odioamuerte
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Dean Winchester had few regrets in his life, but he did have some. Among them was the fact that, when faced with the choice between studying at university with Sam and travelling with his father to Lawrence for a year, he had foolishly chosen the latter. That is to say, of course, he hadn’t realised at the time that he’d made a mistake, but as time went on, it became increasingly obvious.
Now he had to make up for lost time.
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Dean’s hands clench the crumpled sheet beneath his fingers; he stares, spellbound, at Castiel’s face, only now noticing details he hadn’t seen before: the way his eyes shimmer in the sunlight; the small scar near the bridge of his nose. Cas leans closer, bending over him, and Winchester shifts uneasily, swallowing with a hollow sound.
"You’re addicted, Dean," Castiel whispers, his hot breath scorching the hunter’s cheek. "This feeling is consuming us both."