Torrential rains sweep America, not just the continental U.S. but every inch of American soil, and for a moment in a thousand places the world hushes to listen to the voices of the rain.
The rain is everywhere, it goes everywhere, it penetrates and it diffuses and is absorbed into skin, through pores, matting down hair, dampening tempers and bringing people closer to keep warm.
~
Down south in Hawaii, the warm rain plasters Steve's T-shirt to his chest. Nothing Danny hasn't seen before, but with the view of the beach wiped out by the wave of gray, he has nothing else to look at, and so it's Steve by default. Steve and the one rivulet of water that's pausing on the tip of his upper lip, fat and full but not dropping, and it's driving Danny crazy.
He moves forward, starts by saying "You have a--" and "It's--" and he tries to angle his index finger toward the droplet but his lips get there first, sucking it up, staying there, lingering and still sucking on the wet surface of Steve's lip, his lower lip starting to curl forward too just for the sake of being even and fair, why should one lip get all the fun?
And then Steve's burly arms are pulling him in, and he's plastered against that soaked T-shirt, and Danny whimpers and lets go of his own balance as Steve's embrace swallows him up.
~
In the back woods of a Midwestern town, the rain runs through the maze of a billion pine needles and dumps down unceremoniously on Dean Winchester's head as he's heading back from a gravesite to the car. He curses, and shivers, and the angel waiting for him soberly has a hint of a smile on his face at Dean's distress.
"Shut up," Dean says without allowing any more of a greeting. He's cranky and freezing and surly and did he mention freezing? He'd kill for a coat that didn't suck. A smirking angel is not a very good substitute.
A moment later there's a trenchcoat around his shoulders instead of Cas's, and Cas is smiling at him. Dean can read his smile -- there's a simple pleasure there in having done something for Dean, and even Dean, crankiest gun in the West, has to shrug and say, "Thanks, Cas."
In just his suit, dark hair and dark clothing, Castiel looks all that much more human when he nods. "It is my pleasure."
The smile's slid off his face, and now he's reaching forward to cup his hand over Dean's forehead, an impromptu cap to keep the rain off his face. Dean's been squinting, something he doesn't realize until the flood of water into his eyes stops and he can open them wider.
They keep getting wider, because Castiel keeps getting closer.
By the time Castiel's hand slides off Dean's forehead, Dean's eyes are closed anyway, and the sudden rush of water down his face feels kind of good when it slides between their lips.
continued (http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/1278495.html?view=5809183#t5809183)
ok, my turn. 1/2
The rain is everywhere, it goes everywhere, it penetrates and it diffuses and is absorbed into skin, through pores, matting down hair, dampening tempers and bringing people closer to keep warm.
~
Down south in Hawaii, the warm rain plasters Steve's T-shirt to his chest. Nothing Danny hasn't seen before, but with the view of the beach wiped out by the wave of gray, he has nothing else to look at, and so it's Steve by default. Steve and the one rivulet of water that's pausing on the tip of his upper lip, fat and full but not dropping, and it's driving Danny crazy.
He moves forward, starts by saying "You have a--" and "It's--" and he tries to angle his index finger toward the droplet but his lips get there first, sucking it up, staying there, lingering and still sucking on the wet surface of Steve's lip, his lower lip starting to curl forward too just for the sake of being even and fair, why should one lip get all the fun?
And then Steve's burly arms are pulling him in, and he's plastered against that soaked T-shirt, and Danny whimpers and lets go of his own balance as Steve's embrace swallows him up.
~
In the back woods of a Midwestern town, the rain runs through the maze of a billion pine needles and dumps down unceremoniously on Dean Winchester's head as he's heading back from a gravesite to the car. He curses, and shivers, and the angel waiting for him soberly has a hint of a smile on his face at Dean's distress.
"Shut up," Dean says without allowing any more of a greeting. He's cranky and freezing and surly and did he mention freezing? He'd kill for a coat that didn't suck. A smirking angel is not a very good substitute.
A moment later there's a trenchcoat around his shoulders instead of Cas's, and Cas is smiling at him. Dean can read his smile -- there's a simple pleasure there in having done something for Dean, and even Dean, crankiest gun in the West, has to shrug and say, "Thanks, Cas."
In just his suit, dark hair and dark clothing, Castiel looks all that much more human when he nods. "It is my pleasure."
The smile's slid off his face, and now he's reaching forward to cup his hand over Dean's forehead, an impromptu cap to keep the rain off his face. Dean's been squinting, something he doesn't realize until the flood of water into his eyes stops and he can open them wider.
They keep getting wider, because Castiel keeps getting closer.
By the time Castiel's hand slides off Dean's forehead, Dean's eyes are closed anyway, and the sudden rush of water down his face feels kind of good when it slides between their lips.
continued (http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/1278495.html?view=5809183#t5809183)