One shower and a glass of whiskey later, I'm feeling much better.

The party is still going on, even though it's half past two in the morning and everyone is drunk enough to spill their biggest secret to the neighbour's cat.

I push through the crowd in search of Vicki, getting bumped and jostled by the dancing bodies around me as I go.

"There you are," I breathe when I finally find her. She looks at me and throws her head back, laughing giddily.

"What's so funny?"

"Everything," she giggles, before falling back onto the leather couch.

"Don't worry," Gen slurs, rushing up to me. "I'll watch her. Go have fun."

She practically pushes me away and I don't know if I trust her to keep an eye on my wife in this state, but right now I really need some fresh air.

"Thanks," I smile grimly, before searching for the door.

I need to get out of here. I'm craving a nice, night-time walk on my own. It might just help to clear my head.

***

It's a relief to escape the atmosphere of the party.

I inhale deeply, the crisp, musky air washing through my lungs. It's smoky and cool, but not cold. The soft lapping of the water, the sporadic whoosh of a passing car, and the humming of crickets and cicadas mingle to provide the perfect, lulling backdrop as I stare at the sky. It's a navy canvas smeared with a smattering of stars. Just beautiful. 

I enjoy the breathtaking scenery, drink in hand, before my gaze drifts from the star-sprinkled heavens to a dark profile silhouetted against the glow of the cottage lights.

I recognize Jensen's build immediately and gulp, because damn, that's a nice profile. I decide that coming out here was a bad idea.

I should go back to Vicki.

He's leaning against the wooden railing of the deck, lost in thought as he gazes at the lake stretching out before him.

Heartbeat quickening, I head gingerly back towards the cottage, but I accidentally step on a twig and a loud crack under my foot resounds throughout the still, night air.

Fuck.

I shut my eyes and exhale slowly, debating whether or not I can slip away unseen in time or if I should just man up and-

"Mish, is that you?"

I turn around and smile weakly. Jensen squints into the darkness briefly before confirming that it is, indeed, me. He greets me with an equally tired smile.

"Hey, Jensen."

I walk over casually and lean against the railing next to him, my whiskey sloshing lazily in my cup.

"Hey."

For a moment, neither of us speaks and I try to steady my hammering heart.

Jensen looks down at my hands.

"Can I have some?" He cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head in the direction of my drink. No, I want to scream. Haven't your lips touched enough of mine?

But instead of telling him to get his own drink, I shrug. Stupid.

"It's got my germs," I smirk childishly in warning, and he grins back before making a show of licking the rim slowly, seductively and very exaggeratedly. I laugh, my throat suddenly dry. "Jensen, you sly dog... Quit making out with my drink."

True to his smug demeanour, Jensen runs his tongue obscenely over the glass one last time before taking a sip. God, this is like watching porn.

Misha, don't go there. This is wrong.

Damn him and those sinful lips...

You're both married and he's straight and you can't have him. Even if you wanted him, you could never, ever have him.

I don't understand why this truth hurts so much. I don't understand what's happening to me lately.

Gulping for what seems like the millionth time tonight, I stare at my hands, not really focusing on them. But do I want him?

I don't.

This isn't real; it's not happening. It's terrifying. I'm going crazy.

Jensen turns back to the lake and I can't help staring at him. My eyes, completely unbidden, trace the contour of his face against the dark, sapphire sky.

The caramel-brown hair, subtly styled and gelled. The set of his brows, the slope of his nose, those pronounced cheekbones. I get lost in the slight hollow, and my fingers are rising against my will, getting closer and closer to his face. Misha, you need to stop. You need to get a fucking grip.

But I can't seem to control my body anymore. I can only watch as the tips of my fingers land on his skin, sending a soft jolt of static electricity through my hands and adrenaline coursing through my blood. This is wrong, so wrong.

I hate how I'm feeling right now, and at the same time I love it; it makes me want to scream, but I can't stop it. Can't stop any of this.

"Mish?" His breathing sounds strained and irregular, and he lowers his lashes as he takes a step closer to me. Stop, stop, stop.

But instead of stopping, I keep going. My fingers continue their roaming across his cheek, before hovering lightly over his bottom lip.

What am I doing?

Jensen still isn't looking at me. I don't know why I'm doing this. All I know is that I'm hurting. I've lost my best friend; just looking at him makes me want to burst into tears. I miss him. But it's not like I've ever missed him before. This is different, new. Scary.

"Misha," he says again. There it is. My whole first name. Shit, this isn't going in a good direction.

Jensen stops my hand, enclosing it in his own warm, soft fingers. His grip is air-light and so gentle... Then he's guiding it to thread through his hair, my hand carding slowly brought the bristly golden warmth, lust-addled brain tormented with longing.

Before I can stop myself, I lean towards him until my bottom lip is lightly brushing the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck, Misha." Jensen groans, his forehead furrowing with an intense expression as he grabs my waist, pulling me against him until every point of our bodies is aligned. I can practically hear his heart pounding irregularly in his chest, feel the warmth radiating from his body. The minimal air between us vibrates with a nervous energy, the atmospheric crackle of an approaching storm.

My nerves are hissing and sputtering with the electricity, aching for him. To feel him, rough and hard and warm against me. Fire is coursing through my veins until I can't think or see or hear or feel anything but him, so close. His breath is warm and moist as it ghosts my lips, and its shallowness tells me that Jensen feels the same way I do.

But what am I feeling, exactly? What the hell am I doing?

Jensen's broad shoulders, draped in a leather jacket not unlike Dean's, press against my own, less well-endowed upper body. His scent is intoxicating. I can't think. Oh shit, I can't think...

"Jensen," I breathe, my words hanging like spider silk between our lips. Jensen's are nanometers apart from mine now, so sultry and smooth.

He whispers my name reverently, like a mantra or a prayer, something beautiful and sacred.

But this is so fucked up. We don't have a chance together. We have wives, families; we're...happy.

The almost-kiss is like abrupt fire exploding in my chest, making my head hurt with the sudden rush of blood.

"We can't do this," I manage to whisper hoarsely around my slack tongue and too-swollen lips.

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to fight whatever the hell has come over me. Desperately trying to maintain control over my body. Trying not to do something I'll regret in the morning.

When Jensen finally speaks, his voice sounds broken and faint.

"Please," he whispers.

I shake my head and force myself to take a step back, to ignore the sudden cold buffeting my body.

"I'm sorry. Coming here was stupid."

I don't need this. My life is supposed to be simple and uncomplicated and I know what I want and I already have it and it's perfect. She's perfect.

Jensen and I are friends, goddammit.

Just friends.

Jensen bristles visibly, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. Looking so appalled that he maybe, possibly, almost kissed his best friend off set.

"Fine," he says tersely. "You're right; this is...weird. I obviously need to get some sleep."

The hope that bubbled up inside me congeals and sinks to a sour ache in the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah, me too."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, then force myself to flash him a toothy grin, cocky mask sliding expertly into place.

"So thank goodness that didn't happen."

"Right," he laughs breathlessly.

"Would've been so weird."

"Fucking messed up."

"Yeah."

I stare at my drink, twinkling amber and gold in the starlight as the non-too-subtle tension between us simmers and stews like a poisonous vapour spreading a miasma of stifled and humiliating desire.

We lapse into crestfallen silence.

What exactly did you think was going on here Misha? The voice in my head berates me derisively. It's called acting. Ever heard of people getting a little lost in role playing? That's all this is.

"Well, I obviously need to go find Dani," he nudges me playfully. "If you know what I mean."

"Yeah, clearly," I force myself to laugh in reply. At least, that's what my mouth is doing. What my heart is doing is something that probably requires close medical monitoring.

He places a fingertip on my wrist, the touch electric. I inhale sharply, breathing in that allusive, smoky scent of his that I can never name. Should never name. "So, um. I'm gonna go inside now..." Before we both say or do shit we'll regret. Good idea. "Goodnight."

The man's face is inscrutable, devastatingly green eyes bottomless and electrifying, but his cheeks still hold the delicious, lingering tone of blushing peach from a moment ago.

"Night, Jensen. I'll just be here, drowning my sorrows."

I'm a little surprised by the confession; the alcohol has already loosened my tongue.

Some dirt is kicked up by Jensen in the wake of his hasty departure and that's why my eyes sting. I'm not upset by his leaving. Im not about to start weeping like the spurned princesses of romance novels.

I sigh as I suck the dregs from my glass of whiskey.

What a way to curb lustful thoughts about my best friend.

***

Later in the evening, I look up at the sound of my name carrying over the din of the seemingly endless party.

"Hey, Mish." It's Jensen, drunk off his ass again, his words slurred and nonsensical. "Come over here and smite me, you big bad angel, 'til my eyes melt out of my sockets."

He sways dangerously for a moment before tipping his head back and cackling heartily.

Oh, hell no. Wincing, I look around but there is nary a quizzical glance to fend off because everyone is hammered. Thank goodness.

I carve a path towards Jensen like a fucking wrathful angel of destruction.

"What, Jensen?"

"God, your voice is so fucking hot," he slurs.

I roll my eyes as he hits the ground.

"Get him something to drink," I sigh to the nearest person. "And not vodka."

Without a second glance at the body sprawled at my feet like a sack of potatos, I spin on my heel and leave to go find Vicki.

He practically blew a gasket last time I tried to help him out of his drunken misery.

Well, now I'm done.

I don't give a flying fuck anymore.