That's When We Uncover [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter One

6:45 A.M.

What am I doing up at this ungodly hour?

What am I, Jensen Ross Ackles, doing staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, arms folded above my head and Dani's head tucked against my bare chest in the quiet stillness of the morning?

I'm thinking. Hell, I'm philosophizing. It seems like my brain kicks into hyperactive mode when I'm trying to sleep, its activity soaring to unparalleled heights and challenging me to ruminate issues of deep philosophical importance when all I want to think about is the softness of my pillows.

I contemplate, for instance, why life is unfair.

Dani mumbles something in her sleep, her dyed, lavender-scented hair tickling the bare skin of my pectoral muscle.

I bite my lip and shut my eyes, trying to remain still so as not to wake her, trying not to long instead for dark, natural locks that smell like musk and man. Despite the stillness, my brain remains very much awake, running like a crazed hamster on its wheel.

Is life unfair, or it just the fault of us humans and the decisions we make?

Decisions like marriage.

Furthermore, when did I become an adult? I think I missed the point where my troubles went from picking out my morning outfit to picking a life partner.

I blink groggily at the lemon-yellow sunlight pooling on the polished, oak-panelled floor by the bed. Its soothing softness is a balm to my restless soul: clear and warm, casting pastel shadows throughout the luxurious bedroom.

What if...

I sigh when Dani rouses beside me, eyelashes feather-soft against my skin. The pale dawn light filtering through the window compels me sit upright and stretch my muscles. I rise sluggishly to my feet, silky white sheets sliding down my body and exposing inch after inch of my nudity. I pad quietly across the room and stop at the window. Resting my hands on the ledge, I furrow my brows as I peer outside.

What if I've made a mistake?

My eyes take in the clear sweep of morning sky: a pale, overcast grey, holding the promise of rain. My thoughts stray to him. I'm quite sure they will forever stray to him. I wake up thinking about him and I go to bed thinking about him.

What if...

I'm equally sure that him will never be the same noun ever again. Him is imbued with heavy connotation; he is the man that turned my whole life upside down, challenged my every belief about myself and what I want, perhaps even what I need. He shook my world up like some sort of oversized snow globe, and I wonder fleetingly if the little pieces of tinsel-snow will every truly settle to the bottom.

A quick glance at my alarm clock confirms that he's still jogging. I bite my lip, unable to suppress a soft, rueful smile at the thought of those long legs churning up dirt, sneakered feet pounding at the well-worn trail, the wind whipping across that angelic face.

Unbidden, my mind conjures up the image of that same hair mussed by my hands as I card my fingers through it roughly, those slender legs wrapped around my hips, that face a vision of pure ecstasy, head thrown back, eyelashes damp and bitten lips slick and swollen as I...