Wendy disappeared together for an hour and returned rumpled but pleased, to Leah's hand resting on Ever's hip, to the secret smile on Jensen's mouth when Jeff drops a kiss on his throat.
The world was less complicated when sex was just a confusing motivation, something that happened to other people, a noise on the other side of a wall.
He feels old tonight, although he knows Jeff is older and still seems undaunted by it. Or maybe he just feels distant tonight, although plenty of people have stopped by his seat with talk or food. Most lingered. Even Kane paused long enough to wish Misha well and to tap his beer bottle against Misha's champagne glass, which was strangely touching.
Even after Jeremy opened his life to Misha, Misha assumed that he would be as essentially alone as he was in Vincent's service. Instead Jeremy's circle treats him like found family, prodding and teasing him like he's been there all along.
"Hey," Jeremy says, flopping into the loveseat next to Misha. His eyes are bright-laughing. There's a flush to his face, his throat. Misha aches to follow that heat with his fingertips, to rest the pad of his thumb against Jeremy's drumming pulse.
You've corrupted me, Misha signs by way of greeting.
"Oh, I think your corruption was a group effort." Jeremy grins. "Why, what did you do now?"
Fantasizing about a lesbian's navel ring. Seems a cliche masturbatory endeavor.
"Ever's? Naw, she and Leah are bi and pretty poly." Jeremy raises his eyebrows. "I could put in a good word for you?"
Everyone in Jeremy's circle seems to think Misha understands Jeremy best, but there are times that they speak in parallel lines that will never meet. Misha has no intention of getting his cherry popped by virtual strangers, no matter how pretty they are together. Jeremy is not the jealous type, to be swayed to a declaration of intent by the sight of Misha with someone else; God knows Jeremy has seen Jensen kiss Misha in their lessons, and that only seems to aesthetically please him.
Misha shakes his head. No, thank you.
"Shame." Jeremy nods at Ever and Leah. "It is a nice ring. Ever's thinking about getting her nipples pierced. She said she'll take me with her and we can both get them done."
Heat tugs hard at Misha's groin. He bites his lip, and Jeremy's grin turns both dirty and shy. They look at each other for a moment too long and too hot to be friendly. Then Jeremy ducks his head, a curl escaping from behind his ear.
Sometimes Misha thinks that Jeremy's celibacy is a waste on par with leveling a forest for a golf course. Those times tend to be when Jeremy peels off his accountant drag to get into bed, the lines of his body covered by only one layer, like Amish pornography. That mouth, that ass... very much a waste.
Misha tucks the curl back behind Jeremy's ear, then takes his hand back. His fingers feel warm. I hope I'm invited to watch.
"Ah, Mish, you're invited everywhere. I love you. You--" Jeremy might have said more, but the stereo changes songs. He tilts his head, then holds his hand out to Misha. "I love this song. You want to dance with me?"
Instinctively, Misha pulls his cane closer. I don't know how to do that anymore.
"Bring the cane. Lean on me." When Misha doesn't move, Jeremy wiggles his fingers. "I'm not gonna let you fall."
I never doubted that, Misha signs. He flings his arm around Jeremy's neck, letting Jeremy help him up off the couch. They stay by the couch, close enough that Misha can fold back onto it if his knee protests; Jeremy puts one hand in the small of Misha's back and pulls them together, their bodies a breath apart.
Misha feels very aware of Jeremy's hips so close to his own, the flex of Jeremy's breath in his ribs, the intimate heat of Jeremy's body. Jeremy smells good, like spice and cigarette smoke. Jeremy's fingers span Misha's lower back, and Misha's breath hitches out. He doesn't know how Jeremy can overlook Misha's desire for him, can't smell it on him.
"Relax," Jeremy murmurs, his voice a bare rumble.
Misha rests his forehead on Jeremy's shoulder. His palm is sweating on the plastic grip of his cane. They cling to each other, two drowning men, and then Jeremy shifts or Misha twitches and their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces. Misha swears he can feel Jeremy breathing as if he’s the air in Jeremy’s lungs.
He used to find crushes ridiculous and obvious. He used to sit at Vincent’s knee, when he could still sit on the floor, and mock the romantic going-ons of Society. It seems important to recall those days now that he’s become what he disdained. Also, he understands why certain religions ban dancing.
They probably look ridiculous. But Misha feels the knot of suppressed longing loosen in his chest. Greatly daring, he cups Jeremy’s lower back to feel the muscles flex. He thinks of the lean shapes of them as Jeremy crawls in bed, the slope of his belly into his hipbones, the shadow of hair trailing down beneath his boxers...
Misha jerks his mind back into the moment. Soon Jeremy will let him go and he needs to be mindful, as the tiresome books on pain tell him, and--
Jeremy chuffs a laugh. “Mish. Breathe.”
Misha breathes. He is grateful that he’d taken Jensen’s advice on masturbation, because otherwise this moment would be embarrassing. Still humming, Jeremy strokes him down; Misha turns his head so his cheek lays on Jeremy’s shoulder.
They’re being carefully not watched, which is not the same as not being noticed. Jensen seems catlike in his pleasure, his pupil not completely failing the teacher. Sometimes Misha wonders, if Jeremy does break his vow of celibacy, if Jensen will want to watch and give notes.
They dance, if one is generous. Misha thinks about trying to sign to Jeremy that he knew how to dance before the accident: waltz, minuet, the occasional tango with Adam. He’s too aware that this dance is precarious, that he might fall and his allergy to pity would be sorely tested by Jeremy’s friends. He misses his voice, but he’s afraid he’ll break this intimacy with his signing.
“Don’t,” Jeremy murmurs, “you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We can just do this. Okay?”
Misha nods and closes his eyes, breathing in Jeremy’s scent and his closeness. He finds he doesn’t have to wrench his wandering mind back once he relaxes. He is in place, safe, satisfied with it.
They linger through the end of the song. Jeremy pauses like he wants to give Misha a chance to speak, but Misha tightens his arm around Jeremy’s waist and Jeremy goes back to their dance-not-dance. Their excuse. They stay together through three more dances after that, and they only break up because somebody announces, “Ball’s dropping.”
It sounds like Kane. Misha resolves to smother him with his own cowboy hat.
They break apart. Jeremy’s still pink, but it doesn’t seem to be from exertion anymore. His hand steals into Misha’s hand, and they go in the other room to watch the ball drop on the television.
Misha collects kisses from several people. Ever whispers in his ear, “you like that ring, I’ve got another couple you might want to see,” so that he chokes out a laugh; Jeremy squints at her sidelong. Jensen’s kiss is not the hottest they’ve ever had but isn’t strictly polite, and it makes Ever whoop. (Ever might be slightly drunk, Misha thinks.) Cate squeezes him hard and wipes off the smudges of lipstick from her kiss and from others. Even Jeff leans in and kisses him on the cheek, all bristly from the beard, before signing happy new year. Misha doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he can hear just fine, thank you, and that this counts as being nice to him, which breaks their rules; he signs it back.
Then Jeremy puts an arm around him and says, “my Misha, my own,” and kisses his lips. Misha kisses back, for tradition, and leans his cheek on Jeremy’s shoulder again.
I’m glad I’m here, Misha signs to Jeremy.
Jeremy beams. “I am, too.”
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no subject
Date: 2012-09-24 05:06 pm (UTC)Beautiful.
(*No, he isn't. He's cute, and adorably crazy, and intelligent, and compassionate, and determined, and did I say adorable. But he's never been sexually attractive, to me. Except here. Good job, you!)
no subject
Date: 2012-09-25 06:09 pm (UTC)I also really love Misha trying to rationalize it all, classify it, condense it down into neatly labeled parts...and then failing to do it, over and over again, because it's FEEELINGS. It's both very much what he'd do and it's really adorable.
I also love the sense of incestuous family, the crossing lines of affection, attraction, need and love and want and comfort. This secret place where they can all be freaks together and happy.
Lovely work, lovely portrait.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-24 05:32 pm (UTC)Misha thinks of Jensen, secretly pierced, and then tries to think of something else.
Yeah, sorry, Mish, that's a hot little thought that can't be unthunk. *also thinks it, gleefully*
no subject
Date: 2012-09-24 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-24 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-24 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-25 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-30 11:46 pm (UTC)