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spnfan-fics · 1 year

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🦋 BÉSAME OTRA VEZ

(Kiss Me One More Time)

- Characters : Dean Winchester (main), Castiel (main), Jo Harvelle (secondary), Sam Winchester (secondary), Bobby Singer (mention), Ellen Harvelle (mention), Jack Kline (mention), Claire Novak (mention).

- Focus : Dean and Cas relationship, beach day, family time.

- Tags : #Latinenatural ; #Destiel ; #SouthAmericaSPNrep

- Language : English (mostly), Spanish (a few phrases).

⠀

Cas thinks this is how he'll remember the Caribbean sea from now on:

The smell of salt and rum, the sensation of Dean's hands on his back, spreading cold cream to soothe the irritated skin. They sit under the swinging of the palm trees and the protection of the porch, the shadow in sweet contrast with the bright blue of the sky and the warm expansion of water just there, no more than 10 seconds from the house.

It doesn't matter if his eyes are closed or open, the picture is bold and alive in the back of his eyelids.

— ¿Otro beso? —Cas wishes he could have the accent of the north of South America, but he doesn't complain when at least he does not fight so much anymore to shape the vowels in his lips.— ¿Por favor?

Dean huff is gentle and he's there, sunbathed and flushed, laughing a kiss against the curve of Cas shoulder.

— Yes. All you want, Cas. All you want.

( the complete version under the cut )

⠀

His thoughts are drifting again to the sound of the waves crashing down on the shore.

It was summer, in the way it's always summer on the Caribbean and the sun was climbing the sky in the shine of 9, maybe 10 am. From experience, Cas knew the heat would get worse close to midday. He was still a little itchy from the day before, when he had forgotten his lack of grace meant he was susceptible to the cruelty of the UV rays and had spent the day playing on the sea, until his skin was furiously red and he could feel the heat located on his very veins.

— Rojo como un camarón. —Sam had laugh at Jo's expression, getting amused looks from Bobby and Ellen as they helped Cas treat the sunburns.— This is what happens when you expose a paper white gringo to the Caribbean.

A round of murmured agreements traveled through the living room, ending where Dean was standing, hips resting against a chair made of maybe wicker, if he guessed correctly.

— Or Sam, who is like Casper's distant cousin or something.

— Dean. —A warning from Sam that everyone knew wouldn't work.

— It's the pale Argentinian in him, isn't it, mom? —Cas noted Jo liked to point that out, seemed fascinated by the contrast between Sam and Dean's skin tone.— Mary's gens, give or take.

It was like they didn't know the quietness of the graveyards, or the silence of their job. Cas watched as they discussed who got what from who. Sam got John's brown eyes and dark hair, Mary's curved nose and the longer figure of her face, but Dean had Mary's eyes, the color of the sun shining on troubled river waters down the Amazonia, he had the shortest frame of John and the darker but not quite dark tone of his skin, his mother's blond hair brighter where the light touched, fading to a darker shade closer to the roots.

It was a game of looking for the traces of their parents, jumping between races and nationalities to build the puzzle of their features. They shared the freckles, the wavy hair, the easy smile and the set of their shoulders. Wherever Dean was obscure, Sam was fair and all the way around. Cas had observe Ellen pouring coffee ane milk on a cup before mixing: Sam and Dean were that, but if the mixture never settled and remained together but not mixed, like their morning eggs (he's not sure he understood correctly the explanation of such expression).

— You should let your hair grow.

Sam cut his next phrase, tilting his head to look curiously at Cas. They were sitting beside each other on scratched blue plastic chairs, bare torsos and shoulders hunched so Ellen and Bobby could apply the soothing cream on their backs.

— Both of you. —He corrected, watching the understanding click on Sam's eyes.

— You absolutely should, Dean. —A slow smirk from Jo told him she understood too.— I should get to braid your hair for life to be fair.

He searched for horror on Dean's face and even when he didn't dissapointed, Cas noted a spark of –something pleasant, whatever it was. The promise of a maybe and someday that made Cas hold his breath.

⠀

Later that day, Dean kissed him for the first time.

Cas had been rocking himself while resting on a hammock, one foot on the sand to swing left and right until the movement would continue on its own. The rope was tied to two palm tress and above him, the stars danced among translucent clouds in the absence of the moon.

— Can I?

There was a plastic chair, one leg gone and that side resting on a tall rock. Cas pointed toward it, not having to look at Dean to know he was smiling.

The chair was as Bobby left it earlier, facing the hammock and not the sea. When Dean sat, Cas realized there was almost not space between them, because Dean was sitting like Bobby that afternoon, resting his arms on his knees to be at the same level of Cas gaze, a half full can of beer on his hand absently moving to his life before drinking a gulp.

— Everything okay, Cas? Do you want anything or...?

Cas though of replying many things, but he only shook his head and carefully arranged himself on the hammock.

— Did you lost again? Who's winning now?

Every night, Bobby would settle two different packs of cards and a set of dominó on the table on the porch. The place itself was no more than wood floor and half walls who reached their hips, mosquito nets going all the way to ceiling and glass windows that opened up when you rolled them to the sides.

All the games were played in pairings. Cas was taught how to play them all in one afternoon and got banned from every game that very night.

— One, I only lose on purpose. And two, Ellen and Sam are also convinced that Bobby is using some ritual to cheat or whatever. Jo is not that good at dominó.

— You all cheat, Dean.

— Yeah, —Dean left his empty beer on the sand, suddenly urging Cas to move to the side of the hammock.— but they banned you.

Cas opened his mouth to say that it's not the first time he got banners for playing correctly and cheating like anyone else, but soon he realized what Dean was doing and was unable to shape a word. The shock of Dean's fingers grabbing his shoulder came first, a sound like Dean trying to move Cas away like one moves a cat coming from his mouth. For the next minutes, the beach was filled with hushed complains and the almost inaudible sounds of two bodies wrestling to fit on a hammock when one was not convinced about it resisting their combined weight, while the other insisted it would.

“ It is a family hammock, Cas! It's supposed to hold an entire family! ”

“ Dean, it's old. It's gonna snap. ”

“ I'm gonna start to think you want to fall on top of me on the sand, Cas. ”

“ Do you want me to? ”

Dean let out a victorious sigh through his nose when he finally settled on his back, the weight of their bodies the new internal center of gravity of the hammock.

Naturally, it left Cas basically glued to Dean's side, the height difference leaving Cas to either rest his head on Dean's shoulder or his chest, or to try without any encouraging progress to stay on his side.

None of them talked for a while. Dean seemed to be contented and comfortable, both hands behind his head, his feet tapping rhythmically on the air to the song Dean was humming. Even when Cas was still annoyed at the way Dean arranged them, the curve of Dean's side was solid and the gravity far too much for him to resist it. So when he let his head fall on Dean's chest, he didn't miss the way Dean paused for a moment, stilling and then immediately relaxing before Cas could pull away.

Cas didn't know when he had closed his eyes, or when Dean started playing absently with his hair. Dean must thought Cas was already sleep though, because after a while, he felt an almost there pressure against his forehead, lighting on the water.

It was a kiss, barely a kiss, but Cas could breathe Dean's breath and imaging how it'd taste, he could recall the temperature and the sensation of Dean's lips against his skin. There at the beach, neither of them wear so many layers. Simple t-shirts under opened flannels, or undershirts without anything more when the temperatures raised too much. Jeans, yes, but cuffed to the calves to allow dipping their fingers on the water. Or beach shorts, colorful with tropical prints. It was all sandals or bare feet, caps to protect the ir face from the sun, maybe one or two long t-shirts, the type used for surfing or fishing.

Cas was aware of the dried sweat on their bodies, the rest of the sunscreen or soothing cream, the grains of sand on his hair. He was safe there, tucked against the warm of Dean's body, one of Dean's arms across Cas back and settle on his waist, the slight rocking of the hammock, the distant voices of Ellen, Bobby, Sam and Jo.

— Could you kiss me again?

Dean blinked, freezing. Cas looked up, scared he might have ruined the night. He had meant to said it, but if he could blame someone, he would blame the Caribbean. It was so easy, butter melting on a knife, sugar melting on thw tongue. Easy to look at Dean, easy to be near him, easy to forget they were only there because they needed to hide for a couple of of days after they tried to kill Lucifer and miserable failed. Cas needed time to recover his level of grace, Jo was still healing from the hell hound wounds, Sam needed time to don't go crazy over a plan. They almost lost Ellen and Jo and Dean... Easy to forget the look on Dean's face that night, when Bobby grabbed Cas by the shoulders and forced him to fly everybody to an empty beach house on the Caribbean.

Down there, it was a land untouched by the angels, who were too busy looking for them through America. There were no monsters waiting on the forest, even the sea was crystal clear and calm like a pool, the house big enough for all of them. Down there, in that forgotten piece of land, none of them existed. Suspended out of time just in appearance.

— You don't have to. —Cas told the air when Dean didn't react, face carefully blank.— If you didn't mean to. I just thought it was a pleasant sensation and I wanted to experience it again while awak–

Somewhere along Cas panic, Dean twisted and caused their bodies to collapse against each other, Cas head now resting on Dean's biceps while Dean's other arm cupped his cheek and tilted his face. Dean kissed him then, a touch of that paradise turned into lips. Mouth closed at first, testing the angle, the pressure. Cas was too busy registering each attempt to do more than think on the back of his mind that Dean was afraid of scaring Cas, afraid of going too fast. To silence his doubts, Cas only needed to increase the pace of their lips according to their need until Cas was practically over him, half knowing what happened half busy tasting, locking his fingers on Dean's hair and on his flannel, until Dean forced him a couple of inches so they could breathe.

— Otro beso, por favor. —Dean had said, eyes dancing with the reflection of the starts.— That's how you ask for one more kiss, Cas.

⠀

Cas thinks affectionately of that night so many years ago as he watches Jack running on the sand, Claire chasing him with a water gun.

He looks at Sam and Eileen, building a castle with their son, teaching him a technique Cas knows would be taught to the next and the next and the next generation.

Cas thinks this is how he'll remember the Caribbean sea from now on:

It doesn't matter if his eyes are closed or open, the picture is bold and alive in the back of his eyelids.

Dean huff is gentle and he's there, sunbathed and flushed, laughing a kiss against the curve of Cas shoulder.

— Yes. All you want, Cas. All you want.

#Angelicode reblogs

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spnfan-fics · 2 years

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SOBRENATURAL CELEBRATION : DAY 4 : music

🦋 FRENESÍ

( Latina Mother, Latino Son )

- Characters : Dean Winchester (main), Castiel (main), Jack Kline (main), Sam Winchester (secondary), Jody Mills (secondary), Claire Novak (secondary), Mary Winchester (mention), Garth (mention), Bobby Singer (mention), John Winchester (mention).

- Focus : Latino Dean singing to his family. Jack / Dean pov.

- Tags : #Latinenatural ; #SobrenaturalCelebration ; #Destiel

- Language : English (mostly), Spanish (a few phrases).

⠀

While celebrating Castiel birthday on the bunker, Jack finds a box full of old records that used to be Mary's. Dean decides is a good night as any to tell the story of that collection— and maybe sing a song or two.

[ there's a mention of something cruel and ugly regarding the immigrants down the border, but it's nothing explicit and it's that, a quick mention. Still, here's the warning ]

( the complete version under the cut )

⠀

Jack finds them two doors down Dean's room.

They're in a box without label, sitting in an organized row turned almost completely grey from the amount of dust settling over each cover.

Jack doesn't recognizes the names, but he has lived long enough with Dean to know they must be in Spanish. Some words he gets, some names sounding like the other ones Dean mentions when he speaks about his childhood.

When he blows the dust from the covers, he notices some marks, pen ink probably. Mostly dates and– he has no idea, but there are stars.

It's only when he's back at the heart of the bunker, the box secured with both hands, that he realizes he forgot to bring the records Dean actually asked for. Not the mysterious box. No, he went to find a total different collection of oldies but goldies, something soft to listen to in the background while they celebrated Cas birthday.

When Dean finds him over Cas' shoulder, Jack slumps a little and stares down at the vinyls.

“Jack, please bring them to–”

Before Sam can end what he was going to say, Jack is carefully setting the box on the long table, retreating a couple of steps. He notices their shadows first, Sam's larger on his right, before a hand lands on his shoulder. He sees Dean closing his fingers on one of the covers, pulling it from the box.

“Daniel Santos,” Dean reads, a tug on his lips.

Jack's focus flashes quickly on Dean's expression, before turning to a gaping Sam.

“Were those... Are they...” Sam squints, blinking a little faster. He's trying to read the covers too.

“Mary's.”

The voice comes from behind. Jack moves over when Claire touches lightly his arm, letting her join them on a perfect semi-circle. The only person on the other side of the table is Cas, who pulls a chair to sit and looks up at them, face carefully arranged.

“It's her name in those, right?”

Dean grants her as much with a nod, passing the cover to Sam and pointing at the calligraphy Jack couldn't decipher. Claire extends a finger to Jack benefit, tracing on the air the shape of Mary's name in the cursive, each time ending with a few starts at the upper corner.

“Look at the date. It was...”

“Ten years before having me.” Dean's lips tug farther into his cheeks. “A gift from her mother. Not all of them, of course. For what I know, she collected them. Dad gave her a few, she bought others. I think she even worked on a few cases were they would give her the vinyls as an especial thanks, you know?”

“Dean, how is this even possible?” The cover ends up on Claire's hand, Sam shuffling through the box while Dean whispers the name of each singer or band. “I thought Dad had burned them!”

There's a pause Jack feels in his throat.

And on his shoulder, when Sam grips him tighter for a second.

What Dean feels, he doesn't say. Jack watches his smile banish, a thumb stroking the side of a water damaged cover. Dean is standing apart, gazing at the records with both longing and a spark of what could be bitterness.

While Claire doesn't talks, she leans closer to Jack, mouth moving silently to repeat the name and words Dean just told. She's been taking classes with Dean on how to speak Spanish.

Three months ago, Jody called saying she had gone alone on a work south the border. Jack stayed behind with Sam working on a werewolf case with Garth. Cas and Dean returned maybe a week after.

Claire told him about how things were over there. She described the way a nest of vampires were faking to be coyotes*¹; they promised desperate families of immigrants a way to enter the country, put them all on a truck and–

Claire started her classes that weekend. Moved her things to the bunker, stayed late at night watching reruns of movies from the Mexican gold age of cinema with Dean. Cas told him, that what they saw there– no one should be living or dying like that.

They were lucky Cas had his powers.

Jack remembers the silence of that night, when Cas and Dean arrived holding Claire. She was shaking so bad it took the whole night for her nerves to calm down.

It took Dean just a bottle to lose his.

“There were kids, Cas! There were fucking kids”

That silence was not like this one.

That silence was sharp, rage and indignation turning into resolution.

This silence is bended, a blade broken by grief and the impossibility to turn back time.

“Bobby replaced them at the last minute.”

Jack comes back to reality to the sound of Dean talking softly, running a hand on the cover now and flipping it a couple of times. When he extracts the vinyl, he frowns at the dust and shakes his head. He hands it to Cas to hold while he crosses the room and takes a kit that was hidden under the map table.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Jody's voice rings over Sam's through the halls of the bunker. Claire pulls Jack by the sleeve, rushing him to the kitchen to help her with the cake.

He suspects it's also because Dean wouldn't want to talk about it with both on them there.

⠀>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ <

Dean returns to the room with the cleaning kit, accepting blindly the record from Cas before spraying it whole with the bottle on his hand. He stretches the cloth over the surface of the table, pressing slightly the record to it, both sides, a couple of times.

“Would you have shut up about it, Sammy? Tell me you wouldn't have screamed it to dad's face in the middle of a shitty argument. Come on.”

John hated them; each painful reminder of his dead wife, of the culture she belonged to, of the years of laughter and compass moving feet on the floor of their not-longer-there house. Dean had ran through the waste yard, ran and ran and slammed open Bobby's door with his shoulder.

He had faked being upset so he wouldn't have to stand in front of the pyre of falsehood. Ran his fingers through the covers a million times, ordering them on the box before finally putting them behind Bobby's shoebox, closing the closet.

He found them there when he went to pick a couple of things after Bobby died. Cleaned, used, since Dean gave him permission to listen to them.

He couldn't–

He couldn't bare the thought of them wasting away over the years without someone to listen to them once in a while.

Until today, Dean had a strict regulation on when and how to listen to them.

He would only place them on the turntable when he was alone. Only danced to them when there was no one else, only sang to their melodies when he was on a good mood or at least just a sad one, not anger to be seen.

The last chance he got to do so was.......

The silence from Sam's part means he's still smarter than Dean. Ignoring the bait of a fight no one's really feeling, Sam observes how Dean cleans the record until it is shiny again. Then he tooks one from the box, takes the cloth from the table and the spray from Dean's hand and starts the process all over again.

“Would you like to listen to them?”

Dean looks up. Cas tilts his head at the distance, at the corner where the turntable sits.

“Do you–” Cas doesn't turn at him, but Dean sees the corner of his mouthy lift. Of course Cas knew what he was going to say. He's special like that. “Hey, avispa'o*². Any request for tonight?”

Sam scoffs at the Spanish bit.

“The one you're holding is a compilation.” Cas doesn't even have to actually insult him, santos*³. He's beyond it. “I'd like to listen to it.”

Dean doesn't add anything to it, neither in Spanish nor in English. Instead, he walks over to the turntable, thinking about what he's about to do.

Growing up, he knew Mary's favorite by heart. He'd often whistle them while working on the Impala or waiting on a hunt, a personal serenade he could tune into without even paying attention. He had written the names of the records on a paper before leaving Bobby's house, bought a cassette to burn the music on it and labeled with the name of a band John would never listen to. Repeated them even in his sleep, afraid his Spanish would rot and die one night, unable to stay alive when Mary was not.

Dean wouldn't stand to lose that part of himself.

Not that John ever cared.

By the time he was in high-school, Dean had swore he'd only sing those songs to his wife and kids, one day, in a house full of light and a garden. He imagined them on the shape of a stunning brunette waiting for him at night after a shift at the workshop, stubborn kids faking being asleep because they were waiting for him too.

He may not have them: the house, the wife, the kids, not even the garden.

What he does have is a kick-ass bunker with its own goddam telescope, a map table, a private library, enough rooms for a battalion, perfect water pressure and temperature, a collection of cars and bikes and a chess table no one uses.

He also has Sam, alive and well, breathing annoyance and fondness even when Dean has his back turned at him. He has Cas, staring at them from the table, patiently waiting for Dean to stop sulking, he's sure. He has Jack and Claire and Jody, if the footsteps he hears are any indication. He doesn't think the cake is ready, but then again, they'll have to wait.

When the needle touches the vinyl and it starts to spin, the gentle crack and rush of the sound floating through the air like the blankets he used to hide under when Mary was still alive...

The first notes of the guitars almost send him on his ass to the ground.

He swallows, forced and fast.

“Close your eyes, Dean. It's in your blood.”

Dean close his eyes when Los Panchos start to sing Bésame Mucho and absently, he realizes he's already moving to the rhythm of the song, his voice carrying easily the elongated syllables, even if he can't help but fail at singing perfectly in tune.

He moves and turns, not a faltering step between one beat and the other, when Dean opens his and Cas takes away his attention from the rest.

His eyes, blown wide, reflect effortlessly the lights from the lamps. They fall to Dean's steps, shy in a way Dean was not expecting. Either he's trying to commit the steps by memory to try and copy them or he's–

Fuck his life. He knows.

Dean smirks helplessly. Cas can understand every word, right. Son of a bitch has the babel course handled down, all the fucking crashing building.

And Cas knows he knows, so what?

He was lost the moment Jack came into the room with those vinyls, hands almost in reverence. Maybe not a wife– but an angel who lied siege on hell to rescue his soul (hell yes!), and two blond kids (currently working on that, he's still processing), and Jody there clapping with fresh laughter rolling down her tongue and onto the very walls of the bunker.

Dean flips Sam without looking, clearing his throat when the first violin notes of Madrigal play.

This time, he stops on the edge of the table, taking a hand to his invisible mariachi hat, resting it to his heart. And Dean sings. Louder. Clearly.

⠀

⠀Estando contigo me olvido de todo y de mí *⁴

⠀Parece que todo lo tengo teniéndote a ti

⠀Y no siento este mal que me agobia y que llevo conmigo

⠀Arruinando esta vida que tengo y no puedo vivir

⠀

⠀Eres luz que ilumina las noches en mi largo camino

⠀Y es por eso que frente al destino no quiero vivir

⠀

Claire actually gasps at the chorus, when Dean walks over to her and makes a gesture with his hand, first to her then to Jody. Mary used to do that, elegant gingers placing a phantom rose to Dean's hair, moving her head according to the lyrics to protect her eyes from the non-existing shine of his beauty turned a medal on his chest.

He sings, to Jody and Claire, softly verses that the ghost of Mary's voice carry with him. He sings to Jack and Sam, grinning now, chest so full he doesn't know if he's gonna be able to eat anything after.

And when the song changes again, he laughs at the way everyone is frozen, staring at him like he is nothing but a stranger

“It's a party,” he reminds them. “C'mere, Cas!”

Claire mutters something in Spanish that sounds suspiciously malicious, pushing Jack forward while Dean extends his hand to Cas and bows a little, pushing him up with him when Cas takes it and Dean retreats to a cleared space.

He positions Cas first and sends him a look to wait, before retreating and looking over to see Jody and Sam chuckling and gossiping in brand with every sappy romcom movie he has ever seen. Jack and Claire, on the other side of the table, are expecting his instructions, Jack looking fairly curious, totally oblivious to Claire intensity. He's not competing with her on this.

He's not. It's not a dancing competition.

“4/4 compass. Which means something like you move once with each beat, I think?”

Sam corrects him with a stupid “actually...”, gaining a frown from Cas because (Dean knows) he wanted to say it, but Sam beta him to it.

Nerds being nerds.

Dean shrugs, starting to move with Frenesí on the background. English version, perfect timing.

“Do these four steps first, okay? Go slow, watch the feet. I'll need you to relax and look pathetic because no one ever does it right at first try, or so I'd like to think. Jack, you guide, you're taller. Hand on the small of the back and– yes, Claire, exactly like that. See–”

He doesn't notice.

He blinks and misses the moment Cas takes him by the wrists, curling his fingers around Dean's as he starts to guide him.

In the back of his mind, he's danced with Cas a million times. Salsa, bachata, merengue, boleros, you name it, he has imagined how it'd feel to have Cas chest to chest, his hands on the hands of the other, legs swinging back and forth in an endless song.

Dean just knew, back then, always, that he wouldn't have to try so hard. Cas could– would– he does read his movements, stepping to the opposite direction of Dean. It's sloppy still, they are nervous, but the warm between erases any uncomfortable feelings.

Dean thinks they're taking a decision tonight (whatever that means, hell if he knows), while he guides Cas on a spin and recovers their balance, his tongue caught in the movement of almost whistling and commenting how, with a few sessions, Cas could be making a couple of girls or dudes faint at a club in the future.

Then wonders if the fucking decision just made him or if his brain went on total annihilation again.

Cas looks at him with a shy smile and without stopping —because Dean can't stop holding him, holding his breath, can't land from whatever plane of existence he is right now— Cas places a hand over the handprint of his shoulder.

“Dean–”

The song ends, replaced by a cha cha gha that reminds Dean they're not alone.

The frown Cas gives him when Dean let's him go is almost enough to press closer again.

“The cake,” he whispers, taking one step behind and nodding toward the table. Jody and Sam are gone, which means they were to retrieve it— the cake. “If you want to, later, we could–”

“Yes,” instantly, followed by a more careful, “Dean, yes. I'd like to dance some more.”

“Peachy,” Dean sees in the corner of his eyes that Jack and Claire are fighting over something. Feeling bold and stupid, he moves fast enough to startle Cas when the shallow touch of Dean's lips braces the top of Cas knuckles, another light bow, a silent promise. “I think I know what record I want to put next”.

⠀

Here's a video showing a couple dancing bolero

Here's the playlist of what Dean sings and dances to with Cas

Here's the translation of the Spanish bits of the fic:

*¹. Coyotes: people who worked down the border, helping people enter and get out of US. People pay coyotes to help them, but there's no way to be sure they'll be safe. Please research a bit more about this, since I can't actually explain it whole here.

*². Avispa'o: someone of quick wit or mind. Can be use as a compliment or ironically, making fun of someone for thinking they are smarter than the people around them; an smart-ass.

*³. Santos: it means "saints" and it's an expression, like "oh God", for example. It can convey many things, depending on the inflection.

*⁴. Here's the whole song in English:

⠀

“ Being with you,

⠀I forget about everything and about myself.

⠀It seems that I have everything, if I have you (with me)

⠀And I don’t feel this harm (pain) that overwhelms me

⠀and that I carry inside (of) me,

⠀ruining this life that I have and I cannot live.

⠀

⠀You are the light that enlightens the nights on my long road,

⠀and that's why (facing destiny) I don't want live.

⠀

⠀( chorus )

⠀A rose in your hair seems a star on the sky.

⠀And in the wind, it sound like an accent your musical voice.

⠀And it shines like a sparkle of light the medal on your neck

⠀at the tiniest movement of your body when you walk.

⠀

⠀At your side, I don't feel the hours that pass with time

⠀nor I remember that I carry on my chest a deadly injury.

⠀With you I don’t feel the sound of the rain and the wind,

⠀because i carry your love in my chest

⠀like a madrigal. ”

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spnfan-fics · 2 years

Text

🦋 BÉSAME OTRA VEZ

(Kiss Me One More Time)

- Focus : Dean and Cas relationship, beach day, family time.

- Tags : #Latinenatural ; #Destiel ; #SouthAmericaSPNrep

- Language : English (mostly), Spanish (a few phrases).

⠀

Cas thinks this is how he'll remember the Caribbean sea from now on:

It doesn't matter if his eyes are closed or open, the picture is bold and alive in the back of his eyelids.

Dean huff is gentle and he's there, sunbathed and flushed, laughing a kiss against the curve of Cas shoulder.

— Yes. All you want, Cas. All you want.

( the complete version under the cut )

⠀

His thoughts are drifting again to the sound of the waves crashing down on the shore.

A round of murmured agreements traveled through the living room, ending where Dean was standing, hips resting against a chair made of maybe wicker, if he guessed correctly.

— Or Sam, who is like Casper's distant cousin or something.

— Dean. —A warning from Sam that everyone knew wouldn't work.

— It's the pale Argentinian in him, isn't it, mom? —Cas noted Jo liked to point that out, seemed fascinated by the contrast between Sam and Dean's skin tone.— Mary's gens, give or take.

— You should let your hair grow.

— Both of you. —He corrected, watching the understanding click on Sam's eyes.

— You absolutely should, Dean. —A slow smirk from Jo told him she understood too.— I should get to braid your hair for life to be fair.

⠀

Later that day, Dean kissed him for the first time.

— Can I?

There was a plastic chair, one leg gone and that side resting on a tall rock. Cas pointed toward it, not having to look at Dean to know he was smiling.

— Everything okay, Cas? Do you want anything or...?

Cas though of replying many things, but he only shook his head and carefully arranged himself on the hammock.

— Did you lost again? Who's winning now?

All the games were played in pairings. Cas was taught how to play them all in one afternoon and got banned from every game that very night.

— One, I only lose on purpose. And two, Ellen and Sam are also convinced that Bobby is using some ritual to cheat or whatever. Jo is not that good at dominó.

— You all cheat, Dean.

— Yeah, —Dean left his empty beer on the sand, suddenly urging Cas to move to the side of the hammock.— but they banned you.

“ It is a family hammock, Cas! It's supposed to hold an entire family! ”

“ Dean, it's old. It's gonna snap. ”

“ I'm gonna start to think you want to fall on top of me on the sand, Cas. ”

“ Do you want me to? ”

Dean let out a victorious sigh through his nose when he finally settled on his back, the weight of their bodies the new internal center of gravity of the hammock.

— Could you kiss me again?

— Otro beso, por favor. —Dean had said, eyes dancing with the reflection of the starts.— That's how you ask for one more kiss, Cas.

⠀

Cas thinks affectionately of that night so many years ago as he watches Jack running on the sand, Claire chasing him with a water gun.

He looks at Sam and Eileen, building a castle with their son, teaching him a technique Cas knows would be taught to the next and the next and the next generation.

Cas thinks this is how he'll remember the Caribbean sea from now on:

It doesn't matter if his eyes are closed or open, the picture is bold and alive in the back of his eyelids.

Dean huff is gentle and he's there, sunbathed and flushed, laughing a kiss against the curve of Cas shoulder.

— Yes. All you want, Cas. All you want.

#Latinenatural #Destiel #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Supernatural #Spn #Deancas #Sobrenatural #Latinonatural #spn ficlet #destiel ficlet #Spn fic #Supernatural fic #Destiel fic #If anyone is curious John is half Venezuelan in this one and Mary is Argentinian #Bobby is the son of a Mexican mother and an American dad #Ellen is American but his husband was from Puerto Rico #So Jo is half Puerto Rican skdndk #Dean's accent is a mixture of Venezuelan and Puerto Rican because he talks a lot with Jo #Sam has the neutral way of speaking of the people qho avoid accents at all costs djdndkdnmd #But then he gets angry and it's either a little of John's Venezuelan accent #Or a hard Argentinian accent that came from his mom and Jessica who is full Argentinian in this one #(both the Venezuelan and Argentinian accent were made specially to insult and you can't convince me otherwise)#Latine Dean #Latino Dean #Latine Sam #Latino Sam #Pocnatural

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