Chapter Text
At first, he chalked it up to stress. He had no idea how he got out of hell, initially, and after? When he did know, it didn’t help any.
Oh, he could get hard. Hell, he had been hard as a rock while crouched on the floor of the mini mart, the glass crashing down around him silently, everything ringing with the screaming digital whine that he now knew was Cas’s true voice.
But hell, he popped a stiffy often enough while hunting that he didn’t really question it.
Fear boner. It happens.
So no problem there. And, he had no problem with a partner, as he was quick to prove. It was only a problem when it was just him, alone.
Which was weird. If it was one thing that he had been practicing his whole life, it was jacking off. He was great at it, fantastic, could get hard and get off in less time than it takes for your little brother to start banging on the door of the motel bathroom and bitching about water loss. He could get off driving, eyes on the road and hand pulling at himself between gear shifts.
God damn, he could get himself off silently, while banged up to hell and with a near broken arm, blood still seeping from cuts, up against the wall of a haunted house, while his dad stood over the burning bones on the other side of the house.
What? He was 17, the ghost was hot. Plus, fear boner.
He was starting to think he may have an actual problem.
He sighed, the open beer sweating on the table next to him. It was totally, completely unfair. He had died, gone to hell and had been lifted from perdition blah blah blah, and remade. Other than the handprint on his shoulder, he was shiny and new, all the dents and scratches smoothed out by angel mojo.
Except that he couldn’t jack off anymore.
Or, more precisely, he could, but he couldn’t make himself come. He’d just about sprained his arm (and his back... ) trying, again. And now he was slumped in a crappy motel room, a variety of porn mags fanned out around his feet, and his cramped hand was just starting to get the feeling back in it.
Damnit it.
He drank the beer, sullenly holding the can with his less sore left hand. This was ridiculous. He wanted to come. He needed to, and he had already checked out the one stupid bar in this shithole little town, and even his bluest balls couldn’t make him sleep with the assortment of yokels it had.
He flipped despondently though one of the magazines with a idle toe as he drank. His dick, still slippery, twitched against his thigh, hope rising again. But his arm was so sore, and he huffed out a disappointed laugh and pushed himself to his feet.
His pants were still around his ankles, right hand held awkwardly as he tried to pull them up, when the woosh of feathers filled the room, and he froze.
“Dean, there is a nest of vampires only three miles from here and I must insist - oh. I’ve interrupted you. Uh...”
There was a sound of feet, shuffling uneasily.
“Just turn around for a sec, Cas,” he finally managed, his throat tight, his face hot. He stuffed himself back into his jeans, taking the barest of seconds to make sure he doesn’t catch his cock in the zipper, and grabbed his shirt, yanking it on over his head, his arm protesting the motion.
He plopped down on the creaky motel bed, and finally looks over at Cas.
Who was standing with his back to Dean, his hands very obviously covering his eyes.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to burn your virgin angel eyeballs,” he snapped, toeing his socks off. “Now, what’s this about vampires?”