(no subject)

[elinorwise]

He cleans them both of the blood and sweat and the uncomfortable wetness in their clothes from ejaculating and presses his lips to Sam’s forehead chastely.
Sam Winchester is saved.
Sam lets out a shaky breath and drops his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder.
“I hope that wasn’t—” Sam stumbles over the words, reaching up to rub at his nose. “Ruby and I would have, uh, sorry, this should be weird, right? Is this weird? Are you—you’re not really supposed to do that, are you? Angels, I mean.”
“No.” He doesn’t clarify which question he’s answering.
“Then what made you? I thought if any—”
Castiel makes a sound he’s heard Sam make before to signal irritation—usually at Dean—when someone is being deliberately obtuse.
“I could feel your desire.” He feels the humiliation rise up and runs his hand over Sam’s hair again. “I wanted. Healing you was my pleasure.”
“Thanks, Cas.”
He nods and then pushes himself up to stand, offering his hand out for Sam to take, so he can lead him up from the basement.

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