I awake slowly, burrowed deep into the inviting warmth of my comfortable bed. The sheets are sweetly scented, smelling of sun, fresh air and clotheslines, and pale beams of sunlight fall softly across my face.

A soft sigh finally coaxes the sleep from my eyes. It isn't mine.

I try to fight my way out of the tousled sheets and blankets, but a warm and heavy weight draped over me anchors me in place, heated skin blanketing my own. I blink twice. Somehow Jensen's manhandled me underneath his sprawled body, our arms and legs tangled.

It's still pretty dark, but I can already map the freckles on the bridge of his nose. His eyelids flutter; he's waking up. Hesitantly, I lean forward to press my lips to the dark gold lashes lying across my cheek and I sigh, heart flipping over hard in my chest. This is both amazing and terrifying. But mostly surreal. The universe seems... tilted somehow.

"Hello Jensen," I say in that fucked-out, gravelly morning voice I harness when I'm delivering my Hello Deans.

Jensen smooths his fingers up my chest and brushes a damp curl from my forehead.

"Mmmmm talk Cas to me, baby." He blinks sleepily; I can feel the flutter of his eyelashes on my skin. His voice, this early in the morning, is pure sex. Deep and throaty, each syllable sliding down the back of my spine and leaving me tingling all over. Biting my lip, I cover my eyes with my forearm.

"What the hell are we doing," I whisper against his hair.

Jensen mumbles sleepily, nosing the hair above my ear. "Nofuckingidea just wanna hold you, m'kay?" My heart squeezes at the sleepy, sweet words slurred into my neck.

"Okay, Jensen," I whisper, and against my better judgement let my hands wander over his smooth, broad back. He practically purrs when my fingers comb their way through the short hair at the base of his scalp.

Slowly, my hands catalogue all of Jensen I can reach, his forearms, the nape of his neck, raking through his hair and down his back. I know there are a million reasons I should slip out of the bed, but I can't muster up the willpower to do so.

Instead, I lie perfectly still and breathe in his scent, memorizing the feel of his body pressed against mine. I sigh and let my eyes droop shut again.

Suddenly, the alarm clock on my nightstand starts blaring and Jensen practically hits the ceiling.

I pull him close, smiling when he shimmies out of my grasp and reaches over to silence it, before ducking back under my arm and dragging the blanket over our entwined bodies.

"Sorry," I murmur sleepily. I usually slap the alarm just before it beeps; I've been conditioned over the years to wake eerily close to the moment it goes off. But today I got...distracted.

"Dammit, Mish," he slurs, voice thick with sleep. I grin and kiss the top of the dark gold head tucked under my chin, feeling rather than seeing his scowl. "Why you gotta get up so early?"

"It's not that early."

Jensen braces himself above my head on his forearms, dipping his mouth to nibble at my lips.

"Hmm. We don't have work until nine, and you already woke me up." I moan when he bites into the skin of my neck, sucking a kiss under my jaw. "Anything you wanna do?"

He straddles my lap and my whole body tingles. He's using the lowest register of his voice to wreak havoc with my senses, letting the rise and fall of the syllables blow over my skin with each exhale. Every nerve ending is on fire, and it's hard for me to breathe properly.

"Yeah." He presses our lips together and I lick into his mouth, slipping free before he can catch my tongue. "Jogging."

"Bastard," he rasps, laughing softly and tucking his face back into my chest.

I'm definitely not the epitome of masculine beauty right now, what with my morning breath and sleep-swollen eyelids and facial scruff. And yet, Jensen's movements are slow, sensual, almost trance-like as he kisses my forehead and eyelids, the tip of my nose and the dip of my chin. My eyes flutter closed and a surge of endearment tugs at my heartstrings when he begins to press kisses into the underside of my jaw, along the column of my neck and into the hollow of my throat.

Shit. I should probably get out of here before I embarrass myself and say something sappy.

An oppressive guilt creeps suddenly into my chest. Our legs may be tangled together like longtime lovers, but it's my best friend's arms that are wrapped around me, and I have to remind myself this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real. And it hurts in a way I don't understand.

Just what do we think we're doing, anyway?

We haven't talked this through; hell, we haven't really talked at all. Jensen and I are both married to beautiful, loving women. We have to stop. Better to end this now before we fall any farther, any deeper.

"Let me up," I sigh, squirming under his weight. "Come on, scoot."

He looks up at me through his lashes, biting his bottom lip, and damn if it isn't one of the most enticing things I've ever seen. My hands fall to land on his thighs as we study each other in the early morning light that falls into the room in lemony beams. His hot eyes rake over my face and neck.

"Mish." When I roll out from under him and stagger to my feet, he reaches for my waist, eyes skating over my body. Taking in every inch of my skin, every imperfection I have. "Come back to bed."

I shiver, not from the cool air that brushes over my skin, but from his eyes as they devour me, and I realize this is how Dani must feel.

The thought of his wife pretty much blows the moment to hell.

"Let me go, you horny fuck," I mutter when he catches me by the hips. "It's bad enough that I let you sleep in my bed."

Jensen groans and drops his face into the pillows, mumbling obscenities into the downy, white cotton.

Ignoring him, I use the washroom to freshen up before pulling on my running gear. I'm halfway to the door when Jensen halts me.

"Oh hell to the fuck no," he says calmly, propped up on one elbow with my sheets pooling at his waist. "You're not going out in those tight shorts. Don't need everyone ogling your pert little ass."

I huff a sigh of exasperation, hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Jensen, you're not my wife. You don't exactly get a say." I roll my eyes but he pins me down with a glare. "Fine. I'll change." I circle back to the dresser, casting a venomous look at him as I go. "But breathe a word of this to anyone and your precious aquarium gets it."

Man, Jared would have a coronary if he knew Jensen was dictating what I wear in public. This is some freaky ass shit we're playing at.

"Sorry, Mish, it's just...I want...your shorts, they make me want...I want to bite you, okay? I've never bitten anyone's ass in my whole life, but I want to bite you, so..."

I blink.

"Okay..."

I change in a bit of a daze, and Jensen gives a satisfied smirk and hums his approval when I return from the washroom in a different pair of shorts.

"Better. Oh, and Mish," he winks saucily. "Might as well make this all kinds of official and let me borrow clean underwear and socks."

"Borrow whatever you need to leave my trailer looking like you haven't slept the night," I sigh. "Then leave my trailer." And for heaven's sake be discreet about it.

***

My muscles are loose from a good night's rest, so my run goes smoothly.

I have to admit I slept better than I have in a long time. I did wake up once, sometime before dawn, when Jensen smacked me hard on the ass through the sheet. He mumbled something about having to make sure I was real, and was asleep again before I could react. Whatever. Apart from that, I slept like a baby.

I round a bend in the trail, already panting lightly. The air around me is thick, but a breeze that plays through the air eases the oppressive heat that drenches the summer.

In some ways, last night was the point of no return for us: a boundary that, once crossed, cannot be ignored. I doubt we could ever go back now to The Way Things Were. No, it's as if a switch has been flipped.

I sigh. Our friendship is so fucked.

But the truth is that our friendship started going to hell in a hand basket with that first Destiel kiss. I'm already horrifyingly addicted to the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands on my hips, my shoulders, my jawline.

We should just forget this ever happened: go back to the set, shoot some scenes, go home, and repeat. It's better this way.

My heart sinks at the thought. It's not like I didn't already know this, but it still hurts more than it should.

They'll know. They'll find out. I can't be with him, I tell myself sternly.

Our little...arrangement is beyond indecent, and could land us in a world of trouble. The biggest trouble being my stupid heart.

Our wives aren't with us and I'm conveniently there and Jensen just needs someone. He just needs someone in his bed with him, to sleep with and hold and draw comfort from. I shouldn't encourage it or pretend that it's more than it is.

I arrive on set at 7:10 A.M. and walk past the trailers, bathed in golden beams of sunlight. Do I care that my trailer has maybe one sixteenth of the space Jared and Jensen have? That they misspelled my name on the door? No; there's no barometer that says that who has the bigger trailer is more successful. It's not like those boys are precious and worshipped and waited on hand and foot and I'm one of the expendables.

I check my call-sheet to see which scenes we'll be shooting today.
I have a stunt scheduled tonight; I take pride in the fact that I do most of those myself. Honestly, I think I should be able to nail all these scenes; I'm confident I know my lines and I've practiced intonation and inflection exhaustively.

There's a note - a production memo - saying there'll be a closed set for Jared; he's doing an emotional scene.

I wave at the Third A.D., who's on his way to get Jared his coconut water, but otherwise make myself scarce on set, not wanting to run into Jensen.

Sweaty and smelly after my jog - or show of ass and thighs, by Jensen's definition - I welcome the reprieve of a cold shower in my trailer. Then I walk over to the hair/makeup trailer for what the crew fondly refers to as Castiel's sex hair number 14. We're doing prosthetics today and Jared's siting in front of a lighted mirror in his blue bathrobe, cucumbers over both eyes and a gunky, black barrier cream thing all over his face. His bodyguard, Clif, stands at the other end of the trailer.

On my way to the wardrobe trailer - Kelly, the wardrobe supervisor, is the only one I trust with my beloved trenches - my agent calls with a potential role. I have him send me the script so I can take a look at it because I don't want to come across like it would be an honour just being on the same set as those actors, regardless of whether or not I even have a speaking role... I'm not that desperate at this point in my career.

I spot Rob outside the gym trailer. He's leaning against the wall, talking to someone on his phone. I wave when I pass him and his face brightens in acknowledgment. He fumbles with his phone, mumbling a quick excuse to the other side of the line.

"Hey, good to have you back on set," I smile.

"Good to be back!" He keeps pace with me as I walk. "How are you?"

"Fine." I raise a shoulder and let it fall, my face a mask of apathy that I'm surprised no one can see through. He starts jabbering about some story involving the booths he and some other actors reserved at an exclusive bar, when Jared interrupts us. He gives us both a boa constrictor embrace and drags me to his trailer with the lure of a large Double Double.

Jared slides the cardboard cup across his kitchen table and I accept it graciously, raising it to my lips and sipping at the scalding liquid inside before pulling off the lid to allow some of the steam to escape.

"So, big emotional scene today?" I sigh in satisfaction when the fragrant coffee hits the back of my throat, the coarse taste burning in my mouth.

"Yeah; I was lifting for, like, hours this morning," Jared nods. "I needed to get physically prepared, you know? Jeremy called me after my fifth rep and I put him on hold."

I put down the coffee cup, smacking my lips as the hot and sour and bitter flavours roll over my tongue.

"You fucker."

"Meh. He knows I'm a big shot; he's used to it. Anyways, I told him it was a well-written scene, buttered him up nicely and stuff..."

I stare down at the coffee cup and trail my thumbnail along its lip.

"You'll do fine. Emotional scenes are your specialty."

"Yeah, I'm gonna improv it a bit-"

"-because you know Sam a little better than the writers do." I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Well, Jeremy knows that when Sam takes over, some of his lines go out the window," Jared grins. "And then it's not Jared Padalecki playing Sam Winchester anymore, you know? It's like...Sam Winchester playing Sam Winchester."

"You're never in the least bit nervous for a scene, are you?"

He reaches across the table and toys with the discarded lid.

"Um... It has been a long time since I last cried a lot. And when I do it's obviously acting; I don't cry in real life." I shake my head, grinning broadly. "But I am a little nervous. I was sitting outside rehearsing forever; had my script, highlighter, pen and crap. I even had Clif call me Sam the entire time."

"Poor guy. You're so difficult to be around twenty four seven."

"I wouldn't necessarily call myself difficult...so much as fragile..."

My fingers twitch around the coffee cup as I fight the urge to reach across the table and squeeze his hands in a mock demonstration of my support for his fragile highness.

"C'mon. Let's get to work."