Wherein I post a Fic!!
Title: Lips That Would Kiss Form Prayers To Broken Stones
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R (to be safe)
Word Count: ~1000
Spoilers/Warning: If you're watching season 5 you should be fine. Also Cas smoking.
Summary: Dean thinks this is as horrible as the end of the world gets. Kind of a coda to 5x16.
Notes: My first SPN fic! w00t! Please go gentle on me fandom, I bruise easy. Many many thanks to my beta and wife-on-the-side aldehyde and also to juliet_a for pushing me to post. Title is taken from the T.S Elliot masterpiece The Hollowmen
Dean thinks this is as horrible as the end of the world gets.
Yes, he’s been to hell and yes, his regular day job shows him evil shit that would turn normal, happy people into howling lunatics. But this, here, this is what the end really looks like. Angelic innocence turned to mortal emptiness. He feels frozen to the spot, unable to process what he sees in front of him with what he knows about Castiel, Angel of the Lord and his only friend in this goddamn shitshow.
Cas expertly cups both his hands around the small flame of the lighter and waits for the tip of the cigarette held between his lips to glow orange. The hot little number wearing a tiny, tight pink dress that looks like it’s been painted on her, flicks the lighter close and drops it in her little string purse. Cas takes a drag and exhales slowly looking down at her with a ghost of a smile, the smoke from his cigarette already curling around their necks like a snake slithering down into the shadows. The tinkering of the blonde chick’s smile breaks the spell of shock over Dean and he can only watch as she starts whispering something in the angel’s ear and starts rubbing herself on his side. Dean feels cold all over, like that time he’d jumped into the ocean off the coast of Maine in nothing but his boxers and thought he was dead from frostbite.
He marches over to the open balcony shoving half-naked writhing bodies aside, his eyes only on the angel. Cas seems to have lost his trench coat and suit jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up as he lets the blonde rub up against him, his fingers curling around his lips to take slow drags of the cancer stick. Why did Dean decide to come here again? Sammy was totally against this gig and Dean realizes now he should have listened to his brother. Maybe Sam had seen the hedonistic life of Edgar Cole before they even arrived in the city, maybe he saw a pit of dark desires because he’d been in one, but Dean ignored him and everyone and everything else. And now as he sidesteps a woman naked from the waist up, grinding on a blissed out guy under her, he realizes what a bad idea it was to bring Cas here as well.
“I’m practically human now Dean. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless and why NOT bury myself in women and decadence?”
His eyes still glued to the angel, he reaches the balcony just as Cas takes another slow drag and blows out the smoke through softly parted lips. Blue eyes lift up to reach green ones as shadowy smoke tendrils wafts over to Dean. Slow shuffling feet bring him closer to the angel but Cas continues to smoke, his right hand ghosting over the blonde’s curvy frame.
“Cas.” Dean voice has an unnecessary roughness to it and his throat feels dry as he watches the tanned fingers move slowly down pale shoulders to a tight ass.
“Dean.” Cas’s voice is rough, different from his usual raspy tone.
“We have to go now Cas, we need to leave.” Please don’t do this Cas, come with me.
“Why, Dean? What’s the hurry? Where do we need to be?” It’s the end right? Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out…
Sudden movements pluck the cigarette out of the long tanned fingers and drop it to the ground. Dean’s grip on Castiel’s wrist would be excruciating if he were human. “We’re leaving now,” the gruff command of his voice enough for the blonde to stop and step aside as Dean pulls Cas roughly into the gathering orgy masquerading as a party.
The outside air is chilly but fresh and hits Dean’s lungs like a punch. His hold on Castiel’s wrist hasn’t loosened but the angel’s eyes are downcast, his lips pursed in a thin line that are the only indication of his displeasure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He stops by the Impala and turns towards Castiel, the anger inside Dean starting to crescendo its beats. “What were you doing in there, Cas? We came here to do a job, not to smoke and fool around with babes.” He’s practically growling and pulling on the angel’s wrist but Cas isn’t moving his gaze from the ground.
“Answer me dammit, what were you doing in there?! Have you forgotten it’s the end of the world?” The drumbeats of anger are now thrumming through Dean’s temples, the image of a nameless blonde wrapped around his angel vivid in his mind. The snap of blue eyes to his face is unexpected but relieving.
“Why does it matter Dean? What more is left to do here? It’s the end, right? Why not bury yourself in women and decadence?” The angel’s voice is still gruff but the anger under the monotone is loud in Dean’s ears.
Shock rolls through him in waves, fear and hurt paralyzing his body and widening his eyes. “Wha-what did you say?” The stutter is minute but the hurt in his voice is more noticeable.
“I have nowhere else to be, Dean. I have nothing left to fight for. What am I supposed to do?” Those impenetrable blue eyes are boring into Dean, washing over his body as distant memories of a broken future swim to the forefront of his mind.
“What am I fighting for, Dean?”
Dean pulls the wrist he’s been holding on to closer, raising the long fingers and wide palm to his face.
“Me,” he whispers as Castiel’s hand cups his face, “fight for me, Cas.”
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R (to be safe)
Word Count: ~1000
Spoilers/Warning: If you're watching season 5 you should be fine. Also Cas smoking.
Summary: Dean thinks this is as horrible as the end of the world gets. Kind of a coda to 5x16.
Notes: My first SPN fic! w00t! Please go gentle on me fandom, I bruise easy. Many many thanks to my beta and wife-on-the-side aldehyde and also to juliet_a for pushing me to post. Title is taken from the T.S Elliot masterpiece The Hollowmen
Dean thinks this is as horrible as the end of the world gets.
Yes, he’s been to hell and yes, his regular day job shows him evil shit that would turn normal, happy people into howling lunatics. But this, here, this is what the end really looks like. Angelic innocence turned to mortal emptiness. He feels frozen to the spot, unable to process what he sees in front of him with what he knows about Castiel, Angel of the Lord and his only friend in this goddamn shitshow.
Cas expertly cups both his hands around the small flame of the lighter and waits for the tip of the cigarette held between his lips to glow orange. The hot little number wearing a tiny, tight pink dress that looks like it’s been painted on her, flicks the lighter close and drops it in her little string purse. Cas takes a drag and exhales slowly looking down at her with a ghost of a smile, the smoke from his cigarette already curling around their necks like a snake slithering down into the shadows. The tinkering of the blonde chick’s smile breaks the spell of shock over Dean and he can only watch as she starts whispering something in the angel’s ear and starts rubbing herself on his side. Dean feels cold all over, like that time he’d jumped into the ocean off the coast of Maine in nothing but his boxers and thought he was dead from frostbite.
He marches over to the open balcony shoving half-naked writhing bodies aside, his eyes only on the angel. Cas seems to have lost his trench coat and suit jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up as he lets the blonde rub up against him, his fingers curling around his lips to take slow drags of the cancer stick. Why did Dean decide to come here again? Sammy was totally against this gig and Dean realizes now he should have listened to his brother. Maybe Sam had seen the hedonistic life of Edgar Cole before they even arrived in the city, maybe he saw a pit of dark desires because he’d been in one, but Dean ignored him and everyone and everything else. And now as he sidesteps a woman naked from the waist up, grinding on a blissed out guy under her, he realizes what a bad idea it was to bring Cas here as well.
“I’m practically human now Dean. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless and why NOT bury myself in women and decadence?”
His eyes still glued to the angel, he reaches the balcony just as Cas takes another slow drag and blows out the smoke through softly parted lips. Blue eyes lift up to reach green ones as shadowy smoke tendrils wafts over to Dean. Slow shuffling feet bring him closer to the angel but Cas continues to smoke, his right hand ghosting over the blonde’s curvy frame.
“Cas.” Dean voice has an unnecessary roughness to it and his throat feels dry as he watches the tanned fingers move slowly down pale shoulders to a tight ass.
“Dean.” Cas’s voice is rough, different from his usual raspy tone.
“We have to go now Cas, we need to leave.” Please don’t do this Cas, come with me.
“Why, Dean? What’s the hurry? Where do we need to be?” It’s the end right? Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out…
Sudden movements pluck the cigarette out of the long tanned fingers and drop it to the ground. Dean’s grip on Castiel’s wrist would be excruciating if he were human. “We’re leaving now,” the gruff command of his voice enough for the blonde to stop and step aside as Dean pulls Cas roughly into the gathering orgy masquerading as a party.
The outside air is chilly but fresh and hits Dean’s lungs like a punch. His hold on Castiel’s wrist hasn’t loosened but the angel’s eyes are downcast, his lips pursed in a thin line that are the only indication of his displeasure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He stops by the Impala and turns towards Castiel, the anger inside Dean starting to crescendo its beats. “What were you doing in there, Cas? We came here to do a job, not to smoke and fool around with babes.” He’s practically growling and pulling on the angel’s wrist but Cas isn’t moving his gaze from the ground.
“Answer me dammit, what were you doing in there?! Have you forgotten it’s the end of the world?” The drumbeats of anger are now thrumming through Dean’s temples, the image of a nameless blonde wrapped around his angel vivid in his mind. The snap of blue eyes to his face is unexpected but relieving.
“Why does it matter Dean? What more is left to do here? It’s the end, right? Why not bury yourself in women and decadence?” The angel’s voice is still gruff but the anger under the monotone is loud in Dean’s ears.
Shock rolls through him in waves, fear and hurt paralyzing his body and widening his eyes. “Wha-what did you say?” The stutter is minute but the hurt in his voice is more noticeable.
“I have nowhere else to be, Dean. I have nothing left to fight for. What am I supposed to do?” Those impenetrable blue eyes are boring into Dean, washing over his body as distant memories of a broken future swim to the forefront of his mind.
“What am I fighting for, Dean?”
Dean pulls the wrist he’s been holding on to closer, raising the long fingers and wide palm to his face.
“Me,” he whispers as Castiel’s hand cups his face, “fight for me, Cas.”