Sometimes I think about Sam getting very practical tattoos, spells & things for protection, & understanding their aesthetic appeal in a kind of intellectual, anthropological way. And sometimes I think about Cas getting artistic tattoos of flowers and animals, because he loves the natural world God created. And sometimes I think about Sam first seeing Cas's tattoos, unexpectedly, staring in awe and in that moment *feeling* what he'd previously only *understood* about tattoos, beauty, and desire.
(I think.... this is beautiful.)
The first time he sees Cas’s tattoos happens in the morning in a motel room they’re using while on a case.
And the sun lights Cas up. Makes him glow, catches in his hair, all along his sides, lines him in white. His tattoos are washed in silver, all the birds and tree branches over his chest, the iridescent feathers and dew dropped spiderwebs on his side, the clockwork tentacle wrapped around his thigh. There’s a line of bleeding heart flowers around his wrist, a garden of sunflowers and white dandelions tufts above his hip, pink roses and ivy on his shoulder and arms. Constellations are mapped out between his shoulder blades in purple dashes and coffee rings, a galaxy ripping open in shades of indigo and cobalt against the arch of his back.
He’s a sketch book full of quick lines, water color dripping down his skin.
Sam is stunned. He watches Cas bend; watches the flowers dip, the branches stretch, the flock of birds rippling when he turns.
Are you ok?
There’s something to this, Sam considers. Art for arts sake. Creation to express. Yearning, for what he doesn’t know until he imagines reaching out to touch every single line, know what the sunlight tastes like when it’s on Cas like this.
Instead of answering, he sits up, arm extended to wrap around Cas’s middle and situate him between his legs. He runs his hand over the three light pink roses on Cas’s shoulder, traces the spirals of ivy that fall just above his elbow. He kisses the tip of Vela between his shoulders, combs his hand through dandelion seeds (wants to wish on every single one), and takes apart the clockwork on Cas’s thigh (slowly, carefully takes Cas apart).
It’s intoxicating, to say the least.
Cas moans Sam’s name.
It’s breath taking. There’s no purpose for any of it, yet there’s connection.
He tangles a hand in Sam’s hair.
A sense of divinity.
Sam presses a hand to Cas’s chest and dozens of birds take off, their wings beating against his palm.
