Fic: Pleasures of the Flesh
Title: Pleasures of the Flesh
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Warnings: Masturbation
Spoilers: None
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Sam provides a little demonstration.
AN: Written for hopelessfangirl for the Five Acts meme
It starts with two words.
"Show me."
It's how Sam ends up pressed back against the headboard of his bed, in his motel room, t-shirt stripped off, jeans thrown on the floor, boxer shorts pushed all the way down his thighs.
He'd thought it would take him a while, that he'd have to work to get himself hard. But he was halfway there before his shorts made it over his hips. Castiel sat almost primly at the end of the bed, watching everything.
Sam's holding himself just a little too tight, hand not as easy, not as relaxed. He tells himself it's because of how awkward this is. Because it's strange and clinical and slightly unreal.
But - God - that's a lie. Castiel's expression is intent, like he's seeing everything, absolutely everything. The tense and relax of Sam's thighs, the twitch of his stomach muscles. The way the head of his cock slips out and in between his curled fingers. His other hand, tucked down underneath, to tug and roll the weight of his balls every time the ache in his belly stabs deep.
It's messed up and he should stop, but he can't. Because there's nothing clinical in Castiel's look.
Nothing at all.
Castiel's hands are loose on his thighs. But his mouth is ever so slightly open, the relaxed line of it soft and full and human. It makes Sam push up, just a little, the hard line of him leaving the curl of his thumb wet where it slips across the head, over and over, on every slide. Quick and indulgent and Castiel watches that too, fascinated.
He knows that Castiel's going to watch him come. That's the whole purpose of this. This is why he's here, why Sam agreed to do this. Why Castiel's here watching him, watching the slide of his hand and listening to the shaken, stunned rasp of every breath.
"Cas." It falls out without meaning to, and Castiel lifts his eyes to look at him. Bright and fierce and hungry. God - Sam's hand drops and squeezes, stops the low thump of pressure. Feels every inch as naked as he is, too far into arousal to care about the slice of shame. That edge of rough guilt, because he thinks this is something it isn't supposed to be. Wasn't supposed to be.
He watches the angel's fingers curl, drawing his hands into fists. A barely-there reaction that has Sam spreading his thighs wider, shuddering out a breath and turning every slow pull into a quicker, harder stroke.
He wonders if Castiel would come closer if he asked. If he'd let Sam slide his thumb into his mouth and drag it open, let him push inside, fingers, tongue, the heavy, solid weight of his cock.
Fuck.
Castiel's eyes sharpen, then fall, watch his hand again. Sam groans, fist working quick and greedy. A rough, too-dry pull that he meets with his hips. It's ragged and desperate and close. So close.
"Cas." He comes on the bed and across his own fingers, the warm, messy slide of it leaving him shaking and loose.
Castiel watches Sam work himself through it, slow, steady, every rough breath sounds guilty, but ends on a helpless noise of pleasure.
Sam closes his eyes and tips his head back, rests it against the wall and waits. He expects Castiel to disappear, to vanish off to wherever he goes when he's not here. Now he'd gotten what he came for.
He starts in surprise when fingers glides across his throat, catch his jaw and tilt it down.
Castiel's mouth is soft and wet, and open.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Castiel
Warnings: Masturbation
Spoilers: None
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Sam provides a little demonstration.
AN: Written for hopelessfangirl for the Five Acts meme
It starts with two words.
"Show me."
It's how Sam ends up pressed back against the headboard of his bed, in his motel room, t-shirt stripped off, jeans thrown on the floor, boxer shorts pushed all the way down his thighs.
He'd thought it would take him a while, that he'd have to work to get himself hard. But he was halfway there before his shorts made it over his hips. Castiel sat almost primly at the end of the bed, watching everything.
Sam's holding himself just a little too tight, hand not as easy, not as relaxed. He tells himself it's because of how awkward this is. Because it's strange and clinical and slightly unreal.
But - God - that's a lie. Castiel's expression is intent, like he's seeing everything, absolutely everything. The tense and relax of Sam's thighs, the twitch of his stomach muscles. The way the head of his cock slips out and in between his curled fingers. His other hand, tucked down underneath, to tug and roll the weight of his balls every time the ache in his belly stabs deep.
It's messed up and he should stop, but he can't. Because there's nothing clinical in Castiel's look.
Nothing at all.
Castiel's hands are loose on his thighs. But his mouth is ever so slightly open, the relaxed line of it soft and full and human. It makes Sam push up, just a little, the hard line of him leaving the curl of his thumb wet where it slips across the head, over and over, on every slide. Quick and indulgent and Castiel watches that too, fascinated.
He knows that Castiel's going to watch him come. That's the whole purpose of this. This is why he's here, why Sam agreed to do this. Why Castiel's here watching him, watching the slide of his hand and listening to the shaken, stunned rasp of every breath.
"Cas." It falls out without meaning to, and Castiel lifts his eyes to look at him. Bright and fierce and hungry. God - Sam's hand drops and squeezes, stops the low thump of pressure. Feels every inch as naked as he is, too far into arousal to care about the slice of shame. That edge of rough guilt, because he thinks this is something it isn't supposed to be. Wasn't supposed to be.
He watches the angel's fingers curl, drawing his hands into fists. A barely-there reaction that has Sam spreading his thighs wider, shuddering out a breath and turning every slow pull into a quicker, harder stroke.
He wonders if Castiel would come closer if he asked. If he'd let Sam slide his thumb into his mouth and drag it open, let him push inside, fingers, tongue, the heavy, solid weight of his cock.
Fuck.
Castiel's eyes sharpen, then fall, watch his hand again. Sam groans, fist working quick and greedy. A rough, too-dry pull that he meets with his hips. It's ragged and desperate and close. So close.
"Cas." He comes on the bed and across his own fingers, the warm, messy slide of it leaving him shaking and loose.
Castiel watches Sam work himself through it, slow, steady, every rough breath sounds guilty, but ends on a helpless noise of pleasure.
Sam closes his eyes and tips his head back, rests it against the wall and waits. He expects Castiel to disappear, to vanish off to wherever he goes when he's not here. Now he'd gotten what he came for.
He starts in surprise when fingers glides across his throat, catch his jaw and tilt it down.
Castiel's mouth is soft and wet, and open.