"Hmm, your eulogy? I don't know..." Richard grins and leans backwards to float on his back in the cerulean water as he ponders my question.

"Come on," I pout petulantly, before hiving him a playful splash.

"Yeah, dude," Jared insists. "I'm genuinely curious. What would you say?"

"Well, obviously I haven't given this any thought," Richard rubs his chin self-consciously. "But let's see, how about... Misha Collins was a talentless hack who happened to get the ticket to the big time because of his pretty boy looks-"

He's interrupted by a torrential downpour assailing him directly in the face and Jared bursts into laughter.

I grin triumphantly at the sputtering result of my work. That should fix him.

"Wow," Tahmoh huffs a wide-eyed laugh as Richard spits lake-water out of his mouth. "I don't know who was more brutal: Misha just now or Richie and that...ringing endorsement."

Richard fixes me with his best bitch face.

I roll my eyes in a wide dramatic arc and sigh as I wade towards him.

"Pretty boy looks? Come on. They hired me because I'm fucking gorgeous. It would be a disservice to art to pass up an opportunity like me."

The men regard me with amusement twinkling in their eyes and I continue earnestly. "Good looks, windswept hair, mesmerizing voice, killer lips... Viciously sexy and crazy cute..." Tahmoh is coughing into his hand at the usage of my best gravelly, passionately guttural Castiel voice. "Yeah, I'd say the higher ups knew what they were doing," I conclude brazenly.

"Whatever," Richard glares at me and Jared laughs shortly.

"Hey, Misha. Want me to update your relationship status on Facebook? Married to self?"

I give him a long, querulous look and everyone cackles.

"Want me to pull your ass under and drown you?"

"Jared's right, you know," Jensen pipes up rather sulkily. "Anyone could play the part of the befuddled tax accountant in a trench coat."

I decide to continue putting on a show and give him a sly smirk.

"But they wouldn't have my brilliant blue eyes," I blink coyly up at him from under dark lashes, and he scowls before swimming off to join another group.

The guys and I joke around for a while longer, talking and laughing and passing the time in blissful oblivion. This whole trip was an incredible idea: an opportunity to relax and have fun like we couldn't quite do at the bustling beehive that is the studio.

After a while, the others start climbing out of the lake and towelling off, but I'm not quite ready to leave the water yet.

So I decide to go for a long, relaxing swim.

Since I'm not at the studio and can't jog my usual route, I can feel my muscles blazing with pent-up energy, begging for release.

With a powerful surge, I slice through the chilling, turquoise water in smooth strokes.

My legs are burning with anticipation, aching to propel and drive me forward and just move. I kick them furiously, loving the familiar pressure of exertion in my calves after the long, cramped ride to the cottage.

After a few minutes, I submerge my face and slip entirely under the water, letting the coolness envelope me and soothe my aching body.

I don't know how long or how far I swim.

All I know is that after a while the sun is painting streaks of pastel colour across the sky like a celestial canvas, and my limbs are unspeakably and delightfully sore.

Finally satisfied, I circle back and propel myself through the now-warm water, towards the dock.

When I climb out, dripping wet and staggering slightly as I lean on the railing, I'm surprised to see Jensen reclined on a lawn chair on the deck. He's snoring slightly, no one else in sight.

What is he still doing here?

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I edge past him and scoop up my clothes and towel from the wooden floorboards.

But my legs feel like jelly from the swim, and the sight of his bare golden torso bathed in the lingering glow of the sun is not strengthening my knees, so I almost slip in the pool of water gathering at my feet.

My arm snaps out reflexively and grasps at the railing.

Goddammit, Misha.

In order to keep my gaze from travelling sinfully down his body, I force myself to stare at the sun until a million dancing stars are seared dazzlingly into my retinas.

I take a deep breath.

My body is in fiery agony from my exhausting swim, and yet, another part of it is in a different kind of torment.

It's all I can do to hope Jensen doesn't wake up right now and find me stumbling around like a possessed mountain goat.

Just then, I look up to see Danneel walking towards us with a smile.

"There he is! He must've fallen asleep tanning," she murmurs raptly, and leans down to give him a chaste peck on the cheek. "Wake up, Jensen."

Jensen moans and she gazes at him with barely-concealed affection, forcing me to avert my eyes as I pull my shirt over my head.

"I'll, um, see you two inside," I mumble.

"Sure," Danneel smiles brightly at me.

"We're all just having a drink in the dining room. Go join the party; we'll be right in."

Jensen opens his eyes then and rubs them vigorously before siting bolt upright.

He sees me and our eyes meet. I gulp as a flicker of recognition and something else - something fleeting and raw and longing - passes across his face. He's got this way of looking at me that just...

Something about it fucks with me.

Something that makes me want to tilt my head like a certain angel we both know and ask him, softly: 'what were you dreaming about, Dean?'

"I was wrong," he concludes at long last, his voice gravelly with sleep. "You have the eyes for the role."

I clear my throat, wondering briefly if he stayed out here waiting for me to finish just to tell me that.

"When did you come to that realization?" Danneel laughs softly. "Duh, babe, everyone knows it."

He doesn't say anything; we just stare at each other, the unspoken words hanging thick in the minimal air between us. 

Fuck, are your eyes always this blue?

Are you capable of looking at me without dropping the F bomb?

I can't help it. Can't resist those baby blues... Giving me a goddamn midlife crisis.

The look on his face makes me want to cover mine with my hands and stop him from objectifying me with his eyes.

Or maybe I want to bask in his attention, lapping up the sight of him looking at me this way.

Alright, cut. I'm imagining this. This isn't real. There's nothing here but character bleed...

This is Dean and Castiel's game, after all. When they look at each other, you can feel the repressed longing from a mile off. But us?

No freaking way.

We're supposed to be best friends.

We're not supposed to be having eye sex like TV show characters with Jensen's wife standing right here.

"Come on, baby," Danneel murmurs fondly and kisses him on the lips. He responds with unnecessary enthusiasm, literally melting under her touch.

I look away again and walk off, trying to unsee Jensen's hands roaming over Dani's body as he comes undone, trying to unhear his slight panting, but it's all seared into my mind.

My ridiculously wack mind.

I'm so stupid for imagining all of that between us. Stupid, stupid, stupid, on so many levels.

When I get back to the cottage, I'm greeted by a warm, golden glow coming from the first-floor windows. Music and laughter spill out into the circular driveway from the open entrance and I run up the steps to find Vicki.

"Hey," she greets my brightly as I barge through the crowd. She's standing with Mark, drinking a scotch on the rocks while the latter nurses a gin.

"Hey," I hiss into her ear. She's wearing that low-cut black dress that she knows gets me floored every time.

"Misha-"

"I need you." My lips latch hungrily onto her neck and I'm dimly aware of her eyes widening.

I don't care that I told her to wait until tonight. I need to sate the hormonal frenzy that's leaving me limp with desire.

"Right now?" I nod furiously and she pulls me along up the stairs.