Title: A Sort of Fairy tale
Chapter: Seven: P.S. you rock my world
Fandom: SPN RPS
Word Count: 1200
Summary: Misha loves Jensen. Jensen is … getting there.
Chapter seven summary: “You said some stuff and I listened. And now you’re going to listen and I’m going to talk.”
Notes: I rarely post works-in-progress anymore because I learned a long time ago that stories can change directions on you, and fighting where a story wants to go never ends well. So, the series title has been changed to something more fitting to what this story wants to be. (What do I know? I’m just the author.)
Thank you to for beta.
day seven: Domestic violence
Misha spends his day off quietly. A bike ride in the morning. A few more pages to a script he’s writing. Letters written, emails answered, lines memorized.
This is the only time he has to step back and take a few deep breaths. The next scene he has with Jensen looks like a tough one, and he’s not looking forward to it. So many scenes for the final episodes of the season are so fraught, and this one is no different. More conflicting emotions, more talk about trust, more of Dean’s damaged sense of worth and Castiel’s unshakable faith in him.
When they last filmed a scene like this, he and Jensen stole a few kisses before they were called to the set, and something of that tension and desire crept into their performances despite their best efforts. “You two looked like you were about to tear each other’s clothes off,” Robert said, and Jensen smiled secretly at Misha, and Misha touched his back.
He has no idea how they’re going to top that without actually being naked, to be honest.
He’s mulling over whether to eat in or go out for dinner when his buzzer sounds. He taps the button. “Yes?”
Misha hesitates a moment before he speaks again. “Jensen?”
“Yes. Are you busy? Can I come up?”
Again Misha hesitates, but finally says, “Yes,” and buzzes him in. Only a few moments pass before Jensen is rapping on his door, and when Misha opens it Jensen has the fervent, excited look of someone who’s just had their inner eye opened.
“Are you all right?” Misha says and directs him to a chair, but Jensen pops right up again.
“I’m fine. I’m great. I’m better than great. You know what? It all makes sense to me now.”
“What does?” Misha says cautiously.
“You. Me. Us.” He grabs Misha’s arm. “I get it.”
Misha pulls his arm from Jensen’s grip. “Then what are you doing here? We talked about this. We agreed –”
“No,” Jensen says, holding up his hand. “No. You said some stuff and I listened. And now you’re going to listen and I’m going to talk. Okay?”
Misha studies him from head to toe. Tall, sturdy Jensen, more beautiful than any one man has the right to be, guileless and sweet-natured, and still Misha’s favorite person, no matter what else may happen between them.
“Okay,” he says, “but sit down, please. The pacing is making me nervous.”
Jensen sits and presses his hands together to keep from waving them around. “Okay. Have you ever had a moment when you realize something that’s going to change your life?”
“An epiphany,” Misha says. “Yes.”
“Of course you have,” Jensen says and smiles a moment. “You know fucking everything. Well, I had one today. And it’s that you’re wrong.”
Misha raises his eyebrows.
Jensen says, earnest and urgent, “I was just on my mark, thinking about the scene and Dean and what he’s facing and where he’s finding the strength, and of course it’s the people he loves, it’s Sam and Cas, and I thought about Cas, and I thought about you, and I thought, Castiel should be here — and then I thought, No, Misha should be here.
“And I missed you so much right then. I just wanted you there, darlin’. I just wanted you there.”
Misha says slowly, “I don’t quite –”
“I don’t miss the attention. Okay, I miss the attention, but what I really miss is getting the attention from you. I miss talking to you and being with you and playing with you. We get a break, and I want to spend it with you; something cool happens, and I want to call you and tell you about it; Jared flubs a line, and I want you to laugh at it — I just want you around, Misha, with all your weirdness and philosophies and stories, and it wouldn’t matter if you just stood next to me and held my hand, I’d be happy.”
He stops and bites his lip. His eyes are enormous.
Misha looks away a moment. It’s not an “I love you”, but it’s sweet and sincere and, in the manner of most epiphanies, so simple.
Jensen says, “Misha?” and for the first time there’s a note of doubt in his voice.
Misha looks back at him. Without a word — without a thought, really — he’s in Jensen’s lap and holding Jensen’s face in his hands, and kisses him, Jensen’s soft lips opening and his strong hands grasping Misha’s hips and pulling him so close Misha can feel every hitch of his chest and tremble of his thighs.
“I don’t want to be careful anymore,” Jensen whispers as they pant against each other’s mouths and Misha rubs circles into Jensen’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “I just want to be happy, and that means being with you.”
“I get it, Jensen,” Misha assures him with a soft laugh, and Jensen laughs too, and then they’re kissing again.
It’s not until Jensen’s hand descends between Misha’s legs that Misha says, “Wait, stop, wait,” and Jensen pulls away with an impatient groan.
“What? What’s wrong now? You can’t tell me you don’t want to have sex now, ’cause I know you do.”
“I do,” Misha says and slides off Jensen’s lap, because this is not a conversation he wants to have while half-mast. “But I also want to be sure you’re still going to feel this way tomorrow and that this isn’t some epiphany-induced lunacy.”
“I’m loony about you,” Jensen says. “How about that?”
“Not really helping your case,” Misha says. “You’re not supposed to swear by the moon, because the moon changes.”
“Never heard that before,” Jensen says, stalking after him, and Misha puts the sofa between them just to keep from grabbing him again. “C’mon, Misha. Let’s do it. I know you want me, you know I want you — let’s go to bed and I’ll make you wonder why you ever doubted me.”
“I doubted you because you got cold feet.”
Jensen stops his slow pursuit around the room and frowns at him. “And now you need me to prove that won’t happen again.”
“Exactly. Show me, Jensen. Words are just words. Go, I don’t know, slay me a dragon or something. Just, show me.”
“Slay you a dragon? Never one for the small demands, are ya?”
“Metaphorically,” Misha says. “Dragons are scarce in Canada. It’s the cold.”
Jensen looks at him, with a slight “what the hell?” furrow between his brows, and then laughs. “Okay. I get it. I know what you want. And you know what? You’re going to get it. You’re going to get everything you ever wanted.”
“Be careful with that,” Misha says. “I want world peace and a pony, not just you.”
“I can do world peace. The pony may be tough.” He kneels on the sofa between them and leans on it. “Give me a good night kiss, please, and I’ll go home. And rest up for tomorrow. You are going to get seduced like you never have before, Misha — Mish — god, what do people call you?”
“Just call me darlin’ again,” Misha says, and Jensen smiles a slow, sleepy smile that positively oozes promise and lust.
“Darlin’,” he growls, and Misha kisses him good night.
Laying in bed tonight i was thinking
And listening to all the dogs
And the sirens and the shots
And how a careful man tries
To dodge the bullets
While a happy man takes a walk
And maybe it is time to live
♪ “P.S. You Rock My World”—the Eels