SPN Fic: Broken, Dean/Castiel (NC-17)
Feb. 27th, 2011 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielBroken
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1817
Castiel Falls. Dean tries to pick up the pieces.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
plentyofowls. Inspired by her absolutely beautiful, and nsfw, piece of artwork. (Also found here.) It's haunted me since I first saw it. I hope you like it!
Many thanks tocautionzombies and mclachlan for betaing. ♥♥
They kneel before each other on the bed, equals now, stripped bare, their flesh burning. Castiel doesn’t want to see what he’s become. His heart aches; his heart, his human heart aches at the thought, pulsing in time with the twinge at his back, the one he’d like to put out of his mind.
Dean’s eyes on him are bright and serious and sad, so sad. There’s regret there, Castiel can see, and pain and sympathy, but this is something Dean will never be able to truly understand.
“Cas,” Dean says, his voice catching on the name Dean gave him so long ago, the one that was the first nail in Castiel’s coffin, the first step down this road.
Maybe it wasn’t the first. Maybe that was Dean’s soul burning bright even in the depths of Hell, the look on Dean’s face in that barn. It could have started anywhere, but it was always going to end here.
“Cas,” Dean repeats. He reaches out, the tips of his fingers against the curve of Castiel’s knee, his thigh. His hand is tentative, a bird ready to take flight. “I’m sor—”
Castiel holds Dean’s hand against his thigh, shudders at the heat of Dean’s palm soaking into his skin. “Dean,” he says, fingers hard, “don’t.” He leans forward, tipping up on his knees, and covers Dean’s mouth with his own. He doesn’t want to hear Dean’s apologies, his guilt. This is how it is now; this is how it’s going to be.
They’ll have time to learn to live with it.
Dean sighs into his mouth, fingers flexing on Castiel’s thigh. His lips part easily, letting Castiel in without hesitation and, yes, at least this is familiar. At least this remains unchanged.
Castiel presses forward, tongue sliding along Dean’s own, licking against his molars. Dean moans, a soft slip of a sound that tingles on Castiel’s tongue, and shifts against the bed, his other hand skating across Castiel’s forearm, thumb tucked at the inside of Castiel’s elbow.
Dean’s fingers feel like a brand against his skin, drawing the heat from the wounds at his back, giving Castiel something else to focus on, something good. He wants Dean to touch him everywhere. Wants Dean to lay him out and touch him until there’s nothing left but Dean and this and them, pain subsumed in pleasure, pleasure in pain, the two of them clinging together, sweaty and tangled on white motel sheets.
They’ve lost so much already; Castiel won’t let them lose this, too.
He presses a palm against Dean’s side, feels the flex of muscle and bone beneath his hand, the steadily increasing thrum of Dean’s heart. Moving his hand upward, Castiel thumbs at Dean’s nipple, pulling a gasp from between Dean’s lips.
“Cas,” Dean breathes, mouth insistent against his. “Cas.”
Dean’s tongue sweeps across Castiel’s bottom lip, slipping inside. Castiel loves the way this feels, loves the way Dean kisses him, intent and focused, slick and lewd. Dean throws himself into it, he always does, and Castiel tumbles after.
Dean knees closer, pushing forward, pushing Castiel back, and Castiel feels a flutter like panic in his chest. He doesn’t want to lie down, he can’t, not with the remnants of his wings still hanging on, sensitive and painful and broken. His hand leaves Dean’s chest, reaching backward to stop his fall. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s frightened; he kisses Dean harder, feels the heat of Dean between his thighs, focuses.
It isn’t enough.
Castiel pulls away to speak, their lips brushing when he says Dean’s name, sound caught between them like a secret. “Fuck me.” He slides his hand from where he’s been keeping Dean’s against his thigh and wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrist, pulling Dean’s hand down between his legs. “I want to feel you, Dean.” He presses Dean’s fingers against him. “I need to—”
“Yeah,” Dean says, his forehead touching Castiel’s when he nods. His fingers move against Castiel, and Castiel shivers, feels it in the shift of tendons beneath his thumb, the tease of skin on skin. “Yeah, I could do tha—” Dean draws back. His brows are heavy, a line forming between them. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s wrist, a surge of something like anger, something like frustration making his blood hot. It only lasts a moment, a brief flash of fire that dissipates with Castiel’s next breath, with the look on Dean’s face. Castiel’s anger is misplaced. Loosening his grip, Castiel rubs his thumb across the smooth, thin skin over Dean’s jumping pulse. “Yes,” Castiel says. “I’m sure.”
Dean looks at him a moment, green eyes dark and searching, and then his forehead smoothes and the corners of his mouth quirk upward. It’s a look Castiel knows intimately.
“All right,” Dean says. He kisses Castiel quickly. “All right.” He sits back, and Castiel releases his hold as Dean twists toward the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and retrieving the lube. He turns back, and Castiel rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, fingers brushing hair back and forth against the grain as Dean opens the bottle and slicks up his fingers.
“How do you want to do this?” Dean asks, fingers shining as he rubs them together
Shifting against the sheets, Castiel spreads his legs farther, reaches for Dean’s wrist again, and pulls Dean’s hand down. “Like this,” he says, lifting up on his knees and pressing Dean’s fingers against him. “I want to do it like this.”
“You sur—” Castiel raises an eyebrow and Dean blinks up at him, mouth snapping shut. He looks down and huffs a laugh, more air than sound. Looking back up, he lifts on his own knees and kisses Castiel, lips a gentle slide. “Of course,” he says, teeth grazing Castiel’s bottom lip. “Stupid question.”
The stubble on Dean’s jaw and cheek prickles Castiel’s fingertips. “No more questioning, Dean.” He leans in and kisses Dean, a soft-hard glide of tongue and teeth, and Dean moans, his fingers twitching against Castiel. Cupping the side of Dean’s face, Castiel moves Dean the way he wants him, kisses him deep, does his best to drown them both in feeling, in this moment right here where it’s just the two of them, Dean’s fingers pushing inside so sweet.
Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest, catches in his throat. He whimpers, and Dean’s mouth goes from pliant and lush to sharp and wicked, that grin Castiel so loves to see coming out to play.
“You like that, Cas,” Dean says, whispered directly into Castiel’s mouth. “I know you do.”
“I—yes.” Castiel sinks down on Dean’s fingers, revels in the stretch, the way his body responds to this intrusion. To Dean. He hooks an arm around Dean’s neck. “Yes,” he repeats, pulling Dean close. “Now give me more.”
Dean shudders in his arms, two fingers slipping out to become three. There’s sweat gathering where their bodies are pressed together; Dean’s knees at the inside of Castiel’s thighs, Castiel’s elbow at the back of Dean’s neck, their temples. It’s so close to what Castiel wants, so close to what he needs. He rocks on Dean’s fingers and noses at Dean’s cheek, closes his eyes and fills his lungs—his lungs—with air that smells like Dean.
He doesn’t need to tell Dean he’s ready. Dean’s fingers disappear, and then Dean’s pulling back to look at him, Castiel’s arm slipping from his shoulders. Dean watches him, silent and serious, and Castiel’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, too much, too full. For once he wishes Dean would look away, that Dean would take his pleasure and not worry about Castiel’s pain.
Dean tilts his head, his eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheeks, and touches Castiel’s cock between them, slicked fingers wrapping around him. He strokes Castiel gently, carefully. Reverently.
Castiel bites his lip and waits.
Dean travels the length of him before he moves elsewhere, fingers at the crease where Castiel’s leg meets his hip, moving downward to Castiel’s knees. He insinuates his fingers between Castiel’s thighs and his calves and tugs, pulls Castiel closer.
Castiel comes easily, readily. He lifts up and crowds himself against Dean, personal space forgotten, abandoned. He moves until he’s in Dean’s lap, kneeling above him. Dean noses at his Adam’s apple and mouths at his collarbone, drops kisses on Castiel’s skin in patterns Castiel can’t follow. Maybe they’re not patterns at all.
Reaching between them, Castiel wraps a hand around Dean’s cock, thumbs the head. He rises above Dean—Dean’s neck stretched backward to follow him, eyes locked on Castiel’s—and when he lowers himself, Dean’s right there, filling him up.
Arms tight around Dean’s shoulders, Castiel hangs on as Dean’s hands glide up Castiel’s legs, over his ass, rest briefly at the small of Castiel’s back. They’re large and strong, setting Castiel alight as Dean holds him close, holds him steady. After a moment, they continue upward before hesitating.
Dean’s fingers are careful on Castiel’s skin, and Castiel wants to tell him harder, wants to tell him more. He won’t break, they’ve both seen that.
Instead, Castiel rolls his hips. The movement makes Dean’s breath stutter and his touch harden, fingers digging into the still sore flesh near Castiel’s shoulder blades. Castiel shivers, and rolls his hips again.
“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Fuck, I want—I want—”
He pulls Castiel closer, wraps him up tight in his arms, thrusts into him. Castiel hangs on, keeps his balance, his fingers sliding against Dean’s sweat-slicked skin. Something’s coiling inside him, something hot and overwhelming pooling low in his belly, curling around the base of his spine. He can feel it there, building as Dean moves with him, as he moves with Dean. He rushes toward it, races toward it, welcomes the oblivion he knows orgasm will bring if only for a little while.
“Dean. Dean.”
The rhythm changes, Dean’s hands suddenly gone from his back, hitching Castiel closer by his knees. It throws Castiel off-balance and no, he thinks, hand thrown out behind him, no, he doesn’t want to fall, doesn’t want to—
Castiel comes, words caught in his throat, a wordless keen falling from his lips. His muscles clench and he could swear his heart stops. It doesn’t, it keeps beating, too fast and too hard as Dean pulls him close and breathes his name and comes inside him, skin slick and burning against Castiel’s own.
If he could never move, if he could stay right here, like this, with Dean held inside him, Dean’s forehead against his shoulder, Dean’s face against his skin, Castiel thinks he would be happy.
Back aching, Castiel’s skin cools and his breathing slows, his heart still tripping in his chest. He holds on to that thought, holds on to Dean, and pushes the pain of his broken wings away.
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1817
Castiel Falls. Dean tries to pick up the pieces.
For
plentyofowls. Inspired by her absolutely beautiful, and nsfw, piece of artwork. (Also found here.) It's haunted me since I first saw it. I hope you like it!Many thanks to
cautionzombies and mclachlan for betaing. ♥♥They kneel before each other on the bed, equals now, stripped bare, their flesh burning. Castiel doesn’t want to see what he’s become. His heart aches; his heart, his human heart aches at the thought, pulsing in time with the twinge at his back, the one he’d like to put out of his mind.
Dean’s eyes on him are bright and serious and sad, so sad. There’s regret there, Castiel can see, and pain and sympathy, but this is something Dean will never be able to truly understand.
“Cas,” Dean says, his voice catching on the name Dean gave him so long ago, the one that was the first nail in Castiel’s coffin, the first step down this road.
Maybe it wasn’t the first. Maybe that was Dean’s soul burning bright even in the depths of Hell, the look on Dean’s face in that barn. It could have started anywhere, but it was always going to end here.
“Cas,” Dean repeats. He reaches out, the tips of his fingers against the curve of Castiel’s knee, his thigh. His hand is tentative, a bird ready to take flight. “I’m sor—”
Castiel holds Dean’s hand against his thigh, shudders at the heat of Dean’s palm soaking into his skin. “Dean,” he says, fingers hard, “don’t.” He leans forward, tipping up on his knees, and covers Dean’s mouth with his own. He doesn’t want to hear Dean’s apologies, his guilt. This is how it is now; this is how it’s going to be.
They’ll have time to learn to live with it.
Dean sighs into his mouth, fingers flexing on Castiel’s thigh. His lips part easily, letting Castiel in without hesitation and, yes, at least this is familiar. At least this remains unchanged.
Castiel presses forward, tongue sliding along Dean’s own, licking against his molars. Dean moans, a soft slip of a sound that tingles on Castiel’s tongue, and shifts against the bed, his other hand skating across Castiel’s forearm, thumb tucked at the inside of Castiel’s elbow.
Dean’s fingers feel like a brand against his skin, drawing the heat from the wounds at his back, giving Castiel something else to focus on, something good. He wants Dean to touch him everywhere. Wants Dean to lay him out and touch him until there’s nothing left but Dean and this and them, pain subsumed in pleasure, pleasure in pain, the two of them clinging together, sweaty and tangled on white motel sheets.
They’ve lost so much already; Castiel won’t let them lose this, too.
He presses a palm against Dean’s side, feels the flex of muscle and bone beneath his hand, the steadily increasing thrum of Dean’s heart. Moving his hand upward, Castiel thumbs at Dean’s nipple, pulling a gasp from between Dean’s lips.
“Cas,” Dean breathes, mouth insistent against his. “Cas.”
Dean’s tongue sweeps across Castiel’s bottom lip, slipping inside. Castiel loves the way this feels, loves the way Dean kisses him, intent and focused, slick and lewd. Dean throws himself into it, he always does, and Castiel tumbles after.
Dean knees closer, pushing forward, pushing Castiel back, and Castiel feels a flutter like panic in his chest. He doesn’t want to lie down, he can’t, not with the remnants of his wings still hanging on, sensitive and painful and broken. His hand leaves Dean’s chest, reaching backward to stop his fall. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s frightened; he kisses Dean harder, feels the heat of Dean between his thighs, focuses.
It isn’t enough.
Castiel pulls away to speak, their lips brushing when he says Dean’s name, sound caught between them like a secret. “Fuck me.” He slides his hand from where he’s been keeping Dean’s against his thigh and wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrist, pulling Dean’s hand down between his legs. “I want to feel you, Dean.” He presses Dean’s fingers against him. “I need to—”
“Yeah,” Dean says, his forehead touching Castiel’s when he nods. His fingers move against Castiel, and Castiel shivers, feels it in the shift of tendons beneath his thumb, the tease of skin on skin. “Yeah, I could do tha—” Dean draws back. His brows are heavy, a line forming between them. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s wrist, a surge of something like anger, something like frustration making his blood hot. It only lasts a moment, a brief flash of fire that dissipates with Castiel’s next breath, with the look on Dean’s face. Castiel’s anger is misplaced. Loosening his grip, Castiel rubs his thumb across the smooth, thin skin over Dean’s jumping pulse. “Yes,” Castiel says. “I’m sure.”
Dean looks at him a moment, green eyes dark and searching, and then his forehead smoothes and the corners of his mouth quirk upward. It’s a look Castiel knows intimately.
“All right,” Dean says. He kisses Castiel quickly. “All right.” He sits back, and Castiel releases his hold as Dean twists toward the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and retrieving the lube. He turns back, and Castiel rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, fingers brushing hair back and forth against the grain as Dean opens the bottle and slicks up his fingers.
“How do you want to do this?” Dean asks, fingers shining as he rubs them together
Shifting against the sheets, Castiel spreads his legs farther, reaches for Dean’s wrist again, and pulls Dean’s hand down. “Like this,” he says, lifting up on his knees and pressing Dean’s fingers against him. “I want to do it like this.”
“You sur—” Castiel raises an eyebrow and Dean blinks up at him, mouth snapping shut. He looks down and huffs a laugh, more air than sound. Looking back up, he lifts on his own knees and kisses Castiel, lips a gentle slide. “Of course,” he says, teeth grazing Castiel’s bottom lip. “Stupid question.”
The stubble on Dean’s jaw and cheek prickles Castiel’s fingertips. “No more questioning, Dean.” He leans in and kisses Dean, a soft-hard glide of tongue and teeth, and Dean moans, his fingers twitching against Castiel. Cupping the side of Dean’s face, Castiel moves Dean the way he wants him, kisses him deep, does his best to drown them both in feeling, in this moment right here where it’s just the two of them, Dean’s fingers pushing inside so sweet.
Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest, catches in his throat. He whimpers, and Dean’s mouth goes from pliant and lush to sharp and wicked, that grin Castiel so loves to see coming out to play.
“You like that, Cas,” Dean says, whispered directly into Castiel’s mouth. “I know you do.”
“I—yes.” Castiel sinks down on Dean’s fingers, revels in the stretch, the way his body responds to this intrusion. To Dean. He hooks an arm around Dean’s neck. “Yes,” he repeats, pulling Dean close. “Now give me more.”
Dean shudders in his arms, two fingers slipping out to become three. There’s sweat gathering where their bodies are pressed together; Dean’s knees at the inside of Castiel’s thighs, Castiel’s elbow at the back of Dean’s neck, their temples. It’s so close to what Castiel wants, so close to what he needs. He rocks on Dean’s fingers and noses at Dean’s cheek, closes his eyes and fills his lungs—his lungs—with air that smells like Dean.
He doesn’t need to tell Dean he’s ready. Dean’s fingers disappear, and then Dean’s pulling back to look at him, Castiel’s arm slipping from his shoulders. Dean watches him, silent and serious, and Castiel’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, too much, too full. For once he wishes Dean would look away, that Dean would take his pleasure and not worry about Castiel’s pain.
Dean tilts his head, his eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheeks, and touches Castiel’s cock between them, slicked fingers wrapping around him. He strokes Castiel gently, carefully. Reverently.
Castiel bites his lip and waits.
Dean travels the length of him before he moves elsewhere, fingers at the crease where Castiel’s leg meets his hip, moving downward to Castiel’s knees. He insinuates his fingers between Castiel’s thighs and his calves and tugs, pulls Castiel closer.
Castiel comes easily, readily. He lifts up and crowds himself against Dean, personal space forgotten, abandoned. He moves until he’s in Dean’s lap, kneeling above him. Dean noses at his Adam’s apple and mouths at his collarbone, drops kisses on Castiel’s skin in patterns Castiel can’t follow. Maybe they’re not patterns at all.
Reaching between them, Castiel wraps a hand around Dean’s cock, thumbs the head. He rises above Dean—Dean’s neck stretched backward to follow him, eyes locked on Castiel’s—and when he lowers himself, Dean’s right there, filling him up.
Arms tight around Dean’s shoulders, Castiel hangs on as Dean’s hands glide up Castiel’s legs, over his ass, rest briefly at the small of Castiel’s back. They’re large and strong, setting Castiel alight as Dean holds him close, holds him steady. After a moment, they continue upward before hesitating.
Dean’s fingers are careful on Castiel’s skin, and Castiel wants to tell him harder, wants to tell him more. He won’t break, they’ve both seen that.
Instead, Castiel rolls his hips. The movement makes Dean’s breath stutter and his touch harden, fingers digging into the still sore flesh near Castiel’s shoulder blades. Castiel shivers, and rolls his hips again.
“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Fuck, I want—I want—”
He pulls Castiel closer, wraps him up tight in his arms, thrusts into him. Castiel hangs on, keeps his balance, his fingers sliding against Dean’s sweat-slicked skin. Something’s coiling inside him, something hot and overwhelming pooling low in his belly, curling around the base of his spine. He can feel it there, building as Dean moves with him, as he moves with Dean. He rushes toward it, races toward it, welcomes the oblivion he knows orgasm will bring if only for a little while.
“Dean. Dean.”
The rhythm changes, Dean’s hands suddenly gone from his back, hitching Castiel closer by his knees. It throws Castiel off-balance and no, he thinks, hand thrown out behind him, no, he doesn’t want to fall, doesn’t want to—
Castiel comes, words caught in his throat, a wordless keen falling from his lips. His muscles clench and he could swear his heart stops. It doesn’t, it keeps beating, too fast and too hard as Dean pulls him close and breathes his name and comes inside him, skin slick and burning against Castiel’s own.
If he could never move, if he could stay right here, like this, with Dean held inside him, Dean’s forehead against his shoulder, Dean’s face against his skin, Castiel thinks he would be happy.
Back aching, Castiel’s skin cools and his breathing slows, his heart still tripping in his chest. He holds on to that thought, holds on to Dean, and pushes the pain of his broken wings away.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 01:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 01:21 am (UTC)“Cas,” Dean says, his voice catching on the name Dean gave him so long ago, the one that was the first nail in Castiel’s coffin, the first step down this road.
So beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I love how you incorporate so much feeling and inner conflict with these two characters and make it blend in with the heated sex scenes.
When Castiel was afraid to fall because of the change in position my heart broke.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 01:22 am (UTC)“Yeah,” Dean says, his forehead touching Castiel’s when he nods. His fingers move against Castiel, and Castiel shivers, feels it in the shift of tendons beneath his thumb, the tease of skin on skin. “Yeah, I could do tha—” Dean draws back. His brows are heavy, a line forming between them. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s wrist, a surge of something like anger, something like frustration making his blood hot. It only lasts a moment, a brief flash of fire that dissipates with Castiel’s next breath, with the look on Dean’s face. Castiel’s anger is misplaced. Loosening his grip, Castiel rubs his thumb across the smooth, thin skin over Dean’s jumping pulse. “Yes,” Castiel says. “I’m sure.”
Castiel saying "Fuck!" will never not be hot!
And what a moment! Castiel's anger not aimed at Dean but possibly himself and the ones he cast him out of Grace. The way he wants to feel not pain but something more. So raw and so very human.
“I—yes.” Castiel sinks down on Dean’s fingers, revels in the stretch, the way his body responds to this intrusion. To Dean. He hooks an arm around Dean’s neck. “Yes,” he repeats, pulling Dean close. “Now give me more.”
Mm. I just love Cas being so greedy and wanting. Hotness!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 01:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 02:27 am (UTC)You floor me, once again
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 05:58 am (UTC)The rhythm changes, Dean’s hands suddenly gone from his back, hitching Castiel closer by his knees. It throws Castiel off-balance and no, he thinks, hand thrown out behind him, no, he doesn’t want to fall, doesn’t want to—
Cas' fear of falling bleeds into so many different levels here for me, he knows mentally that he's fallen, literally, but to actually physically fall would somehow make it permanent,(not to mention it would hurt)permanent humanity and the capacity for pain and everything that comes with it and no turning back. This is poignant, lovely and sad. I am glad Dean and Cas are together for this. I am sending along a lovely urn to hold the bits of my heart that are scattered all over the floor. *G*
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 07:00 am (UTC)Really precious. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 07:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 11:12 am (UTC)But know that I adore your work, and this is now in my top 5 :-) You've captured the emotion of the moment seen in the art so well, and the relationship between them *sigh* so so so beautifully heartbreaking. And so HOT, you really are one of the best writers of sex scenes.
<3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 11:15 am (UTC)SO beautiful! And so heartbreaking. I loved this so very, very much, and it fits perfectly for the art, too.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 05:34 pm (UTC)The sex as a mean to portrait Cas' and Dean's situation is incredible and amazing and you've got amazing skill bb.
I only looked at the art after I read it and you've hit the atmosphere spot on.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 06:07 pm (UTC)"He won’t break, they’ve both seen that."
;_____;
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 07:08 pm (UTC)I love your story, it fit into the art, uh...perfectly. :)
Wooo!!
Oh and I won't lie, I was kinda hoping you or cautionzombies would write a companion piece to the art! Life = made.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-28 07:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 12:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 03:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 07:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 08:23 am (UTC)Lovely accompaniment to that painful-but-lovely pic!
I kept getting a really solid, visual sense of this in the little details (like Dean’s neck stretched backward to follow him, eyes locked on Castiel’s) - I could so clearly see it. V.yummy. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 10:41 am (UTC)I love the pain and the loss and the beauty of it, both of them clinging to what exists between them now and Dean worrying and being careful with Cas.
Wonderful story :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 10:42 am (UTC)/butting in
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 11:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 03:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 05:06 pm (UTC)artwork
Date: 2011-03-01 05:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-01 08:11 pm (UTC)It's simple but deep and sad but oddly hopeful and bright at the end... I Loved it!