The horrible feeling, as if my heart is about to escape my chest; how horrid it is to need; my nerves so sensitive my pants rubbing on my leg, my hair moving around my ear, touching my neck. I am scandalous, heinous in my skins churning disturbance. I am not pedantic nor puritanical, though do rather like to build to a point, but this was like an alien had invaded my mind and by that had allowed my scintillating nature that I try to keep under lock and key out of her box. Such a powerful need it is, a turmoil just watching a man eat a doughnut while smiling; Christ on a cracker, I was moved to the point of having to clench my thighs together. The dazzling tumescence of the breeze blowing at my back even tells me of a powerful need. The distemper caused by this gruesome erotic phenomenon, I am in a foul temper, titillated to the point of pure agitation; I despise being out of control, flailing with need.
I step into the shower, intending to just wash off the grime of my day; the water fell in delicious ribbons down my skin; my mind felt the kisses on my neck and the fingertips tracing my curves. My hands moved with a mind of their own, satisfying those calls of my nerve endings. My breath coming in short pants, broken noises captured by my throat; the feeling of every nerve acting up for just a touch, a wisp of a finger, the kiss of the warm water. My heart hitting a rapid pace quickly, my beautiful imagination filling the feel of rougher fingertips, lips, whiskers, teeth; I saw that smile, that doughnut, damn I felt rather frantic, psychotic, a freaking doughnut; fingers found their way to a place that was screaming for attention. It seemed like a few rapid rubs and I was nearly catatonic with satiation; shivering on the floor of the shower, lost in another world.
Then Lonesome leaned in whispered… “Oh, that afterglow, feel that cold, empty feeling; get used to that feeling, it’s the only way you will feel this afterglow for the rest of your life; God for the week or so that might be… Notice the lack of arms holding you, that will never change.”
I heard his cruel laugh. Tears sprang to my eyes, Fate and Lonesome their loathsome selves laughed at me through the frosted glass of the shower door. They were right; THE BASTARD WAS RIGHT. God, hate them, hot tears stream down my face, DAMN THEM. I sobbed quietly in the water stream until it sprays cold. I was the unburied dead, it is true no one wants to touch a corpse that forgot to lie down. I step out of the shower, wrapping my towel tightly. I look in the mirror that should have been fogged up, it was freakishly clear; I drop my towel looking in the glass, I cringed… at first. No, it wasn’t the sight that is on the sports illustrated swimsuit issue, but it wasn’t a nightmare… well maybe it was but I have seen worse. I saw the scars, looking like odd lightning strikes on my overly pale; pale, hell, white would look at me and tell me I needed some sun. I see the veins that trace under my skin intercepting those red welted scars, then odd coloured nearly healed old scars layered under some of the fresh ones. It isn’t like my one and only conquest in this world was ever big on cuddling afterward. Though from here out, I am not going to chide myself for luxuriating in my coffee; I am going to enjoy the early summer breezes; I will feast my eye on beautiful things, perhaps staring for too long at some images; I am going to wallow in movies and music and possibly mayhem and delicious words that feel soft on the skin; I will be my happiness… I pull my shirt over my head and dress quickly, I have tons of research to do, and yes, I am going to stay away from the self-help videos. Really, if I am going to be my only lover for the rest of this “life,” I better get really freaking good at it, I deserve something that feels good… no.., great! HELL, I am going to be the queen of self-service.
So after spending way more of my life than is probably healthy looking at and analyzing every single shot from this episode that could possibly be construed at Destiel-related, even a TINY BIT, I realized that there is one shot people seem to not discuss very much…
Now. I know what you’re saying–”but we’ve TALKED about the hand-holding!” And yes, my friends, hands touching are always worth discussing (and discussing…and discussing…), but what I want to talk about is Dean’s OTHER hand…
Now…I am a theater child. I grew up doing shows. And I know that actors tend to be touchy-feely people, even when they are just friends. It’s what they do. My friends and I had no problem treating one another like armchairs half of the time, sitting in one another’s laps, leaning our heads on each others’ shoulders. So whenever people start pointing at some of these touches as evidence of Destiel, one part of me gets very excited, while the other part says “now hang on, you and your friends totally did this same stuff and it didn’t mean anything other than that you were friends.”
In this shot, Dean doesn’t JUST touch Cas’s hand, or even his back. From what I can see of this shot, he puts his hand on the lower part of Cas’s neck. Now even I, my touchy-feely-theater-person-self, would never have touched the back of a friend’s neck. That is just getting a little bit too intimate for friendship. That is not what friends do, even the most lovey ones.
That is what my boyfriend does.
Note, too, how Dean’s hand lingers on Cas’s neck (or upper back, as he does seem to slide it down slightly after the initial contact). He maintains contact until Cas breaks it to turn around, a gesture of comfort both for Cas and himself, of reminding himself that Cas is here and is really okay.
Folks, this is not the touch of someone who is just a friend, nor is it an unintentional gesture made by actors who are just doing what touchy people do. This is the gesture shared by two characters who are much, much closer than just friends. And it, even more than the hand-clasping, set my heart to fluttering :).