The motel room Castiel dropped into from the ether was empty, the warding against angels on Dean and Sam's ribs doing their work. It looked like the right place, the brothers' familiar duffels beside their beds, flannel shirt draped over the back of a chair, a couple empty beer bottles on the table.
Cas sat down on Dean's bed, resigned to waiting for as long as it took for the brothers to come back. It wasn't anything urgent anyway, otherwise he'd called.
Ignoring the gnawing thought that he could have simply called anyway, Castiel didn't look at it very closely. The unfamiliar, indescribable and urgent need to see Dean pumping through his grace.
He looked around, his thoughts jamming when he saw the open door to the bathroom, the floor wet, informing him that someone had been taking a shower not long ago.
The image of Dean standing under the spray came forth instantly, the time when Castiel had flown in, clearly at an inopportune moment, when he'd heard Dean's pleas and found him lost in the act of masturbating. Breathlessly whispering Cas's name while twisting his wrist just so, the grimace on Dean's face one of pleasure forced to keep quiet.
Cas had left before Dean noticed him, but that moment was burned into Cas's everything ever since, it felt like. He simply couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't control his body, and the urges coming with the hardening of his cock. So far he'd abstained, the feelings so alien to him he was nervous to find out what would happen if he acted on them.
He licked his lips nervously, trying to chase the thought away, but it was pounding, incessant - how Dean had looked like in the midst of his intense pleasure, face turned up, throat bared, teeth grinding, water sluicing down his chest.
Castiel had wanted to trail it with his tongue.
He shifted on his seat, growing hard in his slacks at the mere idea of being able to do that, to touch Dean like that, to be the one to bring Dean that kind of pleasure. What would it be like?
Cas got up and shed his trench coat, quickly folding it haphazardly on the bed. He'd made up his mind. He was going to do it, and he probably didn't have much time, so he kept on the rest of his clothes, in case he was interrupted. Nudity wasn't required for this.
Cautiously, Cas sat further back, lifting his legs to rest on the bed, leaning against the wall. Castiel pressed his head againt the hard surface, licking his dry lips, his hands feeling like they trembled. What if he had Dean on this bed, naked, willing to be touched, for Cas to worship, Dean's arousal caused by Castiel? Like he had been in the shower, tense, so close to something Cas had never experienced, his whispers silently calling Cas's name between gasps.
Castiel's cock throbbed as he let the thought become clearer; how Dean would groan and buck under his touch, if Cas took that hardness in hand.
Cas still had time to back off. He didn't have to do this. He'd gone without this long.
But the memory of Dean's flushed chest, his eyes tightly shut against the pleasure, rose to the forefront of his mind again, and suddenly the need to get some pressure on his cock was excruciating.
Cas pressed the heel of his hand against the bulge in his slacks, his eyes closing, lashes fluttering against the dull ache of a ghost of pleasure he hadn't expected. It certainly wasn't enough. But using Dean as a fodder for this, for something some people described as self pollution, onania. Was he defiling Dean with his fantasies, his urges and the utterly delicious feeling of depravity that came from picturing himself with Dean?
Suddenly, the idea of just willing it away felt like he was deceiving himself. If Dean was allowed, If Dean was welcome, to use Castiel for his fantasies, wasn't it only fair that Cas was permitted to do the same to Dean? Dean's lust had been almost palpable, and Castiel had been the power behind it. Surely Dean would be willing to be that power for Cas?
And it wasn't like Dean would ever know.
Bolstered by the thought, Cas unhooked the clasp of his slacks, deft, yet trembling, and unzips himself, thick, long fingers digging to find his heated flesh through the opening of his boxers.
He drew his cock out, fisting himself loosely around the tip for the first time, his mouth open with a groan at the tentative touch. Cas slid his thumb over the glans, his thigh tensing and sheer electricity running into the pit of his stomach.
It wasn't much of a relief, really, the sparks skittering over his skin more an irritant accelerating his need. He tightened his hold, moving his hand down experimentally, his other large hand coming down to curl around his balls on instinct, his mind finding the memory of Dean again, his focus on Dean's hand sliding fast along his cock, his face, contorted and beautiful, mind completely gone in his hedonism.
Cas let out another sigh and began to stroke faster with intent, taking a page out of Dean's book, his hips coming off the bed to meet his hand, spreading his legs as wide as the restriction of his slacks allows. Those precious few seconds he's seen Dean's hand on his tumescent cock before Cas had fled in the center of Cas's heated mind, the sight of it playing back over and over again relentlessly, making Cas's back curve off the bed, his breath erratic and his movements jagged and eager, his body fruitlessly searching for a connection with another body. Dean's.
What if he hadn't fled? What if he'd joined Dean in the shower? Genuflected, and helped Dean to completion?
Cas couldn't stop the low, long moan from escaping his throat, his head pressed tight against the wall, tendons on his neck straining as he clenched his teeth together, thoughts flooding in, wild, a curling fire roiling in his stomach as he imagined himself on getting on his knees. Greedily drinking in the approval on Dean's face, taking him in his mouth, lips stretching around the hot satin covered iron of Dean's cock, tasting him, Cas looking up to find Dean staring at him, slack jawed, enraptured.
Cas's cock twitched hard in his hold, and he could feel his grace dancing, rejoicing along his spine, all along his body, right to his fingertips, while the fantasy took a new shape, how Dean fed him his cock, past Cas's lips, the weight of Dean's cock on his tongue, the girth pressing the corners of Cas's mouth, how Dean's fingers curved into Cas's hair, fingers rubbing restlessly, a tug, a fair warning...
Cas felt his balls tighten, fingers pushing past them to his taint, pressing down hard, his muscles clenching all over his body, Cock swelling and throbbing and driving Cas insane. And Cas comes sharply, almost painfully, with helpless animalistic moans and grunts, the results of his self-indulgence spilling over his hand, his cock pulsing rhythmically, cum spurting onto his shirt in long forceful stripes, even up halfway to his tie. With heaving breaths, Castiel was fucking his fist shallowly through the aftershocks, dragging out every last drop of this self induced, blissful gratification.
He slumped against the wall, breathing hard, blinking his eyes open as if seeing the world for the first time, giddy with sexual delectation. Now he certainly understood the appeal of this activity.
His cock softened in his hand, and Cas tucks himself away gingerly. With some irrational, grumpy disappointment, he realized he'd have to wait to do this again. Human bodies had refraction times after all. Not that he'd have the time right now anyway. But there were other times.
He swallowed hard, dry throat clicking as he headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.
A brief flash of something akin to shame flashed in his chest, the impurity of his actions trying to claw at him, but it dissolved as quickly when he realized he'd done nothing wrong. He hadn't blamed Dean for thinking about him, surely Dean wouldn't blame him for this.
And of course he wouldn't, Cstiel realized.
Because Dean would never find out.
A key turned in the lock of the front door when Castiel had just finished trying to clean his cum off his shirt with a wad of wet toilet paper, managing to get the shirt and tie damp and decorated with small white paper balls clinging to the fabric.
Cas turned to look towards Dean and Sam, hands frozen to place when he met Dean's eyes.
"What happened to you, man?" Dean grinned, checking Cas head to toe and tossing a bloody machete on the table.
"I just... I. I Spilled something..." Castiel tried very hard not to blush.