RockStarPeach

Title: I Called You Sweetheart
Art: Coming soon, by the wonderful slowsunrise
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Jensen/Misha, implied Misha/Sebastian Roche, slight Jensen/Jared (mostly friendship)
Summary: Jensen and Misha were high school sweethearts, now they’re college sweethearts and they’re well on their way to being sweethearts through finishing grad school, to joining the workforce, to becoming little old men, screaming at kids to get off their lawn. A few weeks ago, though, Jensen messed up. Big time. He let flattery and curiosity and base desire get the better of him and he crossed a line. He cheated.
Now he has to deal with the repercussions of what he’s done, and the possibility that Misha might not be as able to forgive him as he’d hoped.

A/N: Sequel to The First Time (Jensen and Misha meet and fall in love) and Another Thing To Fall (Jensen meets Jared and his relationship with Misha is tested).

MASTERPOST for the 'verse.

***

Jensen bites his lip and stirs the pot of bubbling, red sauce one last time. He sighs as he closes his eyes briefly, then puts the wooden spoon down on the counter and turns the dial until it clicks, to stop the heat. He should probably put a lid on it, but he doesn’t want to deal with the mess in the cupboard to find one. At this point, he doesn’t care that much.

Misha’s not home yet.

He’s an hour later than he said he’d be and the candle on the table is half-way melted and the bottle of wine Jensen had opened at six-thirty is two-thirds finished and the homemade marinara sauce that Jensen has been working on since two o’clock in the afternoon is simmering it’s way to burnt and Misha’s not home yet.

Jensen had packed in his work early this afternoon, even though he knows professor Morgan wants this month’s research notes on his desk by the end of the week and Jensen’s nowhere near finished. His thesis advisor is amazing at what he does, and he’s a pretty cool guy on top of that, but he can be a son of a bitch when he thinks Jensen’s starting to slack off. He makes a note to go into the office early tomorrow, to make up for it.

He got his buddy Ken to cover the office hours he was ditching, but he had to promise that he’d grade Ken’s entire section for him on the intro to psych midterm exam in two weeks. Jensen got the shit end of that deal, for sure, but that’s okay. It was worth it, for tonight. Well, it was supposed to be worth it, anyway.

He’d asked Misha, cleared it with him ahead of time over Pop Tarts Monday morning and told him he had something special planned; not for any reason, just because. Because Jensen does that kind of thing for Misha. He always has, but neither of them could deny there was more weight to the simple request this time, something heavy and wordless pressing down on them. And Misha said yes, said he’d be there, just like that last two times. Didn’t quite meet Jensen’s eyes and didn’t quite smile and said he’d be there.

It’s eight o’clock now and Misha’s not home yet.

Jensen honestly can’t decide whether Misha’s doing it on purpose or not. This quiet, passive-aggressive revenge isn’t Misha’s style at all; he’s usually pretty straightforward about what he wants, what he’s feeling, but Jensen can’t help but feel that he’s being punished. The bitch of it is, he can’t even be angry, not really.

Well, okay, he can, technically. He even is, a little. But he knows he deserves it, so he’ll never say so.

Not even when nine o’clock comes and goes and Jensen finishes off the wine and cooks enough pasta for just himself, not when the clock strikes ten and the candle wax has melted over the scratched wood of the kitchen table and the flame has gone out. Not when the lights are off and the stove has cooled and Jensen is curled up alone on the couch watching Ace Ventura.

And Jensen hates that movie, only picked it out tonight because it’s one of Misha’s favourites.

Jensen doesn’t even say a word when Misha comes in sometime after midnight, closing the door quietly behind him, like he’s hoping not to disturb Jensen. Like he’s hoping Jensen is already asleep.

“Oh,” Misha says when he walks through the living room on his way to the bedroom. He doesn’t look disappointed, which Jensen supposes is something, just surprised. “You’re still up.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, sitting up a little, fighting back a yawn. “Leftovers in the fridge, if you want.”

He doesn’t ask where Misha was and Misha doesn’t offer an explanation.

“I’m alright,” Misha says with a quick shake of his head. “Thanks. I’m just gonna head to bed.”

“Yeah,” Jensen answers, holds his breath like he wants to say more, but he honestly doesn’t know what. They should talk. Hell, they need to talk, whether they want to or not because when Misha told Jensen that they’d work things through, he clearly had a longer timeframe in mind than Jensen did. And that’s fine, it is, but Jensen’s ready to at least get started, here. He can’t do it alone, though. “Okay.”

Misha nods and turns, walks down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. Jensen considers following for all of a second, but quickly decides against it.

Misha clearly needs more time. It’s only been a few weeks, after all.

Three weeks since Jensen fucked up in a spectacular way. 22 days since a cocky freshman with too much charm for his own good managed to fuck with Jensen’s head enough that he thought cheating on his boyfriend of eight fucking years, not to mention taking advantage of one of his students, was in any way a good idea.

Five hundred and thirty-two hours since Jensen risked everything good in his life for five damn minutes of ego-boosting head.

Three weeks since he swore to do whatever it takes to earn back Misha’s trust.

He listens to the water run in the bathroom, listens the toilet flush and the door open and he hears the bedroom floor squeak as Misha walks to the bed.

He closes his eyes and pictures his boyfriend stripping out of his clothes, leaving them in a crumpled up pile on the floor as he climbs under the covers. He thinks about being there next to him, curling his arms around Misha and holding him close, telling him he loves him and begging forgiveness, again.

Jensen can’t handle any more rejection tonight though, so he just closes his eyes and grips the couch cushion in his hands, until he falls into a restless sleep.

***

Things aren’t great.

Actually, that’s an understatement. ‘Not great’ was that time Misha was pissed off at him for painting the bedroom green instead of blue and he withheld his culinary skills in retaliation, so Jensen had to live off Hungry Man dinners for two weeks. Or the month after they had their first argument when Misha was away at college and Jensen couldn’t even apologise properly because he was stuck back in high school, hundreds of miles away.

‘Not great’ was a few weeks last year when the sex just got incredibly bad for some unknown reason, right around the time Misha’s cousin got married. ‘Not great’ was the summer before Misha started grad school and couldn’t find a job and they had to get by on Jensen’s minimum wage at the school library.

‘Not great’, Jensen can handle.

But this? What’s going on right now? Is a hell of a lot worse than ‘not great’.

They’re four weeks in, now, ‘the fourth week of penance’, Jensen calls it in his head, sing-song melody accompanying the words and driving the guilt in deeper. He’d never imagined this for them, not even for a second.

They’re Jensen and Misha, they’ve been sickeningly perfect since Jensen was in tenth grade and they should have stayed that way, forever. Jensen’s got it all planned out, has for years now. Jensen proposes – the 126th time – and Misha says yes and they buy a house and get a dog and grow old together and kiss each other goodnight, every night, for the rest of their lives.

He’s never imagined a different future for them, not once.

Never imagined his eye wandering. Never imagined following through on it, never imagined getting a blow job from a student in his office while Misha was waiting for him in their bed, blissfully unaware. Never thought he’d stray, after he’d found the love of his life.

Never thought Misha would forgive him for it.

But he did. Said he did, anyway. Told Jensen he wanted to try. Try to forgive him and try to start over and he promised love and second chances and he promised to make Jensen earn them both. And Jensen intends to, still, no matter what it takes.

So yeah, Jensen’s willing to do his time. He’s the one that fucked up here, he’s the one that betrayed Misha’s trust and it’s his responsibility to get it back. Despite his incredibly poor judgement, he’s committed. Committed to Misha, to loving him for the rest of his life, to being his partner.

It’s a commitment that Misha shared once. Will again. Jensen won’t let them end up any other way.

***

Misha left him, for three days. Hardest three days of Jensen’s life, and when he finally walked through the door, told Jensen they’d be okay, Jensen was scared it was too good to be true.

For the first week or so after Misha came home, to their tiny one-bedroom, just a step above student housing, he slept on the couch. On the sixth night Jensen offered to take the couch instead (this whole thing is his fault after all) but Misha told him not to be ridiculous and finally came to bed, with Jensen.

He kept to his own side that night. He has every night since and Jensen’s careful not to touch him, even though he wants nothing more. Misha is right there, lying next to him, all sleep-tousled and gorgeous and Jensen’s heart aches from want but he can’t do anything about it. Can’t do anything but his best to give Misha the space he needs.

And he tries to. Damn, he tries, but even Jensen has his limits and with Misha dressed up in a tight t-shirt and a pair of jeans that hug his curves in a way designed to drive people crazy, it’s no wonder that Jensen reacts. It’s not his fault. Five weeks of tension and quiet and unrequited need are driving Jensen slowly crazy so really, it’s not his fault when he pushes, just a little.

“Where are you going?” he asks when Misha comes out of the bedroom, late in the afternoon and heads straight for the front door. He looks so good Jensen nearly chokes on his tongue, too good for any sort of occasion that doesn’t start and end with sexual impression, but Jensen deserves that.

“Out,” Misha says. “Justin is having some people over and I thought I’d drop by.”

“Don’t,” Jensen tells him, a plea, an order, a hope. He hates how desperate he sounds, but he supposes Misha deserves to hear it. He is desperate, after all. “Stay home tonight. I miss you.”

It’s a few seconds before Misha responds. They’re strained and tense and Jensen thinks for a moment that Misha will do as he asks, that he’ll stay home and they’ll talk and they’ll cry and they’ll kiss and make up and fuck each other to sleep.

“I won’t be late,” is what Misha says, choked out words breaking off Jensen’s fantasy. “I promised I’d… I won’t be late.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Jensen tells him, frowns and just barely stops himself from reaching out to grab hold of Misha, to curl his fingers around Misha’s wrists and pull him close, keep him in the apartment forever. It’s an effort, goes against his every instinct, staying away like this. Every single fibre of his being is telling him to hold Misha, to touch, kiss, hold his hand and take him in his arms.

It’s been so easy for so long, the casual way they slide together, morning kisses and thighs brushing while they eat and legs entangled while they sleep. It’s second nature and to not have that – it’s startling, abrupt and it hits him, hard.

“Have fun. Really, have fun. I’ll be here.”

Misha opens his mouth, sucks down a large gulp of air and frowns. Jensen watches his hand open and close, twitch at his side and Jensen knows he’s fighting the urge to reach forward, to grab hold just like Jensen is.

“I know this is hard on you, Jensen,” Misha tells him. “It’s not any easier on me. And I’m not trying to punish you, I just… need time.”

Misha doesn’t look back when he steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

***

Three days later, a Saturday with the pressure of parties and papers due and assignments to grade, is the first day that Jensen actually convinces Misha to stay put.

“Please,” he says, tugs at Misha’s hand as he walks past where Jensen is sitting on the couch. Misha pauses, looks down at him and Jensen squeezes his hand a little tighter.

“I know I… Just give me a chance. Please.”

There’s a terse second when Jensen thinks Misha is just going to continue on to the kitchen, but in the end, he gives in to Jensen’s gentle tug. He doesn’t let go of Jensen’s hand when he sits down next to him, smiles a crooked smile and threads their fingers together, palms pressed tight..

“You’re not the only one with work to do, you know,” Misha says, but his voice is soft, without much actual protest. “I have a class that wants to know whether or not they’re likely to fail the first semester, too.”

And arguably a more important class. Misha grades papers for a graduate level sociology class, something he’ll probably do even after he has the doctorate he’s scheduled to receive next year. He honestly loves it, unlike Jensen, who only works as a teaching assistant because they couldn’t afford to survive without the pay.

“If you really need to go…”

“No,” Misha shakes his head, surprising Jensen. “No, I’ll stay. I want to.”

Jensen smiles as he calls for pizza (mushroom and black olive – Misha’s favourite) and two hours later the pizza is finished and so is Temple of Doom and Misha is sitting close enough on the couch that Jensen has his arm wrapped comfortably around his shoulders.

Misha’s stiff under his embrace. Jensen’s stiff too (and not in the good way) and as the credits roll Jensen sucks in a fortifying breath, reaches his free hand up to cup Misha’s jaw. Misha twists slightly towards him, curls his mouth up at the corner and he’s pliant, seemingly willing under Jensen when Jensen presses their mouths together.

Pliant isn’t exactly what Jensen is going for, but when he presses, opens his mouth and encourages Misha to do the same, Misha goes along. He does what he’s told, he does what Jensen wants but he doesn’t do anything else. Doesn’t do that thing with his tongue that always drives Jensen crazy and his fingers don’t clench tight around Jensen’s arms. He doesn’t pull Jensen down on top of him and he doesn’t grab hold and not let go.

He’s willing. Perfectly willing to do whatever it is Jensen desires but he's not making any demands of his own. And Misha? Misha always makes demands.

When Jensen angles them, lowers Misha so that he’s flat on his back with Jensen over top of him and Jensen’s hand down his pants, Misha just spreads his legs, invites Jensen in further.

Which ordinarily would get Jensen rock hard, turn his knees to jelly and set his hips in a mindless, needy rhythm. Ordinarily Misha would smirk up at him and dare him to go further, press harder. Ordinarily Misha would go lax with the anticipation of pleasure and coax Jensen into losing any and all ability for higher brain function.

But now…

Now Misha doesn’t even meet his eyes, just lets himself be positioned and handled, doesn’t complain when Jensen strips off his shirt but doesn’t help either and when Jensen’s got both their pants halfway over their hips, with no help from his boyfriend, he stops.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for what’s probably the hundredth time. He tucks them both back in when he realises Misha’s not even hard and he presses four desperate kisses to Misha’s jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Misha tells him. He gives him a hollow smile when they both sit up straight and they wait for the DVD to loop back around to the menu screen before Misha follows Jensen into the bedroom and they fall asleep on their own sides of the bed.

Funny, Jensen wasn’t even sure until all this started that they actually had sides.

***

Three days later Misha does make it home in time for dinner.

Jensen reheats the chilli that Misha cooked yesterday and they smile at each other awkwardly over the table and Jensen refills Misha’s wine glass and Misha wipes a dab of red sauce from the corner of Jensen’s mouth with his thumb.

And when Jensen leans in, when he catches Misha’s thumb between his teeth and when he chases the soft pad with his tongue, when he leans in and presses his lips to Misha’s lips… Misha pulls back. He looks at Jensen with watery eyes, on the verge of something – tears, speech, Jensen’s not quite sure because he never makes it there – and he picks up their empty dinner plates, brings them into the kitchen.

He dumps them into the sink and Jensen steps up behind him, wraps his arms around Misha’s shoulders and kisses the side of Misha’s neck until he relaxes, until he falls back into Jensen’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen whispers. “Misha…”

Misha places his hands over Jensen’s around his waist and again, he follows Jensen into their bed. Again, they sleep stiffly, uneasily, careful not to get too close.

***

After that Misha is… not better, just maybe more receptive.

Like he’s making an effort as well, which Jensen appreciates, he really, really does. Especially considering Jensen is the one with something to prove here. But his attentiveness, his affection, the way he does the laundry and the dishes and the grocery shopping and goes out of his way to accommodate Misha’s schedule and his taste in television and his boundaries… That can only go so far if Misha’s not around to appreciate it. To see that Jensen loves him still, always.

Misha eats with Jensen more often than not, now. He watches television with Jensen, opens up for Jensen when his hands wander and his lips go soft and easy under Jensen’s, every time. He stays home when Jensen asks, says ‘that sounds nice’ like he means it and then he curls up in bed, turns his back to Jensen and lets him touch how he pleases, doesn’t react but for the occasional perfunctory gasp.

Jensen doesn’t want to touch, not really, not like this, but he does it anyway. It’s not like he thinks he can fuck Misha back into loving him like he used to, but he’s desperate enough to try anything. If they’re physically intimate, maybe the emotional will follow.

When it’s dark and quiet and Jensen officially gives up on taking things any further than some light groping, he holds Misha’s face in his palm and he presses his forehead to Misha’s. It’s always a few seconds before Misha leans forward and kisses him.

Misha still won’t let Jensen hold him while they sleep.

***

Jensen’s late on Wednesday.

He has class until three in the afternoon and he’s got office hours until 5:30 and the bus ride is only about fifteen minutes, so he’s usually home by six. He has to stay late today though. He has a few students in his office who need some direction on their group term project and it’s not until Jensen’s stomach starts to rumble that he looks at the clock and realises it’s nearly seven.

He politely ushers the students out of his office, tells them to come back on Friday if they need any more help, but before he can grab his bag and head out the door, Morgan comes in. He reminds Jensen that they needed to get the abstract finished for the paper they’re submitting for publication (Jensen’s not even done compiling the data yet, so Morgan is cracked if he thinks they’re going to publish before three or four months at the earliest) so they spend a while ‘discussing’ his progress.

He’s having a hard time really caring about the effects of extraneous visual input on ingrained muscle memory at the moment, so he has to admit he’s further behind than he’d like to be. Which means he’s going to be working late for a while.

Once that hell is over with he makes his way to the bus stop and runs into a friend of his along the way. Mike is hungry, it turns out, so they decide to head to the campus diner and grab some burgers. Milkshakes and fries and a salad (because Misha has this thing about eating enough veggies that Jensen has adopted, despite himself) but mostly burgers.

They’re good; the campus diner always has good food and Jensen and Mike take their time. Jensen doesn’t really have much to hurry home for, these days. He wipes the grease from his chin and washes down a mouthful of lettuce with some chocolaty goodness and he listens to Mike tell him all about the date he went on last weekend and how hot the girl was.

He goes into a little too much detail, but Jensen lives secretly, vicariously, and doesn’t mention his own problems in the romance department. He’s hoping he won’t ever have to. It’s none of anyone’s business. Besides, it’s a non-issue, given that everything will be okay again in no time.

He finally gets home at around half past ten and Misha is sitting on the living room couch, reading.

“Hey,” he says, after he’s toed off his shoes and made his way down the hall, dropping his school bag next to the couch.

“Hey,” Misha says back, looking up at him and closing his bookmark between two pages, to hold his place. “You’re late.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Long day, man. I’m beat.”

“I expected you earlier. You could have called.”

Jensen frowns, furrows his brow at his boyfriend and then turns his head to the side to look into the kitchen, half expecting to see the remnants of an over-cooked roast and a romantic table setting for two. All he sees is two empty beer bottles on the counter and a single plate in the sink, probably from Misha heating up some of the lasagne left over from a few days ago.

“I… could have,” he agrees, still confused. But he didn’t even think of it. He’s never thought of it, really. Neither has Misha, when he’s late. It’s just not something they do. They come and go as they please, unless they have specific plans. Sure, if he was planning on taking off for a few days to hit up Vegas with his buddies he’d let Misha know so he didn’t worry (and after Misha’s impromptu trip to New Orleans a couple years back to help rebuild, Misha knows to return the favour).

So the look he’s currently getting makes no sense. The air of false aloofness, disappointment and… Oh, right. Suspicion. Now he gets it. It grates. He deserves it, he knows, but it grates.

Things are different now. A few weeks ago Jensen could have stayed out all night, come home in the morning in wrinkled clothes, smelling of booze and sweat. Misha would have smiled, teased him that he’d thought Jensen was a good boy and then fucked him so hard he had trouble getting out of bed the rest of the day.

But that was a few weeks ago. Back before… before Jensen cheated. It sucks to even think the words, but that’s what happened and he has to own up to it. And in light of that, of the fact that Misha is the awesomest boyfriend in the history of ever and didn’t dump his ass on the spot, Jensen needs to take his lumps.

He needs to be better. Twice as good as before. Needs to be thoughtful and considerate and let Misha know when he’s even going to be a minute later than usual. Needs to call him all the time so Misha knows where he is and what he’s doing and knows that what he’s not doing is a cute freshman with a shy smile and perfect hands. Misha used to trust him, but Jensen has shown them both that that’s not the case anymore.

He’d been stupid to think that Misha would get over it, just like that.

“Sorry,” he says, trying for a smile. He sits down on the couch, puts more than a foot of space between himself and Misha. “You’re right, sorry. I got stuck late at work. Office hours ran long…”

“I’ll bet,” Misha mumbles and Jensen’s mouth snaps shut, the rest of his explanation cut short.

“Misha,” he says instead. “That’s not…” Not what happened, not this time. He hasn’t seen Jared since the party at Justin’s last month, since Misha found out what happened between them and Jared followed through on his plan to switch into a different tutorial section, so Jensen wasn’t his TA anymore.

Misha just raises his eyebrows, stares Jensen down until Jensen hunches over and his knees become incredibly fascinating. Fuck, he’s good at that.

“I had to work late,” he says, looking up again after several seconds of silence. “Then I grabbed some supper with Mike. Then I came home. I’ll call next time. I promise.”

“No,” Misha says, shaking his head and then ducking it with a self-deprecating smirk. “No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer to me. I should never have said that. You’re free to do as you like.”

“Misha,” Jensen pleads, reaching across the space between them to grab one of Misha’s hands between both of his own. “If that’s what you need from me, I’ll give it. I’ll call you every five minutes if it’ll help. Just tell me what I have to do to get you trust me again. Because if you can’t, then we’re just kidding ourselves that we’re gonna be okay.”

“Maybe we are kidding ourselves,” Misha says.

He’s up and off the couch in a heartbeat, down the hall and into the bedroom while Jensen’s mouth hangs open, the ‘no’ he’s sure he should have answered, dried and dead on his lips.

***

Friday evening, Jensen beats Misha home with time to spare. He’s not a good cook, never pretended to be, so he stops by the deli on the corner and picks them up some sandwiches, a nice bottle of wine, a dozen of Misha’s favourite caramel toffee cookies and as the cashier is ringing him up, he grabs a bouquet of roses from the stand next to him.

Misha eats his sandwich, follows it up with two of the cookies and two glasses of wine and he smiles at Jensen, tells him ‘thank you’ when Jensen hands him the flowers.

He lets Jensen rub up against him later that night in their bed, body stiff in Jensen’s arms until Jensen gives up, presses a lingering kiss to Misha’s temple and rolls back to his own side.

***

Jensen’s not sure what it is that wakes him up.

A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s half past four in the morning, but he immediately knows that Misha’s not asleep, either. His breathing is a little too shallow, too rapid. He’s curled in on himself, facing away from Jensen and his shoulders are too high, trembling slightly, his fist curled tightly in the loose material of his pillow case.

“Misha?” Jensen whispers, his voice rough and scratchy from sleep. He puts a tentative hand on Misha’s hip and Misha flinches, sucks in a sharp breath and goes still. “Hey, you okay?”

Jensen doesn’t know what he was expecting, but when Misha rolls over onto his back and turns his head in Jensen’s direction, Jensen can see through the dim light filtering in through their curtains from the street that Misha’s face is carefully blank. His breathing has slowed, his body is still. Jensen thinks that his eyes might be a little bloodshot and the skin on his cheeks seems a little patchier than normal, but he can’t be sure.

“Why did you do it?”

Misha’s voice is sudden and clear, steady. Jensen clears his throat, mostly to buy himself some time, because he truly doesn’t know how to answer that. To be honest, he’s sort of been going out of his way to not think about it.

“Don’t just tell me you’re sorry,” Misha says and okay, there goes Jensen’s go to, when he has no idea what to say. “I know that already. I need to know why you did it. I need to know what you were thinking, what went wrong between us that you thought it was a good idea. I need to know if…”

If it will happen again. Misha doesn’t need to say it out loud; Jensen knows what he means.

“I didn’t…” Jensen starts, takes a breath and licks his lips. “It wasn’t a good idea. I never thought it was and I… I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Your pants accidentally fell off?” Misha asks, and even though his face is still eerily blank, there’s the slightest teasing lilt in his tone.

Jensen huffs a puff of air out through his nose and sits up a little straighter. Sleep is still curling around the edges of his mind, making things a little foggy and this isn’t a conversation he wants to have even when he’s at his best.

“He asked me out,” Jensen confesses, then immediately rushes to add, “I said no. I mean I wasn’t… It was only that once, and I swear I didn’t plan it. But he asked me out. A lot.”

“You mentioned he had a crush on you,” Misha says softly. “And I could tell that you liked him, too, but I thought… it was harmless.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees and swallows around a lump in his throat. “I did, too. It was supposed to be. But then… Shit, Misha, I don’t even know. He didn’t know about you. I didn’t tell him I had a boyfriend. I guess I liked the attention, or… I don’t know. It’s been you. It’s always been you and only you and I like that. I didn’t ever want that to change, not really, but...”

“But what?” Misha prompts. “Am I not what you want anymore?”

He doesn’t sound angry, just sad and Jensen feels that pain like it’s his own.

“No,” he says, short and biting, almost a growl because no. “Don’t think that. Please, don’t think that. I was… flattered. I guess, I mean yeah, I was a little curious about… You’re the only person I’ve ever been with and sometimes I wonder… But I swear, I was never going to let it get as far as it did.”

Only now, he’s second guessing himself. Because he had plenty of time to tell Jared that he was spoken for, plenty of opportunity to make sure Jared knew he was off-limits. Sure, he told Jared no, plenty of times, told him to give it up, it wasn’t going to happen. But on some level, when Jensen met with him late at night, alone in his office, he knew where things were headed.

“Or hell,” he decides to admit, because even if he doesn’t want to say it out loud, Misha deserves complete honesty. “Maybe I knew it all along and just didn’t want to think it was true. But it was a mistake. I know I should have handled the whole situation differently. Because you are what I want. You’re exactly what I want and it was just some sort of… temporary insanity, or something.”

Misha is quiet, doesn’t say anything for so long that Jensen just keeps on talking, to fill the silence.

“I told him I wasn’t interested. I must have told him a dozen times, but I guess he could tell I enjoyed the flirting or something, because he just blew it off, didn’t believe me. Thought I was playing hard to get. And then that night, he was flirting a little more, coming on a little stronger and I just… I just let him. I know I should have stopped him, but…”

I’m sorry is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Misha doesn’t want to hear that right now.

It’s another tense few moments before Misha says “okay,” and turns his back to Jensen, adjusting the blanket around his waist.

“Wait,” Jensen says. “What? Okay?”

Misha sighs and twists so that he can look at Jensen again, but by his posture it’s pretty clear he thinks the conversation is over.

“Thank you, Jensen,” he says. “For telling me that. But I’m not sure what to say, what to think right now. So… goodnight.”

“I…” Jensen starts, but really, he doesn’t have much of a choice here. “Yeah. Night.”

Misha nods and rolls back over and Jensen spends the next three hours staring at the ceiling.

***

On Thursday Jensen asks Misha to go out with him, dinner and a movie, like they haven’t done in months.

Misha looks at him a little funny, but he agrees.

He opens his mouth as if to argue when Jensen suggests he pick the movie. Jensen never does that, mostly because Jensen hasn’t liked a movie since Lord of the Rings and he always wants to go to the theatre that only screens classics. Hell, they usually spend more time fighting over what movie to see than they do actually watching whatever movie it is they finally decide on. Not this time, though, but that appears to be Jensen’s second mistake.

His first is that Jensen doesn’t ask Misha where he wants to eat, just drives to his favourite pizza place, even though the crust is too thick and it drives Jensen crazy.

“We could have gone to Lee Ho Fook’s,” Misha tells him. It’s pretty much Jensen’s favourite place to eat out, but it’s not often he gets the chance. Too much MSG, Misha always tells him. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

Jensen frowns at that but doesn’t engage. He’s pretty sure that no matter what he says, it’s going to be the wrong thing. Shit, he just wishes he didn’t have to care, wishes their entire relationship wasn’t under this fucked up microscope.

“Extra large with mushroom and black olive?” Jensen asks, raising his hand to signal their waiter.

Misha doesn’t answer, but he eats more than half and he chooses the movie and lets Jensen suck him off, when they’re under the covers with the lights out.

***

Saturday and Tuesday and Wednesday, Misha doesn’t come home.

He tells Jensen about it, says he’s staying with Justin because it’s closer to campus or they were hanging out and time got away from them or he’s too lazy to make the trip. Jensen smiles a strained smile into the phone and says it’s fine even though it’s not.

***

On Monday they play Scrabble.

Jensen wins.

***

Jensen steps out of the bathroom, wet and nearly naked on Friday. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist after his shower and he’s rubbing a smaller towel – the one with the picture of Elvis on it that Misha gave him for Christmas last year – through the wet spikes of hair on his head. He doesn’t have his glasses on or his contacts in, watches the world all hazy and soft around the edges, so when he steps into the bedroom, sees Misha laid out, naked and face down on top of the blankets, he thinks for a second he’s imagining it.

“Misha?” he asks quietly, after his first two attempts at speech fail, abysmally.

Misha cranes his neck, tilts his head to look at Jensen. He smiles a little, not false, not forced but not right, either. It’s too tight, too high, his eyes too sloped. He pushes up onto one elbow, bends one knee and slides it up the bed slightly, spreading his legs.

He licks his lips. It’s not sexy or flirtatious, just an unconscious motion. The dry, cracked skin needs moisture and his nerves are working overtime and he shimmies a little, gets comfortable and then pointedly raises one eyebrow.

Two months ago, Jensen would be so far inside by now that Misha would be able to taste him. But it’s not two months ago and Jensen doesn’t really know what this means.

“Well?” Misha prompts, when Jensen just stands there, Elvis towel held limply in his right hand. “If you don’t want to fuck, that’s fine. I have some reading I need to catch up on. I mean, it’s a little embarrassing, what with me throwing myself at you like this, but it’s fine.”

Misha’s lips are turning up at the corner, playing it off as a joke but his eyes are flat and his voice wavers. His hands are curled tight around the pillow under his head and the muscles in his legs are taut, like he’s ready to flee. He’s, shutting down, shutting Jensen out and Jensen wants to stop it, he needs to stop it, before it’s too late. This is the first advance Misha has made on him since things went bad and Jensen’s not about to waste it, no matter that it feels too fast, no matter that Misha looks like he might bolt if Jensen so much as touches him.

It’s his chance, maybe his only chance to show Misha that they’re not as broken as he thinks they are. Show Misha that they’re still good together, that Jensen still loves him, that he’ll always love him and that they can fix this, get them back to them.

Misha’s always responded pretty well to the more physical methods of communication.

“It’s been a while. Maybe you should buy me dinner first,” Jensen jokes. He needs to lighten the mood, because holy shit he doesn’t want to fuck this up. And really, there’s a pretty high chance of that, given his track record as of late. Plus, you know. It has been a while. He’s almost worried he won’t be good at it anymore.

Misha doesn’t say anything for a long time. Well, it’s probably only about ten seconds but it feels a hell of a lot longer than that to Jensen. Jensen’s tentative smile fades and he shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. It’s cold in the room, he suddenly realises and he shivers, feels the chill acutely where the tiny beads of water are still clinging to his skin.

“Um…” he says, thinks maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. He’s about to reach out to the dresser at his right to grab whatever clothes he can find and retreat to the bathroom to get dressed, but then Misha’s body relaxes all at once.

He seems to almost visibly deflate, all the vibrancy and life that Jensen’s used to so far gone now that he’s not even pretending anymore.

Misha lowers his eyes for barely a second before he looks right at Jensen and whispers, “I miss you.”

Jensen opens his mouth to answer, to tell Misha he misses him too, that he loves him, that he’s sorry, but the words catch in his throat when his eyes start to water, so instead he just lets out a choked off gasp. His heart is pounding and his fingers shake when he drops one towel to the floor and then the second. His steps are slow and unsteady as Misha watches him cross to the bed and Misha jolts under his touch when he stretches out next to him with a hand on his lower back.

“Sorry,” Jensen whispers, letting his eyes fall shut. He doesn’t move his hand though and after only a moment Misha sighs deeply and relaxes under his touch. “Roll over,” he says, sliding his hand to Misha’s hip and tugging slightly. He wants to look Misha in the eye for this, wants to see him smile, bite his lip. He wants to watch Misha come apart for him and he wants to put him back together with pieces of Jensen inside, so he’ll always be there.

But, Misha doesn’t roll. Instead he shakes his head once, lifts his bent knee even higher and says, “like this,” as he rocks his ass sideways against Jensen’s groin.

No, Jensen thinks, not like this at all, because like this Jensen can’t hold Misha’s face in his hand and he can’t suck at the hollow of Misha’s throat and he can’t feel Misha’s legs around his waist and arms around his ribs, holding him tight. And he can’t kiss him, all slow and sloppy and feel Misha gasp and moan into his mouth.

And those are some of Jensen’s very favourite things about sex.

“Yeah, okay,” is what he says, pressing a light kiss to the tip of Misha’s spine. He settles closer, rolls so that he’s half on top of him and slots one leg between Misha’s. He slips his hand forward then, curls it over the sharp jut of Misha’s hipbone and then down, rubs it gently over his thigh and then pauses.

With his other arm he props himself up to get some leverage and rocks slowly against Misha’s body, presses his dick to the soft flesh of Misha’s ass cheek. It’s not hard yet, he’s too nervous for that, but the contact is helping.

“God, Misha,” he whispers against the warm skin of Misha’s neck, breathes into Misha’s ear in soft puffs as he moves his hips in slow circles. Misha sucks in a sharp breath when Jensen’s knee shifts up and presses into his balls, and he tilts his hips back to increase the pressure.

Jensen moves his hand then, from Misha’s thigh upward. His touch is light, his fingertips barely skimming across Misha’s skin, tickling the hair until they reach the base of Misha’s cock. He’s hard already, which is a good sign. Jensen curls a fist around him and closes his teeth down gently over Misha’s shoulder as he starts to jack him up and down, just a little pressure from both his teeth and his fingers.

He loosens his grip on the down stroke, knuckles brushing Misha’s sac. He tightens them again on the way up, squeezing just under the crown to coax out enough pre-come to make the glide a little easier. Misha is warm under him, breathing heavy and deep. Jensen’s hard now, too, but he almost doesn’t care about that.

Misha feels so good in his hand, so good in his arms that he sort of wants to finish him off just like this. Curl up around him when it’s over and not let go.

But Misha reaches down and grabs his wrist, pulls him away and presses two small packets into his hand.

“Do it,” he says, drawing himself up onto his hands and knees.

Jensen is too stunned by what he’s holding to comment on the fact that he doesn’t want to just ‘do it’. He wants to take his time and do it right, but he’s holding a fucking condom and his brain is sort of short circuiting.

The thing is, Jensen is twenty-three years old and he’s never once used a condom in his life. Misha is the only person he’s ever been with, so they were never very worried about disease before.

The fact that Misha went out and bought some, that… Well, Jensen doesn’t even know what to think about that. It’s a good idea, he supposes. At least from Misha’s perspective, since Misha was pretty adamant about not wanting the details about what happened between Jensen and Jared. Which is good, because that would have been one hell of an awkward conversation.

The downside is, Misha doesn’t know that the chances of Jensen catching anything from that encounter are pretty damn slim. Still, it’s possible Jared has herpes or… syphilis or some shit that you can catch from someone’s mouth, so yeah, condoms are probably a solid idea for a while.

But Misha actually thought about this enough to go out and buy some protection and now Jensen is holding one of the things in his hand and he feels like the biggest asshole on the planet because they wouldn’t need one if he could just keep it in his pants. Misha would still be able to look him the eye when they fucked and he’d still randomly wake Jensen up with blow jobs and pancakes in the middle of the night, if Jensen had been stronger.

“Do you need help?” Misha asks and Jensen jerks his head up to see Misha looking back at him over his shoulder. It’s probably been a little too long that he’s just been staring down at the condom like a dumbass.

“I…” he starts. Misha doesn’t sound angry or condescending, just honestly curious, like maybe Jensen really does need help. “No, I… No.”

He puts the lube down and tears open the wrapper, pulls the condom out delicately with his thumb and index finger. He might not have ever done this before, but he’s seen it happen, in school and in porn. Besides, it’s really pretty self-explanatory.

It feels weird going on. Tight, but not necessarily in a good way. It’s not bad, it’s just… different. He rolls it all the way down and once it’s on he can’t really feel it anymore, so he gives himself a few experimental tugs, just to see what it’s going to be like.

Misha kind of likes it, he told Jensen once. Misha has never used a condom either, out of necessity, but he got curious and bought a pack years ago, before they even started sleeping together and he used them to jerk off.

Misha looks away again once Jensen is ready and lowers himself to his elbows.

“Do it,” he says again.

This time Jensen reaches for the lube he just put down and this is something he’s very familiar with. He flips the cap and coats his fingers easily, inches forward to press his hand to Misha’s ass, slippery fingers sliding in between his cheeks. He runs the tip of one around Misha’s hole, slowly pressing it in and his dick jumps when the tight ring of muscle flutters and twitches around him.

He lets out a low moan and bends slightly, cups his free hand around Misha’s ribs as he bends to press a kiss to Misha’s spine, works in a second finger. He pumps them in and out, in and out, twists them and kisses Misha again. He’s used a lot of lube, so Misha’s definitely slick enough but Jensen wants to go slow, work him open so good and long that Misha’s begging for it, by the end.

Misha starts to buck up against Jensen’s hand after a few minutes, impatient little jerks of his hips, so Jensen fucks him with his fingers a few more times and then slides them out. He grabs the lube and squeezes out some more into his palm, quickly works it over his shaft so that he’s ready and then reaches for Misha again. He smiles a little to himself as his fingers easily sink right back inside, and he starts to stretch him all over again.

Honestly, there are times when Jensen could do this for hours, just play with Misha like this, tease him and keep them both on edge, but this isn’t one of those times. Misha doesn’t think so either.

“I’m ready,” he says, the words sharp and tight. “Do it.”

He’s losing patience now, so Jensen cuts his exploration short and lines his dick up behind Misha, pushes in in one easy slide. It’s always so easy, between them, like their bodies were made for each other, like they know exactly what to do, even if their hearts don’t.

He shudders when he hits home, when his hips fit snug up against Misha and he leans down to wrap his arms further around Misha’s front. He moves slow, rocks his hips in shallow, rolling motions so he doesn’t have to pull away, so he can touch, press his lips to Misha’s skin and trace the lines of Misha’s ribs with his tongue.

“Harder,” Misha says and Jensen closes his eyes. Misha likes ‘harder’, Jensen knows that. He also likes ‘slower’ and ‘faster’ and ‘upside down’. Misha likes pretty much everything. Still, ‘harder’ isn’t really what Jensen wants to hear right now.

“In a minute,” Jensen says, and grips Misha’s cock in his slippery fist. He strokes him a few times, slow to match the rhythm of his hips, tries to hold Misha tight enough to him that they’ll be okay again. “Give me a minute.”

“I don’t want…” Misha says. He sounds choked and raw, like he’s on the verge of tears but he’s pissed as hell about it. “Jensen, just do it. I just need to fuck right now, okay? Please.”

And that’s not at all the kind of begging Jensen had in mind.

“Sure,” Jensen says quietly, then clears his throat. He kneels up straighter and the hand that’s not wrapped around Misha’s cock moves across his body to settle over his hip, curls over it to keep him in place. “Yeah, okay.”

He moves faster now, perfunctory almost, hand skimming up and down Misha’s erection with a monotonous slap slap slap while Misha pushes back even harder to meet him.

They’ve fucked slow before, hours just rocking against each other, taking breaks just to make out, still tangled together before pushing each other to the brink, only to stop again. They’ve fucked fast – twenty-five seconds is their record – frantic and desperate for each other with Jensen’s pants around his knees and his face pressed against the inside of their front door.

This is like neither of those. This is what Jensen used to imagine sex would be like with someone who isn’t Misha. It’s going through the motions and it’s feeling his fingers warm where Misha’s spunk coats them and it’s the tight feeling in his belly and the pleasant crash of orgasm, but Jensen feels sort of far away from it.

It’s… sad, almost.

The clean-up is easier with a condom, Jensen has to give them that. He ties it off and tosses it in the garbage bin, goes to the bathroom and brings back a cloth for Misha. Normally he’d wipe his boyfriend down afterwards, kiss along his hip and run the cloth slowly between his legs when Misha can’t be bothered to do it himself. Sex often has the side effect of turning Misha into a lazy princess and it’s a fact Jensen doesn’t mind as much as he sometimes pretends to. But this time Misha is already sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor and he holds out a hand for the cloth, so Jensen hands it over.

“Do um…” Jensen starts and he doesn’t know where to go from there, really. Post-sex conversation has never been awkward. Not even after their first time. This is new and it’s frustrating and it sucks. “I can make some toast, if you’re hungry?”

“I have class,” Misha says. It’s something he’s said a thousand times before but this time it sounds different. Jensen can’t really place why. “I’ll grab something on the way.”

“Okay,” Jensen says, as he watches Misha stand and start to wipe himself down. Misha tosses the cloth in the laundry pile when he’s done and then heads for the shower. He passes Jensen on the way and he leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth before he smiles softly and keeps going.

Jensen waits until Misha leaves the apartment ten minutes later and then he makes some toast for himself.

Part 2