tell them to read The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses it’s absolutely gorgeous and heartbreaking. And How a Righteous Man Raises a Rose. And 36 Views of Dean and Castiel. I read a lot of depressing destiel fics.
Jesus, the rose story was awful, biggest noup right now. :((( Also, holy shit that author has written so many amazing stories : OO
What’s the significance of September 18 and March 1?
Sep 18 2008 aired Lazarus rising, first Cas’ episode and March 1st is Jensen’s birthday.
We hope you’ll take a moment or two to do something kind today for our planet in honor of Earth Day.
Pick up some litter, volunteer a few hours at a local park or wildlife refuge, or plant a tree. It doesn’t matter how large or small, every act of kindness counts.
As Albert Einstein (a pretty smart fellow!) once said: “Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” Understanding is the key to kindness.
So get out there and do some good and, while you’re at it, don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers. You deserve a little kindness too.
Cockles fic request: Misha’s first time inside Jensen.
Sunday means no work, a long, lazy bath, and Misha.
Jensen has to admit, the clawfoot bathtub hadn’t been one of his favorites among the highlighted selling features when he’d purchased his bachelor pad.
Until Misha’s visit. Not the first, of course, but not that long after it, either. Then he’d come to appreciate its true potential.
He’s appreciating it right now, as a matter of fact, his back resting against the rear lip of the tub while Misha’s head reclines on the firm pillow of his left pectoral muscle. The surface of the warm water shifts in a fragrant splash as he moves one leg to better accommodate his guest, sighing with contentment as he trails his fingers through Misha’s thick ebony hair, further disheveling the already mussed tresses.
"I’ve been thinking…" Jensen begins, faltering as Misha’s hand strokes from knee to thigh in one slick, sultry motion.
"Yes?" the older man prompts.
He has been thinking of lots of things, like the way Misha’s made him come with hands and lips and even just his voice, that first night on the phone. But they’ve never actually gone all the way, and the thought of that level of intimacy frightens and excites him all at once. He thinks he’s ready; he just doesn’t know how to tell Misha.
"I want to wash your hair," Jensen says instead, still too shy to make his confession.
Misha laughs but he leans forward to indulge Jensen’s request, closing his eyes before the pitcher of water Jensen spills over his head baptizes him in a sluice of rose scented water.
Jensen takes his time lathering Misha’s hair, working his fingers into the thick texture until the coal black locks are coated in white foam. He dips forward to plant a quick kiss along the nape of Misha’s neck, enjoying the shiver that trembles across his shoulders before the muscles hunch up reflexively, a defensive quiver that Jensen decides to taste.
By the time they’ve finished in the bath and sought the comfort of the plush couch in the living room, the preshow for the NASCAR race has already begun, the commentators snagging interviews with the drivers and their crew chiefs before detailing the layout of the track. Misha’s head is draped in Jensen’s lap now, his face more often than not tilted away from the television screen to stare up at Jensen. His costar’s got his fingers in that raven colored hair again, siphoning through the damp strands, pausing to trace the arch of his eyebrows, follow the line of his jaw, and smooth across the wedge of his lower lip.
"I think you’re obsessed with my hair," Misha comments wryly, dragging his fingers across Jensen’s forearm.
"I’m obsessed with everything about you," he says softly, and Misha’s fingers tighten as they reach his wrist, trapping his hand against his cheek.
"What did you want to tell me earlier?"
I want you. I love you.
"I’m ready," he says aloud, quickly, before he loses courage.
Misha sits up rapidly, his lean form gracefully twisting around to face Jensen, his voice hushed and almost reverent as he asks, “Are you?”
"Yes. Right now. Please, Misha."
The first kiss lasts all the way to the bedroom, fingers working to release the towel wrapped around Misha’s waist while he tugs at the boxers Jensen had pulled on after their shared bath. Misha’s lips work on his until they’re slack and swollen, cheeks flushed, emerald eyes fever bright, framed in lashes fluttering with anticipation as he watches the spread of lubricating fluid pool on crooked fingers before resting against his entrance, painting a shallow circle.
Jensen goes hot and cold all at once, a shot of electricity jolting right down to his toes as Misha presses one finger inside, easing forward while Jensen clenches down reflexively, fingers winding into the bamboo printed sheets beneath him.
"Relax, sweetheart. Easy, baby. Just breathe, in and out, nice and slow," Misha urges, leaning in to graze kisses along the stubble of Jensen’s throat. "Let me in, love," he whispers, and Jensen does, gasping as he stretches and loosens to accommodate a second finger.
"So beautiful, Jen. Can’t wait to be inside of you," Misha hums along his collarbone, tongue darting out to stroke along that structure. He tests a third finger gently and Jensen’s cock twitches, sending a slight spill of fluid from the blushing tip to his abdomen. He’s full, and yet he wants more, more of Misha, all of him, buried in him, blurring their bodies together.
Jensen’s fingers curl around one of Misha’s shoulders, blanching the skin with the pressure of his fingers, and Misha moans beside his ear, “You ready for me?”
"Yes." It’s little more than a hiss, a tight burst of sound before Misha’s clenching a fist around the tube of lubricant, dousing his erection in a gushing spill of clear fluid before he lines himself up with Jensen. His legs fall further open in silent invitation and Misha accepts that welcome, easing inside.
The sound that escapes Jensen then, that wrecked, despairing, lost, lustful cry, is something neither of them will ever forget. Misha continues the same slow motion he’d begun with his fingers, letting Jensen adjust until he leans his body weight forward, thrusting more deeply as he seeks out Jensen’s mouth.
"Misha," Jensen gasps between kisses, eyes shiny with the unshed tears tucked into the corners.
"I know. Oh, Jen, I know," Misha pants, as overcome as the man rocking beneath him. The blunt edges of Jensen’s fingernails scrape his spine as he snakes a hand between their bodies, fingers still slippery with lube and precome as he presses and pulls them together.
"Come for me, love," Misha urges, forearms braced around the broad span of Jensen’s shoulders, the sharp slap of damp flesh meeting damp flesh a rapid staccato between ragged gasps for breath. Jensen’s lost in the dark eyes above him, rolling up into and riding the wave of pleasure that bursts through his body just as the echo of Misha’s answering orgasm spills into him.
There are tender kisses afterward, accompanied by cautious palpations of flesh, as if to ascertain for injuries, skittering gently across the reddened skin across one shoulder, taking inventory of the indigo stains of burst vessels blossoming over one hip, violet petals in the shape of Misha’s fingertips.
"I’m okay," Jensen murmurs drowsily, full lips sliding across his lover’s. His skin is sticky and warm and he’s sore but it’s the most wonderful kind of ache, leaving him feeling tender and hollowed out, as if Misha’s carved a space deep within that only he can fill. "Really, Mish. Better than okay, actually."
"Really?" Misha grins, allowing Jensen to lace their fingers together, "because I was thinking we’re going to need another bath."
Jensen laughs a kiss into Misha’s hairline. “I think you’re right.”
I brought some out here.
but how much do you think they laughed when Danneel tweeted ‘Watching Friends with Benefits with friends!’
Misha reached over and grabbed several fries from Jensen’s tray.
“Hey, stop stealing my food you little shit,” Jensen groused as he attempted to bat Misha’s hand away.
Misha laughed, a gravelly, throaty thing and shoved the fries into his mouth unceremoniously. “I thought you like it when I steal from you,” he said with a knowing look.
Jensen looked at the familiar t-shirt that clung loosely to Misha’s body and shook his head. “Looks better on you anyway,” he said with a shrug as he bit into his burger.
Misha smiled, familiar crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.
God, how I feel you on that! I’m always like having the best sentence ever in my head (in my mothe lang), about feelings and metaphors and stuff and then it comes out like “The cat was on the table” WTF???
Hahahah, and I’m really bad with idioms. :D
I’ll wait tho :DD
If I’m still here in ten years then I know I’ve failed in life in every way imaginable. :D