SPN fic: Reaching for the spark
For those interested, here are the original tumblr posts with the image prompts for the ficlets I've been posting lately.
They plan to pick you clean was posted here (Dean and Castiel)
Like light the quick dreams run was posted here (Sam)
In the silence was posted here (Dean and Castiel)
The Victor Henriksen ficlets here, here, and here.
Reaching for the spark
Dean/Castiel | 1,500 words | R | coda for 7.23
a/n: Title from Civil Twilight. Written to a visual prompt and first posted to tumblr here.
Summary: Dean and Castiel take shelter from no ordinary storm.
The storm starts with a hot wind that springs up suddenly, toying with the edges of Dean's jacket and Castiel's trenchcoat. Large, visible bolts of lighting dart against a sky growing progressively darker, turning a color Dean could only describe as some weird-ass purple. Purgatory has no normal weather patterns, far as he can tell. It rains for thirty seconds, it stops; the temperature is all over the place; the sun doesn't shine much, and when it does it's a pale, washed out circle that generates weak shadows. There's no moon at night, only a whole lot of blackness and a few stars.
The lightning bolts grow more frequent.
Castiel flinches.
Together they stare up at the sky from a shallow ravine in the forest, while the hair on the back of Dean's neck stands on end and his skin itches. It's almost hard to breathe, the air thick with electricity, a faint burning scent that's familiar from many fierce midwestern storms he and Sam saw growing up, only moreso. Dean's never been scared of thunderstorms, not really--Sam used to be, until he reached high school maybe. They used to sit under a blanket with a flashlight, taking turns reading aloud from whatever book Sam chose.
He hopes Sam knows, in his gut, that Dean's alive.
The trees rustle fiercely, and it could be wind, or it could be something else. Dean glances over at Cas, at the flashes of light playing over his face, edging the familiar shape of his jawline, mouth, nose.
"We have to get under cover, now," Cas says roughly, shoulders and back in hard soldier lines.
There's dozens of lightning bolts in the sky now, some of them staying too long, sinuous and bright, and while there's no thunder, there's something else, a freaky low hum, or more like a rumbling in the air.
"Son of a bitch." Dean knows he's standing there like an ass, gawking upward, but his brain can't seem to get a grasp what he's seeing.
The lightning bolts aren't just lighting bolts. Dean would swear they're…alive. He makes out a head, mouth open, trailing light, the snap of a tail, the skeletal shape of wings.
"Dean!" Castiel's grip is tight around Dean's upper arm now as he shouts over the wind, and Dean feels heat from each finger through the layers of his jacket and shirt. It's been like that more and more, Dean hyper-aware of Cas, and he's not sure if he kind of actually enjoys it a little or it's a comfort or if it's frightening, or all of that at once.
Castiel lets go and they run along the ravine, bright flashes from the sky making the trees seem to move. Or maybe they really did move--Dean doesn't have the time to figure it out. As Cas ducks under an overhang of rock, Dean follows, and the dimness within is welcoming after the bright flashes outside.
The sound of their breathing reverberates strangely in the cave-like space. Dead leaves cover the floor, a smell of dampness but nothing decayed. Cas crouches, staring out into the ravine. The flashes of lightning throw his shadow against the rock above them.
Dean sits next to him, knees drawn up.
There are a couple of flashes brighter and closer than the rest and Cas flinches again. Dean remembers the way Castiel scurried back, shrinking against the wall of Sam's room in the asylum, eyes wide and terrified as he stared at nothing, and Dean twitches his shoulders to throw the memory off.
"Hey," Dean says quietly, reaches out, almost touches Castiel's knee, thinks better of it. "So. How come you haven't been going all bees and monkeys on me?"
Cas keeps his gaze forward, towards the ravine. The rumbling grows deeper, and Dean's hand goes to the grip of his machete, as if a machete would be any use against some friggin' flying lightning monster.
"There's no room for it," Cas says, his tone flat, abrupt, and more edged than a blade. It makes Dean's chest ache. After a moment, Castiel's gaze finally slides over to Dean. "I believe you know how that works," he adds, saying it more gently than Dean knows what to do with. Castiel turns away again.
They wait out the lightning creatures. It's chilly in the cave and Dean dozes, then jerks awake to discovers he's sitting a foot closer to Cas than he was before.
The next time Cas flinches, Dean puts his palm against his back, the fabric of the trenchcoat smooth against his skin, warm from Castiel's heat beneath it. When Cas doesn't pull away or seem to object, Dean leaves his hand there for a while. Eventually the bright flashes ease off, replaced with lightning that might just be ordinary lightning. Rain begins, a fierce, quick torrent that fills the air with a rush of sound. Sideways rain, visibility down to less than a foot, with telltale thumps of hail. They draw back further beneath the overhang until they're sitting with their backs against the rock wall, heads almost brushing the ceiling.
There's regular thunder now instead of the strange growling rumble. Dean tenses at particularly a particularly loud boom-crack while Castiel's whole body jerks. He's halfway up into a battle-ready crouch before Dean's fingers circle tight around his wrist. He feels the frantic race of Castiel's pulse under the warmth of his skin.
Everything stops, and then Dean pulls.
Who really begins it, Dean's not sure, but a moment later Castiel's mouth is on his. There's nothing hesitant in the way both of them are grabbing, reaching, straining closer. There's probably no room for this here either--but tell that to the way Dean's fingers dig into Castiel's hair, the flood of heat, the way Castiel's palm is now pressing against the skin of Dean's lower back, up under the layers of jacket and shirt while his other hand clenches around Dean's thigh.
It's been years since they've done this, and once upon a time Dean would've told himself it was only the comfort of skin on skin (fast and furtive, no lingering after), and hey, Cas was easy on the eyes, Dean was all for experimentation, especially with an apocalypse and the archangels breathing down their necks. He could tell himself now it was purgatory, which crawled with things that wanted to tear them to pieces, where even the goddamned sky wanted a piece of them.
That doesn't explain why exactly, during this scramble of lips, tongue, teeth, hands, Dean's having some kind of freaky replay in his head of Cas walking into that lake with his arms spread wide. The stifled, hollow ache Dean kept feeling all year with Cas gone, where pushing it away only seemed to make it hurt worse, like pressing on a cut, flares back to life. It fades as Dean puts his lips to Cas's neck, licks and sucks at the skin, heat and pressure building at his groin, rush of rain in his ears.
Dean wriggles himself out of his jacket and takes a second to glance towards the ravine, checking to make sure there's nothing creeping up on them. He catches Cas doing the same, right before he grabs Dean's shoulders and shoves Dean flat on his back. Cas's full weight is on him, straddling him as he grinds down, his trenchcoat gone.
They can't afford to do this, Jesus it's impossible to think, it's dangerous, but their momentum carries them. Castiel's fingers fumble with the button and zipper of Dean's jeans, while Dean kisses him, tongue insistently finding its way into Cas's mouth, as Cas lets out a small whimper. The hospital-issue white pants are easier to pull down before Cas lowers himself along Dean's body, and they slot into place as if they've been doing this all along, as if they never stopped. They move together, finding a rhythm. Dean's hands go beneath Cas's t-shirt, tracing the curve of his back, then around to trace over the taut muscles of his abdomen, mapping the shape of his ribs, his chest, relearning territory he knew once. Their breaths are sharp and fast, almost as loud as the harsh rain.
Dean's pretty sure the words Cas gasps out aren't English, but somewhere in there, Dean catches his own name, warm against his ear. The friction and slick heat, the taste of Castiel's skin, the sureness of his hands, sends jolt after jolt of want through Dean. Cas's body shudders as he comes, head thrown back with Dean gripping his hips to steady him, before Dean follows, one syllable, Cas, breaking roughly from him before their muscles go slack, limbs twisted together.
After, Cas remains still in Dean's arms a moment. His mouth brushes along Dean's jaw before he pushes himself up to roll off, palms flat on the ground on either side of Dean's shoulders. Fast and furtive, no lingering after--Dean reaches up and stops him, holding him there with his hands on either side of Cas's face. Dean leans up to kiss him, slow this time.
The kiss ends, and Cas gives Dean a small, quick, lopsided smile before he draws away. Dean lets him go, reaching for his jacket while Cas produces his trenchcoat.
Near the entrance to the overhang, they crouch to watch the thick wall of rain, Cas's hand not too far from Dean's against the damp rock.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/421818.html. Feel free to comment at either post.
They plan to pick you clean was posted here (Dean and Castiel)
Like light the quick dreams run was posted here (Sam)
In the silence was posted here (Dean and Castiel)
The Victor Henriksen ficlets here, here, and here.
Reaching for the spark
Dean/Castiel | 1,500 words | R | coda for 7.23
a/n: Title from Civil Twilight. Written to a visual prompt and first posted to tumblr here.
Summary: Dean and Castiel take shelter from no ordinary storm.
The storm starts with a hot wind that springs up suddenly, toying with the edges of Dean's jacket and Castiel's trenchcoat. Large, visible bolts of lighting dart against a sky growing progressively darker, turning a color Dean could only describe as some weird-ass purple. Purgatory has no normal weather patterns, far as he can tell. It rains for thirty seconds, it stops; the temperature is all over the place; the sun doesn't shine much, and when it does it's a pale, washed out circle that generates weak shadows. There's no moon at night, only a whole lot of blackness and a few stars.
The lightning bolts grow more frequent.
Castiel flinches.
Together they stare up at the sky from a shallow ravine in the forest, while the hair on the back of Dean's neck stands on end and his skin itches. It's almost hard to breathe, the air thick with electricity, a faint burning scent that's familiar from many fierce midwestern storms he and Sam saw growing up, only moreso. Dean's never been scared of thunderstorms, not really--Sam used to be, until he reached high school maybe. They used to sit under a blanket with a flashlight, taking turns reading aloud from whatever book Sam chose.
He hopes Sam knows, in his gut, that Dean's alive.
The trees rustle fiercely, and it could be wind, or it could be something else. Dean glances over at Cas, at the flashes of light playing over his face, edging the familiar shape of his jawline, mouth, nose.
"We have to get under cover, now," Cas says roughly, shoulders and back in hard soldier lines.
There's dozens of lightning bolts in the sky now, some of them staying too long, sinuous and bright, and while there's no thunder, there's something else, a freaky low hum, or more like a rumbling in the air.
"Son of a bitch." Dean knows he's standing there like an ass, gawking upward, but his brain can't seem to get a grasp what he's seeing.
The lightning bolts aren't just lighting bolts. Dean would swear they're…alive. He makes out a head, mouth open, trailing light, the snap of a tail, the skeletal shape of wings.
"Dean!" Castiel's grip is tight around Dean's upper arm now as he shouts over the wind, and Dean feels heat from each finger through the layers of his jacket and shirt. It's been like that more and more, Dean hyper-aware of Cas, and he's not sure if he kind of actually enjoys it a little or it's a comfort or if it's frightening, or all of that at once.
Castiel lets go and they run along the ravine, bright flashes from the sky making the trees seem to move. Or maybe they really did move--Dean doesn't have the time to figure it out. As Cas ducks under an overhang of rock, Dean follows, and the dimness within is welcoming after the bright flashes outside.
The sound of their breathing reverberates strangely in the cave-like space. Dead leaves cover the floor, a smell of dampness but nothing decayed. Cas crouches, staring out into the ravine. The flashes of lightning throw his shadow against the rock above them.
Dean sits next to him, knees drawn up.
There are a couple of flashes brighter and closer than the rest and Cas flinches again. Dean remembers the way Castiel scurried back, shrinking against the wall of Sam's room in the asylum, eyes wide and terrified as he stared at nothing, and Dean twitches his shoulders to throw the memory off.
"Hey," Dean says quietly, reaches out, almost touches Castiel's knee, thinks better of it. "So. How come you haven't been going all bees and monkeys on me?"
Cas keeps his gaze forward, towards the ravine. The rumbling grows deeper, and Dean's hand goes to the grip of his machete, as if a machete would be any use against some friggin' flying lightning monster.
"There's no room for it," Cas says, his tone flat, abrupt, and more edged than a blade. It makes Dean's chest ache. After a moment, Castiel's gaze finally slides over to Dean. "I believe you know how that works," he adds, saying it more gently than Dean knows what to do with. Castiel turns away again.
They wait out the lightning creatures. It's chilly in the cave and Dean dozes, then jerks awake to discovers he's sitting a foot closer to Cas than he was before.
The next time Cas flinches, Dean puts his palm against his back, the fabric of the trenchcoat smooth against his skin, warm from Castiel's heat beneath it. When Cas doesn't pull away or seem to object, Dean leaves his hand there for a while. Eventually the bright flashes ease off, replaced with lightning that might just be ordinary lightning. Rain begins, a fierce, quick torrent that fills the air with a rush of sound. Sideways rain, visibility down to less than a foot, with telltale thumps of hail. They draw back further beneath the overhang until they're sitting with their backs against the rock wall, heads almost brushing the ceiling.
There's regular thunder now instead of the strange growling rumble. Dean tenses at particularly a particularly loud boom-crack while Castiel's whole body jerks. He's halfway up into a battle-ready crouch before Dean's fingers circle tight around his wrist. He feels the frantic race of Castiel's pulse under the warmth of his skin.
Everything stops, and then Dean pulls.
Who really begins it, Dean's not sure, but a moment later Castiel's mouth is on his. There's nothing hesitant in the way both of them are grabbing, reaching, straining closer. There's probably no room for this here either--but tell that to the way Dean's fingers dig into Castiel's hair, the flood of heat, the way Castiel's palm is now pressing against the skin of Dean's lower back, up under the layers of jacket and shirt while his other hand clenches around Dean's thigh.
It's been years since they've done this, and once upon a time Dean would've told himself it was only the comfort of skin on skin (fast and furtive, no lingering after), and hey, Cas was easy on the eyes, Dean was all for experimentation, especially with an apocalypse and the archangels breathing down their necks. He could tell himself now it was purgatory, which crawled with things that wanted to tear them to pieces, where even the goddamned sky wanted a piece of them.
That doesn't explain why exactly, during this scramble of lips, tongue, teeth, hands, Dean's having some kind of freaky replay in his head of Cas walking into that lake with his arms spread wide. The stifled, hollow ache Dean kept feeling all year with Cas gone, where pushing it away only seemed to make it hurt worse, like pressing on a cut, flares back to life. It fades as Dean puts his lips to Cas's neck, licks and sucks at the skin, heat and pressure building at his groin, rush of rain in his ears.
Dean wriggles himself out of his jacket and takes a second to glance towards the ravine, checking to make sure there's nothing creeping up on them. He catches Cas doing the same, right before he grabs Dean's shoulders and shoves Dean flat on his back. Cas's full weight is on him, straddling him as he grinds down, his trenchcoat gone.
They can't afford to do this, Jesus it's impossible to think, it's dangerous, but their momentum carries them. Castiel's fingers fumble with the button and zipper of Dean's jeans, while Dean kisses him, tongue insistently finding its way into Cas's mouth, as Cas lets out a small whimper. The hospital-issue white pants are easier to pull down before Cas lowers himself along Dean's body, and they slot into place as if they've been doing this all along, as if they never stopped. They move together, finding a rhythm. Dean's hands go beneath Cas's t-shirt, tracing the curve of his back, then around to trace over the taut muscles of his abdomen, mapping the shape of his ribs, his chest, relearning territory he knew once. Their breaths are sharp and fast, almost as loud as the harsh rain.
Dean's pretty sure the words Cas gasps out aren't English, but somewhere in there, Dean catches his own name, warm against his ear. The friction and slick heat, the taste of Castiel's skin, the sureness of his hands, sends jolt after jolt of want through Dean. Cas's body shudders as he comes, head thrown back with Dean gripping his hips to steady him, before Dean follows, one syllable, Cas, breaking roughly from him before their muscles go slack, limbs twisted together.
After, Cas remains still in Dean's arms a moment. His mouth brushes along Dean's jaw before he pushes himself up to roll off, palms flat on the ground on either side of Dean's shoulders. Fast and furtive, no lingering after--Dean reaches up and stops him, holding him there with his hands on either side of Cas's face. Dean leans up to kiss him, slow this time.
The kiss ends, and Cas gives Dean a small, quick, lopsided smile before he draws away. Dean lets him go, reaching for his jacket while Cas produces his trenchcoat.
Near the entrance to the overhang, they crouch to watch the thick wall of rain, Cas's hand not too far from Dean's against the damp rock.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/421818.html. Feel free to comment at either post.