castiel has sinned, oh father he has sinned much, but he can’t help it, this man - this boy, with soft eyes and his hot, sticky, sulfur blood that runs sluggishly in his veins, castiel can hear it and it maddens him. how can such a creature exist, an unholy contradiction in the shape of a man; he doesn’t understand how he can want when he should be repulsed, when uriel hisses and bares his teeth as he takes sam’s hand in his own. he feels the fluttery pulse of fear, of thrill, of wonder, looks at sam’s shining eyes and feels a throb of something he cannot name, something all-consuming and something terrifyingly, exhilaratingly base.
it is months later when sam comes to him, first, extending his hand and his companionship. castiel hesitates - what would his brothers and sisters think of him now, having thrown in his lot with murderers and thieves, having strayed from the path of righteousness. what would his father think of him now, so close to taking temptation for his own.
at the first press of sam’s mouth on his, all thoughts fly from his mind but the softness of his lips and the clench of his hand on castiel’s arm, begging, pleading, beseeching him to stay. sam has been broken in so many ways and castiel is scared to handle him - he does not want to break this soul, this murky, shining soul, any further. but sam asks him. “please, cas,” he murmurs, “please, just - take what you want, take this out of my hands, don’t let me fuck this up like everything else, please - ” and castiel does as he asks, takes away his pain and his sorrow and slams him against the wall, shoving a hand down the front of sam’s pants. sam is hard already, blessedly, the solid flesh hot in his hand as castiel wraps his fingers around him and squeezes. sam chokes, gasping, “god-!”
the invocation burns him, almost, racing through his bones and out the cross of his shoulder blades, the air vibrating between them, and castiel stops sam’s mouth with his hand. “don’t,” he says softly, “don’t say his name. not here. not now.” sam nods, but castiel doesn’t trust him that far - with his life, with his mission, with his own temptations, yes, but not with this - and covers his mouth with his own, swallowing sam’s sighs and moans and aborted, half words and blasphemies.
as if that would stop his father from hearing. as if the LORD doesn’t know that at this moment, his soldier is engaged with his enemy. castiel is bound for damnation, but if the fall is so sweet, the taste of sam on his tongue and the strong, solid weight of him in his arms, then castiel knows that it is worth it. sam is worth everything.
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