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

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"No."

"Come on," Ian presses, "it's the oldest trick in the book."

"That exactly it. A trick. I'm not doing it."

"You don't think it'll work?"

"No," I admit honestly. "Misha won't get jealous. To be jealous, he'd have to care. He'd have to give a damn who I'm with. And, frankly, I can't remember the last time he gave one of those where I'm concerned."

"Fine," Ian sighs dramatically, "I'll try to keep my hands off you, then."

"You'd better. I didn't invite you to the wrap party to pull any funny shit, or try and get to Mish. Do I make myself fucking clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Shut up," I snap, throwing back the last of my whiskey.

"Mm, when you talk like that, I forget you're a bottom."

My jaw falls slack.

"I never said I was - why - fuck it," I relent, head dropping to my hands on a weary groan. "The term is power bottom, okay? If you must know."

"Sure," Ian grins saucily, and I get up to leave, thinking I'll just go fling myself into the sun now.

But all of this mortification does get me thinking. Misha told me from the very beginning: I'd be screwing you. And then he submitted wordlessly to me over the months that followed, without any complaint or reservation. I'm not sure if it was to protect my ego, or what, but it sure seems like a sacrifice in hindsight.

It's one of the many different hardships and blows to his pride that he endured quietly, patiently, when he was with me. There were a million things he didn't have to do for me. A million things he probably wanted done differently in our relationship, a million reasons to complain about my behaviour or our crappy situation or just about anything else. But he embraced everything so tastefully, with a mild and accepting demeanour.

The truth stings like a physical slap to my face. Those days are over. That man is gone. He's fallen out of love with me. And moreover, I didn't deserve him in the first place.

***

On my way to pick up the kids the next day, I stop by the little chapel a few streets down from the club. It's the same place I wandered up at on that dark, drunken night, shortly after Misha left me. I was in shambles then, a soul in torment. I'm still not happy, but I've come a long way over the past few years.

Just like last time, however, I'm at a loss for what to say if I encounter anybody, not sure exactly what I'm doing here. The parking lot is empty save for a few cars, as it's a Monday. So I park in the first available space and stroll up to the front door.

When Wren sees me, he's delighted. Probably more than he should be, since it's not like I'm going to start attending church or anything. We end up kicking back in the church yard on folding chairs, talking about my life. I tell him about my divorce and my pursuit of Misha, without actually revealing his identity, and Wren listens.

"My wife never really knew me very well," I'm in the middle of explaining. "If she did, she would've known I was gay as fuck for this man."