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beansideTitle: To Hope for Higher Heaven (A Ravenverse prequel)
Rating: NC-17
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanside and nilchance
Disclaimer: Mere fiction to be had here. Nothing owned, nothing gained.
Warnings: Heavy BDSM
Summary: Set several years before "If Bird or Devil," Jeff tops Misha for the first time. Other parts can be found here.
Misha was waiting when he got home, standing by the gate at Jeff's apartment. “Hey, you're early,” Jeff said. “Sorry, I always like to give the girl a good romp before I do a scene.”
Misha nodded, bending to give Bisou scritches and a hug. “I expected traffic to be worse,” he murmured with a shrug. “I didn't realize you lived out in the boonies, so to speak.”
Jeff shrugged expansively. "My grandfather's company owns this area. When he passed it went to me. They'd planned to build upscale condos here, try to woo some of the rich and famous out of the Hills.”
Misha smirked. “Yes, that's what LA needs. More overpriced housing.”
Jeff laughed. “Exactly.” He opened the gate, leading Misha into the courtyard. “I scrapped that plan, had them redraw it as affordable green condos and artist spaces.”
“I bet the company loved that.” Misha seemed to be trying to see everything at once, head craning around, looking at the landscaping. “It's gorgeous, though. The lighting must be wonderful in the morning. You can stand by the east and watch the sun rise."
“Right now, there are two units done. The model, and my place.” Jeff led him into the far building, gesturing at the sparse furniture. “The model is a lot prettier, but I prefer my privacy.”
The elevator was an old fashioned iron cage type. Its apparent age was deceiving: he had built the cage herself, adding some gorgeous decorative bits as well as many newer safety features. It slid up to the top floor soundlessly, letting them out into the penthouse level. “I actually had them build the penthouse on top of the existing warehouse, so I could have a rooftop courtyard and pool. My architect hated my guts.”
When Misha didn't reply, Jeff glanced back.
Misha was staring at the serenity garden Jeff had created. It had a stream that ringed the area, tumbling over stones, water singing as it went over the waterfall. Jasmine bushes crawled up a trellis, their scent contrasting with the delicate moonflower vines that wound their way up the arch at the entrance. When Jeff sat in the middle, his back to the loft, he could pretend the world had disappeared.
“It's beautiful,” Misha murmured.
Jeff felt the blush creeping up his neck. This was why he normally used the other elevator that dropped people off outside his front door. He wasn't sure why he brought Misha this way. He never brought his clients out here. But then, Misha wasn't just another client. “I figured that I wanted somewhere...” He broke off, gesturing.
“Somewhere to just be,” Misha breathed, stroking the petals of one of the flowers. His rapt expression and light fingers made Jeff's dick twitch. “It makes me want to bring a yoga mat to sit out here and meditate.”
Jeff felt himself relax. “You're welcome to bring a yoga mat any time you'd like. There are also some cushions in the little cabinet over by the chimney.”
Misha's smile was almost blinding. "You wouldn't mind?"
Hasn't anybody ever been nice to you?, Jeff wanted to ask. He cleared his throat and glanced down. “Come on inside. I'll get my girl settled in the bedroom, and we can get started. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”
He walked inside the condo, leash in hand, and took Bisou to the bedroom. Once they were there, Jeff bent to rumple her fur. “Okay, sweetheart. Daddy's got to work now.”
Bisou eyed him as if to say she was on to his game, and she'd allow him his distractions because she knew she'd get steak in the end. Then she drank some water and hopped on the bed, settling her head on his pillow with a pointed sigh. He grinned and headed back out to check on Misha.
Misha was standing in front of one of his paintings from before he'd discovered D/s, when he'd used his art to try to force out the violence inside himself. The slashes from a razor across the canvas, leaving ragged white edges. The smears of black and red, and darker stains from when Jeff sliced his palm midway through the piece and hadn't noticed.
When Misha heard Jeff approach, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark. For the first time, Jeff saw the glimmer of fear as Misha realized who, and what, he had agreed to serve.
It was better than Jeff had hoped.
He pulled one of his standard contracts out and offered it to Misha. "Take a look at that, and see if you have any questions." If he knew Misha's former top as well as he thought, Misha would have plenty of them. He doubted Misha had ever seen a contract for his scenes.
Misha's eyes widened as he read. "Is this a standard contract?"
"Pretty much. I customized it for my practice, but yeah. It's standard."
It only took a moment for Misha to scan over it and scratch his answers out in thin, loopy writing. He left the "limitations" section blank, Jeff noted. It made him wonder what that asshole of a top had done to try to get Misha down. Memory of the welts and bruises along Misha's pale back made Jeff's hands clench. It made him want to hit. To hurt the asshole, and show him how pain was really done.
Instead, he took a deep breath and centered down. Let the anger go. It had no place in a scene, no right to touch Misha. Most clients looked at him sideways when he had to stop and ground himself, like he was crazy, but Misha only waited with a patience that said he'd been there himself. When he was calm, he offered Misha his hand. "Shall we?"
Misha curled his fingers against Jeff's, a sweet tangle.
Misha followed him to the room he had set up off the living room as his dungeon. It had been double-soundproofed, and beneath the rich red carpet was a discreet layer of recycled rubber padding. Just because he was a top didn't mean he had to be a dick about it.
The furniture wasn't like anything Misha would have designed, no artistry, but it did the job. As did the painting that took up half the left wall, one of Jeff's best works. Painted in muted colors, it almost looked like a Victorian era scene. At least until you noticed the decidedly modern accouterments.
Misha turned, taking in the furniture and the opposite wall, the gauzy curtains draping a mirror, the shackles that would place him in front of his own reflection. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Jeff saw him take a deep, steadying breath. His respect for Misha doubled.
"Okay," Misha said finally. "Whenever you're ready."
Jeff nodded. "Strip. As far down as you feel comforta--" By the time he glanced over, Misha was naked. Miles of pale unmarked skin, the shading of darker hair up his thighs, framing his half-hard cock. When he saw Jeff looking, Misha shifted on his feet like he might cover himself, then relaxed, letting his hands hang at his sides. Jeff nodded at him, a gesture that did nothing to show the warmth and gratitude that swelled in Jeff's chest at the sign of trust. Misha trusted him, which was more than he'd expected. "Do you want a cock ring?"
For a moment, Misha seemed to consider, then nodded. "Yeah. I like the feeling."
"Latex allergy?"
"No."
"Good." Jeff headed over to the squat cabinet, pulling out a PVC and latex cockring still housed its autoclave package. He offered it to Misha and turned his back while the other man adjusted it properly. While he was trying to keep the mental image of what was going on behind him out of his head, he entertained himself by looking through his array of collars for the perfect one for Misha. Even the softest leather didn't seem right, but he wasn't a velvet collar type either. As he rummaged, his fingers touched cool metal, and Jeff smiled. Perfect.
He hadn't used this particular chain collar yet. It was handmade, courtesy of Ever's jewelry working shop. She'd experimented with titanium and platinum, alternating the links to make a lightweight, durable collar that could be worn as jewelry or for BDSM scenes. It was perfect, and Jeff's fingers suddenly itched to see the dull gleam against Misha's tanned skin.
It wasn't a collar for claiming. It was temporary, a symbol to ground his clients into the scene. Misha wasn't his.
As he turned back, Jeff caught his breath. Misha was kneeling in picture perfect slave position, hands clasped behind him, legs spread the right distance to signal surrender. Those pale eyes were downcast, head tilted down just enough to be submissive, but not enough to be pathetic.
Jeff approached him slowly. "The scene starts when I place the collar around your neck. Safeword?" Of course, he'd had Misha write it out, but it was standard practice to repeat the important information like that.
"Paradigm," Misha replied, the ghost of a smile quirking his mouth.
"Good boy," Jeff murmured. He slid the collar around Misha's neck, hooking the 'O' ring to close the chain. The collar really was one of Ever's finest creations. If he didn't look closely, he'd never know how it opened and closed.
Misha shivered once, then sighed. "Thank you, sir."
Jeff nodded. "Come here."
Misha crawled to him, back arching and flexing as he moved. Again, his form was perfect, but Jeff could see his mind ticking away. Analyzing how to look like he'd submitted without giving anything up. Jeff could see how somebody else might be distracted by the view, and it was gorgeous, but he wasn't giving up an inch.
When Misha reached Jeff, he started to go back into that classic kneeling pose, but Jeff caught his arm. "Up. And give me your wrists." Without waiting, he pulled Misha off-balance and against an upright post, tugging his arms around it and grabbing the thick swath of padded leather. "Keep them together."
Recovering his poise, Misha nodded, holding his arms out straight, wrists touching. Jeff took them, gentle, and smiled. Misha thought he knew what was coming. He wasn't even close. Once he had Misha's wrists bound, he lifted them, looping the end of the leather over a hook to keep him stretched out. The pose would be good for flogging, but he'd get to that later. First, he needed to throw Misha off his game.
The blindfold was made of more heavily padded leather. Misha didn't so much as flinch when Jeff slid it on. It took him a couple of minutes to realize that it had cut off his hearing as well.
That meant no directions. No way of anticipating Jeff's orders. He'd have to wait, and trust; most doms didn't have the patience for that. Most subs didn't, either. Alone in the dark with their circling thoughts, bracing for it, until Jeff was ready to pull them back to him. To him.
Jeff watched Misha battle with himself for a moment, muscles straining tight. Then Misha gave a soft sigh and relaxed, hanging loose in the restraints. Probably willing himself to look relaxed. He'd asked Jeff to put him down, but he'd kept himself from giving in because he didn't trust something he couldn't put in words.
Settling into the nearby chair, Jeff waited for the fault lines to show.
He'd tried to explain it to someone once. How he knew what buttons to push, and when. He'd finally decided that it was one of those things that people had to figure out for themselves. A gift, like painting or woodwork or green eyes. Jeff knew where to press to break someone down, to stop an argument, to convince them to go into rehab or to give Jeremy a refund.
It was a matter of time.
After nearly ten minutes had gone by, Jeff finally saw the opening he was looking for. Misha moved-- barely. The shifting of his weight, the flicker of a muscle. Still, it was enough. Jeff reached over with the edge of a peacock feather, and drew it down Misha's spine. As Misha exhaled, pushed back into it, Jeff brought the crop down smartly on the swell of his ass.
Misha didn't make a sound, but to Jeff, it was loud as a scream. He'd felt that keen and hard, and he was there with Jeff. For Jeff.
With a genuine smile, Jeff went to work.
It took a long run. Misha struggled, back bowing, wrenching against the restraints harder than Jeff would ever pull him. He fought too hard, until he was fighting Jeff and fatigue both, until he finally buckled and sobbed out, "Please."
Jeff ran his hand up the curve of Misha's back, slick with the salt of Misha's sweat. Misha arched against his hand, shuddering, wetness slipping past the sodden cloth of the blindfold.
Jeff finally slid the blindfold off, and Misha didn't resist when Jeff tilted his face up, thumbing the tears away. "It's all right, Misha. You did so good for me. Now touch yourself, baby. Undo the ring and make yourself come for me." Matching his actions to the words, he flicked the catch, and the restraints fell away with a whisper of leather.
He shuddered as Misha leaned into him, resting his cheek on Jeff's thigh, then complied. Misha moaned as the cockring fell away, abused back arching, and tightening his fist around his dick in jerky, wet movements.
"Such a beautiful, good boy," Jeff purred. "Want you to come on your hand and lick those fingers clean. Do you want me to let you finger fuck yourself?"
"Y-yes, sir," Misha whimpered. "If--oh god, may I?"
"Tell me how it feels while you do."
Closing his eyes, Misha raised his fingers to his mouth to suck, still jerking himself. Jeff rested his hand on Misha's throat, gripping a little, and Misha gave a full-body hitch. Tilted further into Jeff's legs, seeking, as he reached around. He seemed blind to the pain, swimming in it. He shuddered deeply as he slipped a finger inside. And fuck, fuck, Jeff wanted to...
"So good," Misha moaned, his voice soft and wrecked. "Hurts."
Jeff brushed the crop over the stinging red skin of Misha's ass lightly, just to watch his eyes fly open and his hips buck. Towards the crop, not away, god help Jeff. "Mmm. Keep going."
The whine caught in Misha's throat, but he managed a wavering, "Thank you."
He jerked himself harder, hips snapping up into his touch. Jeff corded his fingers into Misha's hair and yanked his head back hard, watching his pupils dilate even further. "Come for me."
With another sob, Misha's shoulders shook, and his hand stuttered, slick with spurts of come. His breath came harshly as he milked his cock, working himself through the shudders. His hand slowed, though Jeff hadn't told him to stop. Another time, Jeff thought, with the lazy dark part of him that never stopped watching.
"Clean yourself up," Jeff ordered.
"Yes sir," Misha whispered. He clumsily licked at his hand, cleaning his come off his fingers.
Jeff smiled, loosening his grip on Misha's hair to pet him gently. "Such a good boy, Misha. I'm so proud of you. We're done now, baby."
He offered his hand, helping Misha to his feet and grabbing the soft robe he kept nearby.
Misha whimpered a little as Jeff slid the robe on over his shoulders, and Jeff murmured softly, guiding him over to the overstuffed couch. Misha mostly tilted himself onto the couch, with Jeff helping him onto his side. After a minute of fussing, Misha coughed and tried to turn his face away. "Jeff," he said, voice wrung out.
"Shh, you did good. Let me take care of you, sweetheart." In his line of work, the arnica cream was never far from Jeff's hand. He kept it with the orange juice in the mini-fridge.
Misha took the juice and slurped it greedily, holding it with both shaky hands. Once the glass was empty, he shuddered and pressed his forehead against Jeff's shoulder. "Are we dating?" he said after a while, once Jeff had finished with the cream.
Jeff hesitated. "Mish, you just did a scene--"
"And I don't know my own mind?" Misha asked, mouth quirking up.
Jeff smiled back, running his fingers through the messy spikes of Misha's hair. "Never. You're the most present person I know."
"Yeah, there's my problem." Leaning his head into Jeff's hand, Misha gave him the eyes. "This is taking up my quota of courage for the year, but... I want to be your boyfriend. Can I? Am I?"
"Yes," Jeff said, automatic as breathing. Then he made himself stop and think about it, really think, and he realized his answer was still, "Yes."
Misha let out a long shaky sigh and settled against the curve of Jeff's side. "That's good," he said, and closed his eyes.
Rating: NC-17
Authors:
beanside and nilchanceDisclaimer: Mere fiction to be had here. Nothing owned, nothing gained.
Warnings: Heavy BDSM
Summary: Set several years before "If Bird or Devil," Jeff tops Misha for the first time. Other parts can be found here.
Misha was waiting when he got home, standing by the gate at Jeff's apartment. “Hey, you're early,” Jeff said. “Sorry, I always like to give the girl a good romp before I do a scene.”
Misha nodded, bending to give Bisou scritches and a hug. “I expected traffic to be worse,” he murmured with a shrug. “I didn't realize you lived out in the boonies, so to speak.”
Jeff shrugged expansively. "My grandfather's company owns this area. When he passed it went to me. They'd planned to build upscale condos here, try to woo some of the rich and famous out of the Hills.”
Misha smirked. “Yes, that's what LA needs. More overpriced housing.”
Jeff laughed. “Exactly.” He opened the gate, leading Misha into the courtyard. “I scrapped that plan, had them redraw it as affordable green condos and artist spaces.”
“I bet the company loved that.” Misha seemed to be trying to see everything at once, head craning around, looking at the landscaping. “It's gorgeous, though. The lighting must be wonderful in the morning. You can stand by the east and watch the sun rise."
“Right now, there are two units done. The model, and my place.” Jeff led him into the far building, gesturing at the sparse furniture. “The model is a lot prettier, but I prefer my privacy.”
The elevator was an old fashioned iron cage type. Its apparent age was deceiving: he had built the cage herself, adding some gorgeous decorative bits as well as many newer safety features. It slid up to the top floor soundlessly, letting them out into the penthouse level. “I actually had them build the penthouse on top of the existing warehouse, so I could have a rooftop courtyard and pool. My architect hated my guts.”
When Misha didn't reply, Jeff glanced back.
Misha was staring at the serenity garden Jeff had created. It had a stream that ringed the area, tumbling over stones, water singing as it went over the waterfall. Jasmine bushes crawled up a trellis, their scent contrasting with the delicate moonflower vines that wound their way up the arch at the entrance. When Jeff sat in the middle, his back to the loft, he could pretend the world had disappeared.
“It's beautiful,” Misha murmured.
Jeff felt the blush creeping up his neck. This was why he normally used the other elevator that dropped people off outside his front door. He wasn't sure why he brought Misha this way. He never brought his clients out here. But then, Misha wasn't just another client. “I figured that I wanted somewhere...” He broke off, gesturing.
“Somewhere to just be,” Misha breathed, stroking the petals of one of the flowers. His rapt expression and light fingers made Jeff's dick twitch. “It makes me want to bring a yoga mat to sit out here and meditate.”
Jeff felt himself relax. “You're welcome to bring a yoga mat any time you'd like. There are also some cushions in the little cabinet over by the chimney.”
Misha's smile was almost blinding. "You wouldn't mind?"
Hasn't anybody ever been nice to you?, Jeff wanted to ask. He cleared his throat and glanced down. “Come on inside. I'll get my girl settled in the bedroom, and we can get started. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”
He walked inside the condo, leash in hand, and took Bisou to the bedroom. Once they were there, Jeff bent to rumple her fur. “Okay, sweetheart. Daddy's got to work now.”
Bisou eyed him as if to say she was on to his game, and she'd allow him his distractions because she knew she'd get steak in the end. Then she drank some water and hopped on the bed, settling her head on his pillow with a pointed sigh. He grinned and headed back out to check on Misha.
Misha was standing in front of one of his paintings from before he'd discovered D/s, when he'd used his art to try to force out the violence inside himself. The slashes from a razor across the canvas, leaving ragged white edges. The smears of black and red, and darker stains from when Jeff sliced his palm midway through the piece and hadn't noticed.
When Misha heard Jeff approach, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark. For the first time, Jeff saw the glimmer of fear as Misha realized who, and what, he had agreed to serve.
It was better than Jeff had hoped.
He pulled one of his standard contracts out and offered it to Misha. "Take a look at that, and see if you have any questions." If he knew Misha's former top as well as he thought, Misha would have plenty of them. He doubted Misha had ever seen a contract for his scenes.
Misha's eyes widened as he read. "Is this a standard contract?"
"Pretty much. I customized it for my practice, but yeah. It's standard."
It only took a moment for Misha to scan over it and scratch his answers out in thin, loopy writing. He left the "limitations" section blank, Jeff noted. It made him wonder what that asshole of a top had done to try to get Misha down. Memory of the welts and bruises along Misha's pale back made Jeff's hands clench. It made him want to hit. To hurt the asshole, and show him how pain was really done.
Instead, he took a deep breath and centered down. Let the anger go. It had no place in a scene, no right to touch Misha. Most clients looked at him sideways when he had to stop and ground himself, like he was crazy, but Misha only waited with a patience that said he'd been there himself. When he was calm, he offered Misha his hand. "Shall we?"
Misha curled his fingers against Jeff's, a sweet tangle.
Misha followed him to the room he had set up off the living room as his dungeon. It had been double-soundproofed, and beneath the rich red carpet was a discreet layer of recycled rubber padding. Just because he was a top didn't mean he had to be a dick about it.
The furniture wasn't like anything Misha would have designed, no artistry, but it did the job. As did the painting that took up half the left wall, one of Jeff's best works. Painted in muted colors, it almost looked like a Victorian era scene. At least until you noticed the decidedly modern accouterments.
Misha turned, taking in the furniture and the opposite wall, the gauzy curtains draping a mirror, the shackles that would place him in front of his own reflection. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Jeff saw him take a deep, steadying breath. His respect for Misha doubled.
"Okay," Misha said finally. "Whenever you're ready."
Jeff nodded. "Strip. As far down as you feel comforta--" By the time he glanced over, Misha was naked. Miles of pale unmarked skin, the shading of darker hair up his thighs, framing his half-hard cock. When he saw Jeff looking, Misha shifted on his feet like he might cover himself, then relaxed, letting his hands hang at his sides. Jeff nodded at him, a gesture that did nothing to show the warmth and gratitude that swelled in Jeff's chest at the sign of trust. Misha trusted him, which was more than he'd expected. "Do you want a cock ring?"
For a moment, Misha seemed to consider, then nodded. "Yeah. I like the feeling."
"Latex allergy?"
"No."
"Good." Jeff headed over to the squat cabinet, pulling out a PVC and latex cockring still housed its autoclave package. He offered it to Misha and turned his back while the other man adjusted it properly. While he was trying to keep the mental image of what was going on behind him out of his head, he entertained himself by looking through his array of collars for the perfect one for Misha. Even the softest leather didn't seem right, but he wasn't a velvet collar type either. As he rummaged, his fingers touched cool metal, and Jeff smiled. Perfect.
He hadn't used this particular chain collar yet. It was handmade, courtesy of Ever's jewelry working shop. She'd experimented with titanium and platinum, alternating the links to make a lightweight, durable collar that could be worn as jewelry or for BDSM scenes. It was perfect, and Jeff's fingers suddenly itched to see the dull gleam against Misha's tanned skin.
It wasn't a collar for claiming. It was temporary, a symbol to ground his clients into the scene. Misha wasn't his.
As he turned back, Jeff caught his breath. Misha was kneeling in picture perfect slave position, hands clasped behind him, legs spread the right distance to signal surrender. Those pale eyes were downcast, head tilted down just enough to be submissive, but not enough to be pathetic.
Jeff approached him slowly. "The scene starts when I place the collar around your neck. Safeword?" Of course, he'd had Misha write it out, but it was standard practice to repeat the important information like that.
"Paradigm," Misha replied, the ghost of a smile quirking his mouth.
"Good boy," Jeff murmured. He slid the collar around Misha's neck, hooking the 'O' ring to close the chain. The collar really was one of Ever's finest creations. If he didn't look closely, he'd never know how it opened and closed.
Misha shivered once, then sighed. "Thank you, sir."
Jeff nodded. "Come here."
Misha crawled to him, back arching and flexing as he moved. Again, his form was perfect, but Jeff could see his mind ticking away. Analyzing how to look like he'd submitted without giving anything up. Jeff could see how somebody else might be distracted by the view, and it was gorgeous, but he wasn't giving up an inch.
When Misha reached Jeff, he started to go back into that classic kneeling pose, but Jeff caught his arm. "Up. And give me your wrists." Without waiting, he pulled Misha off-balance and against an upright post, tugging his arms around it and grabbing the thick swath of padded leather. "Keep them together."
Recovering his poise, Misha nodded, holding his arms out straight, wrists touching. Jeff took them, gentle, and smiled. Misha thought he knew what was coming. He wasn't even close. Once he had Misha's wrists bound, he lifted them, looping the end of the leather over a hook to keep him stretched out. The pose would be good for flogging, but he'd get to that later. First, he needed to throw Misha off his game.
The blindfold was made of more heavily padded leather. Misha didn't so much as flinch when Jeff slid it on. It took him a couple of minutes to realize that it had cut off his hearing as well.
That meant no directions. No way of anticipating Jeff's orders. He'd have to wait, and trust; most doms didn't have the patience for that. Most subs didn't, either. Alone in the dark with their circling thoughts, bracing for it, until Jeff was ready to pull them back to him. To him.
Jeff watched Misha battle with himself for a moment, muscles straining tight. Then Misha gave a soft sigh and relaxed, hanging loose in the restraints. Probably willing himself to look relaxed. He'd asked Jeff to put him down, but he'd kept himself from giving in because he didn't trust something he couldn't put in words.
Settling into the nearby chair, Jeff waited for the fault lines to show.
He'd tried to explain it to someone once. How he knew what buttons to push, and when. He'd finally decided that it was one of those things that people had to figure out for themselves. A gift, like painting or woodwork or green eyes. Jeff knew where to press to break someone down, to stop an argument, to convince them to go into rehab or to give Jeremy a refund.
It was a matter of time.
After nearly ten minutes had gone by, Jeff finally saw the opening he was looking for. Misha moved-- barely. The shifting of his weight, the flicker of a muscle. Still, it was enough. Jeff reached over with the edge of a peacock feather, and drew it down Misha's spine. As Misha exhaled, pushed back into it, Jeff brought the crop down smartly on the swell of his ass.
Misha didn't make a sound, but to Jeff, it was loud as a scream. He'd felt that keen and hard, and he was there with Jeff. For Jeff.
With a genuine smile, Jeff went to work.
It took a long run. Misha struggled, back bowing, wrenching against the restraints harder than Jeff would ever pull him. He fought too hard, until he was fighting Jeff and fatigue both, until he finally buckled and sobbed out, "Please."
Jeff ran his hand up the curve of Misha's back, slick with the salt of Misha's sweat. Misha arched against his hand, shuddering, wetness slipping past the sodden cloth of the blindfold.
Jeff finally slid the blindfold off, and Misha didn't resist when Jeff tilted his face up, thumbing the tears away. "It's all right, Misha. You did so good for me. Now touch yourself, baby. Undo the ring and make yourself come for me." Matching his actions to the words, he flicked the catch, and the restraints fell away with a whisper of leather.
He shuddered as Misha leaned into him, resting his cheek on Jeff's thigh, then complied. Misha moaned as the cockring fell away, abused back arching, and tightening his fist around his dick in jerky, wet movements.
"Such a beautiful, good boy," Jeff purred. "Want you to come on your hand and lick those fingers clean. Do you want me to let you finger fuck yourself?"
"Y-yes, sir," Misha whimpered. "If--oh god, may I?"
"Tell me how it feels while you do."
Closing his eyes, Misha raised his fingers to his mouth to suck, still jerking himself. Jeff rested his hand on Misha's throat, gripping a little, and Misha gave a full-body hitch. Tilted further into Jeff's legs, seeking, as he reached around. He seemed blind to the pain, swimming in it. He shuddered deeply as he slipped a finger inside. And fuck, fuck, Jeff wanted to...
"So good," Misha moaned, his voice soft and wrecked. "Hurts."
Jeff brushed the crop over the stinging red skin of Misha's ass lightly, just to watch his eyes fly open and his hips buck. Towards the crop, not away, god help Jeff. "Mmm. Keep going."
The whine caught in Misha's throat, but he managed a wavering, "Thank you."
He jerked himself harder, hips snapping up into his touch. Jeff corded his fingers into Misha's hair and yanked his head back hard, watching his pupils dilate even further. "Come for me."
With another sob, Misha's shoulders shook, and his hand stuttered, slick with spurts of come. His breath came harshly as he milked his cock, working himself through the shudders. His hand slowed, though Jeff hadn't told him to stop. Another time, Jeff thought, with the lazy dark part of him that never stopped watching.
"Clean yourself up," Jeff ordered.
"Yes sir," Misha whispered. He clumsily licked at his hand, cleaning his come off his fingers.
Jeff smiled, loosening his grip on Misha's hair to pet him gently. "Such a good boy, Misha. I'm so proud of you. We're done now, baby."
He offered his hand, helping Misha to his feet and grabbing the soft robe he kept nearby.
Misha whimpered a little as Jeff slid the robe on over his shoulders, and Jeff murmured softly, guiding him over to the overstuffed couch. Misha mostly tilted himself onto the couch, with Jeff helping him onto his side. After a minute of fussing, Misha coughed and tried to turn his face away. "Jeff," he said, voice wrung out.
"Shh, you did good. Let me take care of you, sweetheart." In his line of work, the arnica cream was never far from Jeff's hand. He kept it with the orange juice in the mini-fridge.
Misha took the juice and slurped it greedily, holding it with both shaky hands. Once the glass was empty, he shuddered and pressed his forehead against Jeff's shoulder. "Are we dating?" he said after a while, once Jeff had finished with the cream.
Jeff hesitated. "Mish, you just did a scene--"
"And I don't know my own mind?" Misha asked, mouth quirking up.
Jeff smiled back, running his fingers through the messy spikes of Misha's hair. "Never. You're the most present person I know."
"Yeah, there's my problem." Leaning his head into Jeff's hand, Misha gave him the eyes. "This is taking up my quota of courage for the year, but... I want to be your boyfriend. Can I? Am I?"
"Yes," Jeff said, automatic as breathing. Then he made himself stop and think about it, really think, and he realized his answer was still, "Yes."
Misha let out a long shaky sigh and settled against the curve of Jeff's side. "That's good," he said, and closed his eyes.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 02:32 am (UTC)I'm so glad I read it. I haven't had such an overwhelming, visceral reaction to a story in ages, but I'm sitting here with my chest tight and aching, my heart pounding, my eyes stinging. I haven't scened in years -- the one person I was comfortable enough with to bottom for, to give up control to, isn't in my life any more. But the feelings are still in me, and wow did this bring them up. In fact, it feels sort of like a 'fight or flight' reaction right now, almost panicked, inside me, which is how I know you did a bang-up job with this. *wry grin*
It's just perfect. Under the calm and soothing is a torrent of emotions, and I could FEEL them -- Jeff's and Misha's both.
I think I'm going to have to let myself settle, and then read it again. Because--wow.
Outstanding, and thank you. :) *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-07 11:19 am (UTC)*nods* Yeah, me too. I've never (yet) found anyone I trust enough to give up control to, but the last few fics in this verse have brought home to me, as you say, viscerally, that yes, I want that. Some time.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:04 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-06-05 06:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 07:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 10:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 04:27 pm (UTC)It's not just about the mechanics or logistics of the scene. It's about that power dynamic getting played with by the people in the scene.
Good BDSM stories avoid pathologizing the bottom/sub. I know your stories will never do that. Well written stories show us a reason for any sex scene; it's never just "because I want to read/write about X act." Instead, well-written stories get into the minds of their characters--BDSM or vanilla--in order to figure out why that scene matters to the story, what the characters are doing there, how the whole thing moves plot or characterization forward.
But really good stories, esp. when it comes to sex scenes, avoid formulas and cliches too and give us a perspective we haven't seen before by bringing us characters who are fully formed individuals.
What I liked best about this story are the pieces that do precisely that at the same time that they tell us something about this relationship.
I liked the way that both Jeff and Misha, here, seem to have a different approach from the people around them. The bits about the ways that they ground themselves; the ease with which Jeff reads through Mischa's performance; the implication that I get that Mischa was always looking for a top/dom who would at last see through that and be worthy of genuine submission.
And, last but not least, apparently I have a total narrative kink for someone in a position of privilege who is aware of that privilege and willingly gives some of it up to make the world a better place. As a result, I am gaga over Jeff as a scion of a wealthy family who builds green spaces for artists instead of profiting from the land.
So happy to see this, and even happier to see this at a time that means I can actually come by and comment in depth.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 06:34 pm (UTC)Your disclaimer--Disclaimer: Mere fiction to be had here. Nothing owned, nothing gained.</i--is wrong. I'm kind of blown open here, some new lights have come on, and I, for one think it's more than fiction and I've gained a bunch. Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 08:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 10:29 pm (UTC)I absolutely love this 'verse. Thank you ladies!
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Date: 2010-06-05 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-05 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-07 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-12 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-13 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 04:03 am (UTC)higher heaven
Date: 2010-09-08 05:40 pm (UTC)Misha is very brave and very strong, with a flexibility and resourcefulness that requires patience even in this scene, where he trusts Jeff and wants to submit. It would take a long time to get tired of dancing with him...