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

Chapter Thirty-Six

"So, uh, Cas. I said it," Jensen murmurs, sliding off of me and beginning to rub his palm up and down my bare chest, warming the rapidly-cooling skin. "You know, the Big L...?"

I cant my head and study him wordlessly for a beat with my deep, soul-searching blue eyes. As dignified and resplendent in my angelic glory as I can be, having just creamed myself after being dry-humped by Jensen Ackles.

"I am aware, Dean."

Jensen grunts, head pillowed on one arm.

"You're, uh... You're supposed to say I love you back."

He clears his throat pointedly and I narrow my eyes in consternation. As if he's the most obtuse person this side of the Pacific.

"Dean, you already know how I feel about you, especially given what just happened. I don't understand the need for diffuse, erratic rambling-"

"Asshole," he exhales in a rush, straightening up.

I grimace, glancing down at my briefs before reaching for my pants.

"I'm...sorry, Dean. I want you to know that I'm happy you let me stay. Being human is...less frightening when I'm with you."

"Cas."

The way he says that one syllable is always so pregnant with meaning, imbued with so much gravitas. "I want you to stay, man. You know I do." He scratches the side of his neck absentmindedly. "But I don't want you to feel...trapped. You don't have to be my guardian angel no more-"

I silence him with a brooding, pensive look, my words slow and measured.

"You don't think I want to be with you." It's a statement, not a question.

"I'm just sayin', Cas, that I'll support whatever decision you make. If you decide you wanna check out for a bit, you know, do your own thing... acclimate on your own terms or whatever...I'll get you anything you need. ID, car, money-"

"I'm not leaving you, Dean."

I lie on my back with threaded fingers rested on my stomach, my face turned solemnly towards him.

Singer wanted to do a fadeout with this last line, so we stare at each other in thick and pressing silence - signature Cas and Dean style - until cut rings out through the set.

At once, everything is a flurry of activity, cameramen talking angles and boom operator discussing sound with the crew huddled in the corner of the room.

I'm prepared for swooning sighs and tittering and applause, but it turns out I don't need to flip anyone off.

Gauging the faces around me, I find expressions ranging from mild interest to abject boredom. And I remember that, in this industry, what just happened doesn't mean shit. It's just acting, and if we got a little carried away, it was nothing more than the spur of the moment.

Singer grumbles something about editing out Jensen's little slip, but that's the only indicator that anyone's been affected one iota by what happened.

What happened being that instead of mimicking the movements of sex and maybe doing a little rutting, Jensen and I both came in our underwear like horny teenagers in front of a room full of people. But then, maybe they don't know that. Maybe they think we're just that good at what we do, and the truth will remain our dirty little secret...