FIC: No Paved Roads
Apr. 9th, 2010 03:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: No Paved Roads
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: JDM/Misha
Warnings/Notes: Raven-verse prequel, how Jeff and Misha met. You don't need to read the 'verse to get this, though. Hints of physical abuse of adults, and also kink.
Wisdom's has been around for years. It feels like the beating heart of a community, for all that it sells rubber fists and leather floggers. Wisdom threw his money into building the place but mostly leaves it be, working his day job in engineering. It suits him, the obsessive focus on numbers and angles and correctness, more than retail ever could. Which is not to say that he doesn't put in his hours at the clubs, bending pretty boys over his knee. But the goddess of Wisdom's is Sam Ferris.
It could be a store; Misha's seen plenty of them that feel sweaty and close with shame, wank booths behind a tattered curtain, walls of silicon and latex, fake vaginas made of plastic with porn star names. Wisdom's isn't like that. The toys are out on tables, displayed so customers can feel the intensity and the controls. Bookshelves full of Susie Bright, feminist analysis of kink, instruction manuals, human anatomy, raunchy coloring books. Comfortable armchairs. Clean, private booths to try on the harnesses and restraints. Sam's dogs (rescued pitbulls, saved by Sam's girl Traci) roam or sleep on leopard print doggie beds.
It's a good place. Safe. It's not the kind of place Misha's boyfriends go.
Probably best not to think of that.
Misha pops his trunk and gets out into the steady afternoon rain. With the fresh cast on his wrist, every action seems to require new concentration, though maybe that's a result of the pain medication. The Percoset is not enough to muffle the sharp pain Misha feels every time he jars his wrist against something. It's not a good, kink pain; it's gnawing and insistent, wearing him down.
Fuck Asher anyway. Fuck him and his stupid perfect face. Chewing on his frustrated thoughts, Misha bends into his trunk and tries to grab the box of new product. The first time he tried to carry something, he fumbled a wood carving of intimate female anatomy down his apartment steps. Damn good thing he hadn't sanded and waxed that piece yet, though he didn't think he could meet his landlady's eyes ever again--
From behind him, a deep and pleasant voice asks, "Want some help?"
Misha jerks upright, nearly smacking his head, but the man behind him is quick enough to shove the overhanging trunk out of the way.
"Careful," the man teases, one hand still on the trunk. His smile is disabling, dimples showing against the scruff of his stubble. He smells like the leather of his jacket, a worn and heavy thing with weathered lines and safety pins holding one sleeve on. More handsome than cute. Very aware of it. His eyes are dark, lined with laughter. "Don't worry, I'm here for a workshop. Promise I won't freak out if it's dildos."
Misha clears his throat and smiles stiffly. "Question is, will it be a bonus?"
The man laughs, ducking his head a little. "Hey, I wasn't going to admit that. You mind?"
Interesting way to put it, like Misha's doing him a favor rather than the opposite. Maybe it's a servitude kink thing. Or maybe the poor guy just wants out of the rain. Misha gives him space, trying not to fixate on the long lean slope of the man's thighs as he bends to pick up the box. With a grunt, the man hitches it up against his chest and grins at Misha. "Heavier than it looks."
Misha's first instinct is to apologize, but he swallows that and just shrugs. Shoving his trunk closed, he gestures towards the store and barely remembers to add, "Thanks."
"My pleasure," the man says, his tone walking the thin line between courtesy and flirting. "It's Jeff, by the way. I'd give you my hand, but..."
"Misha." Holding up the cast, Misha wiggles his plastered thumb. "I'd give my hand, but."
Jeff's long stride eats up the pavement, and Misha has to walk fast to keep up. The silence should be awkward, but Jeff keeps flitting small looks in Misha's direction. The attention settles warm and low in Misha's belly.
He's being checked out. He's being seriously checked out, with one hand in a cast and his eyes glazed over and his hair all messed up and he hasn't showered since Wednesday because he has to wrap his hand in a bag. And he's in clothes. Hell, he couldn't get Asher to look at him like that when he's bare-assed.
Damn, he told himself he wasn't going to do this stupid comparison game. Or worse, the rebound thing.
Before he can even try, Jeff backs into the door to Wisdom's and holds it open. His crooked grin is getting ever more distracting. Misha raises an eyebrow, and Jeff asks, "You going to stand out in the rain until you melt?"
"Pft. I'm pretty waterproof." Misha steps inside, and it brings their bodies briefly close. Without the box between them...
Jeff doesn't look away, his eyes half-lidded. Misha feels hot. He backs up, and catches the considering stare Sam is giving them from behind the counter. "Don't," he mouths at her, and she grins lazily back.
"Sam!" Jeff calls, lifting up the box. "Where do I put this?"
"You make it too easy, Morgan." Sam points at the empty counter-space in front of her. The part-time worker with pink hair, ringing out customers like her fingers will catch on fire, gives Sam a sidelong dirty look. "Here's fine, I need to dry them off and inventory them before they hit the shelves. And when the hell did you break your wrist, you? You know how long the damn hold list is for your stuff?"
Jeff puts the box down and shakes his arms absently. "Sounds like you're in demand, Misha. Should I ask for an autograph to go with your phone number?"
Sam wolf-whistles, and Misha feels the slow rise of heat in his face. "Who says you're getting my number?" he volleys back.
Jeff just smiles, a hard one-two punch of little boy and knowing bastard, and puts his hands in his pockets. Before Misha can say anything cutting, the pitbulls come barreling out to bounce up at Jeff, pawing at his legs and whining for attention. Misha is beginning to understand how they feel.
"Oh, my girls," Jeff croons, and drops down to scratch both dogs and thump their sides.
Sam snorts. "You're a real smooth one."
Jeff hugs the brindle pit to his chest and noisily kisses her on the head, then stands up. "Yeah, yeah. Where are the chairs? I'll set up. And you..." Brushing the dog hair off his jeans, Jeff... Jeff is less fiercely attractive and yet more dangerous. Good, but not nice. Human. "Hey. There's that coffee place. I'm not doing anything after. Just me and some friends. You want to come?"
It's stupid. It's crazy, his wrist still broken from trying to get out of Asher's cuffs, but. "Yeah," Misha says throatily. "Yeah. I try to support local coffee-- okay."
Jeff's nose wrinkles when he smiles. He disappears into the back, with Misha's heart still drumming hard in his throat.
"You support local industry," Sam deadpans, when Jeff's out of earshot.
Misha glares at her. "It's fiscally responsible."
"Oh, sure. Of course."
"Huh." Misha picks up one of the sculptures from the soggy cardboard box and begins peeling off the wet padding. "You think this is funny? Should've seen you trying to take Traci to a rodeo."
Biting her lip, Sam snerks out a laugh. "I bet Jeff wishes he was out here to watch you polishing your wood, honey."
Misha feels the blush all the way up to his ears and puts down the wooden phallus he was about to rub dry. Hard to do one handed, even without Sam's ribbing. "You do that one. It's not your type."
"Put that thing in a harness and it's exactly my type."
"Funny." Misha gives her the last piece to dry, selects another of the pieces to unwrap from its newspaper padding. "What event are you doing tonight?"
"Some damn thing or another. Jeff's supposed to be doing a Kink 101 class with his buddy Jeremy -- you think Jeff's a flirt, you should see that one-- it fell out at the last minute because of some comic book convention. Jeremy runs a comic book shop, so he needs to go do business and he begged out." Sam grins, and Misha wonders how literally this Jeremy begged. "Traci booked some guy to help out at the last minute. Lemme check." Pulling open a cabinet behind the counter, Sam rummages around and shakes her head. "Hell, you really don't talk to your boytoys much, do you?"
"We don't talk, no."
"Ha. Boys." Sam holds up the notepad Traci uses to scribe her phonecalls. "Last I heard, you and Asher were a real hot item."
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
"Misha." Sam reaches across the counter and closes her fingers around Misha's good wrist. "Hey. You all right?"
The door opens. Misha doesn't have to turn and look. Asher always had exquisite timing.
He can feel Asher watching him, almost feel him opening his mouth. "Asher," Sam says, voice suddenly glacial. "Morgan is setting up in the back. Go see him. Now."
When he hears the swish of the velvet drapes tell him that Asher's moved on, Misha chances a shamed glance at Sam. "Thank you."
She looks at the doorway where Asher disappeared to. "Want me to toss him out?"
"No. No. S'okay." Why is he shaking? He gave almost as good as he got. "We, um, argued."
"I see that," Sam mutters, deadpan. "Nice busted wrist. He ought to have one to match."
"Sam," Misha says, agonized. "It's just between us, okay? Things got out of hand. It's nothing."
"And you walked into that door, or you fell down those stairs, and he really loves you. I've heard this crap before, sugar." Reaching across the counter, Sam covers Misha's good hand with her own. "Tell me you're not taking him back."
"No." Visceral, automatic, as if his very bones are repulsed by the idea. Misha stares at Sam's weathered hand, the spot where she used to wear a ring. "No, we're finished. I just worry about the sub behind me who's lining up to suck him."
"You would," Sam says, exasperated, but squeezes his hand. "You should stick around, watch his little song and dance."
Misha snorts. "Or I could stick my head in a microwave. Why would I want to watch him posturing?"
"Because," Sam says, "I believe in grinding that bastard's nose in what he's lost. And Jeff Morgan's my friend, too."
Mood souring, Misha glances back behind the 'employees only' curtain. He can see Jeff lifting stacked chairs, talking to Asher, smiling. "Yeah. And he's buddies with Asher."
"Please. They got stuck together because Jeff's partner ducked out. If Jeff had any idea..." Sam shakes her head. "Any bullshit Asher spouts, Jeff's going to defuse as fast as possible."
"Yeah." And still guilt gnaws at him as he helps Sam unwrap the shipment. "I really don't want to-- I don't want a big scene, y'know? I shouldn't even be here. I'm not..." Not good enough for Asher. Not smart enough to see Asher for what he is, not strong enough to pitch him out months ago. That lack hangs on him like some parasite. What right does he have to want to protect the new subs when he can't even protect himself?
"Hey," Sam says, her voice carving straight through the Greek chorus of derision in Misha's mind. She stares him down, expression stern. "Don't you start with that."
Misha sighs and puts down the rag. "I don't know if I'm good for this right now."
"Good." When Misha blinks at her, Sam picks up a wooden carving of two female silloheuttes twined together and gestures with it. "At least you're starting to trust your own mind. That's a good step."
"Sam," Misha says, frowning. "I'm not one of your puppies to rehab."
"Nope. The two legged puppies are definitely harder work." Sam points at him. "I want you to stay here. I know you can do this. Now sit, stay."
"Arf," Misha teases, but some of the weight is gone. He just has to trust her; he knows she's a good top, knows how she's loving but fair in guiding Traci through each scene. If she had eyes for anybody but Traci, he would take her collar.
If he deserved someone like that. Misha stomps on the stray thought, but it's there, beneath everything he sees.
Sam reaches across the counter and pats his head. Misha manages to smile.
****
"Well," Misha says, holding the washcloth against Jeff's bleeding cheekbone. "That was fun?"
Jeff quirks up the side of his mouth that isn't watery-bloody, and speaks stiffly like he's trying not to move his face. "I like to--ow-- be educational and entertaining."
"Stop squirming, you big baby. You act like you never had a clipboard thrown at your face before."
Jeff gives him a dour look. Misha still gets that twinge of nervousness, like a healing bone: he's made Jeff angry and he's going to pay, he's a bad excuse for a bottom and he deserves--
No. No.
Instead, he shifts closer so his hip presses to Jeff's hip, his knee against Jeff's knee. They had to share this side of the booth so Misha could hold the cloth with his good hand, of course they did, and if it's private and it's close... well, that's gravy. Misha's hardly stupid, after all. So as Jeff's friends are rowdy and laughing around them, they sit in this small circle alone. Together.
"I especially liked your rant about why Asher's advice to fuck and dump your masochist is full of shit," Misha says, after the quiet stretches too long. "Very impassioned."
Jeff snorts. "Very true. People like me and him-- hell, especially him-- we're a dime a dozen. But a really good bottom, the kind that do it because they love it and because you want it and who do it damn well, they don't come around very often." Dark eyes ticking up to Misha's face, Jeff adds, softer, "And they definitely deserve better than being used by pompous assholes like him. Nobody deserves that."
Uncomfortable, Misha looks away. Out the window, into the dark. There's a couple leaning against a car, practically mating at the mouth; he wonders if they'll be okay. If they love each other. If the boyfriend brings her flowers or if he calls her a whore.
Gentle, careful, Jeff catches Misha's chin between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls Misha back, makes him look Jeff in the eyes. Misha lets him, startled heat igniting and rising in his clenched belly. His lips part and Jeff glances to them, his gaze deceptively languorous, before meeting Misha's eyes again.
"Hey," Jeff murmurs. "You hear what I'm saying?"
Misha swallows. His mouth feels dry. "I'm trying to."
"Mm." After a moment, Jeff nods and swipes his thumb against Misha's jaw. Lets him go. "Guess I'll just have to keep saying it."
Misha wasn't aware that he could still blush, but he feels it heat his face. He coughs and picks up his coffee, and mutters into it, greatly daring, "Yeah. I guess you might. You mind?"
Jeff smiles. "Naw, sweetheart. I don't mind at all."
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: JDM/Misha
Warnings/Notes: Raven-verse prequel, how Jeff and Misha met. You don't need to read the 'verse to get this, though. Hints of physical abuse of adults, and also kink.
Wisdom's has been around for years. It feels like the beating heart of a community, for all that it sells rubber fists and leather floggers. Wisdom threw his money into building the place but mostly leaves it be, working his day job in engineering. It suits him, the obsessive focus on numbers and angles and correctness, more than retail ever could. Which is not to say that he doesn't put in his hours at the clubs, bending pretty boys over his knee. But the goddess of Wisdom's is Sam Ferris.
It could be a store; Misha's seen plenty of them that feel sweaty and close with shame, wank booths behind a tattered curtain, walls of silicon and latex, fake vaginas made of plastic with porn star names. Wisdom's isn't like that. The toys are out on tables, displayed so customers can feel the intensity and the controls. Bookshelves full of Susie Bright, feminist analysis of kink, instruction manuals, human anatomy, raunchy coloring books. Comfortable armchairs. Clean, private booths to try on the harnesses and restraints. Sam's dogs (rescued pitbulls, saved by Sam's girl Traci) roam or sleep on leopard print doggie beds.
It's a good place. Safe. It's not the kind of place Misha's boyfriends go.
Probably best not to think of that.
Misha pops his trunk and gets out into the steady afternoon rain. With the fresh cast on his wrist, every action seems to require new concentration, though maybe that's a result of the pain medication. The Percoset is not enough to muffle the sharp pain Misha feels every time he jars his wrist against something. It's not a good, kink pain; it's gnawing and insistent, wearing him down.
Fuck Asher anyway. Fuck him and his stupid perfect face. Chewing on his frustrated thoughts, Misha bends into his trunk and tries to grab the box of new product. The first time he tried to carry something, he fumbled a wood carving of intimate female anatomy down his apartment steps. Damn good thing he hadn't sanded and waxed that piece yet, though he didn't think he could meet his landlady's eyes ever again--
From behind him, a deep and pleasant voice asks, "Want some help?"
Misha jerks upright, nearly smacking his head, but the man behind him is quick enough to shove the overhanging trunk out of the way.
"Careful," the man teases, one hand still on the trunk. His smile is disabling, dimples showing against the scruff of his stubble. He smells like the leather of his jacket, a worn and heavy thing with weathered lines and safety pins holding one sleeve on. More handsome than cute. Very aware of it. His eyes are dark, lined with laughter. "Don't worry, I'm here for a workshop. Promise I won't freak out if it's dildos."
Misha clears his throat and smiles stiffly. "Question is, will it be a bonus?"
The man laughs, ducking his head a little. "Hey, I wasn't going to admit that. You mind?"
Interesting way to put it, like Misha's doing him a favor rather than the opposite. Maybe it's a servitude kink thing. Or maybe the poor guy just wants out of the rain. Misha gives him space, trying not to fixate on the long lean slope of the man's thighs as he bends to pick up the box. With a grunt, the man hitches it up against his chest and grins at Misha. "Heavier than it looks."
Misha's first instinct is to apologize, but he swallows that and just shrugs. Shoving his trunk closed, he gestures towards the store and barely remembers to add, "Thanks."
"My pleasure," the man says, his tone walking the thin line between courtesy and flirting. "It's Jeff, by the way. I'd give you my hand, but..."
"Misha." Holding up the cast, Misha wiggles his plastered thumb. "I'd give my hand, but."
Jeff's long stride eats up the pavement, and Misha has to walk fast to keep up. The silence should be awkward, but Jeff keeps flitting small looks in Misha's direction. The attention settles warm and low in Misha's belly.
He's being checked out. He's being seriously checked out, with one hand in a cast and his eyes glazed over and his hair all messed up and he hasn't showered since Wednesday because he has to wrap his hand in a bag. And he's in clothes. Hell, he couldn't get Asher to look at him like that when he's bare-assed.
Damn, he told himself he wasn't going to do this stupid comparison game. Or worse, the rebound thing.
Before he can even try, Jeff backs into the door to Wisdom's and holds it open. His crooked grin is getting ever more distracting. Misha raises an eyebrow, and Jeff asks, "You going to stand out in the rain until you melt?"
"Pft. I'm pretty waterproof." Misha steps inside, and it brings their bodies briefly close. Without the box between them...
Jeff doesn't look away, his eyes half-lidded. Misha feels hot. He backs up, and catches the considering stare Sam is giving them from behind the counter. "Don't," he mouths at her, and she grins lazily back.
"Sam!" Jeff calls, lifting up the box. "Where do I put this?"
"You make it too easy, Morgan." Sam points at the empty counter-space in front of her. The part-time worker with pink hair, ringing out customers like her fingers will catch on fire, gives Sam a sidelong dirty look. "Here's fine, I need to dry them off and inventory them before they hit the shelves. And when the hell did you break your wrist, you? You know how long the damn hold list is for your stuff?"
Jeff puts the box down and shakes his arms absently. "Sounds like you're in demand, Misha. Should I ask for an autograph to go with your phone number?"
Sam wolf-whistles, and Misha feels the slow rise of heat in his face. "Who says you're getting my number?" he volleys back.
Jeff just smiles, a hard one-two punch of little boy and knowing bastard, and puts his hands in his pockets. Before Misha can say anything cutting, the pitbulls come barreling out to bounce up at Jeff, pawing at his legs and whining for attention. Misha is beginning to understand how they feel.
"Oh, my girls," Jeff croons, and drops down to scratch both dogs and thump their sides.
Sam snorts. "You're a real smooth one."
Jeff hugs the brindle pit to his chest and noisily kisses her on the head, then stands up. "Yeah, yeah. Where are the chairs? I'll set up. And you..." Brushing the dog hair off his jeans, Jeff... Jeff is less fiercely attractive and yet more dangerous. Good, but not nice. Human. "Hey. There's that coffee place. I'm not doing anything after. Just me and some friends. You want to come?"
It's stupid. It's crazy, his wrist still broken from trying to get out of Asher's cuffs, but. "Yeah," Misha says throatily. "Yeah. I try to support local coffee-- okay."
Jeff's nose wrinkles when he smiles. He disappears into the back, with Misha's heart still drumming hard in his throat.
"You support local industry," Sam deadpans, when Jeff's out of earshot.
Misha glares at her. "It's fiscally responsible."
"Oh, sure. Of course."
"Huh." Misha picks up one of the sculptures from the soggy cardboard box and begins peeling off the wet padding. "You think this is funny? Should've seen you trying to take Traci to a rodeo."
Biting her lip, Sam snerks out a laugh. "I bet Jeff wishes he was out here to watch you polishing your wood, honey."
Misha feels the blush all the way up to his ears and puts down the wooden phallus he was about to rub dry. Hard to do one handed, even without Sam's ribbing. "You do that one. It's not your type."
"Put that thing in a harness and it's exactly my type."
"Funny." Misha gives her the last piece to dry, selects another of the pieces to unwrap from its newspaper padding. "What event are you doing tonight?"
"Some damn thing or another. Jeff's supposed to be doing a Kink 101 class with his buddy Jeremy -- you think Jeff's a flirt, you should see that one-- it fell out at the last minute because of some comic book convention. Jeremy runs a comic book shop, so he needs to go do business and he begged out." Sam grins, and Misha wonders how literally this Jeremy begged. "Traci booked some guy to help out at the last minute. Lemme check." Pulling open a cabinet behind the counter, Sam rummages around and shakes her head. "Hell, you really don't talk to your boytoys much, do you?"
"We don't talk, no."
"Ha. Boys." Sam holds up the notepad Traci uses to scribe her phonecalls. "Last I heard, you and Asher were a real hot item."
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
"Misha." Sam reaches across the counter and closes her fingers around Misha's good wrist. "Hey. You all right?"
The door opens. Misha doesn't have to turn and look. Asher always had exquisite timing.
He can feel Asher watching him, almost feel him opening his mouth. "Asher," Sam says, voice suddenly glacial. "Morgan is setting up in the back. Go see him. Now."
When he hears the swish of the velvet drapes tell him that Asher's moved on, Misha chances a shamed glance at Sam. "Thank you."
She looks at the doorway where Asher disappeared to. "Want me to toss him out?"
"No. No. S'okay." Why is he shaking? He gave almost as good as he got. "We, um, argued."
"I see that," Sam mutters, deadpan. "Nice busted wrist. He ought to have one to match."
"Sam," Misha says, agonized. "It's just between us, okay? Things got out of hand. It's nothing."
"And you walked into that door, or you fell down those stairs, and he really loves you. I've heard this crap before, sugar." Reaching across the counter, Sam covers Misha's good hand with her own. "Tell me you're not taking him back."
"No." Visceral, automatic, as if his very bones are repulsed by the idea. Misha stares at Sam's weathered hand, the spot where she used to wear a ring. "No, we're finished. I just worry about the sub behind me who's lining up to suck him."
"You would," Sam says, exasperated, but squeezes his hand. "You should stick around, watch his little song and dance."
Misha snorts. "Or I could stick my head in a microwave. Why would I want to watch him posturing?"
"Because," Sam says, "I believe in grinding that bastard's nose in what he's lost. And Jeff Morgan's my friend, too."
Mood souring, Misha glances back behind the 'employees only' curtain. He can see Jeff lifting stacked chairs, talking to Asher, smiling. "Yeah. And he's buddies with Asher."
"Please. They got stuck together because Jeff's partner ducked out. If Jeff had any idea..." Sam shakes her head. "Any bullshit Asher spouts, Jeff's going to defuse as fast as possible."
"Yeah." And still guilt gnaws at him as he helps Sam unwrap the shipment. "I really don't want to-- I don't want a big scene, y'know? I shouldn't even be here. I'm not..." Not good enough for Asher. Not smart enough to see Asher for what he is, not strong enough to pitch him out months ago. That lack hangs on him like some parasite. What right does he have to want to protect the new subs when he can't even protect himself?
"Hey," Sam says, her voice carving straight through the Greek chorus of derision in Misha's mind. She stares him down, expression stern. "Don't you start with that."
Misha sighs and puts down the rag. "I don't know if I'm good for this right now."
"Good." When Misha blinks at her, Sam picks up a wooden carving of two female silloheuttes twined together and gestures with it. "At least you're starting to trust your own mind. That's a good step."
"Sam," Misha says, frowning. "I'm not one of your puppies to rehab."
"Nope. The two legged puppies are definitely harder work." Sam points at him. "I want you to stay here. I know you can do this. Now sit, stay."
"Arf," Misha teases, but some of the weight is gone. He just has to trust her; he knows she's a good top, knows how she's loving but fair in guiding Traci through each scene. If she had eyes for anybody but Traci, he would take her collar.
If he deserved someone like that. Misha stomps on the stray thought, but it's there, beneath everything he sees.
Sam reaches across the counter and pats his head. Misha manages to smile.
****
"Well," Misha says, holding the washcloth against Jeff's bleeding cheekbone. "That was fun?"
Jeff quirks up the side of his mouth that isn't watery-bloody, and speaks stiffly like he's trying not to move his face. "I like to--ow-- be educational and entertaining."
"Stop squirming, you big baby. You act like you never had a clipboard thrown at your face before."
Jeff gives him a dour look. Misha still gets that twinge of nervousness, like a healing bone: he's made Jeff angry and he's going to pay, he's a bad excuse for a bottom and he deserves--
No. No.
Instead, he shifts closer so his hip presses to Jeff's hip, his knee against Jeff's knee. They had to share this side of the booth so Misha could hold the cloth with his good hand, of course they did, and if it's private and it's close... well, that's gravy. Misha's hardly stupid, after all. So as Jeff's friends are rowdy and laughing around them, they sit in this small circle alone. Together.
"I especially liked your rant about why Asher's advice to fuck and dump your masochist is full of shit," Misha says, after the quiet stretches too long. "Very impassioned."
Jeff snorts. "Very true. People like me and him-- hell, especially him-- we're a dime a dozen. But a really good bottom, the kind that do it because they love it and because you want it and who do it damn well, they don't come around very often." Dark eyes ticking up to Misha's face, Jeff adds, softer, "And they definitely deserve better than being used by pompous assholes like him. Nobody deserves that."
Uncomfortable, Misha looks away. Out the window, into the dark. There's a couple leaning against a car, practically mating at the mouth; he wonders if they'll be okay. If they love each other. If the boyfriend brings her flowers or if he calls her a whore.
Gentle, careful, Jeff catches Misha's chin between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls Misha back, makes him look Jeff in the eyes. Misha lets him, startled heat igniting and rising in his clenched belly. His lips part and Jeff glances to them, his gaze deceptively languorous, before meeting Misha's eyes again.
"Hey," Jeff murmurs. "You hear what I'm saying?"
Misha swallows. His mouth feels dry. "I'm trying to."
"Mm." After a moment, Jeff nods and swipes his thumb against Misha's jaw. Lets him go. "Guess I'll just have to keep saying it."
Misha wasn't aware that he could still blush, but he feels it heat his face. He coughs and picks up his coffee, and mutters into it, greatly daring, "Yeah. I guess you might. You mind?"
Jeff smiles. "Naw, sweetheart. I don't mind at all."
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no subject
Date: 2010-04-09 07:50 pm (UTC)Nice to see these boys again!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 03:11 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-09 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 03:13 pm (UTC)(ps: I love you, too.)
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Date: 2010-04-09 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 03:30 pm (UTC)(Icon loff.)
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Date: 2010-04-09 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 05:34 pm (UTC)I have been really shitty about commenting but I've now read pretty much all of your rps that you have tagged or memoried and it is all so freaking amazing! I hesitate to admit this but I am actually completely clueless about the actors themselves so I really read it mostly like original fiction and it does stand up well with that in mind! (I had a friend send me some links to these people's pictures so I had a better mental image but that's about all i needed <3)
Thank you for writing such awesome stories!! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-09 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 03:32 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-04-10 12:39 am (UTC)I really liked this little story, the two of them instantly falling, the way they clearly did, was just perfect.
A lovely, lovely read!
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Date: 2010-04-10 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 02:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 04:12 am (UTC)I freakin' adore this verse.
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Date: 2010-04-10 05:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 10:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 10:41 am (UTC)I love this 'verse so much. Thanks for this.
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Date: 2010-04-10 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-10 11:37 pm (UTC)hugz
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Date: 2010-04-11 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 12:58 pm (UTC)Horrible in so many ways...how people hurt each other.
But so lovely when they cherish each other.
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Date: 2010-04-13 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-15 02:56 pm (UTC)Also, this chapter prompted me to re-read the series from the beginning yet again, and it's just as fantastic the third or fourth time around as it was the first. Thank you!
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Date: 2010-04-16 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-19 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-22 05:41 am (UTC)