Sam Winchester Monologue
You expected Sam Winchester to taste like coffee and peppermint. The coffee was obvious, there was rarely a day that he went without at least one cup, usually it was a lot more than one. Dean joked that it was the only unhealthy thing that Sam did regularly. The peppermint came from the mints he would pop between cups, the sweet sent clinging to his breath long after the little candy has disintegrated. When you weren’t really thinking about it, you would watch the little white mints disintegrate on his tongue while he spoke. The smell faint in the air with every breath he took. It would also make sense for him to taste like oranges and salt, two things that normally you wouldn’t try tasting together. The oranges were his snack of choice, peeling back the rind as his eyes romanced across the computer screen or book his was reading. He wouldn’t even pay attention as his teeth sunk into each piece, little bits of juice clinging to his lips and on his fingers. The salt comes from the sweat that clings to his skin after a run, Sam not wiping it off until after he guzzles almost an entire bottle of water. Dean joking that he smells and yeah
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Sam Winchester tasted of hope. He tasted like every emotion was spilling out of him like a fountain, everything he was too scared to say, too scared to feel, too scared to admit to himself. The need, the want, the desire, the fierceness, the protectiveness. He tasted like this was something that he had waited for all this life, for just this moment with your lips pressed together, for you. He tasted like the first drops of rain during a drought, like the hint of dawn after a terrible night, like the promise of a fire after a long walk in the cold. That feeling of complete contentment that let you know that you could handle whatever came next. Kissing Sam Winchester was like conquering the world with just a whisper. It was power and compassion. It was earth
Sam Winchester tasted of hope. He tasted like every emotion was spilling out of him like a fountain, everything he was too scared to say, too scared to feel, too scared to admit to himself. The need, the want, the desire, the fierceness, the protectiveness. He tasted like this was something that he had waited for all this life, for just this moment with your lips pressed together, for you. He tasted like the first drops of rain during a drought, like the hint of dawn after a terrible night, like the promise of a fire after a long walk in the cold. That feeling of complete contentment that let you know that you could handle whatever came next. Kissing Sam Winchester was like conquering the world with just a whisper. It was power and compassion. It was earth