[Slash] Rainbow Walls - Mike/Misha for schmoop_bingo
Title: Rainbow Walls
Author: anyothergirl415
Fandoms: CWRPS - this part specifically Misha Collins/Michael Rosenbaum with mentions of Christian/Chad, Jared/Jensen
Prompt: baby - setting up nursery
Medium: Fic
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~3,100
Warnings: Rimming. Tomfoolery. Excess schmoop.
Summary: Mike and Misha are preparing for an addition to their family, it doesn't mean they forget the important things.
Notes: For schmoop_bingo my table is here. All stories are interlinked but don’t necessarily need to be read in order.
The soft pitter patter of rain on the window greeted Misha as he woke from what was supposed to be a brief nap. It had turned out longer, almost two hours he realized as he glanced at the clock, and annoyance crawled up in him. His husband had been given strict orders to wake him after thirty minutes. Otherwise Misha would be in the same situation tonight, unable to sleep and napping in the afternoon tomorrow.
Misha hated napping for too long. It threw off his equilibrium or something. Of course it would have been easier if he didn't need to take naps at all but sometimes he just got so tired. Another thing he'd have to work on in a few short months. Misha made a mental note to add it to his list - somewhere between baby proof the kitchen and figure out how the hell a car seat strapped into the back of his Volvo.
Climbing out of bed, Misha rubbed his eyes and tugged on Mike's shirt draped over the edge of the bed. He was attempting to hold onto that level of annoyance at his husband - letting him sleep when there were things to do, God - just to prove a point really. He so rarely had something worth grumbling about and Chad kept insisting make up sex was the best. Misha maybe wanted to try it out.
That was the plan at least - a little tiff then smokin' hot fucking against the wall or something - then Misha rounded the corner and discovered his husband, painting. There was a tarp on the ground and Mike was in worn jeans, no shirt. Lavender smeared along the wall in the shape of an arch beneath his brush and all the irritation Misha felt was gone.
"Mike," he murmured, stepping into the room and gazing at the rainbow standing out on a pale blue sky back drop. "How did you get so much done?"
"I had the blue done earlier this week. Wanted to surprise you with the rainbow," Mike straightened up, turning to Misha with a small smile. "I figured, rainbows are safe. Boy or girl, and the blue is soft enough to..." His smiled dimmed slightly and he rubbed along his neck, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Is it okay? I should have asked first."
"It's gorgeous," Misha stepped into the room, sweeping his gaze along the walls. The rainbow Mike had painted started on one wall, traveled along the corner and ended on the other. The background was a fading of the baby blue, clouds along the top border. Hills of rich, warm green spanned beside the door on either side and Misha pursed his lips. Work had kept him too busy, he hadn't even realized Mike was painting the room and now it was almost done. "I could have helped."
"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise." Mike dropped his brush down into the tray and stepped toward Misha, turning him to point at the bare patch of wall near the edge of the rainbow. "I might do the sun there. I was thinking I'd paint some cartoon like birds and bunnies, you know, Bambi style or something."
"Without the gruesome mother death?" Misha chuckled, slipping his arm around Mike's middle and pulling him in. "Otherwise the irony is almost palpable."
"Not if we forbid child from ever watching." Mike grinned and dipped in enough to brush his lips over Misha's jawline. "I let you sleep."
"I noticed." A soft moan fell from Misha's lips as his head tilted back, eyes fluttering, Mike's lips traveling familiar paths over his skin. "I was going to be angry at you about it."
"You're never angry," Mike murmured, mouth parting to suck slow, long kisses down Misha's neck. "Not with me."
"Because you paint rainbows in our baby's nursery. How could I be angry?" Skin slipped, growing heat beneath his palms as he trailed along the familiar curves of his husband's chest. "Promise I get to pick the furniture with you?"
"Mm, long as you help me arrange it too." Mike stepped forward, Misha counteracted with a step back, and their lips met as they entered the hallway. "Love your bed hair."
"You love my sex hair," Misha pointed out through a soft gasp, stance widening when the wall collided with his back. Or vice versa. All it boiled down to was Mike pinning him there and dragging up his shirt, throwing it down the hall. "Wh-what?" Misha gasped, back arching off the cool hard surface. He couldn't remember the last time sex between them hadn't involved the bed. Something about getting older, getting married, adopting a baby in a matter of months.
Mike's hands burned patterns down his sides, pushing at cotton thin boxers, slipping beneath and caressing hipbones. "Was talking to Murray. He mentioned something about you lamenting our boring sex life."
"Pardon?" The noise from Misha's lips was caught somewhere between a moan and chuckle. "You discussed our sex life with Chad?"
"You discussed our sex life with Chad. I got lectured about it." Mike growled, low in his throat, the sound shooting like a bolt of arousal straight to Misha's cock.
"Fuck. Wasn't lamenting. Just noting." Misha's eyes closed, head thumping back against the wall as Mike's long, work worn fingers wrapped around his cock and stroked up. "Mike..." he moaned, forearms dropping onto his husband's shoulders, hands tangling up into shaggy light brown hair.
"Think I can't just fuck you wherever anymore?" Mike slid his hands free, taking Misha's boxers with him.
It hit Misha like a fist to his gut, the words and the dark lust glow to his husband's eyes. It was a threat and a request and a fucking prelude to what was to come and Misha's heart flipped. "Figured, you didn't want to. Too old." Misha huffed, trying to smirk but Mike was stroking him once more and his body was little more than a pliable instrument, Mike being the absolute best musician.
"I'll show you too old," Mike laughed, throaty and deep, and stepped free from Misha's arms.
For a moment Misha thought his husband might be doing this thing he used to do - which mainly involved working Misha up to the point of insanity then insisting he needed to make a phone call or something. It used to drive Misha up the wall and more than once Mike would end up hastily ending said call due to Misha's mouth descending over his cock. Now though, Mike was flipping Misha around to face the wall and he heard the distinct whoosh of fabric before lips pressed to the middle of his spine.
"Thought you said, your knees were hurting," Misha gasped, arms pressing above his head into the wall, head pillowing over the muscle.
Mike grunted, lips sliding lower down Misha's spine, tongue laving over the top of the crack. "Shut up Misha," he mumbled and curled his hands over the globes of flesh, pulling apart.
Being with someone for ten years - longer if you counted the few years they'd kind of been dating but still fooling around with others - made it nearly impossible to be surprised by something any longer. And this was hardly the first time Mike's tongue was sliding over Misha's ass but he could feel the heat and spark so thoroughly it was almost heart stopping.
Slick heat circled along his entrance, continuing presses moving in time with fingers kneading his ass and Misha arched his body back, groaning into his forearm, closing his eyes and thrusting forward when Mike's fingers slid around to his cock once more. The wet thickness of Mike's tongue worked its way inside his body and Misha's knees dipped, nostrils flaring with each inhaled breath.
"Fuck. Fuck me Mike. Shit." Misha moaned the words, dirty filth streaming in constant flow from his lips. He wasn't going to survive this, or he was and he'd spend the rest of the evening in some perfect, fucked out haze.
Mike didn't move up from the floor for a countless number of minutes. Each swipe of his tongue, each press forward matching the glide of his fingers, had Misha twisting and squirming, desperate for more, a release, anything. So it was almost a welcomed relief when two fingers slid up in him, working muscles apart, and Mike fell back to sit on his calves. The pleasure intensified - which was why it was almost a relief but not completely - and Misha wasn't completely sure of all the words falling from him.
"Love hearing you like this," Mike growled along his ear - and oh Misha hadn't even realized he stood up. "Love that I can still drive you so fucking crazy you don't even make sense."
"Mike," Misha whispered, twisting his upper body, catching his husband's lips in a rough kiss. "God you're killing me." He groaned and rolled his hips down against Mike's fingers, biting his lip when a third finger joined the first two.
Then it was nothing, no touch or heat, no fucking Mike and Misha blinked his eyes open, turning to stare bleary eyed around the hallway. His husband was a few steps away, smirking at him, fingers stroking slow and tantalizing over his cock. Misha dully noted the bottle of lube - though he remained clueless as to where it had come from - and he swayed closer. "So, you can fuck me anywhere huh?"
"Yes. Anywhere. Any time. However I want you." Mike smirked and dropped his hand, dipping down to wipe it over his jeans.
Misha had a retort on the tip of his tongue - it was a good one about being the man of the house or something - then his body was in movement and the words were gone. Mike had him spinning across the hallway, ass colliding hard with the hall table, feet swept out beneath him as he slumped back, shoulders connecting with the wall. It happened quick enough to leave Misha breathless and just as he'd cleared the haze from his eyes, Mike was lining up and shoving in.
"Jesus fuck," Misha gasped, palms slapping down onto the table top, scrambling for purchase as Mike pulled out and shoved back with equal force. "Mike, god." He moaned impossibly loud and hooked his legs around his husband's body, securing them together and releasing for each thrust.
It was like earthquakes and tornadoes, constantly with them, the crash and rock of bodies, the never ending slap of skin and lips. Mike fucked Misha like he hadn't done it a million times in ten plus years, like he never got tired of it, like it was still the best thing ever to happen to them and Misha rode each hard drive with a gasping plea. Their heartbeats synched, their lips met, Misha's muscles tightened vise like over swollen heat and the table slapped the wall hard with dull, echoing thuds.
When Misha came he saw only Mike, lips slack, sweat damp brow, red flush skin and dark steel gray eyes. It was momentary white heat, the shudder of his body, the warmth of his lover and then it was liquid fire down his spine. The possibility that Mike fucked him into oblivion was certainly there, since Misha didn't register being moved until he was in Mike's arms, under the blankets, blinking up at the ceiling.
"Maybe I'm too old." He murmured, letting his head fall to the side to watch his husband's eyes. "You're older than me though."
"You're such a charmer," Mike chuckled, lips brushing Misha's temple. "We used to have romantic conversations after sex."
"We used to not talk about Chad before sex." Misha grinned sleepily, curling his arm around the familiar body beside him. "I wasn't really lamenting you know."
"Mm. I know. Pre-baby jitters I think." Mike's shoulder shifted up in a shrug and Misha could feel him slide down on the mattress to settle at his side. "You're gonna be a great dad Mash."
"Yeah, one of us has to be." Misha teased and turned until his nose bumped against Mike's. "Love you."
"Always." Their lips met in the soft evening glow and Misha smiled into the kiss.
-=-=-=-
"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to look that way." Mike let his head fall to the side then back down to the instruction guide in his hand. "No, I'm completely certain it's not supposed to look that way."
"What the fuck is this piece?" Christian held up a squiggly looking wire and lifted his eyebrows, free hand smoothing through his hair.
Chad peered down over Mike's shoulder and jabbed at the paper. "See, there. It's supposed to like, hook in um... the long one? The pole? I guess you twist it in?"
"I think like this." Jensen crossed the room swiftly and snatched at the squiggly wire and long pole, twisting one into the other. "See? Then you just... put it there? With that bit?"
"Don't force it. If you break it then we're all fucked." Christian slapped at Jensen's hand and pulled the pole back as Chad snorted.
"The paper says you have to slide it in, like with the latch thing." Mike shrugged, holding up the paper, frowning then turning it around. "Or wait... maybe you have to slide it down then in."
"I got the shelf!" Jared cried in victory, stepping back from the wall and swinging the hammer around in a wide arc.
Chad and Mike jumped back, narrowly missing the tool's downward descent. "Watch it Padalecki! Some of us want to come through this unscathed. Now come here and tell me if you think this is the right pole for slot A."
"I have the right pole for slot A," Jared grinned, laughing when the group of men groaned in unison.
"I'm telling you, if we put it like this," Jensen snatched the pole back from Christian and stepped forwarding, bending over the long railing and twisting the wire piece. "See!"
"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that." Mike turned the paper once more and groaned, shaking his head. "Pole F goes into slot A."
"I can be pole-"
"Jared, shut up." Chad landed a smack on the back of Jared's head, receiving on in return moments later from Jensen. "Hey!"
"Don't hit Jared."
"Don't hit Chad!" Christian punched Jensen's arm, eyes narrowing.
"You fuc-"
"Can we focus, please?" Mike groaned again, shaking his head and thrusting the paper at Chad before crossing to the pole and taking it from Jensen. "You forced it in! It's going to be stuck that way."
"I did not, see, look it's... um." Jensen pulled at the pole, brows drawing together. "Oh. Oops."
"Jensen," Christian and Mike groaned in unison, both grasping the pole in attempt to pull it free.
"Don't pull it, it might snap off," Chad hurried forward, trying to work a hand onto the pole between Christian's and Mike's. Jensen grabbed the edge and Jared inched closer until he could bend down and grab the apparently wrong railing for the pole.
"It's completely stuck. God damnit Jensen," Christian growled and they all shifted with the pole, trying to tug it free.
Misha was well aware that his friend's were over. That, however, did not prepare him for the sight of them all grouped together around the top railing of what was supposed to be a crib. "There has to be a least fifteen jokes about this." They all stopped at once and turned to him, all slightly wide eyed. Misha laughed. "How many gays does it take to build a crib? More than five apparently."
"It's Jensen's fault," Chad grinned, releasing the pole and bouncing across the nursery to inspect Misha's packages. "Did you find a bedding that worked? I really liked the Pooh Bear one."
"I ended up with that one," Misha was still laughing, growing louder when Mike and Christian apparently succeeded in pulling the crib pieces apart and stumbled back. "God I wish someone was recording this."
"See if I offer help again." Christian grumbled, shaking his head and tossing the offending pole at Jensen.
Misha snorted. It was basically a lie, Christian would help the moment asked despite his rugged exterior, and they all already knew that. Crossing the room, Misha glanced down at the paper Jared was now holding and laughed, shaking his head. "Like this," he reached out, turning the paper over and pointing to the area. "That might help."
"Oh." Jared grinned and nodded. "Slot A, makes sense to me."
"Don't get him going on appropriate slots," Mike groaned and snatched the paper, dipping in to kiss Misha softly before turning back to the crib. "Let's build this thing."
-=-=-=-
"You realize he won't be playing with any of those for at least a year right?" Mike said softly from the doorway, smiling when Misha looked up from the stack of stuffed animals he was currently rearranging.
"Still, he should be surrounded by soft and fluffy things at all times." Misha chuckled, stepping back from the pile and leaning against his husband's side.
The room was complete now. The walls were a portrait of sunshine and rainbows, bunnies and birds, flowers and grass and just stepping inside felt somewhat like walking into a cartoon. There were more toys that any child could need - courtesy of too many overly eager Uncles - and the crib somehow managed to be still standing near the sunshine corner. Even the closet had clothes and the changing table was stalked with diapers. Misha couldn't imagine they would need anything else.
"Are you ready?" Mike asked quietly, chin coming to rest on Misha's shoulder, arm around his middle.
"As long as you're here with me? I'm ready for just about anything." Misha murmured, turning enough to meet Mike's lips in a soft kiss. "Now, come on, we still need a pick a name."
Mike groaned but allowed Misha to pull him out of the room. "I still say Kane is an excellent middle name."
"Not on your life." Misha laughed, glancing once back at the rainbow on the wall before closing the door.