Castiel was raised in a religious household, though his own faith had evolved as he'd matured. The few remaining fibers of his childhood indoctrination were screaming; the rest of his fibers were taut with thinly veiled arousal. It shouldn't be arousing, not at all, because Dean was snoring rather unattractively less than a foot away from him.
But.
Castiel watched the moonlight dust over his cheekbones. The sheets were pulled up just under his broad, beckoning chest, and his woodsy scent had the conscious man swimming.
Yep, Castiel could feel the morals of his youth flying right out the window.