nilchance: Picture of a pomegranate with spilled seeds, text "I think you're confused, I'm not Persephone" (jeremy smokes)
[personal profile] nilchance
Title: That Middle Road (26/48)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in [livejournal.com profile] poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse. This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse. There's also mention of rape, suicide, institutionalization and self-harm. And polyamory. And kink. And a partridge in a pear tree. The strap-on in this story is this. (link NSFW.)



Despite just waking up, all Jeremy wants is to sleep again. A few hours passed, bringing warm food and a hot shower and another dose of medication. Ryzer is in bed, although he'll probably be up asking for a glass of water and a cookie because he thinks his parents were born yesterday; Misha is tucked on the couch with Jeremy's phone, having been instructed on how to play all the good games. The bedroom door is shut, the sheets are clean. Jeremy is naked. All is fine in the world.

Except, well. Jeremy still has miles to go before he can sleep.

Zach drops onto the bed, artlessly making the frame protest, and throws one arm across his eyes. Over the years, Wendy and Zach's bodies have made an impression in the mattress, and it's not really big enough for three.

There's no sign of Wendy, but she'll come to bed. They'll press together, the three of them, whether Jeremy explains anything or apologizes or not. He pictures what they'd do if he disappeared to New York, how long they'd wait, if they'd go to Brent or Jeff for help, if they'd eventually assume he was dead. How they'd explain to Ryzer. Trying to imagine it, he can't figure out what he'd been thinking.

That he might've infected them with anything Marisa or Scott had. That he's not clean. It aches to remember that not all his issues are self-inflicted this time.

"Z," Jeremy starts. "I'm sorry."

Zach doesn't react for a moment, tight lines around his mouth. It's a long enough silence that Jeremy's heart, buried under all the mood stabilizer, starts to rev; this is it, this is when they get tired of your bullshit. Then Zach rolls over, frames Jeremy's face in his big hands and kisses him. The corners of his mouth, his jaw, his throat.

"Shut the fuck up," Zach says, not unkindly, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Just shut up, you fucking idiot."

When Zach reaches his collarbone, he bites and Jeremy jerks against him. It hurts and it's good. He curls against Zach, seeking more, tangling his fingers in Zach's shirt even while he laughs, "Not real sure I can get off, with the Seroquel."

"Don't worry about it, we can make out," Zach murmurs rough-voiced into his skin, pulling him closer with a hard grip on his hips, manhandling him like he knows Jeremy likes. He can't seem to decide where to put his hands, letting them roam down Jeremy's back and pull his hair, everywhere, overwhelming.

Jeremy relaxes into Zach, the comfort of being touched and grounded into his body. He bites Zach back, his shoulder, his mouth, his neck. Their bodies twine together, slow and grinding like they can erode marks into each other over time. A warm steady ache sinks into Jeremy's dick, arousal that he could act on or ignore; Zach's hips roll against Jeremy's thigh, the hardness of his dick through worn sweatpants. Jeremy can smell Zach's body heating up, precome and sweat.

Testing, he grinds against Zach. Zach grips Jeremy by the ass, digging his fingers in hard, pulling them tighter together until it almost hurts. Jeremy pants out a laugh against the crook of Zach's neck. "Okay," he says, "fuck the Seroquel, apparently that's not a problem."

Zach hums, pleased, rutting against Jeremy slow and dirty. Jeremy wonders dizzily if he's going to have finger-shaped bruises on his ass. He wants them.

He doesn't notice the dip of the bed under Wendy, not until she touches the small of his back between the span of Zach's hands on him. Her touch is light, almost ticklish. He wants to press back against her to make her touch him harder, but Zach won't let him move much.

"You want more?" Wendy says. Her fingertip traces the line of his spine up, idle, like she's inspecting him for new breaks. When Jeremy nods, she continues with steel in her voice, "Say it."

Jeremy shudders. "Yes."

Her touch slides down his back, lower and lower; Zach holds him open for her. Wendy leans in, her breath on the small of his back, and bites him there. Her hand on the back of his thigh pushes it wider open, slinging his leg over Zach's. Zach grinds out a noise, reaching down to pull his dick out of his sweatpants, rubbing a slick path over Jeremy's flank. His kisses scratch with stubble, gentling slow kisses even as Wendy kitten-licks at the rim of Jeremy's asshole.

Wendy opens him with her mouth, with the tips of her fingers. It's good. His signals cross. He pulls Zach's hair, hitching noises rising in his throat. The smell of Wendy's cunt comes to him, dizzying; he feels like he's unlocking, like his bones are melting. It'd be easier if he could be louder, but Misha is in the living room and he can't, he can't. He's shaking.

"She's got that strap-on," Zach says, biting the corner of Jeremy's mouth. And yes, Jeremy knows the one, the long mean one that was held inside of her pussy and that ground against her clit with every thrust. "She's fucking wet. Wen..."

Wendy pulls away from Jeremy with a last long kiss, her breathing hard. She moves up his back, her tits pressed against him, the drag of the strap-on. Pulling the hair off the back of his neck, she bites him there for good measure. He cranes his head, trying to kiss her, and instead she pushes her slick fingertips against his lips. So he sucks those clean as she lines up the strap-on.

"You're gonna take this for me," she says.

Jeremy nods, eyes half-closed. Zach leans in and licks between Wendy's fingers, chasing the taste of them. Wendy strokes Zach's cheek with her thumb. The head of the dildo (her cock, Jeremy thinks dizzily) starts its slow push into him, widening him open around it, shaping him around it. He moans around her fingers, and she tells him, "That's my fucking cockslut."

She goes slow. The burn, the relentless drive of the dildo unmakes Jeremy; he needs more, faster, rougher. He wants to be hurt. He tries to push back into her, but he's caught in between their bodies. Jeremy digs his nails into Zach, biting Wendy's fingers.

"Take it," Wendy purrs.

As she sinks deep, her breath catches in her throat. She holds onto his hip, angling herself, sliding off his prostate so that he whines out a noise. Jeremy slithers his hand between his body and Zach's, taking both their cocks in his shaky hand. Zach shudders, his fingers flexing on Jeremy's ass, pushing him back on Wendy's dick until he feels the scratch of Wendy's pubic hair.

"Yeah." Wendy grinds against him, slow and dirty. When Jeremy tips his head back onto her shoulder, she starts to pull her fingers out of his mouth; he turns, following her hand, and she laughs low in her belly. Knowing. Some part of Jeremy squirms under how well she knows him. "You want me to cover your mouth so Misha doesn't hear you begging for me to fill your tight ass?"

Jeremy grunts like she's punched him, horrified and stupidly aroused. Zach takes the opportunity to bite Jeremy's throat; his cock is wet in Jeremy's fingers, precome Jeremy wants to taste.

"Come on," Wendy whispers, and fucks into him. "You're so hot like this, all strung out. You'd let me put a few more fingers in you. You take this dick and Zach's at once, wouldn't you, baby?"

And yes, god, he would. He would. "Wen," he pants, "please. Please."

Her hand covers his mouth, just short of too much. Jeremy lets her move him, the jerk of his hips giving way to strung tension, his thighs aching with strain, and it's good, he'd let her fuck him all night, the sounds from her throat and Zach trembling like the taut string of a guitar. He manages to hold Zach tight, to give him a tight wet fist to fuck, and when Zach shudders and comes quiet, so quiet, Jeremy is startled by the low grateful noise from his own throat as he follows.

Wendy hitches in a breath, riding the strap-on from her end in filthy hot thrusts; Jeremy tries to reach back to help her out, admittedly flailing, and she slaps his ass for it. When he gasps, she burrows her face against him as she rides the last of her orgasm out with little twitches of her hips.

They sprawl together, sticky and panting, in a puppy-pile. Wendy strokes Jeremy's hair, then Zach's throat, with her damp fingers.

"Goddamn, woman," Zach says muzzily. "You're a fucking porn-star."

"You say the sweetest things," Wendy says, beaming. Slowly, carefully, she eases the strap-on out. She touches Jeremy's hole, making him hiss and curve back against her. That must satisfy her, because she lets him go with a last lingering press.

Zach kisses both of them, brushing his knuckles across Jeremy's cheek. "Gonna check on Ryz. Sleep, Jer, you're doing that slow blinking thing. Like it fools anybody."

"Go fuck yourself," Jeremy suggests, ruining it with a yawn. "I just slept."

"Sleep more." Wendy puts her arms around him, pulling him back against her. Her tits are soft and she smells sweet. "We love you."

"Love you," Jeremy says, yawning again. His eyes burn, his muscles languorous and warm. Grudgingly, he closes his eyes.

He misses Misha beside him, his stupid pajamas and his scent and his quick hands. He is ashamed of himself for that stray thought after everything he's done to them, but he can't escape it until he is pulled down, down into sleep again.
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