Unclean. Castiel turns the word over and over in his mind. That's what it is, what he's doing. Dirty and wrong and the best thing to do is to just leave, leave right now and go find Dean who is out getting dinner or go begin researching in the books Bobby has pulled from his large collection and left on the table.
He doesn't leave, though. It would be so easy; just a thought and a shifting of wings and he could disappear unnoticed. But he has no motivation to go; he isn't hungry for cheeseburgers or whatever revolting thing Dean shares a common bond with Castiel's vessel in craving, and he's sure that books will do little to hold his interest when this is happening right in front of his eyes.
This being Sam sprawled out on a guest room bed, knees bent and legs spread as he works a fist over his hard cock. He's still mostly clothed: his flannel shirt is unbuttoned but there's still a t-shirt underneath, and his jeans and boxers are bunched around his calves. Castiel watches as Sam strokes himself, notices the way his hand twists as he nears the head, how he loosens his grip on the downstroke.
From where Castiel is standing, peeking around the doorframe into the bedroom, one of Sam's knees blocks Cas's view of his face, so he can't see what the younger Winchester’s expression looks like when he jerks off (a term Castiel learned from Dean, who suggested it to him and told Castiel he needed to relax. Castiel has yet to follow Dean's advice, but here, now, watching Sam, he begins to understand the appeal).
However, he can hear the man. Sam moans, drawn-out but quiet, whispery, probably from years of living in motel rooms, close quarters with his brother and father. Sam slides his hand faster over his erection and Castiel can see his whole body tighten before he's coming, crying out but still quiet, letting his hand drop to his side and panting, his whole body shaking.
Castiel's own orgasm takes him by surprise. He hadn't even noticed he was hard inside his dress pants until suddenly he's dying for friction and when he presses against his crotch with one hand he thrusts forward into his own palm and comes, feeling the wetness leak through the fabric of his clothing.
He vanishes before Sam is aware enough to look at the door, to realize it's open and that Castiel is watching him. Cleaning himself up with a thought, Castiel sits on a park bench not far from Bobby's house and thinks. It's wrong, what he did, watching Sam without his permission, and Castiel knows it. He feels ashamed, unclean.
Sam/Castiel; Voyeurism; R/NC-17
He doesn't leave, though. It would be so easy; just a thought and a shifting of wings and he could disappear unnoticed. But he has no motivation to go; he isn't hungry for cheeseburgers or whatever revolting thing Dean shares a common bond with Castiel's vessel in craving, and he's sure that books will do little to hold his interest when this is happening right in front of his eyes.
This being Sam sprawled out on a guest room bed, knees bent and legs spread as he works a fist over his hard cock. He's still mostly clothed: his flannel shirt is unbuttoned but there's still a t-shirt underneath, and his jeans and boxers are bunched around his calves. Castiel watches as Sam strokes himself, notices the way his hand twists as he nears the head, how he loosens his grip on the downstroke.
From where Castiel is standing, peeking around the doorframe into the bedroom, one of Sam's knees blocks Cas's view of his face, so he can't see what the younger Winchester’s expression looks like when he jerks off (a term Castiel learned from Dean, who suggested it to him and told Castiel he needed to relax. Castiel has yet to follow Dean's advice, but here, now, watching Sam, he begins to understand the appeal).
However, he can hear the man. Sam moans, drawn-out but quiet, whispery, probably from years of living in motel rooms, close quarters with his brother and father. Sam slides his hand faster over his erection and Castiel can see his whole body tighten before he's coming, crying out but still quiet, letting his hand drop to his side and panting, his whole body shaking.
Castiel's own orgasm takes him by surprise. He hadn't even noticed he was hard inside his dress pants until suddenly he's dying for friction and when he presses against his crotch with one hand he thrusts forward into his own palm and comes, feeling the wetness leak through the fabric of his clothing.
He vanishes before Sam is aware enough to look at the door, to realize it's open and that Castiel is watching him. Cleaning himself up with a thought, Castiel sits on a park bench not far from Bobby's house and thinks. It's wrong, what he did, watching Sam without his permission, and Castiel knows it. He feels ashamed, unclean.
But he also feels good.