FIC: Scarcely Name Salvation

[nilchance]

Title: Scarcely Name Salvation
Author: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Misha Collins/JDM
A/N: Sequel to If Bird or Devil. Jeff is a dom, Misha is his boy, Jensen is complicated. Short and (maybe) sweet?



Jensen wakes, bound in warmth.

There are arms around him, another body snugged up under his chin. There is comfort. For a fevered moment, Jensen thinks that blood will stain their sheets, the blood on his hands will mark and ruin them. (A washerwoman at the ford, warning of death in battle as blood dilutes pink into the river)

Then he breathes in and smells the tangle of Morgan's soap and the Oracle's weed. He remembers. Renee is dead, and it's after Christmas. He's in their bed.

His head feels swamped. Should he be in their bed? Why is he in their bed?

The Oracle is already wrapped around him like a spider monkey, but he sighs and wriggles tighter against Jensen's chest. His rumpled hair tickles Jensen's chin and throat. After a sharp pulse of worry, Jensen realizes that they're both still in clothes. It's warm in their bed, a heat that turns his muscles to jelly and his bones to lead. It feels too good to be right. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't...

When he tries to pull back, he collides with someone curled behind him and flinches. He didn't feel them there, should've been aware of an enemy at his back. Misha grumbles, muffled against Jensen's chest, and tightens his grip. The Oracle's body is lean and supple, like a spring branch or a switch, but it holds a deceptive strength. It's not right, being held like this, it's not safe.

"Easy," Morgan says, barely audible over the pounding of Jensen's own heart. The enemy behind, or maybe the guard. It stings his pride and hurts somewhere else, deeper, to think of Morgan (Morrigan's) watching over him while he slept.

Jensen wants to snarl at him, but his words come out in a ragged whisper. Strung out, all fucked up. "I can't. I have to leave."

"Shh." Only Morgan would have the balls to shush him, to soothe him like one of his mewling clients. His hand rests on Jensen's bruised side, hot as a brand. When Jensen twitches away, Morgan only finds him and puts a hand on him again. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't," Jensen repeats, but the words are lost in the hiss of the sheets as Morgan (damn him) tucks him in and snugs tighter against his back. Morgan stretches out his long arm to cover Jensen and the Oracle both, and it's heavy as the weight of God. The Oracle hums sleepily, wedges his skinny body even closer, weaves his legs with Jensen's. "I can't," Jensen says, but it's just air ruffling the mess of the Oracle's hair.

"Stay," Morgan murmurs in his ear, dark as the blood under Jensen's nails, dark as the view behind his eyelids. Jensen tries to think vicious thoughts but even those slip through his fingers. "Stay with us," Morgan may say, but Jensen doesn't know, he's already drowned.

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