"We are all alone, and we are all together in that."
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
Everything inside his chest lit up so suddenly it almost hurt.
— Sure. Yeah. Of course. No problem.
His answer came too fast.
Irina smiled then.
Not bright and teasing like before.
Smaller.
Shyer.
And somehow that affected him even more.
She opened the door to her room, then looked back over her shoulder at him.
A tiny pause.
Half confidence.
Half nerves.
— So come on in.
The moment the door closed behind them, the silence changed again.
Not awkward.
Worse.
Loaded.
The low buzz of the city outside filtered through the enormous windows, distant traffic glowing far below them in ribbons of gold and red. The hotel suite was dim except for a couple warm lamps left on near the sofa and minibar, everything bathed in soft amber shadows.
Irina exhaled first.
Then immediately bent down to free herself from the heels that had apparently been torturing her all day.
— Jesus Christ—
She kicked one off.
Then the other.
Both landing somewhere carelessly across the carpet.
Jensen laughed softly under his breath while closing the door slower than necessary behind him.
She walked farther into the suite already pulling the blazer off her shoulders, revealing the sleeveless silk blouse underneath. The white fabric caught the warm light beautifully against her skin before she tossed the blazer over an armchair without looking.
Jensen followed more slowly.
Hands in his pockets.
Trying very hard to look anywhere except at her.
Which was becoming a serious problem.
— Fancy room, Ms. Diplomat.
His voice sounded rougher now.
Irina glanced around dramatically.
— Mhm. Very… beige.
He laughed quietly.
— Rich people love beige.
She smiled tiredly at that while reaching behind herself to unclasp her earrings, placing them carelessly on the counter beside the minibar.
Jensen watched every movement despite himself.
The elegant line of her neck exposed now.
The slight messiness settling into her after the long day.
The way she looked less like the untouchable diplomat from that morning and more like a woman unwinding in front of him.
Dangerous thought.
Very dangerous.
He cleared his throat lightly and forced himself to glance around the room instead.
— This painting is terrible.
Irina looked over.
— Oh God, it is terrible.
— Looks expensive though.
— That’s how you know it’s bad.
He laughed again, softer this time.
There was something strangely shy happening between them now underneath all the flirting. Like both of them suddenly understood how close they were standing to something irreversible.
Irina pointed toward the sofa.
— Can you move those papers for me?
— Yeah, sure.
He stepped forward immediately, gathering folders and documents scattered over the cushions — schedules, diplomatic notes, folders with UN insignia.
Meanwhile she loosened the tension from her shoulders with a slow roll of her neck.
— Check the minibar too. There might be something decent hidden in there if we’re lucky. — she paused, looking at him over her shoulder with a faint smile. — I’m gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable.
The words shouldn’t have affected him that much.
But they did.
Jensen nodded once.
— Take your time.
She disappeared into the bathroom a moment later.
And suddenly he was alone with the sound of his own heartbeat.
He let out a long breath and rubbed both hands down his face.
— Jesus Christ…
A quiet laugh escaped him immediately after.
Then he reached for his phone almost on instinct.
A second later, classic hard rock filled the suite softly through the room speakers.
He opened the champagne from the minibar with a muted pop, poured himself a glass and loosened two buttons of his shirt slowly, trying to relax into the sofa.
It didn’t work.
Not even a little.
Because behind the bathroom door he could hear the water running.
And somehow that was worse than actually seeing her.
The soft hiss of the shower.
The blurred silhouette moving behind frosted glass.
The expensive soap slowly filling the suite with warm clean notes that mixed dangerously well with the whiskey still lingering on her earlier perfume.
Jensen leaned back deeper into the couch and took a longer sip of champagne.
His knee bounced once.
Twice.
He laughed quietly at himself.
Forty-something years old and suddenly feeling like a nervous teenager waiting for his date to come downstairs.
Then Bon Jovi hit the chorus.
And before he could stop himself, he started singing along under his breath.
— Tonight I won’t be alone… but you know that don’t mean I’m not lonely…
A few drinks in, his voice came easier now — low, naturally raspy, filling the suite effortlessly.
He got up eventually, champagne glass in hand, and wandered toward the enormous windows overlooking the city.
The streets glittered below him.
Alive.
Restless.
He kept singing softly with the music, staring out at the traffic.
Then suddenly—
He felt her presence before he heard her.
Jensen inhaled slowly.
Smiled to himself.
And took another sip before turning around.
Irina stood barefoot a few feet away now, wrapped in black silk.
The same pajamas from the night before.
Loose silk pants brushing softly against her ankles. Thin straps exposing elegant shoulders still slightly damp from the shower. Her hair twisted up messily, exposing her neck completely.
And somehow that looked infinitely more intimate than if she’d dressed up for him.
The scent of soap and her perfume surrounded her completely now.
Warm.
Clean.
Feminine.
Dangerous.
She stepped closer slowly and rested her hand lightly against the middle of his back.
Jensen closed his eyes for half a second at the contact.
Then she leaned in just enough to murmur:
— I always knew you were Team Bon Jovi.
Her voice brushed his ear softly.
He chuckled under his breath.
Irina moved toward the champagne bottle but before she could reach it, Jensen turned immediately.
— Oh no, no. I got it.
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
— Oh?
— Yeah.
He grabbed another glass, pouring carefully while she watched him with obvious amusement.
— Such a gentleman.
— I’m trying very hard tonight, actually.
That earned her another laugh.
She took the glass from his hand and settled onto the sofa first, sitting comfortably on her heels against the cushions.
Then she patted the spot beside her.
Inviting him closer without saying it aloud.
Jensen sat down slowly beside her, one arm stretching along the back of the sofa, legs spread comfortably despite the tension simmering under his skin.
Irina turned toward him immediately.
One elbow resting against the back cushion now.
Her cheek against her hand.
Watching him.
Just watching him.
Those enormous brown eyes fixed on him so openly now it almost unsettled him.
A slow smile curved against the rim of her champagne glass.
Not sweet.
Not innocent.
Something softer and infinitely more dangerous.
Jensen looked at her.
Held it for exactly one second too long.
Then laughed suddenly under his breath and looked away toward the floor.
— Why are you looking at me like that?
Irina tilted her head slightly.
— Like what?
— Like you’re about to eat me alive.
Her eyebrows lifted slowly over the glass.
And she never broke eye contact when she answered:
— Maybe I will.
Jensen let out a loud deep laugh instantly, head falling back against the sofa, eyes closing for a moment while the sound filled the room.
The room had gone quieter at some point.
Not literally — Bon Jovi still played low somewhere near the TV, glasses still clinked softly every now and then, the city still existed outside the windows — but quieter between them.
Like the air itself had thickened.
Jensen sat deeper into the couch now, one knee angled toward her, champagne loose in his hand. Two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the warm skin of his throat. Irina remained curled toward him, one leg folded beneath her body, fingers lazily circling the stem of her glass.
And those eyes.
Jesus Christ.
Those huge brown eyes stayed on him like she was listening to things he wasn’t even saying.
“So,” she murmured eventually, voice softer now, slightly roughened by alcohol and exhaustion. “How do you do it?”
He glanced at her with a lazy smile.
“Do what?”
She tilted her head a little.
“This.”
A vague gesture toward him.
“The charming thing.”
That pulled a laugh from him.
“Oh, c’mon.”
“No, I’m serious.” She smiled into her glass. “You do it professionally. It’s actually impressive.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Mmhm.”
He took another sip, still smiling faintly, but she kept looking at him.
Not teasing now.
Watching.
Like she meant something else entirely.
The smile faded from his mouth little by little.
He looked down at the champagne bottle on the table between them and exhaled quietly through his nose.
“Honestly?” he said after a moment. “Most days I think I’m just improvising.”
Something in the room shifted.
Irina’s expression softened almost immediately, like she understood the sentence far beyond the joke it was supposed to be.
He rubbed his thumb slowly against the side of his glass.
“You spend enough years traveling, smiling, shaking hands, making people feel good…” he shrugged lightly. “Eventually you get very good at performing a version of yourself.”
She stared at him for a second longer before letting out the faintest breath of a laugh.
“Oh, I’ve seen this movie... too many fucking times.”
Their eyes met again.
And suddenly it wasn’t flirting anymore.
Or maybe it still was — but now there was honesty underneath it.
Irina leaned her temple against the back of the couch, eyes drifting briefly toward the ceiling.
Jensen huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Ah, c’mon. You work with people too. I’m sure you know how it works.” He shrugged lightly, eyes drifting toward the city lights outside the windows. “Traveling, smiling, shaking hands, making people feel good…” His fingers turned the glass slowly in his hand. “Eventually you get very good at performing a version of yourself.”
Irina looked away for a second, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” she murmured quietly.
She shifted slightly on the couch before lifting her gaze back to his.
Her hand resting against the back of the couch brushed softly against his arm.
Such a small touch.
Still, it sent a shiver through every inch of him.
God.
Jensen’s eyes dropped instinctively to her hand against his arm.
Then to her bare shoulders.
To the dark strands of hair framing her face softly.
To her mouth.
Those naturally red lips.
And those deep brown eyes looking at him with something dangerously close to longing now, mixed with hesitation, softness, exhaustion.
She bit her lower lip gently.
And that was it.
One moment he was thinking about loneliness, performance, life—
The next his mouth was on hers
Hungry.
Needy.
Like something inside both of them had finally snapped.
His lips moved against hers slowly at first, deepening seconds later, firmer now, desperate in a way that made her stomach tighten instantly. His hand closed around her waist, pulling her flush against him until she could feel the heat of his body, solid and dazzlingly warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
Irina gasped softly into his mouth.
Jensen took the opportunity immediately, kissing her deeper, and she felt his breath mix with hers as her fingers curled instinctively against his chest, gripping the fabric there.
His heartbeat was fast.
Too fast.
Not calm at all.
His fingertips slid slowly up her side, brushing higher little by little, teasingly close to her breast before stopping again, restraint hanging by a thread between them.
The sound he made when she pulled him closer almost ruined her completely.
A low groan against her mouth.
Raw.
Helpless.
By the time they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Foreheads pressed together.
Eyes closed.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered first, voice wrecked.
“No,” she breathed shakily. “We shouldn’t.”
Neither of them moved away.
Then Jensen finally leaned back slightly, dragging a hand down his face before pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“I just…” He exhaled sharply. “I need you to know I’m not this guy.”
Irina stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
“I’m not the guy who leaves his family at home and runs around the world screwing anything that moves.” His voice tightened slightly. “That’s not me.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I know. Me neither.”
“No, wait.” He shook his head quickly. “I need to say this.”
For the first time that night, Jensen looked genuinely exposed.
Not charming.
Not funny.
Not performing.
Just tired.
“I love my family,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
Irina’s expression softened immediately.
“For years… during Supernatural, everything somehow worked. We had a routine. We had stability. Fifteen years of the same schedule, same city, same rhythm…”
A sad laugh escaped him.
“And then suddenly it was over.”
His eyes drifted somewhere distant again.
“The kids got older. They couldn’t just leave school anymore. I started jumping between productions, different cities, different schedules…” He swallowed hard. “And I try, you know? I try to still be present. To not just become the fun dad who shows up between flights.”
The silence stretched for a second.
“But with Danneel…” he admitted quietly. “Marriage is different. Distance becomes resentment really fast when one person is carrying everything alone.”
Irina listened without interrupting.
Curled slightly toward him on the couch, cheek resting against her arm, brown eyes fixed on him with quiet understanding.
Because she understood.
God, she understood all too well.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke.
Soft hard rock music still played softly somewhere behind them, low enough now to feel more like memory than music. The city lights outside the windows painted slow golden reflections across the room, across the champagne bottle abandoned on the table, across Jensen’s tired face.
And when he finally looked back at her—
His eyes were glassy.
Not fully crying.
Not falling apart.
Just exhausted enough that the sadness had nowhere left to hide.
Something inside Irina broke a little at the sight.
“Oh no, no, don’t cry,” she whispered immediately, voice impossibly soft.
Before he could even react, she moved closer.
One knee sinking into the couch beside him, then the other, until she was kneeling there in front of him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
Her hands slid carefully to his face first, thumbs brushing lightly against his beard before she pulled him toward her.
And Jensen let her.
God, he let her.
His forehead pressed against her chest, fingers disappearing softly into his hair.
Irina kissed his head softly.
“hey..” she whispered again. “it’s okay...”
“You’re not a bad guy, baby,” she said quietly. “You’re just human.”
The word ‘baby’ nearly destroyed whatever restraint he still had left.
Jensen’s arms wrapped around her waist instinctively, holding her tighter now, his face still buried against her chest as he breathed her in deeply.
Irina kept running her fingers through his hair slowly, her touch impossibly tender, kissing the top of his head once more while his grip around her tightened almost unconsciously beneath the silk fabric of her pajama top.
And then—
he turned his face slightly.
Just enough that his lips brushed the warm skin above her chest.
One small kiss at first.
Absentminded.
Instinctive.
But the second one lingered longer.
Irina’s breath caught immediately.
Jensen felt it.
Felt the way her body tensed softly beneath his hands.
The room changed again.
Just like that.
His mouth moved higher slowly, lingering against her skin now, warm kisses turning more deliberate against the softness exposed by the thin straps of her top.
Irina inhaled shakily above him, fingers tightening slightly in his hair.
- “Jensen…”
But it wasn’t a warning.
Not really.
Not anymore.
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.🥃
Apparently behind closed doors and heavy hearts, lust wins.
And runs free.
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