DEAN: The real you wouldn't have done this. You know what you're doing is wrong! Damn it, Cas!
CASTIEL: What do you want me to say, Dean?
DEAN: I want -.
CASTIEL [interrupting]: Yes?
DEAN [hesitant, then resigned]: Damn it, Cas.
Jensen blew out another breath, looking down at the script again and then rubbing the growing ache that was building behind his eyes. Okay. So it was a little more believable than what he'd thought about it first-glance - but still, he couldn't justify it to Dean. Or maybe that was his own hang-ups getting in the way. After all (he'd been watching the last few seasons, the scenes with he and Cas) the way the writers and editors had shot it, it looked like there was something happening there. He couldn't remember staring at Misha that long, at Cas that long, but it looked like these huge, soul-deep staring matches that lasted for way longer than natural.
Maybe the fangirls were on to something, if this is what they were seeing.
Maybe it was subconscious. Maybe he just hadn't realized and now he was too convincing for his own good and Cas was God now so he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and maybe...maybe Dean wanted it too.
Okay...so it was just angry sex. Dean had never really done on-screen angry sex but he had done passionate and Jensen has certainly done angry - he's a pretty patient guy but when he snaps he snaps hard. Point was - anger was passion, just a little more violent.
He could totally act that.
Jensen's thoughts were interrupted by a soft, slow knock on the door that Jensen knew was Misha, even without looking out the window to his trailer. "Come on in," he called, waving to his co-star to enter even though Misha couldn't see him. The older man entered, wearing his Castiel outfit, and Jensen raised a brow as he took in the large, almost obscene amount of blood spatter on the front. "Been busy?"
Misha shrugged. "Crowley refused to explode right," he replied casually, and Jensen forced a small smile. Misha unrolled his script from a side pocket, frowning in concentration. "So, you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Jensen replied, standing. Misha nodded, pressing his lips together.
"The directions say you pull me in by my hair," he said, and Jensen flushed but forced himself to remain cool. "I think it would be more dramatic for Dean to pull Cas by the coat. I don't know, though - what do you think?"
The smooth change between 'Dean', 'Cas', 'You' and 'Me', Jensen thought, would probably throw him for the rest of the day, and tomorrow. Realizing he hadn't replied, he flushed when Misha's eyes flashed to his, and looked down at his script.
"Well," he began, trying to get into 'professional actor' mode, "it seems like Dean and Cas are pretty far away from each other..." He paused, then stepped back from Misha to judge the approximate distance. The blue-eyed man nodded, pressing his lips together as he looked. "So, maybe if Dean just..." He paused again, taking a step forward, which brought him into the perfect distance to reach forward and fist a hand in the corn syrup-splattered trench coat, and without thinking he yanked Misha close to him, hard enough that their chests collided together, mildly winding them both.
He held the position for a moment, long enough to see the blown darkness in Misha's eyes, count the shades of blue in his iris, and smell the coffee on his breath, before he blinked, letting go. "What do you think?" he asked, voice suddenly husky, and cleared his throat.
Misha swallowed. "Try the other way," he demanded softly. Jensen nodded, stepping back again, and looked at the script.
"Let's just go from the top of the page," he suggested.
