Divinity lives within my skin and my love,
I am blessed that you let me worship at the altar of your lips
.
“Please,” he says, “I need something more.”
More than life? I ask. Than pleasure?
“Yes,” he says, with clasped hands on bent knees,
“I need you”
.
He spills whiskey into his stomach, smoke into his lungs. He spill blood, his own and others’.
But he does not spill one drop of us, tongue chasing fingers so that he may take what is left of my body from my hand.
- poem by Kath @caskarass
~
Stolen moments of holy intimacy between Dean and Castiel
Their mutual worship knows no bounds.
I don't understand how we're not still talking about this!
