Ghost of Comfort, Angel's Breath (Keep This Life Inside My Chest), R, Dean/Sam
Title: Ghost of Comfort, Angel's Breath (Keep This Life Inside My Chest)
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I make no profit. I do not own. I love to watch.
Beta: sardonicsmiley. She is the peanut butter to my chocolate. And despite her... lack of enthusiasm for Supernatural, she still betaed this for me and she is made of awesome, awesome win. I love her.
Summary: A moment in time. Such perfect, simple silence.
A/N: I think there was a meme going around some time ago where you choose the first line from someone's fic and create your own fic around it. Well, I chose the first line from one of apreludetoanend's fics - In This Last of Meeting Places (We Grope Together and Avoid Speech) If you haven't read it, go. Read everything she's written because her gift for words is heartachingly beautiful. This was also written for spn13 - prompt # 11 - secret. Link to my table here.
This is the way the world ends.
It's not in fire or destruction. It's not in a great flood or an earth shattering quake.
It's quiet; the sound of a butterfly's wings. It's still; a moment frozen in time. The world ends in a rush of blood and sweat and desperation. And such perfect, simple silence.
The world ends in a secret.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
He feels a pull in his chest and it doesn't hurt. It's not a hurt or an ache or fear or panic. It just pulls. It lifts a weight and leaves Sam feeling weightless and dizzy. Dean never stirs behind him.
And this is the way the world will end.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
Sam blinks a few times to clear his vision, to clear the sleep from his head. The numbers on the clock are glowing red at a quarter to five and Sam knows he won't, can't, go back to sleep. He quietly and carefully moves Dean's hand from his hip and slides out of bed to walk to the window. The curtains are drawn, but even if they were wide open, not a speck of light would creep in. It's dark. It's so dark it's black outside in the swamp. The little cabin where they've tucked themselves away set in the middle of The Great Dismal.
Sam walks out onto the creaking porch, the chill of fall so prevalent it settles against his skin. There's a porch swing, the rusted chains securing it to the overhang rasp as Sam settles his weight to wait for the sun to rise. The stagnant water smells of decay, but after three days here, Sam's used to it. It doesn't burn his nose anymore, the way it did when they arrived. He's smelled worse, and will smell worse again, but here, in the heart of this great, shadowed land, all Sam sees is rot.
There are living things here, things that thrive on the decay and darkness. There are things that creep and crawl and slither through the water and they're not all natural, not all put here by God. But they've been here forever, maybe longer, and there's no reason to disturb them. Not now. Not at the end.
The gray light of dawn is slinking over the horizon, the sun will soon follow. Sam rocks on the swing, each pass pulling a groan from the eye bolts in the ceiling boards. When the sun breaks, its red light and warmth seeping like blood into the swamp, Sam feels Dean open his eyes. Up with the dawn. Up with the light.
The door opens, silent on its hinges, and Dean's hand is warm on Sam's shoulder. It's warm and safe and everything Sam knows from all his years, from every mile and every grave and every loss and every gain.
And this is the way the world will end. Day after day.
~ -|- ~
They fuck in the light. Sam's fingers chase the sun over Dean's shoulders, thighs, back. Every scar, every wound, lights up like a flair in Sam's vision. The history of hunters etched out against their skin. This one; knife. This one; claw. This one; teeth. This one; tongue. This one; deal. This one. This one something more, something unsaid and unspoken.
Every time Sam's fingers trace over those, those secret, white lines written against Dean's back, Dean sighs. It's the sweetest sound Sam's ever heard. His body unwinds and opens to Sam. Every secret there ever was burns up in the moment and everything between them becomes truth.
And when Dean rises, when his chest comes off the crisp, white sheets and he turns to face Sam, every word ever spoken burns in his eyes and renders Sam breathless.
They fuck in the light. They fuck face to face. Every breath-touch-whisper-sigh-moan limning their bodies and holding them close. But when they come... when they come there is silence. Perfect, untouched, breathless silence. In the light and all around them the silence stretches and twists and curves into infinity, white heat and a flash of light.
And this is the way the world will end.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
Dean stirs behind him and Sam turns to face his brother. Dean's eyes are open, a smile on his lips and a shadow over his shoulders, and Sam runs his fingers over the scars. Dean pulls him close, soft lips opening and pressing against Sam's. There is nothing, nothing on Earth, in Heaven or Hell, that can compare with Dean's light. Even in the darkness, Dean shines. It burns Sam's eyes but he can never look away. Sam can smell Dean's soul through the decay of everything around them. And it makes him ache.
The pull in Sam's chest rises, lifts away the weight and Sam is light. His fingers press against Dean's secret and a rush of blood and heat and desperation washes over Sam, washes over them both. Locked together in this silence, locked together in this darkness, locked together in this moment, all is quiet.
Outside, the creatures slither and creep. They come to the surface and crawl on the land. But in the quiet of the cabin, the stillness of time holds the brothers in place. Their bodies move in a rhythm of heartbeats while their breath heats the world around them.
And this is the way the world ends.
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I make no profit. I do not own. I love to watch.
Beta: sardonicsmiley. She is the peanut butter to my chocolate. And despite her... lack of enthusiasm for Supernatural, she still betaed this for me and she is made of awesome, awesome win. I love her.
Summary: A moment in time. Such perfect, simple silence.
A/N: I think there was a meme going around some time ago where you choose the first line from someone's fic and create your own fic around it. Well, I chose the first line from one of apreludetoanend's fics - In This Last of Meeting Places (We Grope Together and Avoid Speech) If you haven't read it, go. Read everything she's written because her gift for words is heartachingly beautiful. This was also written for spn13 - prompt # 11 - secret. Link to my table here.
This is the way the world ends.
It's not in fire or destruction. It's not in a great flood or an earth shattering quake.
It's quiet; the sound of a butterfly's wings. It's still; a moment frozen in time. The world ends in a rush of blood and sweat and desperation. And such perfect, simple silence.
The world ends in a secret.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
He feels a pull in his chest and it doesn't hurt. It's not a hurt or an ache or fear or panic. It just pulls. It lifts a weight and leaves Sam feeling weightless and dizzy. Dean never stirs behind him.
And this is the way the world will end.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
Sam blinks a few times to clear his vision, to clear the sleep from his head. The numbers on the clock are glowing red at a quarter to five and Sam knows he won't, can't, go back to sleep. He quietly and carefully moves Dean's hand from his hip and slides out of bed to walk to the window. The curtains are drawn, but even if they were wide open, not a speck of light would creep in. It's dark. It's so dark it's black outside in the swamp. The little cabin where they've tucked themselves away set in the middle of The Great Dismal.
Sam walks out onto the creaking porch, the chill of fall so prevalent it settles against his skin. There's a porch swing, the rusted chains securing it to the overhang rasp as Sam settles his weight to wait for the sun to rise. The stagnant water smells of decay, but after three days here, Sam's used to it. It doesn't burn his nose anymore, the way it did when they arrived. He's smelled worse, and will smell worse again, but here, in the heart of this great, shadowed land, all Sam sees is rot.
There are living things here, things that thrive on the decay and darkness. There are things that creep and crawl and slither through the water and they're not all natural, not all put here by God. But they've been here forever, maybe longer, and there's no reason to disturb them. Not now. Not at the end.
The gray light of dawn is slinking over the horizon, the sun will soon follow. Sam rocks on the swing, each pass pulling a groan from the eye bolts in the ceiling boards. When the sun breaks, its red light and warmth seeping like blood into the swamp, Sam feels Dean open his eyes. Up with the dawn. Up with the light.
The door opens, silent on its hinges, and Dean's hand is warm on Sam's shoulder. It's warm and safe and everything Sam knows from all his years, from every mile and every grave and every loss and every gain.
And this is the way the world will end. Day after day.
~ -|- ~
They fuck in the light. Sam's fingers chase the sun over Dean's shoulders, thighs, back. Every scar, every wound, lights up like a flair in Sam's vision. The history of hunters etched out against their skin. This one; knife. This one; claw. This one; teeth. This one; tongue. This one; deal. This one. This one something more, something unsaid and unspoken.
Every time Sam's fingers trace over those, those secret, white lines written against Dean's back, Dean sighs. It's the sweetest sound Sam's ever heard. His body unwinds and opens to Sam. Every secret there ever was burns up in the moment and everything between them becomes truth.
And when Dean rises, when his chest comes off the crisp, white sheets and he turns to face Sam, every word ever spoken burns in his eyes and renders Sam breathless.
They fuck in the light. They fuck face to face. Every breath-touch-whisper-sigh-moan limning their bodies and holding them close. But when they come... when they come there is silence. Perfect, untouched, breathless silence. In the light and all around them the silence stretches and twists and curves into infinity, white heat and a flash of light.
And this is the way the world will end.
~ -|- ~
Sam opens his eyes to a puff of breath against his neck. Dean is curled behind him, deep breaths exhaled warm over Sam's skin. The room is dark.
Dean stirs behind him and Sam turns to face his brother. Dean's eyes are open, a smile on his lips and a shadow over his shoulders, and Sam runs his fingers over the scars. Dean pulls him close, soft lips opening and pressing against Sam's. There is nothing, nothing on Earth, in Heaven or Hell, that can compare with Dean's light. Even in the darkness, Dean shines. It burns Sam's eyes but he can never look away. Sam can smell Dean's soul through the decay of everything around them. And it makes him ache.
The pull in Sam's chest rises, lifts away the weight and Sam is light. His fingers press against Dean's secret and a rush of blood and heat and desperation washes over Sam, washes over them both. Locked together in this silence, locked together in this darkness, locked together in this moment, all is quiet.
Outside, the creatures slither and creep. They come to the surface and crawl on the land. But in the quiet of the cabin, the stillness of time holds the brothers in place. Their bodies move in a rhythm of heartbeats while their breath heats the world around them.
And this is the way the world ends.