A/N: So...I could have been mean and made you wait for this...but I wont :)


Castiel stared, dumbfounded and rooted to the spot, as the young soldier fled from his office, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He desperately grappled to make sense of what had just happened, the brazen display that was in an instant seared into his memory. Clearly, the kid had snapped.

He gazed down at the spot on the floor by his feet where, moments ago, his most promising recruit had been all but dry humping the linoleum with a ferocity that bordered on violence. On unsteady legs, he strode over to the half-open door and pulled it shut, twisting the lock with fumbling fingers as his pulse pounded in his ears.

He flicked the light switch next to the door frame, plunging the room into near darkness, the only remaining light a soft glow from the small lamp on his desk. He leant back against the door, drawing in a steadying breath as his eyes wandered around the room, not quite registering anything his gaze brushed over. He breathed deep against the tight coil of heat that twisted low in his stomach, a long-repressed need building within him. He slowly crossed the room, seating himself once again behind his desk. He brought his forearms up to rest on the polished wood, one hand finding its way up to rub gruffly at his mouth before running through his hair as he dropped his head forward. He stayed like that for what seemed like a lifetime, head bent, one hand clasping the back of his neck as he fought a losing battle against his racing pulse that was frantically redirecting all the blood in his body to his groin.

He drew his lower lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh until the metallic tang of blood hit his tongue. The throb between his legs grew stronger, more urgent...And God, did it ache. His hands shook as he pushed back from the desk, his breaths coming faster and shallower. He exhaled sharply, unable to suppress his desperate urge for release, and frantically tugged at the buckle on his belt. He worked with quick, impatient fingers to free himself from the restriction of his pants, and as he wrapped a firm hand around himself, his entire body responded violently to the long denied contact.

He moaned deep in his throat, head tipped back and eyes scrunched shut as he fiercely pumped his straining shaft. His arm burned with the exertion of the almost brutal force with which he clambered for release, tugging and squeezing himself as the once familiar beginnings of climax built low in his stomach. He dragged his thumb over his swollen tip, gasping at the heightened sensation as he bucked up into his hand, losing conscious control of his surging hips. He groaned breathlessly as his strokes became desperate, his thumb sliding over the tip with every stroke. His head fell forward, the fingers of his free hand digging into the arm rest of the chair as he gave in to the force of his climax with a low moan, his release spattering his shirt and hand.

His breaths shuddered in and out of his chest as the final shivers of orgasm rolled through him, a wave of what should have been sated completion. But as he stared down at the evidence of his actions that clung to his hand and stomach, he felt nothing but a deep-seated disgust at his own weakness.

He slowly dragged himself out of his chair and over to the sink in the corner, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the basin. He pushed the plug into the sinkhole and unscrewed the tap, holding his hands under the hot stream of water as the basin began to fill and soak his shirt. He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw, his mouth set in a hard line as he removed all traces of his lapse in control. He wrung his shirt out and draped it over the heater, pulling a spare one from the small cupboard by the window.

He was not going to follow up on the incident with Dean. The kid had blown a fuse...and so had he. And as he switched off his desk lamp and locked up his office for the night, he erased the last hour of his life from his memory.