I burst into the kitchen, slack-jawed, heart racing and mind whirling.

Startled, Misha looks up from where he's been drizzling honey onto two bowls of muesli and strawberry yogurt. Eyes a lovely shade of cornflower blue, dark hair adorably mussed, skin summer golden...

"Hey," he smiles, "I was just about to call you down for lunch. What's wrong?"

I feel as though I'm about to explode if I don't lunge at Misha and kiss the fucking shit out of him right now and then fuck him against every surface in this mansion, that's what's wrong.

I've been trying to keep my hands off him. Truly, I have.

I've been drowning myself in paperwork for hours, but it's become downright impossible to keep my baser urges at bay; I can't get anything done knowing that he's standing down here with that delicious stubble and that sexy, tousled hair and those eyes that are quite probably the essence of human life. I'm not used to going without him for long, because back at the studio all it takes is some subtle eye -plotting and we end up entwined and gasping in one of our trailers or a bathroom or soundstage four, every time. That's what I need right now, to be held in an angel's arms again. I need to feel him again, this man whose body I've worshipped inch by inch, this man I'm addicted to. 

I have to have him.

"Jensen," Mish warns as I attack him. Grabbing him by the waist, I close the space between us and devour his lips in a heated kiss, stifling any further protest with shaking hands that grip him all over, grabbing and releasing his skin, his clothing, any part of him that I can reach. Misha moans in surprise, the sound making me stupid with desire.

Lunch lies forgotten on the table as our tongues duel in a fierce kiss, lips and teeth clashing, fine tremors wracking our bodies as our clothes are ripped off like wet paper.

I drown in the heat, the sound of our laboured breathing and muffled gasps, the clinking of belt buckles and zippers coming undone, the fiery melody of our hearts beating in passionate synchrony. The symphony of us.

Gasping for breath, I grab Misha's hands and pin them roughly against the fridge above his head. The picture he makes shoved up against the stainless steel, panting and wide-eyed in his briefs as I grind against him, dissolves any last shred of self-control I might have hoped to posses.

"Need you right," I suck on his bottom lip, nipping it eagerly, "the fuck-"

"Jensen-"

"-now, Mish." I groan as Misha's lips fasten onto mine again with incredible ferocity, the suction almost painful in its intensity. Swiftly, I hook my fingers in the orange material of his underwear and yank them down to pool at his ankles. We chuckle against each other's lips as Misha struggles to kick them off, and then my boxers are on the floor on top of his.

I have no idea how we make it to my bedroom, but Misha's body hurtling onto the white sheets and landing in a beautifully naked heap makes me pause to draw in a sharp breath.

He's the most gorgeous man ever to walk the face of this earth, of this I'm sure.

Grinning, I crawl on top of him, relishing the feel of so much hot, smooth skin, bared just for me, hearing the bed creak slightly as I continue my prowling advance. I can't help sneaking a taste, so I bite down on Misha's shoulder, making him cry out in that voice of his that should be illegal.

I want to lick the stubble on his cheeks and rub my face against it for days on end, which is how I know that Misha's officially driven me completely freaking mad.

Vaguely, I hear the phone ring over the rustling of sheets and our panting as we fight for oxygen between deep kisses. The noise failing to properly register in my racing mind, I reach for the top drawer in the bedside table, our lips breaking auction momentarily with a sensual smack. Instantly, I press them together again, groping blindly for the goods with one hand while pushing my tongue into his mouth.

"The phone," Misha breathes, but I cut him off by placing a wrapped condom between his teeth and sitting upright so that I'm straddling his waist. He stares up at me with wide eyes and I chuckle, leaning down to kiss the tip of his delicately-sloped nose.

"Your turn," I grin playfully.

"You sure?"

"Mhmmm," I whisper, swooping down again to attack his neck with hungry lips, feeling Misha shiver with anticipation beneath me. He smiles sheepishly and I roll over onto my back, pulling him on top of me.

Once more, the phone rings shrilly throughout the house, and this time I growl in acknowledgement.

"You should get that," Misha sighs, partly from irritation and partly from pleasure as I suck intensely at the skin just below his collarbone. "Could be important...ah."

"Better be," I grouse, propping myself up on my forearms to give him a last, lingering kiss on his reddened lips.

I take a second to appreciate his unruly hair, dark against the white sheets, the flush in his cheeks, the hungry gleam in his eyes. "One second while I shut whoever it is down hard," I whisper conspiratorially while shimmying out from under him.

I run a hand through my hair in a futile attempt to tame it, all the while marvelling at myself. Misha has ruined me. He's made me into a hopeless horn-dog, I swear; I can't seem to go a day without wanting to tap that fine specimen.

"So fucking gorgeous," I mutter to myself as I walk away.

I fly down the stairs and scoop the phone out of its cradle on the final ring with a breathy, "hey."

"Hey, babe," Dani's voice greets me on the other end. I pad over to the kitchen and gather the discarded garments in front of the fridge with my free arm. As good as I think Misha's clothing looks on my floor, it would be just a little bit difficult to explain that to everyone else. "I just wanted to remind you that we have the last prenatal checkup with Doctor Ajith today. Don't forget."

"I could never," I murmur fondly, heart instantly swelling at the prospect. "I'll meet you there then?"

"Yeah, I'm heading straight over after Macy's. We're having a great time, even though I can't drink anything," she pouts. "You should've joined us."

"Next time."

"Oh, and has Misha picked up that anti-inflammatory cream yet? My feet are killing me."

Dani's ankles have started swelling with her pregnancy, and yet she insists on wearing shoes that look more like death contraptions than proper, comfortable footwear. That's one thing I'll never understand about women.

"Not sure," I sigh noncommittally. "I don't think so."

"Okay, well, tell him he can pick the prescription up at the pharmacy in the plaza when he goes to get the groceries for dinner."

"Of course."

"Also, I was kind of hoping we could host dinner in the pool room this evening, after the appointment. I want to celebrate the babies."

"Sure thing." We incorporated the pool into the design plan so we would be able to swim and stay fit regardless of the season, but it's also proven useful over the years for parties and dining, with attractive fixtures like a fountain in the far corner and a mini-waterfall.

"Okay, I'll see you soon."

"See you."

Moments later, I dump the clothes at the foot of my bed and crawl back over Misha's firm, sinewy body until I'm straddling his hips.

He reaches for me instinctively, lips forming an adorable pout.

"Where were we," I grin, reaching around with both hands to yank the blankets up over our heads so that they cover us both. Instantly, we're cocooned in diffused, golden warmth, glued firmly together under the silky sheets.

"I can't breathe," Misha chuckles between rough kisses.

I grind down harder in retaliation, pressing him deeper into the bed, and feel him shudder bodily underneath me.

"Oxygen is overrated."

My lips latch onto his again and I tilt my head to deepen the kiss, those gorgeous hands trailing down my back sending me into a frenzy of desire.

"Mmmfuck," Misha blabbers when I break the kiss with a gentle pop and reach around to nip at his earlobe.

"Soon, baby," I whisper, hands desperately cataloging every accessible part of him, sliding across the smooth expanse of his chest, trailing down his sides to grip those toned runners' thighs before swinging them over my shoulders and swooping down to take him into my mouth.

"Shit," Misha screams into his fist. "Could've...fucking...warned m-ahh, Jensen."

I laugh around his firm flesh, sliding my tongue sensuously around along the underside and swirling the tip.

I've got my hands around the most beautiful perky ass when the sound of the doorbell startles me out of my lustful stupor.

I choke, and not for lack of practice.

"Fucking hell," I hiss, fury coiling hard and unpleasant in my gut. "Not again."

Maybe if we ignore it, it'll go away...

Misha groans, dragging the heel of his palm down his face.

"This isn't going to happen, is it?"

"Oh, it is," I snarl, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I bolt upright. "I'll just need a sharp knife and a good cover story-"

"Jensen," Misha chuckles. "Hey, relax. Don't-"

"Try and stop me," I grumble as I pull on my jeans and fasten my belt. The material is a smidge too tight at present.

"Look. It's not their fault, whoever they are-"

"If only I gave a shit."

Hastily, I slip on my T-shirt and stride out of the room. This clown has it coming, whoever he or she is.

I unlock the door and whip it open with a frigid, "what."

"Jensen, hey, how are you?" Olivia's eyes widen in surprise and she smiles brightly at me.

I'm surprised to see Dani's friend here, and even more surprised to see her holding JJ's hand. My little girl stumbles forward and wraps me in a tight embrace, sniffling softly. "She started feeling sick," Olivia explains ruefully. "I had to cut the play-date short. I'm sorry, I was expecting to find Dani here-"

"She's out with Jared, Gen and Tracy," I sigh, scooping JJ up into my arms. She immediately burrows her nose into the crook of my neck. "Thanks for driving her back. Hope she wasn't too much of a hassle-"

"Oh, it was no trouble at all." Olivia's broad grin shows off a mouthful of perfect, white teeth framed by a luscious, cherry red. The whole picture screams fake. "My little Em wasn't too happy, of course, but I told her JJ would be just fine. Isn't that right, JJ?"

JJ only sniffles louder. I stroke her back reassuringly through her dark grey dress, wishing Dani had given her something warmer to wear.

"Any idea what might be wrong?"

"She said she had an upset tummy. She wouldn't tell me much else, I'm sorry. It's not uncommon, though; I wouldn't worry."

"Right. Well, thanks again," I smile grimly before seeing Olivia out.

When the door clicks shut, I turn to peer down at my daughter's mussed hair. "You okay, baby?"

JJ shakes her head tentatively, and I sigh before shutting the door and carrying her down the spacious hallway to the kitchen. Just as I'm about to set her down at the marble island, I hear footfalls descending the stairs.

JJ looks up in time to see Misha enter the kitchen, fully-clothed. I scowl pointedly at the obstructing fabric because I was not finished with him, but he's too busy fondling JJ to notice me.

"Poor baby," he croons as JJ practically leaps from my arms and into his waiting ones. In seconds, she's imparted her tale of woe to him, and he's holding her tightly, stroking her hair while carrying her back towards the staircase.

"I'm taking her up to her room to rest," he throws over his shoulder. "Can you make her some chamomile tea or something warm to drink? And bring FooFoo up while you're at it."

I open the cupboards and peruse the contents, brows furrowing as his last instruction sinks in.

"Who or what is-"

"Her blanket," Misha snaps. "The tattered, yellow one by the fireplace. Hurry."

JJ's sniffling has quieted considerably, and she settles in Misha's arms, docile as a lamb as they retreat towards her room.

I set to work grudgingly, metal pots clanging as I rummage through the cabinets. Honestly, I can't make heads or tails of this setup. Misha has a much better grasp on the kitchen, and the whole damn house for that matter, than me or Dani.

I wish he would just stop.

Because every time I see him vacuuming my living room or cooking dinner in my kitchen or picking the dirty clothes off the floor of my bedroom or looking after my baby girl, I think of him as mine. In this domestic context, it's harder than ever to remind myself that he isn't my goddamn husband, even though he fits so perfectly into my world.

I can't help but wonder where I would be if he'd never auditioned for the role of Castiel on the show, if our paths had never crossed like they did. He has become an inextricable part of my life: hopelessly, inexorably tangled up in it to the point where losing him would make my very existence into a friggin' crater in the ground.

It takes me about five minutes to brew a heavenly cup of hot tea, the sweet scent cloying the air as wisps of steam curl upwards from JJ's pink mug.

I climb the winding staircase carefully, trying my best not to spill any of the scalding liquid.

When I reach her open bedroom door, my heart twists at the sight before me.

The curtains are drawn and Misha is reclining in a plush armchair in the far corner of the room, JJ wrapped snugly in his arms. She's out like a light, drooling slightly against Misha's dark shirt as he strokes her hair. Her bedtime soundtrack is playing a soft, twinkling lullaby in the background, and her fairy nightlight bathes the dark room in a soft, lavender glow. 

Misha narrows his eyes at me over JJ's tousled, blonde head and I immediately slap a hand to my forehead.

I forgot FooFoo.