The thick curtains on the lone window hide the sickly yellow glow from the nearby streetlight and obliterate the tiny pinprick stars. Inside the room the only light is from candles, tall and short pillars in odd corners. In the warm half-light Castiel's borrowed skin is pale milk white against the dark bed sheets. His bird-fine wrists are cinched tight in heavy leather cuffs, the D-rings clinking with the chain that binds his arms to the solid Oak headboard as his body shifts with a slight tremble.

Whether he shakes with need, lust, fear or something else doesn't matter, what matters is the tightness of his shoulders, arms bound and straining, the pale flesh at his stomach. The thick black blindfold that lies in sharp contrast, like a raven's wing on his cheekbones. His toes curling into worn cotton, one foot braced flat, the other hiked over his partner's broad, naked shoulder, calf resting warm and electric across the man's back. One of Dean's large hands holds Castiel's hip steady, pinning him in place like a Butterfly on a board while his wicked, talented mouth works his cock ruthlessly. All Castiel's praises and adorations of the man are lost to the thumb of Dean's other hand, slid between the Angel's lips and cradled by his tongue, the edge of blunt teeth only a bare hint of pressure.

In the unseen space between them is the smallest of Universes, built only for two; a place of hallelujah's and heartbreaks. A place full of all the small insinuations of completeness that any private microcosm could and should hold. Embraced in human arms, Castiel sighs, shifts, and breaks beautifully.

One by one around the lovers, all the candles quietly gutter out.


Title taken from the Pablo Neruda poem by the same name, found here: http:*/www.*/poem/*tie-your-heart-at-night-to-mine-love*/ (remove stars)