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

Chapter Three

After a long, soothing shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and stroll into the kitchenette. 

I feel much better: cooler, drier - and famished.

I open my mini-fridge and survey the contents with contempt. All healthy food, naturally; the strict regime is just another perk of being an actor...

I push a hand through my damp, dark hair and narrow my eyes. If only Vicki were here. My wife, bless her, is usually happy to nix the crazy food restrictions, although she always orders onions on my burgers and Diet Coke for my drink.

I brew a cup of tea, honey sweet with cream nougat and caramel tones, and let the ginger and cinnamon scented water cool on the marble counter while I search for a quick snack.

Finally settling on a fruit yogurt, I snatch the container and turn towards the table, but smack into a vascular wall of steel instead. Shit.

Muttering obscenities under my breath, I shut my eyes and seethe, "Jared, I swear to-"

"Try again, Mish."

My eyes open to find Jensen's boring into them and my brain goes offline. Light stubble across his jaw; full, pink lips; freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose; the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. Jensen Ackles, in the flesh: heavy and rough and sinewy and smelling amazing as usual.

I barely manage to groan with appropriate petulance and drag my hand across my face. Thankfully, I haven't dropped my yogurt.

"Apparently, you need to learn how to lock your trailer," Jensen smirks.

I glare at him, tightening my towel around me. He's close enough that I can smell the spice of his cologne, see every pore and fleck of his rough stubble. Damn, my life is hard. Because Jensen is a walking, talking, 8x10 glossy of the perfect man: sensual, full pink lips; perfectly-styled, honey-brown hair and a matching smattering of facial hair; olive-amber eyes with flecks of iridescent gold framed by long lashes... Nope.

"And, apparently, you need to learn about personal space. Although I concede the irony of my saying that to you."

Jensen tips his head back and chuckles at the reference to the show.

Seriously. Castiel is a socially-inept angel on Earth and a stranger to the most widely-accepted human conventions; he doesn't know any better - but what's Jensen's excuse?

"How exactly have I violated your personal space?" His husky voice is far too close to my ear for comfort. "By breaking into your trailer? Or is it because I'm standing so close?"

Fucking Jensen. Regular work on this show definitely beats shitty one-offs that I only managed to land by faking a Russian accent, but the merciless teasing is not one of the perks of the job. When Jared isn't fondling my balls, Jensen is hanging my underwear in Mark's trailer - and if Mark storms out holding up one more pair of my neon orange briefs, I might as well pack my own bags and leave the show with the last lingering scraps of my dignity before I'm tossed out. Or hang Jensen's Ethika underwear up in the A/V trailer. Maybe both.