Castiel had a certain reputation for using Occam's Razor to slit his own throat.
"Sam, I have a question," Castiel said.
Sam closed his eyes and let his head smack the pillow. "Yeah?" He asked, trying not to sigh.
"If there are specific methods that you enjoy, would you teach me?"
Sam's eyes popped open again. His mind colored with bright, heady assumptions, which he banished. "Ways to make a hard-on go away?"
Beside him, he heard the soft, nervous clearing of a throat. "Ah, no. Well, yes. You--I like what you called it. Touching myself."
The saddest part of it all was, Sam wasn't even shocked. Maybe he was just too tired. The universe seemed to take a certain perverse pleasure in fucking with his relationships, so why not this. Why not be propositioned for lessons in jacking off for Castiel's academic curiosity, or pragmatism, or whatever other reasons that didn't involve Sam except as a potential instructor
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