tiptoe39 | Pearl String of Fics: First Kisses In the Rain

The rain's trying to decide which part Dean likes best. He watches it drip down Cas' brow, over the bridge of his nose. Not touching him should be a crime somewhere. He watches it slide around Cas' jawline and his fingers itch to grab him there. It's his lips though that send Dean over the edge. Dean's fingers close around the dripping fabric of Cas' trench and he decides, finally, it's about damn time he got the chance to taste what the rain's been kissing all damn day.

nnngh i love this, doll!! Such a clever way to go about it and so hot :)

thank you luv <3

They say that rain means God is crying. Balthazar has no idea if that is true.

Castiel's lips are cold and wet, responsive in his unresponsive way. With his eyes closed, Balthazar probes in the desperate hope of sparking some connection, some memory, some link to the angel Castiel once was instead of the god he's becoming; he kisses Castiel as the heavens open and the rain tumbles down.

Water mats in their eyelashes and drips from their noses but it's worth it, it's all worth it, for the faintest moan when Castiel's lips finally part and allow him in.

...you made me read Balthazar fic and like it. What are you doing to me? This is gorgeous.

Oh yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah.

oh fffff tell me you guys are friends. *pushes together*

WE ARE NOT FRIENDS.

WE SHOULD BE. I TRUST HER JUDGEMENT. ALSO, I TRUST ANYONE WHO USES CAPS LOCK.

The night before Death, it's raining. Ellen is warm with alcohol and adrenaline, her gut churning with some combination of both, and when Castiel pauses at the corner of the yard, she sees that he is nervous, too - sees it in his face, the crook of his mouth, the way his brows draw together.

"Hey," she says. She doesn't know why it's so important to her, suddenly, that Castiel be reassured, except that he is an angel and angels should be certain; angels should know. Her hand closes wet around his bicep, the fabric of his trenchcoat damp beneath her fingers, and the shudder that runs through him is the opposite of sure. A shudder of innocence, of confusion, of fear, of want. He lifts his face, and there is rain on his parted mouth, and she thinks, unblemished.

Nobody should die like that, and Ellen knows that they are all going to die.

"Cas," she says, leans in. He doesn't stop her, doesn't close his mouth, and when she brushes her lips against his, she feels his hand make a fist in the front of her shirt, a sound rising up in his throat. Please. I can't. Please.

His mouth is loose against hers, unknowing, but he needs this, she can tell that now. When she presses in, the inside of his mouth is hot and smooth, like silk, like a slide into eternity.

gggghhh loyal!Balthazar makes me happeh

Fuck fuck fuck hot hot hot I burned my fingers

Having just come off a con of watching Sam Ferris and Misha Collins interact I am SO into this. XDDDD omg. *loves*

Nngh. Cas having a Momma Bear to comfort him in that womanly way before they die? fyeahhh.

He's soaked to the skin and he's faced down an archangel. The storm, the unrestrained power beating at his mind, his soul, his body, seems inconsequential in the face of that. A wild feeling - he can do anything, take on anything - forces itself up inside him.

Castiel is there and soaked and vulnerable. No ozone sparking around him, not any more. He doesn't look like an angel of the lord. He doesn't look like much more than a poor, beaten guy caught in the rain, thin coat plastered to his body. This won't last long, this moment.

Dean takes a moment, grabs the stupid tie he fixed earlier and pulls Castiel close, smashes their mouths together. It's not a good kiss - too much in the way of teeth, too much in the way of want and pain and fear. Castiel doesn't even seem to know how to respond. He merely moves his lips slackly against Dean's. He looks shocked, for a moment, when Dean pulls back, free.

The rain slicks his hair to his head. His shoulders hunch. He doesn't look like he just faced down an archangel.

Dean sighs. "Get in the car, Cas."

ughhhhh. brb I need a moment. That was.. too effing hot. Damn it. I shouldn't be reading this stuff at work! ghjgkkgjbjjbn

oh god yes!!!! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD amazing!

Ahh! What is this gloriousness! Castiel/Balthazar.. I never knew this could be hot! I approve!

Beautiful!! <3

ty

So good. ;_;

mm. Perfect. I hope they get it on in that damn car! <3333

Anyone who knows Sam Winchester for more than five minutes knows he’s a romantic at heart. Circumstances and Fate and no small amount of his brother’s philistinic mocking have eroded Sam’s willingness to indulge it, but his soul yearns for exchanges of small tokens with hidden meanings, for evenings of candlelight and good food and affection, for grand gestures in unexpected moments.

Gabriel has timed it down to the minute. The brothers have separate rooms and Castiel has procured a home-baked strawberry-rhubarb pie for Dean in an attempt to improve the elder hunter’s mood after having only broken even at pool hustling. When he knows Sam is settled in, the archangel pops in with a snap-rustle, smirking at his own cleverness.

“Hey, Sammy… got something to show you.”

Before Sam can protest, they’re gone: flown in a moment to the middle of nowhere. There is a huge blanket laid out, easily large enough for Sam to lie on without dangling off any of the edges, and a small candle lantern casts warm, butter-soft light across an array of carefully selected sweets and savories. There are two thermoses, the contents of which Sam can only guess at, and two small throw pillows to recline against.

“Gabriel?” Sam turns to the smaller man, pleased but uncertain at the meaning behind the gesture. He’s unused to people taking the time to be kind anymore, and never without a catch when it comes from Gabriel.

“Look up,” Gabriel urges, inordinately pleased with himself. The first streaks are just starting to flash across the sky, and they’ll have all night thanks to Dean’s moodiness and Castiel’s willingness to be a distraction…

Until the sky opens above the steppes, pouring torrents of rain onto their heads.

Gabriel lets out an Enochian curse that could blister paint. Sam just laughs, though the archangel can’t think why. “Apparently, archangels can’t predict the weather any better than meteorologists,” the human remarks, clearly amused despite being drenched in an instant.

“I just miscalculated, is all,” Gabriel pouts. It’s not like he can’t replace the food and dry the blanket and pillows with a thought once they find the right place. But the moment is gone, lost to a butterfly’s flap, and he’d been hoping to get tonight the opening he’d been looking for with Sam for months. “We should still be able to see the meteor shower once we get a mile or so north of the storm.”

Sam isn’t budging, and for some reason Gabriel isn’t whisking them away. Maybe it’s the speculative expression in Sam’s eyes, or the way his generous mouth is curved with more genuine amusement than Gabriel’s seen on the boy in years. “You really put some work into this, didn’t you?” the hunter asks, tone careful.

“You’ve always been work, Sammy-boy,” Gabriel replies, still a little sour from the moment being dissolved under the steady flow of the rain.

He doesn’t know Sam picks up on the implicit “you’re worth it”. Is about to snap them somewhere dry and just enjoy the night as friends, companions in league against the Apocalypse…

And then those huge hands are sliding under his arms, lifting him clear off the ground, and those beautiful lips are pressing against his own, tongue tasting rainwater and spun sugar as it licks its way into Gabriel’s open mouth. The archangel doesn’t question it, just wraps arms and legs around the mortal and holds on tight, sealing their lips and moaning at the taste of Sam under warm rain and cheap beer.

How long they linger, Sam doesn’t know. The night is warm and the rain isn’t letting up, but they remain until they’re soaked through and the falling water has doused the lantern on the sodden blanket below their feet. Until they’ve lost track of everything but the taste of the rain on each other’s mouths and the way Gabriel’s weight feels surprisingly right in Sam’s arms.

“We should go someplace dry,” Sam finally suggests, eyes blinking against the droplets on his lashes.

“To see the meteor shower?” Gabriel asks, fingers poised to snap them clear of the stormclouds.

“We can if you want,” Sam agrees amiably, tightening his grip just a bit. “But I already got what I’d’ve wished on a falling star for, so I’m good either way.”

Sunset eyes widen, and then Gabriel is grinning as he whisks them away.

It's done. Mary doesn't know quite yet what it is, how deep its tentacles will reach, but it is done, all the same, and that is an end to it. Father, mother and childhood are things of the past, but she has her John in her arms and that is something. It will have to be enough.

When he stirs, it is sleepily, and without understanding -- "Mary?" A fine rain has picked up, misting over his face, catching in his hair in the darkness. All the better, Mary thinks, to hide the tears she can't fight back, despite her best efforts.

"Sssh, baby." She strokes her fingers through the soft mess of his hair, after the pattern of the raindrops, and ducks her face to kiss him, little, clinging kisses, one after the other. Tiny kisses settling on his damp mouth like butterflies. Beneath her, John breathes, coming back to life. Coming back to her.

"Sssh, baby," Mary says, and kisses him again -- bites his lower lip in a sudden rush of frenzy, and then licks over the hurt with her tongue at his surprised noise. "Ssh, it's okay. It'll be okay."

There's a dark, tight clench in her gut that says she's wrong, but she ignores it resolutely; cups John's face with her fingers, as if she could keep him from the rain.

Edited 2011-09-07 22:35 (UTC)

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)

Edited 2011-09-07 22:48 (UTC)

In New York City the rain doesn't stop the cabs, but it does stop them from seeing the pedestrians trying to wave them down, especially when their suits are dark and so's the clutch of buildings from which they wave. After a good long time Mike lowers his hand and strolls back to the enclave where Harvey waits, nice and dry and warm, the bastard.

"You want a cab, you go hail one," he says. "I'm biking home."

"You're biking home and you're going to be sneezing tomorrow in court and you'll look like a fool, go hail a damn cab."

Mike just glares at him. They have more staring contests these days, more moments when it feels like Harvey's just a constant source of static electricity in his life, and even though Mike's so young and has so much to prove there are times when he thinks he's getting to Harvey, he can see the mask of disdain drop and the real emotion emerge.

"You don't want me to get sick. Cause you care," he says.

"About the case, sure." Harvey looks away.

"No, you care about me. You don't want me to get sick. Because if I did you'd end up coming by my apartment and bringing me chicken soup and then you couldn't hide it anymore. Forget it, I'm definitely biking home." Mike grins triumphantly and moves away from the enclave toward where his bike is sitting, wet rubber and glistening chain, against the parking meter.

Harvey grabs him by the arm and spins him inward, like they're dancing. Terrible dancing, thought, since Mike ends up dripping wet and pressed against cold stone, uncomfortable. "Like hell I'm gonna let you," Harvey starts, and then there's a gust of wind and the rain goes horizontal, spraying him all at once with enough water that he's, if not as soaked as Mike, at least suddenly dripping.

Mike chokes out a laugh. "Serves you right--"

There's a "shut up" on Harvey's face, and it makes it past his lips, but then it just crushes into Mike's mouth and dies.

His mind goes blank, but his fingers know what to do - they're crawling, scrambling, grabbing at Harvey's wet blazer, pulling him in. Somewhere between them a moan sounds. They're both wet now, because Harvey's pushed Mike hard up against that stone wall, and the water from Mike's shirt and tie and jacket is seeping into Harvey's, cold rain and body heat, a contradiction that shouldn't work, but it does, and so do they, and Mike doesn't want it to end.

~

Rain travels on the edge of a warm front, and there's a reason for that -- though rain is cold, merciless enough to batter down barriers, it brings with it warmth that's enough to thaw hearts.

At least for a moment.

Pearl String of Fics: First Kisses In the Rain

no subject

no subject

no subject

Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

no subject

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

no subject

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: Balthazar/Castiel - Let The Heavens Open

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Music - Kiss the Rain by Billie Myers

eta: LOL OOPS IT'S NOT A FIRST KISS. EXCEPT IT KIND OF IS B/C HE WAS DEAD? IDEK. SORRY. I FAILED.

ok, my turn. 1/2

my turn 2/2