Nobody Sees, Nobody Knows [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter Five

I brace myself, stomach trying to find space for itself in my goddamn shoes.

The shadows under Jensen's eyes are more pronounced than ever and his arms, thickly roped with muscle, are quivering slightly as he thrusts his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

I tilt my head in typical Castiel fashion as I study him.

"You okay?" Brilliant question, I know.

"Honestly? No."

Jensen's deep voice is strained, and he stares bullets at the ground. "This whole thing is so ridiculous, so far out of left field that I...I don't think I can do it. I already tried talking to Carver but it seems everyone's overestimating my professionalism on this one."

"Jensen," I place a comforting hand on his shoulder to placate him. "You're a great actor, dude. I get that this is super awkward for you because I'm so terrifyingly attractive and you've been crushing on me forever, but we're both professionals and we'll get through it."

Jensen snorts, accepting the mockery and sarcasm as my best coping mechanism. I offer him a half-hearted smile and he bites his lip. A moment ago I was comforting him, but now Jensen is shifting closer into my personal space to rub the centre of my back in soothing circles.

"Wish they'd make Sabriel a thing. How I'd love to be the one making fun of Jared for a change..."

"Trust me, I've been wanting to wipe that stupid smirk off Jared's face since the big news a few weeks ago," I chuckle. "Hell, I'd like to wipe the floor with his face."

Jensen throws his head back and laughs, and laughs, and laughs harder, and then he just...doesn't stop. As he tends to not do.

I just stand there smiling awkwardly and kind of laughing but mostly wondering what about my last sentence was so funny. After a short century, Jensen's hand stills and fists in the fabric of my shirt.

"Jared, um. He been bothering you?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"Goddammit I will tan his hide-"

"Jensen. Relax. It's okay. You're getting nervous and it's going to screw with your performance."

"You don't know that."

"I know you."

A muscle leaps in Jensen's jaw and he glares at the ground. It looks like he wants to punch something, maybe kill that something, but he keeps rubbing my back and I lower my head with a sudden pang of contrition.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. Sorry that you have to do this, sorry that it has to be me and not some hot chick, sorry that the cast are all jerks, sorry that-

"Mish..."

"Hey," I interrupt, gaze sliding down to my wristwatch. "We've got another hour or so left. I'm gonna head back to my trailer and chill for a bit."

Jensen follows me without having to ask, letting himself into the trailer after me. Crossing over to the small closet, I slip Castiel's shirt over my head and settle on the couch with my phone.

Jensen settles beside me with that intoxicating, heady masculinity of his and strikes up conversation. His build is solid, firm, his presence warm and powerful and intimidating even after all these years of working together. He smells like coriander and leather and that macho man cologne he douses himself with every morning, and the depth of his voice scratches pleasantly along my nerve endings, bumping them to life. I still fangirl a little every time Jackles is this close to me, still shiver lightly at my good fortune. But for the most part we've grown comfortable enough around each other to numb that effect.