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There are very few things that Jensen actively dreads. Hearing that something has happened to Danneel, or JJ, would probably be on the top of his list. His agent calling him and telling that he’s been fired and has to start looking for a job after spending a decade doing an acting gig that he’s grown to love, that would probably be another. Apart from those, there are smaller compartments in his brain devoted to anxiously waiting that Jared decides to ally with Misha and turn the prank war against him, or forgetting his script at home and delaying the production, or something similar relating to appearing un-professional. Then there’s a whole another compartment just labeled, Misha.

So when Misha grins up at him before the panel and says, “You know what would be funny?”, Jensen’s brain stutters and then immediately goes into overdrive and starts to transmit DANGER to him.

“No.”

“No?” Misha repeats.

“Whatever you’re planning, no.”

“I wasn’t gonna molest you on stage,” Misha says, overacting like he’s deeply hurt. “Although that would be funny.”

“No.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t.”

“You’re not making s—” Jensen stops, because arguing with Misha when he’s like this is a lost cause. “Okay. What were you gonna say?”

Misha regards him curiously, like he’s not sure how Jensen’s going to take what he has to say, and Jensen raises his brows at this curious 180 degree turn. Misha is odd like that – one moment he’s joking, the other he’s not and you don’t even notice that he isn’t until he’s joking again – but Jensen’s known Misha long enough to follow most of what is going on inside his head.

Most of the time. This time, when Misha says, “They really liked to see us make out, didn’t they?”, Jensen can’t for the life of him read Misha’s tone. He gapes at Misha, unable to tell what’s Misha’s angle – is he poking fun at the fans, is he poking fun at Jensen (he can’t know, dear god, he can’t know), or is he… probing for Jensen’s reaction?

Jensen decides to go with the last one and gives a non-committal, “Uh-huh.”

There’s more staring between them, with Misha still being oddly blank and Jensen being non-communicative, but at least the staring is familiar to them, and they fall back to it when everything else fails. When Jensen starts to feel uncomfortable, he hastens to say, “What were you planning? Blow kisses at me for the whole hour?”

“Well. Try not to hit me if I decide to kiss you goodbye at the end of the panel?”

Misha’s eyes are twinkling, and he’s grinning broadly, and everything radiating from him seems to suggest that it’s just that, a joke, a joke that he at least felt he should warn Jensen about, but Jensen feels weirdly out-of-place.

“Sure,” he says, shakily, but luckily, Misha doesn’t seem to notice – just gives him one last grin and pats Jensen’s ass as he disappears to somewhere, and Jensen somehow finds himself thinking that the convention staff is going to be annoyed when Misha, once again, isn’t where he’s supposed to be five minutes before they head to the stage, and then throws everyone off by being exactly where he’s supposed to be two minutes before showtime.

Jensen doesn’t know what to think. For all their joking and public cuddling and whatnot, they really aren’t anything but friends. And that frustrates Jensen to no end, because he doesn’t know why the fuck they are still just friends. Well, technically he knows: Misha’s never given any indication that he’d like to be more, and even after a very, very awkward talk with Danneel that ended with her being awesome like she is and saying, “go for it,” Jensen just can’t. He doesn’t want to make the first move that would so inevitably lead to rejection, because what good would that do?

So, he squashes the feeling deep inside of him, although it threatens to burst through his chest, and reminds himself to just take what he can get. Fake make-outs, fine, whatever, he can do that. He already has done that, with Misha crashing his panel, and he can do it again, no problem. The fact that the words it’s not real twist his heart is inconsequential.

When he steps on stage with Misha, all goes well. He brushes the storm inside his mind aside and just concentrates on getting through the same questions and hoots fans always give at every convention, regardless of time and place. Misha is perfect with them, as always, and the fans don’t seem to get enough of him, as always. Jensen’s never been quite as comfortable in front of a crowd as Misha seems to be – conventions are fun, true, but whereas Jensen feels like talking to fans drains him, Misha seems to light up with the energy he gets from talking to fans.

They act silly, make fans laugh, get applauded for the smallest things for who knows how many times, and so Jensen is feeling good when the panel draws to a close. There are only a few minutes to spare, so they take the last question, and answer it straight, not taking any detours to any long-winded tales before announcing that their time is out.

“Well, it was nice to see you,” Misha says, and the crowd gives a disappointed “awh” like they were just getting started. “But hey, this was fun, we should do this again.”

The crowd cheers and Jensen laughs a bit at that. Misha turns to him, suddenly all formal and stiff, but the smile that cracks through his armor gives him away instantly, and Jensen knows what to expect, now.

“Good talk,” Misha says to Jensen, and the crowd laughs. “We should do this more often.”

“Perhaps in a more intimate setting,” Jensen says, playing into whatever Misha’s going to do next.

“Yes, maybe with less audience, like a real date,” Misha says, and there’s laughter and whistling, because obviously people are remembering the end of Jensen’s panel. Jensen just snorts at that. “All right, well, good night.”

And then Misha suddenly leans close, exaggerating his movements like he’s trying to give Jensen a chaste goodnight kiss, and Jensen – his heart suddenly beating more insistently than he would like it to – welcomes the gesture, leaning towards Misha. During the last second, though, Misha changes the movement, going suddenly for a bold kiss. He throws his arms around Jensen’s neck, just like the last time, and presses his lips to Jensen with fervor.

But there’s no hand between their lips. This is not an actor’s kiss.

Where’s the hand? Why is there no barrier between them? Jensen’s panicking, because there’s no hand between their lips like there was the last time they made out on stage and oh god there are warm lips against his and is that a tongue sliding against his lips and—

Jensen gives up. Everything suddenly evaporates from his mind, save for the way Misha’s hands are cradling his skull and the way Misha’s lips slot against his. He feels calm, although his heart’s beating a thunderous tattoo. Misha’s tongue grazes his lips, secretly, like asking for permission, and just like that, Jensen surges forward and kisses back with everything he has.

Misha is warm and affectionate and passionate and perfect, and Jensen feels just content, leaning against Misha and getting to know how he kisses and—

Being shoved backwards, apparently. The kiss stops as swiftly as it started, and Jensen can’t stop staring at Misha and his spit-shining lips. The crowd is cheering and whistling, going wild, but it all is just a backdrop in Jensen’s mind. He can’t stop hearing how his heart booms across his body, can’t stop feeling how his whole chest just burns with affection.

“That’s all, folks!” Misha’s saying somewhere far away, and suddenly Jensen realizes that he’s holding Misha’s hand, the one that isn’t gripping the mike and—

What the hell was that about?

Jensen feels a tug in his hand, and he gives an awkward wave to the crowd and follows Misha off the stage, not letting go of Misha’s hand for anything. Misha’s not letting go, either, and Jensen lets himself be dragged off the stage and to the corridor with only a few convention workers. He can still hear the crowd laughing and talking somewhere behind them, and suddenly, he stops. Misha turns when he feels that Jensen is no longer following him.

“What was that about?” Jensen asks.

Misha looks at him, his eyes big and – oh, fuck, blown dark – and finally says, “I thought it would be funny.”

Jensen can’t decide what his body is doing – is he going to freeze or burn?

“And,” Misha blessedly continues, when Jensen can’t figure out what to say, “I think it’d be good if we continued to the second part.”

Second part?

“Uhm,” Jensen somehow manages, “a real date?”

“A real date,” Misha nods.

“With no audience?”

“No audience,” Misha promises. Then he amends, “Well, you know, as little audience as we can manage. They keep finding us, somehow.”

Jensen laughs.