Title: A Sort of Fairy Tale
Fandom: SPN RPS
Word Count: 1400
Summary: Misha loves Jensen. Jensen is … getting there.
Chapter twelve summary: You fall in love in the breath your lover takes to whisper your name in the dark.
day twelve: Education
You fall in love in the time it takes for an affectionate hand to move slowly over your chest, in the breath your lover takes to whisper your name in the dark.
You lie awake all night in a pair of gentle arms and think, This. This.
Misha wakes to the scent of coffee and a mouth sucking on his hip bone. He lies there a moment, blinking and confused, and then — oh, yes, it’s Sunday morning, their one sure day off, and Jensen stayed the night.
Of course, he’s done this before, but so few times that it still makes Misha smile as he tilts his head back and glimpses the rising sun (sun in the sky, you know how I feel, birds flyin’ high, you know how I feel) through the window. He gives a quiet moan.
Jensen lifts his head. He’s tossed away the bedding and both of them are stretched out naked on the bed, as bars of sunlight shine over them through the parted curtains. He grins at Misha, that filthy, promising smile that Misha knows means only good things are to come. “You’re awake.”
“I am.” Misha’s voice is rough with sleep. He rubs his hand over Jensen’s shoulder and into his hair.
“Good. I don’t want you to sleep through this.” He kisses Misha’s hip and then slides his tongue over Misha’s cock. Misha shudders, aroused and still half-asleep, and his hips take up a slow rhythm as Jensen sucks him. He knows Jensen will get him there, particularly as Jensen slides slick fingers inside him that slowly twist and prod, finding the places that make Misha’s legs shake.
He comes as easily as the sun coming up, Jensen’s mouth red and soft around his cock, and he runs a fond hand through Jensen’s hair once he feels he can without his hand shaking. He’d hate to poke Jensen in the eye after that lovely wakeup.
Jensen kisses up his body and finally kisses his mouth, tasting of salt and skin and heat, and Misha wraps himself around Jensen and tumbles them over. Jensen goes willingly, pliant as Misha traps him between his knees. Misha touches Jensen’s face, kisses him until Jensen is trembling under him and tracing his fingertips over Misha’s back, and then reaches over him to grab a condom from the nightstand. Jensen pushes his cock against Misha’s thigh in a way that makes Misha shiver, and his chest heaves a little harder as he watches Misha smooth the condom down his cock.
“Again? So soon?”
Misha nods and kisses him. “Want it — want you — so much.”
“You’re the boss,” Jensen murmurs, and lines them up, fingers sure on Misha’s hips. He pushes into Misha slowly like he’s afraid of causing too much pain, and Misha shuts his eyes and groans as Jensen opens him. He’ll feel it into next week but he doesn’t care, he’s so greedy for Jensen’s body he wants to feel Jensen even when he isn’t there.
He rocks on top of Jensen until Jensen wraps his hands around Misha’s thighs and pins him in place. Misha watches in fascination as Jensen’s eyes grow wide and his teeth sink into his lip as if he means to bite through it, and his skin is flushed and shiny with perspiration that Misha just wants to taste, and his hips snap and he’s shouting and Misha holds Jensen’s face and shivers a little himself, and his eyes never leave Jensen’s.
They stare at each other, panting. Jensen blinks a few times and licks his lips. “I made coffee.”
“Coffee,” Misha says and lets himself collapse onto Jensen’s chest. He smiles when Jensen kisses his hair and sweeps it back from his face, when Jensen holds him close and even cradles Misha’s foot with his foot.
“Misha,” he says finally, softly, and Misha stirs enough to let him know he’s awake. “Misha, I — you should stay.”
“Not moving,” Misha mumbles, still enjoying the little shocks and sparks his nerves are making under his skin.
Jensen sighs and rubs Misha’s ear between his forefinger and thumb, and Misha doesn’t move except to breathe.
You fall in love with a pair of blue eyes (the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen) and realize only later that what you love is not the blue but the lines around them, the mouth beneath them, the playfulness within them.
The stereo is playing Nina Simone and they’re eating toast and coffee when Jensen begins, “See, the thing is,” as if they were having a different conversation.
“What thing?” Misha says, watching him. He loves watching Jensen. He loves the way the muscles of Jensen’s throat moves when he swallows. He loves how Jensen licks melted honey butter from his thumb. He loves the way the heat of the coffee makes Jensen’s lips a little redder.
“The thing about us. The thing I don’t get about us.”
Misha puts his coffee cup down. “What’s to get?”
“Do you still want me?” Jensen says quietly, and Misha holds of Jensen’s face between his hands and kisses him as sweetly as he knows how.
“Yes,” he says simply, looking into Jensen’s eyes, and he can’t be any more sincere than he is right now.
“‘Cause,” Jensen says, “I mean, you’re always flitting to the next new thing that catches your eye, and now that we’ve done it I’ve thought maybe you’d lose interest and I thought I’d be okay with that but … I’m not.” He looks at Misha helplessly. “I don’t know what you see in me, and don’t say my eyes or my body because that’s what everybody says and you’re not everybody.”
Misha touches Jensen’s face. It’s hard not to love this face, but love isn’t found only in the space between eyebrows or the cut of a cheekbone or the curve of a lower lip. He says, “You’re still Jensen. You’ll always be Jensen. You’ll always be exactly who you are, this honest, sweet, giving, super-talented guy, and no amount of perfect eyelashes or poetic mouths will change that. You are who you are, and that’s what I love. That’s what I’ve always loved.”
Jensen’s eyes flit from pupil to pupil, and then he nods and pushes his cheek into Misha’s palm. “You should stay.”
“I will.” He leaves his hands cradling Jensen’s face. Jensen needs to be touched tenderly right now, and he’s not going to deny Jensen anything. “I’m here until we finish shooting the season, and we’ll be back next season.”
“No — yeah — I know.” He sighs. “I’m up for a movie. A superhero movie. And if I get the movie that’ll mean traveling around all summer. The shoot is scheduled for eight weeks, and I’ll just have, like, a week before I have to come back to Vancouver.”
“I hope you get it,” says Misha, still not quite understanding what he’s getting at. “It could do great things for you.”
“I’ll miss you,” Jensen says, and swallows hard. “I miss you already, thinking about it. It’s the kind of opportunity I’ve wanted for years, and now I –”
“Jensen, stop,” Misha says and takes his hands away. “I don’t want to change your life that way. If they offer you the part and you want it, then take it. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“But, Misha –”
“A leaf on the river, Jen. Even if that river takes us apart for a while, we’ll be back together eventually.”
Jensen rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup again. “I knew you’d say something like that.”
“Our story’s not over yet. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just beginning.” He pats Jensen’s back and rises from the table. “If you’ll play me a song or two I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
“Always,” Jensen says, and then adds, more softly and seriously, “I mean that. Always.”
Misha kisses Jensen’s forehead, and then gathers the used dishes and takes them to the sink, and as he washes up Jensen plays him songs with his favorite chords.
You fall in love with a poet, a madman, a storyteller, someone who dances in the kitchen when you sing and rubs the back of your neck to put you to sleep. What you give and what you take may never be equal, but love is not about keeping score. You give and you accept what you’re given, and you never take the measure of either.
Never took piano lessons
But baby you’re a grand
And I will learn to play the good notes
And tune you up the best I can
♪ “Might Say It Tonight”—the Scissor Sisters
The song Misha thinks of is “Feelin’ Good” by Nina Simone.