It was interesting, how time reflected them. Ever-changing, repeating, different each moment after moment after moment. Gone in a second. Staying for an hour. Coming and lasting, going and wasting.
They were time. Time was them.
They ticked. Flushed and sweaty and warm against each other-hard muscles and taut stomachs and sometimes love-their hearts ticked like a timer until-“Fuck! God, Sam!”
Dean told the time in songs. Ten Ramble Ons left, Sammy. Two Master of Puppets. Three Traveling Riverside Blues.
Sam told the time in fancy digital technology. “Fifty-three, minutes, Dean. Twenty-seven to go. Stop asking me how much longer.”
But time didn’t feel like time when they were together. More stretches of memory or racing pulses and lazy conversations. They didn’t feel like numbers, they felt like words. Promises. They felt like coffee mouths and elevators and cigarettes. Broken alarms. Armchairs.
They were time. Time was them.
They ticked. Flushed and sweaty and warm against each other-hard muscles and taut stomachs and sometimes love-their hearts ticked like a timer until-“Fuck! God, Sam!”
Dean told the time in songs. Ten Ramble Ons left, Sammy. Two Master of Puppets. Three Traveling Riverside Blues.
Sam told the time in fancy digital technology. “Fifty-three, minutes, Dean. Twenty-seven to go. Stop asking me how much longer.”
But time didn’t feel like time when they were together. More stretches of memory or racing pulses and lazy conversations. They didn’t feel like numbers, they felt like words. Promises. They felt like coffee mouths and elevators and cigarettes. Broken alarms. Armchairs.
They felt ageless
But not loveless.
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*DIES*
*LOVES YOU SO MUCH*
I don't even know what to say. This is such a gorgeous piece of work. I am speechless....
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