touch-of-death

Queue time! Hope my UK peeps are enjoying the bank holiday, and everyone else is having a nice day :) -Vixen

A Belle to Remember (Rajila) Part (¼) - Cece
All Star Entertainment - Rose
Crash Landing Chapter 8 - Cece
Slam / Mango
You Never Left (AS2) Biadore - Cece
Touch Of Death:Chapter Seven-Luci
Hurricane Bianca (Biadore) - Lex
Both Hands Tied Ch. 3 - Pink Shrooms
Dance Our Final Dance - (Laganja and Alyssa) Ellis
Dark Paradise Chapter 3 (Trixya) - Alex
Don’t Wake Them [½] - Ruby
Dark Paradise Chapter Four (Trixya) - Alex
Toxic (Trixya) - Zula
After Party: Chapter 6 - Foreign Lover (Radore) - youngenoughtomakemistakes

Castiel shields him in the dark, using nothing more than his body and his kisses to cover him with, to guide him to assured safety. For Dean must know that for as long as they are like this, the mattress beneath and Castiel above, no harm will come to him, nothing foul will be able to touch. The cold hand of death won’t reach him here, where the sheets are soft and the air warm and tender, and nothing will ever come between them within this safe space of their own.

Because in every kiss lies the promise of “I will protect you”, in every caress the confession of “I love you”, in every quiet sigh and long-held gaze the unspoken admission of “I am so glad you are alive.”

Dean knows he’s letting out stupid sounds as he presses against Sam, but he’s so tired and so beyond pretending that he doesn’t really find it in him to care. Sam’s hair smells shower-fresh and it’s so soft and warm around his face, and his brother’s body curled up against his feels so good; the AC is blowing in the background, its whirring mixing up with the breaths that Sam’s taking, letting out.

“You’re too big for this damn bed,” Sam mutters, his nails digging into Dean’s arm for a moment.

He’s grounding himself. So’s Dean. They’re both still so fucking high on adrenaline, and the cold touch of death lingers upon Dean’s legs like long claw marks branded into his skin where it tried to grab him just two hours ago.

He wants to laugh.

That’s it. You lose. You lose again. Me and my brother, we’re still here. It’s the only thing that matters.

“And nobody cares, Sam. Suck it.”

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing when he presses a kiss amongst the dark waves of his brother’s hair. Sam shivers and backs up into him, breathes in and never breathes out again, or at least not for another eternity or so. Dean closes his eyes, turns his head ever so slightly to get some fresh air into his lungs, and Sam empties slowly under his arm in a silent exhale.

Aren’t we too old for this? Dean can hear him ask wordlessly.

Too old to hold each other, too old to kiss each other, too old to get their limbs tangled in the stark sunlight of an early morning. But it’s not about age - it’s about the bruises and the cuts in their skins, the need to feel the other’s heart beating and the warmth that still radiates from them. As if to drive the point home, Dean turns back and kisses Sam again, letting his lips linger this time.

Sam sighs, his body relaxing, and the question fades into acceptance. Dean counts his breaths until he’s asleep, solid and firm against Dean’s stomach and underneath his arm curving around Sam’s body, and it’s that sensation he lets lull himself to sleep as well.

Being close is the only reward he wants for keeping on keeping on. Maybe they’ll make a habit out of it.