Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Jensen's grin is tight as he struggles in vain to catch his breath and I groan miserably, adjusting my sopping jeans, a hard ache clawing through my groin to settle in my midsection with a tormenting burn of hunger.

Outwardly cool, the rush of blood in my ears is deafening, every pulse beat an obscenity. I roll my neck, close my eyes, and start counting to nine billion.

But the shattering crash of a wave slapping against the side of the canoe crushes the air from my lungs all over again and I have to stop, steady myself in the chilling water, fighting for each breath.

The frogs and crickets are a cacophony in the cool night air as Jensen peers at me.

I wonder if he can see the pulse jump in my throat, if he feels the same whip of blood through his veins.

We take a moment to regain our composure, and I draw a hand shakily over my face. Goddammit, Jared... This is not an end I could've prepared for.

I vow to figure my shit out before I lose my fucking mind.

When my brain finally comes back online, I start groping blindly for our shirts. It's too dark to see properly, but Jensen manages to right the canoe and after a minute or so I snatch up the discarded clothing, heavy and dripping wet in my hands. Well, this should be fun to explain to everyone.

We climb back in, shivering and soaked through, and I'm ready to write all of this off as Shit That Happens When Jensen's Drunk, when he clears his throat unexpectedly.

"I, uh, meant what I said, you know," Jensen mutters, scratching the back of his neck before passing me an oar. "You...you are...a really beautiful man."

And what, pray tell, is this supposed to mean?

Trying to ignore the prickly feeling at the base of my skull, I wonder what the hell to do with this new punch of awareness blooming from my chest to my fingertips. Jensen has never exactly focused a campaign of flirtatious commentary and attention in my direction before. And I would appreciate it mightily if he didn't start now.

"Um," I reply - very eloquent - because, really, what can I say without coming across as an arrogant douchebag? But then, that must be how he expects me to respond: the way I always do. Right. I blink once before letting out a startled huff of laughter. "That is the general consensus, yes."

I'm fully prepared for his eyes to crinkle into a nonchalant smile, for a quick-witted, self-conscious quip about how he's getting so soft he can practically feel the makings of a uterus, or maybe some sex-infused innuendo we can laugh over. He'd normally nudge me in the ribs and give me a bawdy wink right about now. After all, it's Jensen: gruff, standoffish, noncommittal Jensen Ackles. He doesn't take shit seriously; Dani always jokes that he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body.

So why the hell have two spots of colour sprung into his cheeks, mouth turned grimly downward?

"Forget I said anything," he replies coolly. "Must be the booze talking."

Now I'm convinced the universe has decided to fuck with me. My life is quickly becoming a live action soap opera.

Jensen's shoulders roll back as he rows and I notice a slight tremor in his arms. The silence stretches until I scratch self-consciously at my chin.

"You're awfully serious." I plaster on my best drunken-orgy-Cas grin, opting for light-hearted and casual.

Stupid fuck. He's supposed to be cocky and annoying and abrasive. Smiling and smug, sometimes irritating and brash... But right now Jensen is distinctly, albeit confusingly, different. "C'mon, dude, weren't you the one telling me to relax? Or was that massage just an excuse to feel me up?"

I reach across and take a playful swipe at his shoulder with my free hand, because this is what we do, what we've always done. Laugh it off, take another shot, leave the room maybe, anything to suppress the simmering tension between us. Hell, he's the expert. Textbook avoidant, said so himself.

But Destiel seems to have robbed me of the ability to laugh off a flippant and meaningless flirtation, and now Jensen's acting like he's freaking hurt. It's so uncharacteristic, this whole territory so uncharted, that I wince. "Stop acting like this, Jensen."

"Like what?"

"Nothing, just... Go back to hating me, okay?"

I watch, transfixed, as the moon shimmers over the softly lapping waves against a backdrop of chirping crickets.

"C'mon, I don't hate you. We have a profound bond."

His statement rolls around in my brain, taunting me with questions, none of which I will ever ask. Tipping me into rage and then despair.

"What we had was a really good friendship, Jensen." My confusion and hurt and his sheer audacity have put me in a royally foul mood. "Before you trampled all over it."

"I trampled all over it? It's the fuckers who made us-"

"No, Jensen. You're the fucker who ruined what we had. Own it."

"But-"

"I don't understand you. I mean, what the hell are you playing at, anyway? When you're drunk you treat me like a hot piece of ass. Then when you sober up you avoid me like the freaking bubonic plague. Can't bear to touch me, can't wait to wrap up every kiss scene, eating any Destiel advocate alive, yelling at me when you found me in bed with you, even though I already told you-"

"I was scared, Mish, that we'd done something wrong-"

"You think I wasn't? And anyways, you were prepared to do it with that Amy chick - do you even remember that?"

"That's different, Mish-"

"Why the fuck is it different," I explode, anger spiking in a rise of steamy frustration.

Jensen flinches, and I force myself to lower my voice. Steady my stuttering heart.

"Because..." He scratches the back of his neck. "Because it's you. I don't know..."

I roll my eyes.

"You don't know."

My own reservations taunt me: I thought I'd ruined everything and I didn't want to hear you say it had been a mistake. If we had done something I didn't want it to be some random hookup I couldn't even remember the next morning...

Shit, I'm a goner, I berate myself. Of course I assumed that maybe he was scared for the same reason, cracked my heart and left it open and bleeding and fuck. Never should've even asked.

"Mish, please-"

"Don't you Mish me. You can't Mish your way out of this one, Jensen." The water laps gently at the sides of the canoe, a constant numbing noise. "You have been...a complete asshole to me-"

"Misha, I'm so sorry."

"I can tell them to stop, you know. Shut Destiel down, if that's what you really want."

It's not too late. It was that first kiss that started this whole mess; if we both march into the writers' room or file a formal complaint or simply refuse to comply, I'm almost positive we could still get out of it. I protested when they wanted to shoot that nude bee scene and that never aired. I do have some influence; I have the right to put my foot down every once in a while. "Thing is... I don't understand why it's such a big deal to you. We both joked about it-"

"That's just it," Jensen blurts. "I can't stand that it's a joke to you, to everybody. Not anymore." I blink at him, stunned. "It's not a joke, Misha. Not anymore. Not ever again."

And fuck if I know what to do with that.

A myriad of emotions flirt across his handsome features and I fight a quick surge of panic, because I don't want to face wherever this line of discussion could lead.

This, whatever it is, isn't real. It's devastating temptation and forbidden attraction and it feels like a glorious dream. I clear my throat. Impossible.

"But you always hated-"

"Mish, Destiel is... Fuck, Destiel is a constant reminder that I can't have you, not the way I want to." He winces, screwing his eyes shut, alcohol clearly clouding his judgement. "It...it pisses me the hell off how lightly everyone treats the topic and how easy it is for Cas and Dean to be together when we can't-" His voice breaks.

The world cinches and locks around me. I'm aching, pain swift and blooming in my chest as I gape at him.

"Are you fucking kidding me," I breathe, anger slowly colouring my cheeks. "Do you seriously expect me to believe a word of this crap? Are you even aware of the the things you said, the things you did?"

"I've been in a really bad place, Misha, I've been confused-"

"Join the club!"

"You don't understand," he gulps. "I feel things for you. Scary things. Wrong things."

This time it's my turn to gulp.

The familiar hunger has dipped low in my belly, thickening my blood and shallowing the movement of air through my lungs, and my resolve has crumbled like a house of cards. I'm not sure I want to hear what he has to say after all. "You don't understand-"

"Look," I force my arms to work faster, just trying to get us the hell back to shore. "We should just-"

"Do I sound like I'm finished?"

Jensen throws his oar to the bottom of the canoe with a loud clatter and I blanche when he rounds on me, his eyes furiously green and angry and fuck, inexcusably hot.

He reaches for the collar of my shirt, but aborts the movement and lets his hand drop instead, balling into a fist on his lap. His face is contorted in pain and rage.

"You want me to be straight up with you, Misha? Here's the deal. You are unapologetically bitchy and a shit and one of the most obstinate people I know." I grimace, each unappealing quality a slap in my face. I clench my hands at my sides and force myself to meet his unwavering gaze. Watch him swallow. "But... Goddammit, if I wasn't married and straight I'd fuck you right here. Right now. So good you'd feel it for a year."

My breath catches in my throat and I blink rapidly as I try to read his face. I'm in shock. "I'd fuck you long and hard and deep and so good, get you walking out of my trailer like a newborn calf."

Freaking. Hell.

Jensen's eyes are blown with something intense, dangerous and dark as the night.

I squelch my ill-timed lust with a firm but scathing inner rebuke, hoping he can't sense the major uptick in my heart rate. When he speaks again, Jensen's voice is softer.

"But you don't want that. You won't even let me kiss you properly. And I respect that. I know how wrong it would be. I know you're already happy with Vicki and I'm happy with Danneel. But don't tell me you're hurting. You don't know what it's like every time someone asks so what should we do now and the guys have all these fun ideas and my heart starts racing in my chest because deep down I know what I really want to do in one crowded hour doesn't involve canoeing or swimming, just you with those gorgeous hands in my hair, back against the wall and me on my knees. And I know that it's wrong and I'm so, so sorry, and I wish like hell that it would stop. But it's not going away, Mish."

Freaking. Hell.

I stare at him, aghast. "I know I've made you suffer. But I've been to hell and back pining for you, Mish. I've hated myself and everybody and blamed every molecule in the cosmos for my attraction to you and tried to make it go away by making so many stupid decisions - so try that on, Mish. Try that on. You have no idea. You have it good."

I can try to pretend I have no idea what he's talking about. I can brush this off, chalk it all up to a pointless, drunken conversation. I've had a lot of practice doing that lately.

Or I could tell him-

But this whole revelation is moot. We're married. We have kids. We have obligations to our families, to our fans. We're not freaking teenagers. We can't...

"I don't know why you're telling me this, Jensen," I finally blurt.

I bite my lip at the perceptible sag in his shoulders, the lowering of his gaze in defeat. "We both made our decisions years ago. Decisions we have to stand by. Any...relationship we could have would be tenuous at best; we have no future." I swallow, the movement in sluggish tandem with the sharp, thudding pang in my heart. "And speaking of the future... I never said congratulations about the twins." I lob my final remark where I know it will inflict the most damage.

Jensen looks as though I'd slapped him across the face.

"Thank you."

I bite my lip fiercely, tasting blood, daring a tear to so much as contemplate falling from my eyes right now. Really, I'm happy for him and Dani.

For their bright future and their growing family. For what they share, which is so much more than fleeting attention prompted by darkness and alcohol and coercion.

Jensen closes his eyes, shaking his head wistfully. "I should've known better than to trust myself alone with you when I'm drunk. I'm sorry about what I said."

I bite my cheeks to stifle the hot wetness behind my lids. I know my holding on my emotions is tenuous, and it crumbles fast under the weight of this admission.

"It's just," I purse my lips. "It's just that there's no possibility for anything more between us." It hurts to say it, and I want to clutch at my chest, the ache behind my breastbone piercing and cold.

"Of course not."

"Right."

When I get back to my room, I want to trash the place in a fit of pain and rage: wipe the contents of the desk onto the floor with a loud clatter, put my fist through the TV screen, tear down the curtains.

Instead I tell Vicki I'm not feeling well; I bite my lip and suck on my teeth. Punch my pillow and bury my face in it. An hour later, I flip it over and fall asleep on the dry side.

Who the fuck am I kidding, I am so far gone...