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

Chapter Twenty-Five

Exhausted from the canoe episode, I devour my lunch ravenously before following the others outside.

I sigh, content. Everything, from the leaves swaying slightly to the melody of the breeze, to the golden warmth of the sun-drenched earth, to the sweet scent of sunscreen and lakewater, is soothing perfection.

The lake stretches out ahead of me for a few yards before the warm sand gives way to surf, dotted with splashing, floundering actors. As they frolic in the foamy water, laughter mingling with the gentle tide and the trill of the birds, others set up barbecues, lawn chairs and picnic tables on the grass for dinner. Vicki and Dani surrender their bodies to the sun's lingering rays, spread out on towels and chatting animatedly with the kids. Birds cry out from the sky, circling in the hot air. The wind seems to reach out and brush my hair away from my face with warm fingers, inviting me to join the waves.

Heart drumming eagerly in my chest, I pick my way around groups of people, kicking my flip-flops off at the edge of the water. The sand is damp and chilly between my toes. A scorching sun is already working at my skin, and I feel grateful for remembering to apply sunscreen before I left the cottage this morning.

We spend a couple of hours in the lake and I help West and Maison swim in the shallow water until the sun dips like a fiery red ball into the horizon and melts, extinguished with an almost audible hiss by the water.

The others go inside to grab food and supplies in preparation for the fire, but I decide to stay out on the lake alone.

The air is cooler now, a balmy wind gently ruffling my dark hair. The blazing sun that hung high in the afternoon sky, creating a radiant effect on the surface of the water, is now almost completely swallowed by the darkening lake around me.

I sigh. Reposing languidly on an inflatable floating pool chair, I relish the lingering warmth of it on my skin, seeping through each pore, and feel my muscles slacken with relaxation.

I could use more of this in my life. The endless rush of interviews, panels and photoshoots that comprise our Supernatural conventions, the coffee binges that get me through long nights of line memorization, all culminate in the exhaustion that I wear in the shadows beneath my eyes. But I'm here right now.

There is a bonfire in the yard. It glimmers in the distance, and the scent of smoke and caramel drifts towards me on the evening breeze.

Compelled by the rumble in my stomach, I reluctantly peel myself away from the lake and venture over to the smouldering blaze.

Jensen is alone, stripped to the waist and grilling s'mores. I clear my throat apprehensively, revelling in his very distracting shoulder to waist ratio.

"You have a sugar addiction."

The firelight sets his eyes ablaze, and I gulp when he turns on me.

"True, but these aren't for me," he confesses. "Dani would kill me if she knew I was willing to compromise my physique for a moment's splurge like this..."

I take a chance and pop one defiantly into my mouth, straight from the plastic bag sitting on a nearby deck chair.

"Well, fuck," I mumble around the delicious gooey mess in my mouth. "That's an actual goddamn tragedy."

Jensen regards me with equal parts fascination and disgust. I reach for another, glaring defiantly at him as I gobble it up without a care in the world.

"I'm not worried," I shrug nonchalantly as I grab the whole bag and lower myself to the ground across from the fire. I glance pointedly up at his well-endowed torso. "And I think you're fine, too. It could be our secret."