Whatever Our Souls are Made Of, His and Mine are the Same
Title: Whatever Our Souls are Made Of, His and Mine are the Same
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Warnings: Wincest, voyeurism
Summary: Now that the war in heaven is over, Castiel finds himself at loose ends. Watching the Winchesters is one way to pass the time. (Prompt from the first round of Masquerade.)
Watching the Winchesters has become one of Castiel's favorite pastimes. Not their physical bodies, necessarily--although Castiel has found that his vessel does enjoy that occasionally too. No, mostly he watches their souls
Soulmates are rare. Castiel has never seen two of them come together before, and it's endlessly fascinating. He watches them for days, sometimes, as they cycle through love, anger, fondness, exasperation--each emotion taking a different hue and shape, drawing them closer, pushing them farther apart, but never truly separate.
Even when they are miles apart, their souls reach for each other, and sometimes, if he tries very hard, he can feel a distant echo of the ache such distance causes.
Today they are not far apart. Sam has pulled Dean onto his lap, pushed his cock deep inside his brother as he holds him close. Dean's head is thrown back with the pleasure of it, gasping Sam's name, saying things that Castiel once would have considered quite blasphemous. Now, he simply leans closer, straining for a better view, to hear what Sam is saying in return.
Dean Dean god love you, fuck--so fucking much
There is energy building between their souls, borders breaking down as they melt into one another, spilling the pleasure of joining into their bodies. It's stunning, breathtaking, and Castiel isn't surprised to find his vessel hard and aching to be touched. He ignores it to watch, enraptured, as Sam and Dean reach their climax, souls finally becoming the one they were intended to be for a few short moments.
He watches a little longer, faint jealousy tainting his pleasure as he watches them separate and return to their own bodies. He has no soul, will never truly know the pleasure of joining with another the way they do. He may rut with a female vessel, but it will never be like this, it will never be even the poor imitation that most humans achieve when their souls briefly touch. For all of their might and power, he and his brothers will, in this regard, always be lesser. Always alone.
Sam stands, still holding his brother, still joined to him body to body, and they both laugh, sated and content. Sam spills them both onto the bed carefully, gently leaving Dean's body and collapsing next to him. Castiel watches until they fall asleep, and after, longing for things he'll never have.
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Warnings: Wincest, voyeurism
Summary: Now that the war in heaven is over, Castiel finds himself at loose ends. Watching the Winchesters is one way to pass the time. (Prompt from the first round of Masquerade.)
Watching the Winchesters has become one of Castiel's favorite pastimes. Not their physical bodies, necessarily--although Castiel has found that his vessel does enjoy that occasionally too. No, mostly he watches their souls
Soulmates are rare. Castiel has never seen two of them come together before, and it's endlessly fascinating. He watches them for days, sometimes, as they cycle through love, anger, fondness, exasperation--each emotion taking a different hue and shape, drawing them closer, pushing them farther apart, but never truly separate.
Even when they are miles apart, their souls reach for each other, and sometimes, if he tries very hard, he can feel a distant echo of the ache such distance causes.
Today they are not far apart. Sam has pulled Dean onto his lap, pushed his cock deep inside his brother as he holds him close. Dean's head is thrown back with the pleasure of it, gasping Sam's name, saying things that Castiel once would have considered quite blasphemous. Now, he simply leans closer, straining for a better view, to hear what Sam is saying in return.
Dean Dean god love you, fuck--so fucking much
There is energy building between their souls, borders breaking down as they melt into one another, spilling the pleasure of joining into their bodies. It's stunning, breathtaking, and Castiel isn't surprised to find his vessel hard and aching to be touched. He ignores it to watch, enraptured, as Sam and Dean reach their climax, souls finally becoming the one they were intended to be for a few short moments.
He watches a little longer, faint jealousy tainting his pleasure as he watches them separate and return to their own bodies. He has no soul, will never truly know the pleasure of joining with another the way they do. He may rut with a female vessel, but it will never be like this, it will never be even the poor imitation that most humans achieve when their souls briefly touch. For all of their might and power, he and his brothers will, in this regard, always be lesser. Always alone.
Sam stands, still holding his brother, still joined to him body to body, and they both laugh, sated and content. Sam spills them both onto the bed carefully, gently leaving Dean's body and collapsing next to him. Castiel watches until they fall asleep, and after, longing for things he'll never have.