FIC: With Love for That Boy
Dec. 22nd, 2009 01:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: With Love for That Boy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Misha Collins/JDM
A/N: Okay, so. This is a raven-verse prequel, set a few years before Jensen (or Renee) arrived on the scene. This is also a present forpoisontaster's birthday. The poem is Sappho.
Tenderly, the sun spills pale through the window they forgot to cover last night. That, combined with the enthusiastic thump-thump-thump of Bisou's tail against his leg, is what pulls Jeff out of sleep.
Without opening his eyes, he feels beside him for Misha. No joy, unless Misha got a lot furrier overnight. Bisou wiggle-whines, shimmying against him so she can slurp at his face.
"Oof. Ugh." Cupping his hand under her muzzle, Jeff pushes her gently off and tells her, "Okay, I asked for that. Mornin', girlfriend. Where's our boy, huh?"
Bisou, proving that she's no Lassie, bolts off the bed and burrows into one of the half-empty boxes from last night's little moving extravaganza. They'd been working up to this for months, this moving in thing, but Misha was too gun-shy to keep a toothbrush at Jeff's for a long while. Then they graduated to a pair of sweatpants, a water bottle, a book Jeff borrowed that never migrated back to Misha's place. Slow and steady progress, like coaxing a beaten pup out from cover, until Jeff finally got up the nerve to blurt out, you could just stay with me.
For always, he doesn't say, but he kinda wants to.
The best way to handle Misha, it turned out, was to avoid making things into a big deal. So Jeff had ordered pizza and got a bottle of cheap gas station wine, and they'd moved Misha to his place like any guy helping out his new roommate. Then they'd laid on Jeff's bed, sweaty and sore and satisfied with themselves, and had too-sweet wine, and crashed into sleep while still wearing shoes.
Kicking off said shoes, Jeff sits up in bed and scratches his chest. He scrubs a hand over his face, with its stubble and the itchy patina of sweat, then decides that Sunday can wait until he damned well fetches coffee, a shower and a handful of his boy. Not necessarily in that order.
He's still smiling when he catches sight of Misha in the garden, sitting lotus-style on the sun-warm slate tiles. Misha, in their garden. One day Jeff won't feel that squeeze his heart, but it's not yet that day.
He gets coffee-- one mug, knowing that Misha will snitch-- and opens the door, making sure that it squeaks a warning. It's a sign of great trust that Misha even sits with his back to the door, so Jeff tries not to take it personal that Misha tenses automatically. Stubborn bugger won't let himself turn around to settle his nerves. Jeff gives him a moment, admiring the lean curve of Misha's backside, the ripple of relaxation flowing down Misha's spine as he exhales old bad memories, before Jeff pads barefoot to his old creaky lawn chair.
Meditation has never been Jeff's game, though it probably would've done him plenty good in his wilder days. But Misha does this, now without the furtiveness most people reserved for masturbation, and Jeff is usually terrified that he's going to sneeze and screw Misha up.
"Morning," Misha says, eyes still closed, his face tilted into the sun.
"Hey, sweetheart. Can I smoke?"
"Do you expect a surgeon general's warning?" Misha asks, but he's smiling. So Jeff lights up, and Misha settles back into his own thoughts, and it's good. God, it's good, an unexpected sweetness that pierces Jeff's heart. He pulls smoke into his lungs, like that'll soothe it, but it seems to haunt him whenever he looks at Misha. It lives in the absence of all Jeff's darkness.
If he told Misha that, he'd never hear the end of it.
After an easy while, Misha yawns and stretches with audible feedback, then leans against Jeff's leg. All Jeff's nerves fire as Misha rubs his cheek, cat-like, against Jeff's spread thigh. Jeff cards his fingers through Misha's hair and hears him murmur, pleased. That's all the warning he gets before Misha hauls himself in one efficient motion onto Jeff's lap, plucking away the coffee and taking a healthy swig.
"Isn't that bad for you?" Jeff teases. "Caffeine and all?"
"I have a yogi-like ability to filter out toxins." Laying his head back against Jeff's shoulder, Misha does a deliberate little shimmy with his hips and grins. "Besides, I figure we can work it off."
"We?" Jeff flicks away his cigarette's ash and grinds it out, then snakes both hands up under Misha's shirt. Misha yelps (apparently Jeff's hands aren't as warm as Misha) and then hisses as Jeff thumbs his nipples, more rough than careful. "I don't know. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Mm-hm." Despite what Jeff knows he's doing to that composure, Misha raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to give me excuses, or a good long fuck?"
Sliding his hands down to frame Misha's hips, Jeff pushes their bodies together. Lets Misha feel him. His fingertips play over the marks on Misha's back from their last session, barely pink still and yet tender to the touch. "Can't I do both?"
Misha shivers and tilts his head back a little, baring his throat. Jeff leans forward to rub his cheek there like a cat, his scruff dragging and stinging, then puts his mouth on the sweet curve of throat meeting shoulder. He sets teeth in, just so, and feels the reaction ripple down Misha's body. Misha inhales, hips hitching against Jeff's, but stays where he's been put.
"Inside," Misha breathes.
Jeff stops biting, smiles. "You scared somebody'll see, sweetheart?"
"I. I want."
"Mm," Jeff murmurs, when Misha doesn't finish. It's a careful dance over landmines, getting Misha to admit to wanting anything. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. But you've gotta--"
"Your bed. I wanna." Misha swallows, that smart shining wit stumbling over itself. "I want to be in your bed."
Jeff's heart does a funny little trip-step. "Our bed," he says, his voice rough. "Say it."
"Our bed." Misha's smile unfolds, bright as the sun. "Fuck me in our bed."
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: Misha Collins/JDM
A/N: Okay, so. This is a raven-verse prequel, set a few years before Jensen (or Renee) arrived on the scene. This is also a present for
poisontaster's birthday. The poem is Sappho.Tenderly, the sun spills pale through the window they forgot to cover last night. That, combined with the enthusiastic thump-thump-thump of Bisou's tail against his leg, is what pulls Jeff out of sleep.
Without opening his eyes, he feels beside him for Misha. No joy, unless Misha got a lot furrier overnight. Bisou wiggle-whines, shimmying against him so she can slurp at his face.
"Oof. Ugh." Cupping his hand under her muzzle, Jeff pushes her gently off and tells her, "Okay, I asked for that. Mornin', girlfriend. Where's our boy, huh?"
Bisou, proving that she's no Lassie, bolts off the bed and burrows into one of the half-empty boxes from last night's little moving extravaganza. They'd been working up to this for months, this moving in thing, but Misha was too gun-shy to keep a toothbrush at Jeff's for a long while. Then they graduated to a pair of sweatpants, a water bottle, a book Jeff borrowed that never migrated back to Misha's place. Slow and steady progress, like coaxing a beaten pup out from cover, until Jeff finally got up the nerve to blurt out, you could just stay with me.
For always, he doesn't say, but he kinda wants to.
The best way to handle Misha, it turned out, was to avoid making things into a big deal. So Jeff had ordered pizza and got a bottle of cheap gas station wine, and they'd moved Misha to his place like any guy helping out his new roommate. Then they'd laid on Jeff's bed, sweaty and sore and satisfied with themselves, and had too-sweet wine, and crashed into sleep while still wearing shoes.
Kicking off said shoes, Jeff sits up in bed and scratches his chest. He scrubs a hand over his face, with its stubble and the itchy patina of sweat, then decides that Sunday can wait until he damned well fetches coffee, a shower and a handful of his boy. Not necessarily in that order.
He's still smiling when he catches sight of Misha in the garden, sitting lotus-style on the sun-warm slate tiles. Misha, in their garden. One day Jeff won't feel that squeeze his heart, but it's not yet that day.
He gets coffee-- one mug, knowing that Misha will snitch-- and opens the door, making sure that it squeaks a warning. It's a sign of great trust that Misha even sits with his back to the door, so Jeff tries not to take it personal that Misha tenses automatically. Stubborn bugger won't let himself turn around to settle his nerves. Jeff gives him a moment, admiring the lean curve of Misha's backside, the ripple of relaxation flowing down Misha's spine as he exhales old bad memories, before Jeff pads barefoot to his old creaky lawn chair.
Meditation has never been Jeff's game, though it probably would've done him plenty good in his wilder days. But Misha does this, now without the furtiveness most people reserved for masturbation, and Jeff is usually terrified that he's going to sneeze and screw Misha up.
"Morning," Misha says, eyes still closed, his face tilted into the sun.
"Hey, sweetheart. Can I smoke?"
"Do you expect a surgeon general's warning?" Misha asks, but he's smiling. So Jeff lights up, and Misha settles back into his own thoughts, and it's good. God, it's good, an unexpected sweetness that pierces Jeff's heart. He pulls smoke into his lungs, like that'll soothe it, but it seems to haunt him whenever he looks at Misha. It lives in the absence of all Jeff's darkness.
If he told Misha that, he'd never hear the end of it.
After an easy while, Misha yawns and stretches with audible feedback, then leans against Jeff's leg. All Jeff's nerves fire as Misha rubs his cheek, cat-like, against Jeff's spread thigh. Jeff cards his fingers through Misha's hair and hears him murmur, pleased. That's all the warning he gets before Misha hauls himself in one efficient motion onto Jeff's lap, plucking away the coffee and taking a healthy swig.
"Isn't that bad for you?" Jeff teases. "Caffeine and all?"
"I have a yogi-like ability to filter out toxins." Laying his head back against Jeff's shoulder, Misha does a deliberate little shimmy with his hips and grins. "Besides, I figure we can work it off."
"We?" Jeff flicks away his cigarette's ash and grinds it out, then snakes both hands up under Misha's shirt. Misha yelps (apparently Jeff's hands aren't as warm as Misha) and then hisses as Jeff thumbs his nipples, more rough than careful. "I don't know. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Mm-hm." Despite what Jeff knows he's doing to that composure, Misha raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to give me excuses, or a good long fuck?"
Sliding his hands down to frame Misha's hips, Jeff pushes their bodies together. Lets Misha feel him. His fingertips play over the marks on Misha's back from their last session, barely pink still and yet tender to the touch. "Can't I do both?"
Misha shivers and tilts his head back a little, baring his throat. Jeff leans forward to rub his cheek there like a cat, his scruff dragging and stinging, then puts his mouth on the sweet curve of throat meeting shoulder. He sets teeth in, just so, and feels the reaction ripple down Misha's body. Misha inhales, hips hitching against Jeff's, but stays where he's been put.
"Inside," Misha breathes.
Jeff stops biting, smiles. "You scared somebody'll see, sweetheart?"
"I. I want."
"Mm," Jeff murmurs, when Misha doesn't finish. It's a careful dance over landmines, getting Misha to admit to wanting anything. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. But you've gotta--"
"Your bed. I wanna." Misha swallows, that smart shining wit stumbling over itself. "I want to be in your bed."
Jeff's heart does a funny little trip-step. "Our bed," he says, his voice rough. "Say it."
"Our bed." Misha's smile unfolds, bright as the sun. "Fuck me in our bed."
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 06:51 pm (UTC)It's a weird time of a relationship to try and capture: long enough that it's 'established', but still so new and exciting and burning hot and I think you really captured that so well; the tentativeness and excitement and the newness of it all.
I love the (implied) idea that Misha feels safe/warm/wanted/protected in Jeff's bed, that there's a meaningfulness to it, more than a location in which they fuck, and Jeff's joyousness in being able to make it theirs instead of just a solitary his.
I love their inarticulateness, all the things they DON'T say (for lo, they are MANLY MEN) but that are still completely transparent to the reader and each other.
Love, love, love. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 06:56 pm (UTC)