About Bryan Singer: I’m not saying he’s innocent, I’m not saying he’s guilty but am I the only one who thinks that it’s just a bit too much of a coincidence that these allegations are coming to light 15 years later and a month before one of the biggest movies of his career premiers??
New exercise I propose: Take Benedict’s hands out of context… and well, you get the point. You’re welcome.
Watching his hand in the first one…
Drooling on myself…
THOSE FUCKING HANDS.
*sobs in corner*
Oh good morning.
my day is made thank you
Fucking hell, this is back. THANK YOU.
Untitled by plentyofowls
Dean can see the wings now. What’s left of them, anyway.
It’s different from when Cas was slowly cut off from Heaven. That was a hole, starting small and slowly spreading, eating away at him from the inside until he was hollow. But this, this is something more than that. It’s a separation of part of his being, completely and permanently, on every single plane of existence, creating something bigger than a hole. Cas is broken, essentially dead, and the pain in every movement he makes is enough to make Dean ache in every inch of his body, even reaching his soul, just by looking at him.
They’ve been doing this—not dating, not just sex, but something weird and in between that Dean never wanted to identify before—for months now, but it’s different this time.
Cas comes to him with wounds to be licked, and Dean splays his tongue against his neck and his chest with no hesitation, but his hands go nowhere near the stubs of grace twitching out of his back.
“Dean, please, more, I need more,” Cas is hissing in his ear, and Dean would normally oblige, but today he won’t. Cas wants rough, he wants forceful and painful and bloody and cruel to make him forget the torture and the loss of his wings, but Dean knows nothing he can do will ever make him forget, not even for a second. At least not if he’s trying to erase pain with pain. So Dean takes it slow, rocks them gentle and easy, ignoring Cas’ whining and impatient rolls of his ass down onto Dean’s cock. Eventually he takes Cas’ thighs in his hands and pulls them, robbing Cas of his balance and ensuring that he sets the pace.
“Dean, not like this,” Cas is mumbling now, and Dean still ignores him. For once, Dean knows what Cas needs, and no amount of protest will make him stop.
He’s still going slow, thrusting up into Cas lazily, when he feels the tears on his skin. He’s never seen an angel cry, but it’s not much different from a human. He peeks out of one eye and sees Cas’ face, pinched tight and warped with so much pain that Dean is amazed he’s able to function. There’s snot and tears pouring out of him and making a mess of Dean’s shoulder, but he doesn’t care. This time, he’s here for Cas, and if that means being a human handkerchief, then fine. Cas starts to shake with silent sobs and Dean slows even more, hearing small whimpers every time he rocks upward into Cas’ heat.
He buries his face into Cas’ skin, amazed at how cool it is despite how much they’re both sweating, and opens his eyes. He sees the broken remnants of Cas’ wings, twitching in time to Dean’s thrusts, and he has to shut his eyes again because it hurts just to think about.
“I’ll kill them,” Dean mumbles into Cas’ shoulder, “Every last one that did this. I swear it.”
It’s the closest Dean will ever get to I love you but it means a hell of a lot more, and Cas lets out a whimper and his fingers dig into Dean’s back, telling him thank you with the last of his broken strength.