I wake up alone.

Shuddering in the cool night air, my sweat-slick limbs tangled in crisp sheets and heart running a marathon in my heaving chest, the first word on my lips is:

"Mish?"

My brow furrows into a disgruntled frown as I pan the room with bleary eyes. It's dark; a glance at the bedside alarm clock confirms that it's only 12:14 A.M. 

The curtains framing the open window flutter in the breeze; beyond that, city lights shine like small embers floating in the ebony sky, mingling with the perpetual sounds of passing cars and pedestrians to create the typical California backdrop. Normally I'd find it soothing, enough to lull me back to sleep. But tonight, like too many other nights of late, it isn't enough.

Body moving on autopilot, I throw the blanket off and scramble out of my empty bed, shivering as the chilled air closes around my bare torso.

My limbs feel heavy, my head throbbing slightly, and I wince as I struggle to recall the events of the previous night. I think Misha found me in the nick of time because a few more drinks and I would be nursing a raging hangover right now, with no recollection whatsoever of how I came to obtain it. As it is, I feel fine. At least that's what I tell myself.

My ears tune in on a distant sound, carrying weakly through the walls: an insistent vocalization that I struggle to place as I pad across the room to the door.

I feel like I'm floating in a restless sea, weightless and lost, as I make my way down the dark hallway. I need my anchor.

The next cry shocks me to my senses and I almost stumble into the wall to my left. It's JJ, I'm sure of it now. I rush to her bedroom door and turn the knob, the wailing growing more persistent with each passing second.

"JJ," I hiss, scrambling to the edge of her bed. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay." But my words hold little sway over her fear.

"D-daddy?" JJ's whimpers taper off into sniffles, her blonde hair fanning out in a wild array against the pink bolster.

I fall to my knees by the bed and pull her head into the crook of my neck, stroking her back through her purple pyjama shirt. "I want 'Isha," she whispers, snivelling profusely against my neck. I tighten my grip on her, eyes squeezing shut, thinking me too.

"Come on," I whisper, giving her wrist a gentle tug. She complies, slipping out from under the covers and gripping my hand tightly as I lead her out of the room.

I open the guest bedroom door where Misha's staying and peer tentatively into the pitch-blackness.

"Mish," I call out, trying in vain to keep the quiver out of my hoarse voice. Misha mutters something I can't make out and slips the sheet over his head.

"'Isha," JJ gasps, pushing past me and rushing over to the bed. She flings herself on top of him, clinging like a barnacle to the sleepy man.

Misha tries to sit up, groaning his displeasure as the sheets are yanked down to his shoulders. His eyes flutter open and he gets a facefull of clingy little girl whimpering softly in his arms.

"Baby," he sighs wearily, voice holding a deep timbre that is so familiar I push off of the doorframe with the sudden, desperate urge to be closer to him. "And other baby," he appends, smiling ruefully at me as I walk over and sit down on the edge of the bed.

Even in the darkness, his eyes make me think of cerulean oceans and towering clouds and home. "How are you feeling?" He gazes at me with concern, absentmindedly stroking JJ's hair.

I can hear her breathing even out already, snuggled as she is against Misha's chest, and I marvel at how effortlessly he's managed to put her back to sleep.

"I'm fine," I hear my gruff voice reply, sounding raw and strained. "Fuck, what do you think?"

Misha looks at me, unruffled, and my resolve drops and shatters into a thousand pieces on the parquet floor.

Incapable of giving half a crap who finds us like this, I fling the blanket aside and slide into bed next to him before pulling the sheets back up around our waists. I grasp his shoulders and pull him into a desperate embrace, JJ still nestled between us. "Where were you," I hiss almost angrily. I bury my face against his stubbled cheek, willing my racing heartbeat to steady. More than anything, I will myself to behave like a grown man, but my effort is pitiful. It's difficult to describe what this man does to me.

"Shhhh," Misha whispers, his hand sliding down my arm until our fingers lace together across JJ's sleeping form. "You were drunk, so I put you to sleep in your room and left water and pills by the bed. I didn't think you needed me to hold your hand all through the night." He chuckles quietly, bringing our entwined fingers to his lips for a chaste kiss.

"I don't," I scowl, but I'm thinking more along the lines of shit, what am I going to do after he leaves?

I don't want to think about it. I'm perfectly content to lie here until the first rays of sun break us apart, but we may have mere seconds before JJ wakes up and ruins all my warm fuzzies with questions.

"I'm taking JJ back to bed," Misha sighs, "then you and I are going to have words."

I face-dive into the sheets, grumbling as he sits up in bed, scoops JJ into his arms and carries her out of the room.

I make quick work of shucking my clothes in his absence, feeling a desperate need to be skin-to-skin with him, without the barrier of obstructive, encumbering clothing between us.

I free Misha from his own restraints when he returns; he's only wearing a pair of faded sweatpants so it's mere moments before he's sidling up against me again, resplendent in his warm and naked glory. This is what there should always be between us: nothing.

"So tell me," he murmurs into my hair. "Am I ever going to get a good night's sleep again?"

"Sorry," I grouse. "Not trying to make a habit of this."

Misha regards me inquisitively, and I sigh before turning him onto his stomach. "It's about you," I confess after a long moment. I smooth my hand over the perfect round globes of his ass, taut and toned like an athlete's.

"Me."

"Us. I can't help thinking about when and how it's all gonna end and...it's driving me crazy." I drop a chaste kiss to his pretty, pink ring, so soft and inviting.

"Jen-"

"Someone could find out and take you from me, you know? I fucking hate that."

"Yeah, or I could get into a car accident or be diagnosed with prostate cancer or any number of other horrible things could happen. We're not promised anything, Jensen. People die, shit happens, you'll never be able to control everything."

I rest my forehead against the soft, firm roundness of his left cheek, morosely stroking the other with gentle caresses of my fingertips.

I don't know about Vicki, but if Misha were mine, I would never get tired of his ass. I would never lose my firecracker passion for this perfect thing that I love to fuck raw. Not with his flexible body and my insatiable sex drive.

"What are you up to back there, Jensen?"

Inhaling your ass and - God help me - enjoying it.

My teeth tingle with the sudden, raw urge to bite into his soft skin, an animalistic need to cup and grope and tease and-

"I think we've done enough talking," I whisper, rolling him over again and bracing myself on my hands and knees above him.

I lower myself down his body until I'm hovering over his trim, shapely thighs covered in a soft dusting of dark hair. "I've missed you," I growl softly, so overwhelmed with how beautiful he is that I'm temporarily unsure where to put my mouth first.

Misha's breath hitches when I plant an open-mouthed kiss to his inner left thigh. I lick and tongue and suck at the taut, quivering skin, until Misha's fingers settle in my hair.

"Missed you too," he whispers.

I fist handfuls of his skin in both hands, panting softly as I trail hot kisses up and down his legs.

When I look up again, Misha's eyes are watery and unfocused, expression delirious with pleasure. "Hurry up and put your mouth where it belongs," he gasps.

I grin up at him, slowly licking my upper lip. Misha groans in dismay when I rise to my feet, watching through hooded eyes as I lock the door and head back over to the bed. I open the top drawer of the nightstand and root through it at a leisurely pace in search of lube.

Slipping back under the sheets, I lick every inch of Misha's chest, taking my sweet time to bring him to the height of pleasure over and over until his body gives in on him, biting out hot things to make him crazy.

I lick and nip my way across his chest from one taut, rosy bud to the other, taking it in my mouth and flicking it with my tongue.

"I'm gonna make slow love to you all night," I promise breathily.

Misha is utterly incoherent as I move slowly down his body until I bury my nose in the soft curls of hair descending in a V towards his groin, his trembling hands sliding up my arms and across my shoulders and digging insistently into the nape of my neck.

I attach my lips to the soft, heated skin at the base of his beautiful shaft, leaving a frenzy of wet kisses around the entire girth. I close my fist around him and alternate between long, luscious pulls from root to tip and sensual swirls of my tongue around the engorged head.

I breathe in deeply through my nose, relishing the scent and warmth of him so close to me. He's a work of art, so beautifully chiseled as to rival Michelangelo's finest creations.

Misha moans, panting softly as I kiss my way up from the juncture between his thighs to the tip of his member, glistening in the darkness with a single pearlescent bead of fluid.

At long last, I wrap my lips around the head of his shaft and lift my heated gaze to his as I descend slowly on that perfect length as far as I can take him.

Misha's reaction, the blissed-out expression flitting across his features, is all the motivation I need. I continue to breathe deeply through my nose and push myself further until he hits the back of my throat, then further still until I'm deep-throating him, fighting the urge to gag.

Misha's thighs quiver with the effort to restrain from pumping into my mouth. I hum around his length, looking eagerly into his eyes and hoping he perceives my invitation. He does, nostrils flaring with realization.

Misha cards his fingers through my hair as he pulls me off of him with a soft pop.

Then suddenly I'm on my back, his warm body pinning me against the mattress. I gasp at the ceiling as Misha reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and begins his tender ministrations.

When the first digit breaches my hole, I'm craving it more intensely than words can describe. Misha's lubed finger slips into my searing heat to the knuckle, my chute quivering with anticipation around the intrusion, and I'm sent to subspace on a one-way ticket.

All I can think about when Misha finally settles on top of me, bracing himself on his forearms, is how much I love him, how much I've missed - needed - this.

He's in control; my heart and my body are at his whim and I've never relinquished those things so readily in my life, never to another man.

Misha maneuvers my legs around his waist and I grip the slabs of his back with both hands, nails raking down his skin and mouths open against each other as his tip presses against my entrance.

My breath hitches when just the head pushes in past the striated muscle. After that, my body pulls him in eagerly, and he slides in inch by delicious inch until our hips are pressed flush together. I grip his biceps and bend my back at an angle I'm not sure is possible, savouring the best kind of burning pain as it morphs into intense pleasure.

I'm in love with all of it: the way his body moulds against mine, so flexible and hot as hell, the precise expression on his face every time he slides in, nice and slow.

The sound of his name on my lips is broken and breathy with longing until he proceeds to fuck the voice right out of me. Then everything becomes the sinuous ripple of Misha's tendons and his little half-moans and sighs and grunts and I've never felt more in tune with his body than I do looking at him now, peering into the deepest part of his soul while he thrusts into mine.

I relish the sensation of him holding me open, filling me in a way I've never been filled by anyone else before, stripping me of my control and my defences with each snap of his pistoning hips.

Misha fucks me bareback all night, and that's not an exaggeration.

Despite the stamina we've built from doing it like rabbits in his trailer, I've lost my wits by the time the first rays of sun breach the darkness shrouding his room, and we've made a complete and utter mess of the bed.

We lie tangled up together after my sixth or so orgasm, throughly exhausted and sated, blood roaring in our ears as we gulp in lungfuls of air.

After all this time, Misha is still the best lay of my life. Shit, it's good. The best. Every single time.

Misha has just enough strength to wrap his arms around my midsection, and it's stupidly cheesy how perfectly he fits against me. His body is warm and firm and feels like coming home, and I'm reminded that it's been too long since we last spent an entire night together.

"Can I ask you something," Misha murmurs dazedly.

"Anything." I twist my fingers through his dark, silky hair. Everyone's always losing their shit over Misha's sex hair.

I'll give them something to talk about. 

"Can you not sleep with her tonight? Just tonight, please?"

Misha buries his face against my neck and my heart suddenly feels two sizes too small, his words making my gut twist.

"I'm sorry," Misha interrupts my vortex of melancholy thoughts. "I was way out of-"

"I think about you when I fuck her," I blurt, not sure I ever intended to make that confession.

And neither of us really knows what to say to that.

***

"There, don't you see him? He's hiding in the bushes! Come on, gun him down already!"

"I'm trying," Misha hisses. And I know he is because he has that adorable little wrinkle between his brows that he always gets when he's determined. "And shut up, before JJ or the Padaleckis wake up."

"Mish," I protest, watching a sudden, on-screen explosion reduce my character to cinders. "I meant the hitman, not me!"

"Sorry," Misha smirks, tossing the controller aside. "I didn't mean to set you on fire."

A stray smile tugs at my lips and then Misha turns to me with those sparkling, bottomless eyes and, before I know it, there's warm laughter bubbling up in my throat and spilling from my lips and I wonder how did I get this lucky?

I'm playing video games with Misha at five in the morning, both of us stark naked, idle chatter playing on our tongues, and I don't know what more a guy could want in a relationship.

With our wives gone, it's like the teacher's left the classroom. We're young and high on life, and all we need is each other.

"Pass the beer," Misha grins, lying back on his forearms. I hand him the dark green bottle and watch him unscrew the cap before taking a swig. "So when will Dani be back?"

"Few hours. She went shopping with the girls."

"Well, that could take a while."

"Yeah, no kidding. I think she purchased the entirety of Versace last time we went to the mall."

"Seriously," Misha's eyes widen as he lowers the bottle from his lips. "How is that even possible?"

"It was a two-day spree. She wanted to sleep in the car until the mall reopened the next day. I barely talked her out of it."

"Damn."

"Yeah, man, it's crazy. She calls it retail therapy or something."

"Women," Misha sighs, a weary smile ghosting past his features.

"Women."

I gesture for Misha to pass me the beer, tilting the bottle to my lips with a contented sigh.

I feel an odd sense of bliss sharing this time together, like I'm being swept away with him. I feel acutely aware of that fact that I'm living, breathing, existing.

"So what happened with Dani? I'm getting the impression you two aren't on the best of terms."

"Nothing. It was probably my fault. I was just never good at understanding women, you know? I never know what to say, how to say it, all that subtlety shit. I'm a man; I don't communicate good."

"You do; it just takes a little coaxing," Misha smiles ruefully. "You just need to feel comfortable that you won't be judged for what you say."

Misha leans over to plant a quick kiss to the tip of my dick before standing up and padding across the room.

"Where are you going," I pout petulantly.

"Jogging. Oh, and I bought you more cologne when I was out shopping yesterday."

"I didn't even realize I was out," I chuckle, rising to my feet and following him into the walk-in closet.

"No, just running low. They were all out of your usual brand but I think you'll like this one." Misha flicks the light on and starts rummaging through the neatly-folded piles of clothing for his running gear.

"Hey, before I forget. We're all going out for dinner tonight." I pause to trail my fingers across one of his crisp, white dress shirts. "And I'm wearing this."

I pull the shirt off its hanger and over my head, relishing the fragrance of laundry detergent and Misha's own scent: a signature blend of comforting and downright intoxicating.

"Are you trying to get us caught," Misha sighs, opening some fitness app on his phone. I snatch it out of his hands, forcing him to look at me.

"It's a pretty generic shirt. I've worn your clothing on stage before and nobody put two and two together."

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

I just want to feel him wrapped around me tonight, even if it won't be possible to actually hold him.

"There you go again assuming the fans are stupid," Misha deadpans.

"I'm not," I smirk, backing slowly out of his closet. "But if you don't want me wearing this..."

I spread my arms and dive backwards onto his soft, inviting bed. "You're going to have to come over here and take it off of me."