I like to think I'm a pretty manly man.

But it's times like these, when I'm pacing around my bedroom in a cold sweat while my wife slumbers peacefully on, that have me questioning said masculinity.

Fuck it, I relent after more pacing and hair-pulling and lip-biting than I care to admit to.

I slip out of the dark room, and stride towards the only one I want to be in right now.

To my dismay, Misha is wide awake and siting up in his bed. He regards me evenly as I steal inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.

We stare at each other for a long, heated moment, my heart fluttering somewhere up in my throat.

"Took you long enough," he surmises in the darkness of the room.

My lips crash onto his even before I all but fling myself atop his slim, sinewy body. Then arms are encircling me tightly and the sound of our heavy breathing, the heat of his slick tongue duelling with mine in a passionate kiss, dispel every iota of anxiety I've been feeling.

I mold my body against his, hands snaking through his hair and slithering underneath his navy bathrobe to grasp at his hot, hot, velvety skin.

"I love you, man," I gasp on a momentary break of suction. I can't stop saying it. I won't; I refuse to.

I take his lips to mine again, pushing the hot, lithe thing back on the mattress. Maddened with desire, I accept his tongue so deep I can barely breathe.

The kiss is a desperate dance to displace reason with fiery passion, and I moan with the sudden, irresistible urge to throughly debauch the beautiful asshole who turned my life upside down and made it so I couldn't go a single night without him.

I kiss him greedily and possessively, sucking his tongue and licking all throughout the hot cavern of his mouth while my fists work furiously at his - goddammit didn't I say no more clothes - bathrobe.

I rip the navy fabric from his shoulders and yank it down to his waist while he subjects my clothes to an equally fervent assault.

I try to somehow plaster our bodies together permanently, noses bumping and teeth clashing in the brutal kiss. Every touch sears me to my core, his fingers like burning matchsticks on my skin and ragged breaths catching in my chest as I push my tongue as deep as it can go inside his sweet, sensual mouth.

We kiss forever, or at least until my jaw starts to ache. I gasp when our lips finally part, eyes flying open to stare directly into Misha's huge blue ones.

I lower my hand to palm his crotch through his orange briefs, humming with satisfaction at the answering hardness I find there.

"Already," I laugh breathlessly. "But we're just getting started."

Misha grins wickedly before pushing me onto my back beneath him, his hands catching him on either side of my head.

He toys with my mouth, chuckling as I wrap my arms around his neck and attempt to pull him down for another searing kiss. He dodges my efforts, lips skirting playfully along my own and making me groan in annoyance.

"Shh," he chuckles breathily. "Jensen-" he breaks off on a moan when I start to lave my tongue across his chest, overwhelmed with the need to love him all over.

I reverse our positions effortlessly, wincing when the bed creaks from all of our rolling around.

Misha stares up at me with those blue, blue eyes that gleam in the darkness, and I drag my finger over his glistening lips, across his chin.

"Dani could wake up any minute," he whispers matter-of-factly. I continue to stare at the flushed, swoon-worthy male goodness beneath me, too far out of my mind with lust to register anything he's saying.

My lips and teeth and tongue ache with the need to mark every inch of his pale, golden flesh, to bite up and down his flawless body in a childish display of possession.

A really ugly part of me wants to send Misha back to Vicki like that, with my name written on every beautiful inch of him.

"Jensen," Misha hisses when I fist my hands in his hair and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, trembling with the raw, primal desire to release my inner beast on the smooth, sensitive flesh there. But I know I can't afford to draw attention, garner suspicion, from the others. And the inability to make him mine is slowly killing me.

I yearn to litter his exquisitely beautiful body with lovebites, scrape my teeth across every inch of his soft, delectable flesh, feel his heart flutter against my tongue as I suck on his jugular and grind my teeth against his sweet, sweet neck.

I contend myself instead with spreading kisses along his abdomen, my tongue rolling, sucking, biting and scraping the concealable skin. The only sounds in the dark room are the soft smacking of my lips on his bared flesh and our hearts pounding irregularly in the darkness. My blood is boiling with desire as it whips through me at breakneck speed.

The hot little whines Misha's giving have my heart pounding even harder, beating violently against my chest, and I surge upwards for another mind-numbing, toe-curling, infectious, utterly addicting kiss.

It's bliss and a half, and it seems like our bodies can't get close enough; my tongue can't reach deep into Misha's warm mouth. I can never get enough when it comes to him.

"You should go back to your wife," Misha whispers when our lips break suction again, looking like the object of my every fantasy beneath me all flushed and breathless. "I'll just stay here and jerk off by myself-"

"No." I grab his face and force him to meet my fierce gaze. "Dammit, Mish. There's a lot I can't do for you, but I will always love you right."

He deserves to be loved good and proper every day of his life. The idea of him settling for anything less is appalling, and I'm already hot as hell for him on top of the fact. "Lock the door."

"What-"

"Lock it."

Misha stands up reluctantly and complies before returning to his position, lying prone on the bed with my body pressing him into the mattress.

Slowly, I crawl down his body until I'm settled in between his parted legs.

Closing my eyes, I lean into his crotch and inhale deeply, taking comfort in his closeness, in his familiar clean and musky scent. I nuzzle him through his briefs for a long, heady moment before looking back up at him. A deep rose suffuses Misha's high cheekbones in an adorable blush.

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up." He's got another thing coming if he thinks he doesn't deserve to be pleasured every minute of his goddamn life.

I take in the sight of the orange material, moulding perfectly over his bulge, every plane and contour of his delectable body utterly mouthwatering.

With a deft flick of my wrists, I yank the underwear down to his ankles.

I keep my eyes anchored to his as Misha kicks the tangled briefs away, using my hands to gently part his thighs and expose more of him to me.

I've never, ever given anyone head before Misha; the thought of doing that for another man used to repulse me. So if someone told me before Misha came along that I'd go nuts on another guy like some sort of man-meat-flavoured lollipop, I'd have knocked them the fuck out.

But now, I want nothing more than to take his dick like the sweet, satisfying, delectable rod of male flesh that it is and worship it with every orifice I possess in my body thrice over, even if it cripples me for life.

Keeping my unwavering gaze locked with Misha's heated one, I trail a finger lightly down the length of his shaft, feeling it twitch under my questioning digit. Beautiful. His body's every reaction is intoxicating, the tightening of his abdominal muscles and hitch in his breathing sending delicious shocks of sparking desire churning through my veins. Misha's trembling hands slide up my arms, leaving a trail of heat in their wake before landing on my biceps and squeezing.

I lick hot, lascivious stripes all over his member before finally opening my mouth to engulf his girth. I shut my eyes, the weight of him on my tongue and the heady, comforting smell of him enough to send me into the stratosphere. Relaxing the back of my throat, I begin to bob my head slowly, taking him deeper with each stroke. I make sure to thoroughly coat his length with all the lubricating saliva I can garner before pulling off of him. 

Biting my lip, I lift myself onto my knees and move to hover over his solid member, standing ramrod straight and already leaking copiously.

Lacking both patience and sufficient fucks to give right now, I impale myself on his length, gasping as I dig my fingers brutally into his hips and lower myself at a torturously slow pace, our slippery fluids easing my glide.

Misha throws his head back on a long, breathy moan as I sink onto him, filling me to the brim and stretching me to my maximum capacity. I think I maybe tear a little bit but I don't care. I want to feel everything, the purest, rawest of connections, tonight.

"Mish," I pant with the long, satisfied sigh of a man who's stumbled upon a cool glass of water in the desert. "I want to ask you something."

"I can be convinced of just about anything right now," Misha smirks breathlessly, "if it involves you moving those pretty hips."

"Wait," I grin, suppressing the urge to just ride him into subspace already. I need to last. "I need to..." My voice trails off on a luscious moan when Misha's hips punch upwards. "Let...let me do this."

Folding his arms behind his head, Misha studies me intently but makes no move to deter me.

I take a minute to compose myself, trying not to die.

This is far from the ideal position to pop the question, even if it is only a pretend proposal, but I've never felt so right, so complete, as I do when I'm one with him. I draw comfort and courage from our joined bodies. Not to mention that I simply can't wait any longer.

I've been bombarded by pessimistic thoughts, constantly reevaluating the rightness and wrongness of what we're doing, for so long.

Misha was right; I can't control everything, but I am going to take charge of the situation while I can.

He might be wondering if this is even worth fighting for, wondering why we're hanging onto something that's already dead. I just want him to feel as though this relationship means something when it comes to its inevitable end, its bitter conclusion.

Of course, the secrecy and hiding can't last forever. I've always known that. But when that storm, that fated culmination, comes around, he has to be as close to mine as I can possibly make him, damnit, or I'll have wasted all of this time.

Misha watches as I lean over to rummage through my jean pocket.

I can practically taste the anticipation coursing through our connection. My fingers close around the cool metal, thumb polishing the ornate surface to gleaming.

When I produce the ring, Misha chokes on some spit.

"Relax," I chuckle, met with a gaping stare that questions my sanity. "Look. I promise I will fuck this up spectacularly, even though it's only pretend, but...bear with me."

"Well - shit," Misha gasps. "You could've just bought me a Ring Pop."

"A Ring Pop wouldn't last, moron. This way we can be together...even when we're not."

I watch Misha's throat as he swallows, see him dab at the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm.

"Go on," he mutters, "before I either start crying or fucking you into the mattress."

"Misha Collins," I begin, then quickly amend: "Dmitri Tippens Krushnic. Fuck, you have a sexy name. I have to start this by talking about the sex; I'm sorry. I just have to."

"Of course you do," Misha sighs compassionately, a tender fondness gleaming in his eyes as they watch me.

"It's friggin' fantastic," I gush. "You're fantastic. It's funny because neither of us really knew what the fuck we were doing that first time, but somehow the inexperience made it a million times better. Like it was...more intimate, more special. It feels that way every time I'm with you, Mish; it's the best I've ever had. Not that I would ever marry you for sex," I continue hastily, "even though it's awesome and I kind of need it in an unhealthy way, like every morning and night of my life, plus afternoons and occasionally-"

"Jensen-"

"Yeah, even if you were in a wheelchair or otherwise disabled and we couldn't do it all the time, I'd still want you. Although I'm sure in that case we could come up with some interesting posit-"

"Jensen," Misha groans, face flushed.

And yes, I have the gall to wink like a pompous jerk, because apparently I haven't butchered this poor proposal enough already.

I half-expect him to shut me down for making a mockery of what's supposed to be a beautiful, solemn moment, but I'm shocked to see tears gleaming in his eyes.

"It's that bad, isn't it," I wince.

Misha immediately shakes his head, his expression soft and doe-eyed.

"Don't stop," he whispers.

"Okay, well...where do I even begin," I chuckle despairingly. "You sort of ruined my life. I was doing just fine before you. I thought I knew what, who, I wanted."

I give a punishing roll of my hips and Misha responds with one of those sexy little cries, hands fisting the bedding on either side of him. "Then you changed everything," I continue, keeping my voice hushed, "and for a long time I resented you for that. You scared me shitless because I wanted you like no one should want anyone else. You showed me that I didn't have everything after all."

I know this proposal isn't really for marriage, and still I'm worried that Misha's response will flay me open and tear my heart out. Thousands of butterflies churning deep in my stomach, I force myself to go on.

"I won't pretend like it was love at first sight, and it sure as hell hasn't been perfect. But it's what I didn't know I needed. You're the one I didn't know I needed, Mish. You've changed me, made me whole. But it's hard to know you're incomplete until someone slaps the missing part in your face."

I swallow thickly, struggling to formulate my words. "And that's what you did. Now that I have you I never wanna let you go, Mish. I want to grow old with you. I want to be by your side through all the shit you'll have to go through. I wanna hold you, comfort you, kiss you, and make sweet, sweet, kinky love to you until we're too old to get it up anymore. But we don't get everything we want."

Misha makes a choking sound behind his palm, and I struggle to maintain my own composure. "I've tried to teach JJ that. I just wish I could accept it for myself. I wish I were doing this, right now, for real. But I can't. And I'm so sorry, baby."

Misha squeezes his eyes shut, and I can feel my chest constrict. I've broken into a full body sweat from the pain of the intrusion and the effort of restraining myself.

That ugly part of me is begging me to stop talking and start enjoying the ride on the Collins express while it's still at the station. But I hope I'm conveying to him through this remarkable show of control how much I mean what I'm saying, how important the moment is to me.

It's non-conventional to say the least, but I can't muster up any regrets.

I memorize the feel of him deep inside me, clamping down on him as if it can somehow prevent our inevitable separation. "I can't give you a real ring, and I'm pretty sure I even fucked up this mock proposal, but...I know I love you more than she does, because it hurts like hell knowing I'll never have you - it's fucking emotional suicide - and still I'm not stopping. So...if that isn't pure, genuine, crazy love, I don't know what is."

I look him straight in the eyes, his fingers now locked in my death-grip, wishing not for the first time that I had some semblance of an inner romantic to call upon.

"Mish. You're sexy, funny...the hottest, sweetest guy with the best ass I've ever seen. I'll be so good to you. I'll give you endless orgasms 'til you're like a hundred. I got hooked on you and I'd die for you, in a heartbeat." I reach down to thumb away a tear glistening on its course down Misha's cheek. "And then you'd probably pull me back out of hell. Maybe even several times... We Winchesters don't have the greatest track record with death."

I can't suppress the quiet laugh that tears out of me, and Misha's smiling breathlessly up at me like I've just offered him the world. "And even when I'm a ghost I'll haunt your ass. You'll never be rid of me. You said you love me...so you'll have to deal."

I know my words aren't enough. Consolidated as they are into a few brief utterances, they seem pitifully bereft of detail.

But Misha's looking at me with hope and longing and naked, shameless love, and I gather my courage. "Mish, will you make me the happiest man alive, dead and or in purgatory by fake-marrying me?"

Misha just gapes at me for a long time, too long.

I reach down to gently cup his cheek, worried that I've rendered him completely mute.

But then he says yes.

And apparently I've been holding my breath, because it crashes out of me in one mighty swoop as I lean down to connect our lips.

He says yes about thirty times as we rock together, continues to whisper it until we're both covered in sweat and come and tears, adrift on a sea of boiling bliss.

It turns out to be pretty romantic after all.

Which is lovely. But after a heartfelt warmup round, I go and grab a few other...toys - whipped cream also involved - to kick up the testosterone and really get the engagement party started.