FIC: That Middle Road (5/?)

[nilchance]

Title: That Middle Road (5/?)
Author: nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse.
ETA 8/27/09: This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse. There's also mention of child abuse, suicide, institutionalization and self-harm.



Zach is the one who opens the door.

There's a moment of awkward silence, Zach's eyes going from Jeremy to Misha and back. Then Zach sighs and holds the door open. "Well, shit. You better come in."

"Thanks for the warm and fuzzy reception, Z." Jeremy turns to help Misha up the two steps into Zach and Wendy's house, but Misha only looks blankly at him while he levers himself up by the splintering handrail. With nothing for his hands for do, Jeremy shoves them in his pocket and looks back at Zach. "Wouldn't want to put you out or anything."

"Shut up and get in here, asshole." Zach glances down as an afterthought and, seeing his kid, winces. "Heh. Uh, you didn't hear that from me, okay?"

"Pllbt," the kid says.

"Exactly," Jeremy agrees, and bends down to scoop Ryzer up. The kid smells like a fresh bath but he's inexplicably sticky. The stains'll come out in the wash or it won't, though. No worries. "Hey, kiddo. Nice pajamas."

Ryzer stares over Jeremy's shoulder at Misha. Misha peers back and gives the kid a tentative smile.

"Hear what?" Wendy calls from the kitchen, "What are you hearing now? Are you--"

"Hey look honey, I found somebody on the porch," Zach says all in a rush, trying to divert her attention. Jeremy smirks at him and gets smacked upside the head for his trouble. It stings for a second but settles the anxiety in Jeremy's stomach; there won't be much pity found here. "Just in time to help with the dishes, and to put the squirt down."

Misha looks a little horrified, but he tries to cover it before Zach sees. With the arm that's not full of Ryzer, Jeremy touches Misha's shoulder. Startling under the touch like a wired colt, Misha stares at him.

"I'm not working," Jeremy says, pitching his voice low to give them a little privacy. "And so neither are you. Relax. I'll tell you if I need you to do anything, okay?"

Squinting at him, trying to read him, Misha finally nods and reaches over to extract Jeremy's hair from Ryzer's curious hand. His fingers brush Jeremy's jaw on the way down, a jolt of contact; Misha averts his eyes and takes his hand back.

"Who--" Wendy peeks out of the kitchen, her hair caught up in a rough bun and spewed carrots all over her shirt. She sees Jeremy and makes a rough disgusted noise, but not before Jeremy reads the brief hesitation. She was worried, he waited too long to contact anybody, what if Jeff--

Jeremy forces his panic down, palms it like a stolen wallet or a magician's card. No reason to taste that bright, jittering fear. It wasn't his fault, this time, he hasn't done anything. Marisa is the one in a padded room, not him. Funny, he's in Jeff's shoes now, and they don't fit him at all.

"Well," Wendy says, "well. You hungry?"

God, he loves her for a minute so hard that his heart hurts. Jeremy grins and hoists Ryzer, making the kid squawk and wave. "Nah, thanks. Misha?"

Misha shakes his head and solemnly signs back, thank you.

There's three words now. Soon Jeremy might not even have to count them out like beggar's coins, hard earned or stolen.

"Rile the kid up and he's your problem," Zach drawls, looking mild. His hand moves while he talks, without effort, and Jeremy's lucky to catch the signs: when did he buy you?

"Three hours ago," Jeremy answers, "and yeah, I know the rules. I'm not riling you, am I, Ry?"

Ryzer holds his arms and legs out. "Fly, Merton!"

'Merton', Christ. Jeremy mutters to Zach, "I hate you," and tells Ryzer louder, "just this once. Whee!"

"Wheeee!" Ryzer chirps back, blissfully enjoying his brief Superman imitation. When it's over, he hangs from Jeremy's hands and looks plaintive. "More?"

"Sorry, kiddo." Jeremy remembers too well getting puked on the last time Ryzer got all the flying he wanted. Putting Ryzer over his shoulder, Jeremy pats his back. "I'll read you a story, though."

"Daddy too?"

"Yeah, me too, runt." Zach touches Wendy's shoulder, and something passes between them in a glance. Envy twists low in Jeremy's gut, but he squashes it. Then Zach hitches a thumb at Misha. "C'mon, dude, you might as well come with the caravan. Misha, right?"

And like that, Misha is accepted. Jeremy's glad for that, and for the fact that Zach won't ask questions in front of Ryzer.

"Mar?" Ryzer says in Jeremy's ear, curious and little. His fingers catch in the sloppy curls of Jeremy's hair, making him wince. "Mar?"

Jeremy can't breathe to answer; his throat is choked and full of sick heat. He tries not to clutch Ryzer tighter just to have something to hold.

"Not tonight, baby," Zach answers for him, blessedly, his hand settling into the small of Jeremy's back. "Aunt Marisa's not here. How about the elephant book?"

"Zeebas!" Ryzer yells, thrusting his hands up, distracted now. "Zeebas!"

In the end, it's hard to squish three grown men and a toddler into Ryzer's room, but they manage. Misha folds up neatly on the floor by Jeremy's feet, his suit looking ridiculous against the bright circus colors of the walls and bed. His cool fingers encircle Jeremy's ankle, and it's strangely comforting to sit there like he has nothing better to do than reading about zebras on parade. Zach hums and rubs slow circles on Ryzer's belly, until Ryzer stops kicking little boy feet into Jeremy's ribs and starts to drift. In the other room, Jeremy can hear Wendy start the dishwasher.

This is not his house. This is not his life. He's here with his newly-minted slave because Marisa, because she--

Misha's grip tightens, and Jeremy realizes he stopped reading. He clears his throat and starts the page again.

By the time the last little zebra catches up with his herd, Ryzer is out for the count. Zach coaxes the spit-soaked corner of a blanket out of Ryzer's mouth, tucks him in tighter, small fatherly things that Jeremy wouldn't have thought Zach had in him as little as two years ago. He sees that and thanks God, or whoever, that he didn't knock Marisa up, because he knows he doesn't have what Zach has. He'd be a lousy father.

Sitting up, Zach nods to Misha and signs, you coming to bed?

Jeremy feels mortification curl up in his belly. He shakes his head sharply, before Misha can answer, then signs at Misha, you don't have to do that. Not your job.

Misha blinks mildly at him, frowning, then signs, what is my job?

Jeremy doesn't really have an answer for that. But he knows three hours is too early to have sex with a man who can't technically consent. So he reaches into his jacket pocket and grabs the bottle that's been there, hidden, since the EMT crew took it off Marisa. He doesn't think, doesn't let himself, before shoving the rattling bottle at Misha.

"Make sure I take these," Jeremy says, whispering to not wake Ryzer. "Even if I don't ask. It's... it's important."

Solemnly, Misha takes the pill bottle and tucks it away in one of his own pockets. Makes it disappear, like a magic trick.

"C'mon." Jeremy offers Misha a hand up. "There's a guest room, and I left some paperback books. I may be a while."
****
They're barely alone before Jeremy's on Zach, backing him up against the door and catching his mouth in a kiss that's more collision than romance. Zach grunts, fisting his hands in Jeremy's hair, cupping his face, opening up to kiss him back. It's messy and it's rough, and Jeremy's fiercely glad he came here. He wedges a hand between them, unbuckling Zach's jeans, getting a huffed laugh in return. Then Zach gets with the program, pushing Jeremy's jacket off his shoulders to join the other clutter on the floor, reaching down to tug Jeremy's belt open and cup him roughly through his slacks. Jeremy hisses, grinding into it, and feels Zach's lazy smirk.

There's a quiet rap on the door, and Wendy's muffled voice comes through. "You boys think you can stop making out long enough to let me in?"

With a stinging bite to Jeremy's lower lip, Zach pushes him back. Jeremy's hesitant to go; if he backs off, there'll be serious talking, and if there's talking, he thinks he'll unravel like loose thread. But Zach only jerks his head at the tousled bed.

Jeremy goes, stepping out of his slacks and kicking them aside, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

Pleased, Zach reaches back to let his wife in. No questions.

Wendy ducks under Zach's arm and nudges the door shut, peeling off her shirt in one smooth motion. There's no bra underneath, her breasts still as full and high as they were before pregnancy. She shucks off her sweatpants and her panties as one.

"Nice," Zach murmurs, snagging her around the hips and pulling her back against him to kiss her neck.

Wendy hums and tilts her head to give him access, eyes closing as she smiles. "You better like it, you married it."

Dragging his nails lightly over her belly, Zach grins a feral grin and gives her a little push towards the bed.

Wendy returns his smile, and for a minute they look like some fucked up version of Bonnie and Clyde. Then Wendy is on the bed, crawling on top of Jeremy like she has liquid for her spine. Jeremy's breath huffs out because it's been a long time, long before Mar and the pills and the crash, and his body reacts on overdrive. He wants to rub off in the curve of her hip; he wants to push her away because she's too close. Her breasts press soft against his chest, the long scruff of her pubic hair grinding against his belly. Wendy kisses him like she's sipping champagne, languid tastes of his mouth. Carefully, reverently, Jeremy reaches back and tugs the elastic band from her hair. It tumbles around them, brushes his cheek.

He thinks of Marissa. He thinks of her where he left her, the stiff scrubs in washed out blue that doesn't look at all like the sky, the smell of bleach and piss and fear, the blank drugged look in her eyes. He remembers the fingers in his mouth, the taste of latex as some attendant digs between his teeth and his gums, gagging on it--

"Jer," Wendy whispers, cupping his face. Her hands are so small; they aren't slave hands. She strokes his face with her thumbs, her eyes worried. "You okay? Your heart's going like crazy--"

Jeremy sees her remember and start to choke on the word crazy. She blinks; he doesn't. He can't flinch about that shit anymore. So he leans up and kisses her again, biting at her pretty mouth. She lets him, growling, her fingers knotting in his hair. He feels like he's above the bed, like her weight is the only thing holding him still. The drugs, yeah, and also that he hasn't taken his pills in-- what? Days? That shivery dizzy feeling is back in his head, ungrounded, unmoored.

Wendy squirms on his lap, tipping over on her side and wrestling Jeremy down with her. Her nails rake down his back, a bright burning path, and he has to break away to pant out, "Yeah, yeah, please." It's good, he feels something, he's there. He's in the bed, he's with them, his heart is pounding in his head and in his dick and in the new scores down his spine. "Please--"

Zach curls up along Jeremy from behind. He's surrounded, and between them, he can't drift away. Zach mouths at the back of Jeremy's neck, under the tangle of his hair, and then sets his teeth in. It's good, it's so good, a shudder rippling down Jeremy's spine. He can ground himself in them.

Like he heard the thought, Zach finagles one arm around Jeremy's body, spreads his hand over Jeremy's heart. If Zach can feel it hammering hard, he doesn't say anything, but then Zach usually doesn't in bed. He's not Jeff, the constant torrent of filthy words ground out against sweaty skin; it's silence, like Zach is still expecting some bastard master to come and find him and take him from this.

Out of anybody Jeremy knows, he thinks Zach understands most what it's like to have his life destroyed in seconds. One wrong move--

With his other hand, Zach skates lube-slick fingers over Jeremy's hole; he resists automatically, can't turn throat, but Zach presses him into the mattress, bites harder, and sinks two fingers deep. It burns, and Jeremy hisses softly, tilting his head back to bump Zach's; Wendy watches, her eyes bright in the semi-darkness, and doesn't murmur comfort. What she does is twist his nipple between her nimble fingers, lighting him up inside. He makes a sound like some kind of dying animal, and it's not the sex; he wishes it was.

Wendy starts to throw her leg over his, starts to let him push inside her, but he snares her by the hips before she can. She raises her eyebrows at him, and he says, "That's not-- come up here." And then she smiles, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.

It can't be slow. It has to be messy and hot and as fast as his pulse. He presses his thumb into the hollow of her hipbone as he helps her scoot up, resting her back against the headboard, her thighs pressed together until he gentles them apart. Then he can see her, already shining with wet, the ripe woman scent that unlocks his spine.

Zach loosens his grip on Jeremy's nape and nuzzles instead, humming like a big satisfied cat. His fingers press in and up, seeking, until pleasure jerks through Jeremy like a shot. Then he can feel Zach grin. Elbowing him in retaliation, Jeremy squirms onto his belly, rutting against the folds of their sheets still warm from Wendy's body. Their bed smells like sleep and home, used until the cotton surrenders and becomes soft. His head swims briefly as he rolls over; he squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his cheek against Wendy's thigh, following it up until she opens and he can taste. Slow, at first, to hear her breath shudder out and quicken for him. Deeper, still teasing, working her up. Wendy's fingers sink into his hair, pressing him close, her shallow breaths breaking on a moan. She's drenching his chin, his face.

Then Zach's hands are on him, pushing at the back of Jeremy's thighs until he gets the message and kneels up. It nearly hurts to give up grinding against the sheets; he's harder than he thought, already throbbing just from feeling Wendy start to shake for him. But that's not enough, Zach pushes again, this time pressing Jeremy's legs apart. Making him open. Jeremy grinds out a sound, 'no' turning into something like 'yes' when he wasn't looking. Zach does something dirty, something quick that makes Jeremy's brain flare white inside his head, and he goes where Zach pushes. It's a good angle, pressing Zach's fingers just right, and Jeremy whimpers into Wendy. She growls, combing through his hair, guiding his mouth where she wants him. That keeps him from another embarrassing noise when Zach slides his fingers out.

The rip of the condom packet, another squelch of slick. Zach's thighs press against Jeremy's, a line of heat. He feels drugged stupid on Wendy's taste, the way she's swollen under his mouth, the tremble of her legs against his shoulders. Then Zach opens him up, presses his slow and ruthless way in, and Jeremy slams back hard into his body, onto the bed. He's big, an insistent burning slide; Jeremy pants out, "fuck oh god, fuck," nearly slurring around the words, feeling his dick spurt pre-come onto their sheets.

Zach hums again, the sound uneven but definitely smug, one lazy hand cupping Jeremy's hip. He's in, sunk deep and good, and Jeremy feels like purring himself. It must make him falter, because Wendy whines a little and grinds against his face, which is the dirtiest and the best. He licks at her, teasing short licks just where she likes it, almost right against her swollen clit. Wendy gasps in a hard breath, digging her nails into his scalp and tensing like she's electrocuted, right there on the edge, right there, and Jeremy sucks her almost gently into his mouth. Wendy barely swallows a sharp high noise, jolting and shuddering apart under him, twitching as he suckles at her. "Fuck him," she gasps, "oh--"

And that, that has Zach easing out like Jeremy's whole body isn't trying to keep him in, snagging over Jeremy's prostate, Zach's hand holding him in place as he tries to fuck himself. Slow, sinking back in, the burn of friction and muscles that haven't done this in too long, the bright hot fist of pleasure. Jeremy can't suck Wendy anymore, has to press his face against her thigh to keep quiet as Zach fucks him slow and deep. Spread open and pinned down, unable to grind against the bed and bring himself off. Taking it, god, he's burning up.

Zach makes a tearing deep noise and drops onto Jeremy, reaches around him to take hold of his cock, strips it hard. No holding out against that and the slower drive of him inside, surrounding Jeremy, swallowing him up; coming is like being punched, doubling him over, making him blind. He feels Zach grab him by the hips and rut into him, jolting him back, getting off inside him with a shuddering sigh.

Jeremy sinks into the satisfied scent of Wendy, the slim padding of her inner thigh. If he bolts fast enough, there'll be no talking, but Zach nailed the bones out of his legs. His thundering pulse is starting to come down, dragged by the weight of... how many days has it been since he slept? He doesn't remember.

Slipping out of him, Zach slaps his flank and wrestles him back on his side. Jeremy blinks slowly, smiles, and can see Zach relax a little. "Idiot," Zach says fondly, and jerks the comforter out from under Jeremy's legs so he can toss it over him. "Be right back. Tossing the raincoat."

"Mm," Jeremy says, trying to find words and tripping over his own tongue. His mouth feels bruised.

Wendy touches his lips, and he sucks her fingertips, wringing the last shiver from her body. With a hearty sigh, she squirms down to fling an arm and a leg over him, trying to keep him there. As soon as she thinks she has him properly pinned, she nudges her head under his chin. Her voice is small against his throat. "Marisa?"

His heart hurts from all this racing. He's so tired. Miles to go before he sleeps; his dad used to love that poem. Miles to go in the wrong direction, out into the desert with the hermits and the saints, out where he can't do any good and he can't hear the slaves he's not saving.

Like Jeremy saved Marisa.

"She's sick," Jeremy says into Wendy's hair. "She-- she took pills. Too many pills."

The bed sinks under Zach's weight, and then he curls behind Jeremy. Nudges Jeremy's shoulder with his too-sharp chin, a gesture that says he's listening if Jeremy wants to spill his guts. Zach doesn't talk about things that hurt; he's got scars and nightmares, but he keeps them to himself, slinking out of bed after midnight to sit on the back porch with his guitar. Zach gets that talking about this shit, it doesn't do anything but make noise.

Wendy, though. Wendy knows Cate. Sees her sometimes, about her history, about Zach and the baby. She thinks it helps. So she asks, "On purpose?"

"Ha. No. She was planning. She..." Jeremy wets his lips, bites the lower one hard. "There was a note."

"Aw, Jer," Wendy murmurs, and squeezes him. She hugs strong, rib-cracking, but Jeremy can't feel it. "I'm sorry. You couldn't have known--"

"You know how many of us kill ourselves?" Jeremy feels her wince, but doesn't stop the trip of words from his mouth. Halting, strange, like hearing his own voice on the answering machine. "Bipolar people? One in four. Not counting slaves. So, so okay, if she didn't and I didn't, who does? The guy I sat next to in group? I mean, the odds--"

"Jer." Zach's voice is final, dragging Jeremy back like a leash. "That's not gonna happen."

"You don't know that."

"I know you. That won't happen." Shaking him a little in place, Zach says, "Cut the accountant statistical bullshit. You've got people. You're not gonna-- we won't let you."

"I didn't let Mar."

"She's alive," Wendy says, suddenly fierce. She pulls back enough to glare at him. "She's getting medicine and what she needs. Because of you, dumbass, you think most masters would pay for that?"

"So that's something I deserve a gold fucking star for? Being a good master?"

"No, you know that's not what I think. You know that." Wendy doesn't look at Zach. "I'm saying, she's being taken care of. Who's looking out for you?"

Why bother? whispers that seductive voice that's always there, sometimes louder than others, never louder than now. Why stop it? You're better when you're manic, sexier and stronger and smarter than anyone. You can stay there, you hate the pills, forget them, flush them, fall back and it'll catch you, this disease always catches you.

From inside Jeremy's discarded slacks, a cell phone rings. Jeremy pushes upright, out of their arms. His body feels slow, aching to stay where it is. "I should get this."

Wendy gives him a searching look.

"It's just business," Jeremy says, protesting what she doesn't say, untangling himself from the sheets. "Don't give me that look, it's fine. I--" Opening the phone with a click, Jeremy answers, "yeah, hello?"

"Master Sisto." The woman on the other end sounds like she's holding onto formality with both hands, her voice clogged with tears. "I just... you were friends with my father?"

Recognition clicks in like a shot. Jeremy straightens up, phone in hand. Can't feel tired anymore. You were friends with my father. Oh, god. "Yeah. What happened?"

She tells him. After a few minutes, Jeremy gently closes the phone and stands very still. It feels like his skull is reverberating.

"Jer?" Zach is the one to slip an arm around him. "Everything cool?"

"No," Jeremy says faintly. "Vincent is dead."

Comments

That middle road

[argentine65.livejournal.com]

This is so interesting: the plot and the characters. Thank you for sharing. Martha

Re: That middle road

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

Thank you!