FIC: Like Wild Honey
Jan. 14th, 2009 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Wild Honey
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Misha Collins/Ever Carradine
A/N: Character study of Misha Collins. Reply to a het prompt from T yesterday for this pairing who, ASAIK, has never met. Godspeed?
He reminds her of the men she grew up with, quiet intense men who talked about yoga and smelled like sandalwood. Ever has always, always liked men better because of that, because they fostered a little gawky tomboy and let her think the world would be so gentle with her.
It was a lie, but she still prefers men.
Misha is nothing like her band of friends, Jeremy and Jeff and Zach, with their loud mouths and their slacker habits. Misha doesn't play guitar or have rock star ambitions. When he comes to their parties, he watches her boys' antics like there will be an exam on it later.
"Strange kid," Jeff said to her once. She knows it's his way of testing the waters, to see whether or not she'll vote in Misha's favor. If she dislikes him, the ranks will close against him forever. Their clannish little pack protects its own, and it doesn't forgive. They have strange tests for being accepted, like how one greets a dog, or how one reacts to Zach's son gnawing on one's knee. Jeff knew Jensen's last girlfriend wouldn't stick around months before Jensen did, simply because she didn't tear off bits of hamburger for Bisou.
"He's all right," Ever answered, and Jeff grunted, accepting that.
Misha's hands aren't calloused at the fingers from years of guitar, but they are worn in their own way. Laying in bed among tangled sheets, he tells her about kayaking in Alaska: the infinite silence, the blue water with its killing cold, the gunshot cracking of white glaciers that towered above his rocking fragile kayak. He's a Burning Man, self-sufficient, carrying his own weight to the point that it could be insulting. He won't lay that weight down in anyone's arms, he won't lean back and trust that he won't be dropped. It gives him an aloof air, like a cat that steps so lightly he doesn't leave footsteps behind.
His eyes are blue as ocean water, holding their own secrets.
His mouth is filthy-clever, and he revels in that. In wearing her out before he'll finally sink in her, deep, deep, and she begs for it harder so she'll feel it when he leaves. He bites her, leaving marks behind, and she digs her nails into his back. There is no peace found in their bed.
Later, after they've spent themselves and slept and done it all over again, she wakes up alone. He'll be out in her living room, in the lotus position, trying to find quiet in himself. Under the skin, rather than the endless serenity he radiates out, keeping too little for himself. He'll figure it out eventually; as it is, Ever runs her fingers through his rumpled hair and goes to pour coffee for them both.
Misha leaves to work, but he comes back to her, like some stray to come twining around her ankles like he never left. He comes back; she holds that to her heart, a small warmth that carries her through.
Author:
nilchanceRating: PG-13
Pairing: Misha Collins/Ever Carradine
A/N: Character study of Misha Collins. Reply to a het prompt from T yesterday for this pairing who, ASAIK, has never met. Godspeed?
He reminds her of the men she grew up with, quiet intense men who talked about yoga and smelled like sandalwood. Ever has always, always liked men better because of that, because they fostered a little gawky tomboy and let her think the world would be so gentle with her.
It was a lie, but she still prefers men.
Misha is nothing like her band of friends, Jeremy and Jeff and Zach, with their loud mouths and their slacker habits. Misha doesn't play guitar or have rock star ambitions. When he comes to their parties, he watches her boys' antics like there will be an exam on it later.
"Strange kid," Jeff said to her once. She knows it's his way of testing the waters, to see whether or not she'll vote in Misha's favor. If she dislikes him, the ranks will close against him forever. Their clannish little pack protects its own, and it doesn't forgive. They have strange tests for being accepted, like how one greets a dog, or how one reacts to Zach's son gnawing on one's knee. Jeff knew Jensen's last girlfriend wouldn't stick around months before Jensen did, simply because she didn't tear off bits of hamburger for Bisou.
"He's all right," Ever answered, and Jeff grunted, accepting that.
Misha's hands aren't calloused at the fingers from years of guitar, but they are worn in their own way. Laying in bed among tangled sheets, he tells her about kayaking in Alaska: the infinite silence, the blue water with its killing cold, the gunshot cracking of white glaciers that towered above his rocking fragile kayak. He's a Burning Man, self-sufficient, carrying his own weight to the point that it could be insulting. He won't lay that weight down in anyone's arms, he won't lean back and trust that he won't be dropped. It gives him an aloof air, like a cat that steps so lightly he doesn't leave footsteps behind.
His eyes are blue as ocean water, holding their own secrets.
His mouth is filthy-clever, and he revels in that. In wearing her out before he'll finally sink in her, deep, deep, and she begs for it harder so she'll feel it when he leaves. He bites her, leaving marks behind, and she digs her nails into his back. There is no peace found in their bed.
Later, after they've spent themselves and slept and done it all over again, she wakes up alone. He'll be out in her living room, in the lotus position, trying to find quiet in himself. Under the skin, rather than the endless serenity he radiates out, keeping too little for himself. He'll figure it out eventually; as it is, Ever runs her fingers through his rumpled hair and goes to pour coffee for them both.
Misha leaves to work, but he comes back to her, like some stray to come twining around her ankles like he never left. He comes back; she holds that to her heart, a small warmth that carries her through.