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

Chapter Eighteen

"Hmm, your eulogy? I don't know..." Richard grins and leans backwards to float on his back in the cerulean water as he ponders my question.

"Come on," I pout petulantly, before hiving him a playful splash.

"Yeah, dude," Jared insists. "I'm genuinely curious. What would you say?"

"Well, obviously I haven't given this any thought," Richard rubs his chin self-consciously. "But let's see, how about... Misha Collins was a talentless hack who happened to get the ticket to the big time because of his pretty boy looks-"

He's interrupted by a torrential downpour assailing him directly in the face and Jared bursts into laughter.

I grin triumphantly at the sputtering result of my work. That should fix him.

"Wow," Tahmoh huffs a wide-eyed laugh as Richard spits lake-water out of his mouth. "I don't know who was more brutal: Misha just now or Richie and that...ringing endorsement."

Richard fixes me with his best bitch face.

I roll my eyes in a wide dramatic arc and sigh as I wade towards him.

"Pretty boy looks? Come on. They hired me because I'm fucking gorgeous. It would be a disservice to art to pass up an opportunity like me."

The men regard me with amusement twinkling in their eyes and I continue earnestly. "Good looks, windswept hair, mesmerizing voice, killer lips... Viciously sexy and crazy cute..." Tahmoh is coughing into his hand at the usage of my best gravelly, passionately guttural Castiel voice. "Yeah, I'd say the higher ups knew what they were doing," I conclude brazenly.

"Whatever," Richard glares at me and Jared laughs shortly.

"Hey, Misha. Want me to update your relationship status on Facebook? Married to self?"

I give him a long, querulous look and everyone cackles.

"Want me to pull your ass under and drown you?"

"Jared's right, you know," Jensen pipes up rather sulkily. "Anyone could play the part of the befuddled tax accountant in a trench coat."

I decide to continue putting on a show and give him a sly smirk.

"But they wouldn't have my brilliant blue eyes," I blink coyly up at him from under dark lashes, and he scowls before swimming off to join another group.

The guys and I joke around for a while longer, talking and laughing and passing the time in blissful oblivion. This whole trip was an incredible idea: an opportunity to relax and have fun like we couldn't quite do at the bustling beehive that is the studio.

After a while, the others start climbing out of the lake and towelling off, but I'm not quite ready to leave the water yet.

So I decide to go for a long, relaxing swim.

Since I'm not at the studio and can't jog my usual route, I can feel my muscles blazing with pent-up energy, begging for release.

With a powerful surge, I slice through the chilling, turquoise water in smooth strokes.

My legs are burning with anticipation, aching to propel and drive me forward and just move. I kick them furiously, loving the familiar pressure of exertion in my calves after the long, cramped ride to the cottage.