Misha stands in front of the mirror in his trailer, Castiel looking back out at him. He's never had a part affect him like this; like it wasn't just a character he was putting on, but that something was settling into his soul. He wonders if any of the others on set feel like this, wonders if Jensen gets the sense of belonging when he slides into Dean's skin, if Jared feels Sam seeping into him, or if it's just him.
Raising a hand, he traces his lips, Castiel's lips, with his fingertips, tongue darting out to lick at them quickly before they trail down his neck (do angels get gooseflesh, he wonders) and make him shudder.
He pulls at the tie around Castiel's neck, loosening the too tight knot before he continues downwards, over his stomach until he finally reaches the hard cock pressing against the trousers Castiel is wearing.
Misha snaps open the button on the trousers, tugging the zip down and sliding his hand inside to wrap around his cock. He wonders if this is the first time Castiel's been touched by human hands, pure and untainted; wonders if the angel touches himself at night, lying in the darkness and mapping the body he inhabits. Or maybe it's not the first time, maybe other hands have been there before Misha's (green eyes, careful and intense, and Misha doesn't know if the name dancing over his skin is Dean or Jensen).
His strokes are steady and smooth, because he knows what Castiel wants, what Castiel needs. His touch is sure and there and Misha can feel the heat pooling in his belly, spreading out through Castiel as he gasps, come splashing against the mirror and sliding down, streaky trails on the glass shouting Castiel's defiance to God.
And in the mirror, Castiel looks back at Misha and smiles.