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

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The security vehicle cruises, slowing gradually as it approaches the site of the press event.

Cameras can be seen snapping and flashing brightly from several hundred feet away, reporters speaking into microphones, the crowd abuzz and the air alive with pulsing anticipation.

I peer out the window with growing trepidation. Several celebrities are already on the grounds or stepping out of their vehicles, soaking up the spotlight in the trendiest attire and sleek accessories, perfectly immaculate.

The flashes become blinding in their intensity as we approach, mingling with the heated chorus of excited exclamations to make my head spin. The evening light is fading into a rose glow over the grounds, electric lights setting the sky ablaze.

The car pulls to a complete stop and then security personnel, clad entirely in black with earpieces and dark-tinted shades, are taking up their position.

My door is opened. I slide off of the creamy upholstery, heart in my throat, donning my sunglasses and my signature CW Smolder™ simultaneously.

I greet the scene with a prized vestige of Dean Winchester: a slow, loping gait that exudes sexual prowess, slowly but surely turning every head to my left and right. Like walking away from a kill over a hail of gunfire, debris raining down behind me.

I slice through the crowd like an Exacto knife, every flicker of light like a star a million galaxies away, the sea of swarming bodies gradually receding from my sight. I tune out the overwhelming sights and sounds with expert ease, like the ebb and flow of a great ocean of bodies, pulling and pushing, jostling each there with frantic need to get closer. Closer to me. None of it matters.

In the raging frenzy of activity, there is singular clarity: one body that stands out in the massive throng of people.

My lip curls in a self-assured smirk, the light glinting off my shades like a saucy wink as I stride with confidence and purpose down the path cleared for me by the security detail.

Misha.

He's standing at the end of my tunnel vision, the sole focus of my undivided attention. I know he's always had a thing for me in suits. And while I'm not after his lust exclusively, I'm also not above using my looks to turn his head.

It's about time I upped my game. The years have passed in a flurry of travels, cover shoots, photo shoots, interviews, and conventions, and I haven't made much progress winning him over.

There was one notable occasion when I manhandled Misha onto my trailer bed and enjoyed an hour-long, completely one-sided, make-out session that thoroughly debauched him and inspired him to pull out some coloured tape and craft an interesting tweet.

Misha flipped out a little bit afterwards over the fact that fans perceived he was in my trailer and he dubbed it his.