Sam feels so bad about this right now. So bad. It’s been a whole semester that he and Castiel have been living together, and both have been very diligent about following the house rules. Then again, he didn’t expect the sock on the door rule to be so… frequent.
Not that Sam can deny how hot Castiel is. Because… he totally is. It doesn’t surprise him at all that the guy’s getting plenty of action. Except… that it kinda does.
Castiel doesn’t seem to go out much. He goes to the university gym early (with Sam only), then goes to the coffee shop for breakfast (with Sam only). Then he showers (with himself only), then he goes to class (walking with Sam only), then he comes home (two hours before Sam). He hated the one party that Sam took him to. And he shrugs when Sam asks if he ever wants to have his friends over.
Where is he meeting these people? He’s quiet and thoughtful. Smart as all hell. And he’s got the best smile Sam’s ever seen.
So, all data considered, Sam hates that fucking sock on the door. It means that Castiel is getting laid (without Sam) and it… it sucks. It sucks a lot. And Sam is more than happy to follow the rule because his indigestion can’t handle seeing it, hearing it, not being a part of it. But he’s got a presentation to give in thirty minutes and his laptop and flash drive are still in his bedroom. He needs them as much as he doesn’t need his own stupid jealousy.
Like a secret agent breaking into a room, Sam unlocks the front door and creeps inside without a sound. He tiptoes past the living room and down the hallway. He’s holding his breath as if that can somehow stop the creaky hinge on his bedroom door, when a soft voice filters through Castiel’s door.
“Faster, Sam, please!” It begs.
Sam goes incredibly cold and hot all in a second. Of all the fucking luck. Castiel isn’t fucking him, but now it’s another Sam?
Don’t be a perv, don’t be a perv, don’t be a perv. Sam presses his ear to Castiel’s door like a perv. And something’s a little… off. It doesn’t seem like Castiel’s having sex. Sam’s been so grossly obsessed, that he knows all the creaks in Castiel’s bed springs when he tosses and turns late at night. He knows the sound of the drawers opening and closing. He certainly knows the sound of Castiel’s voice. Right now, there’s no creaking, and there’s only one voice.
Panting, moaning, quiet, so quiet, “oh, God, Sam!”
Then silence.
Sam gulps. Shifts and tries to will away his sudden, urgent, painful erection. It’s just not possible. It can’t be possible. It’s too good. Too unthinkable.
He’s stood there too long.
The door swings open inwards and Castiel is there in his pajama pants and a thin blue t-shirt. He actually shouts in surprise when he runs into Sam.
Sam blinks, face burning. “Um,” he says. “I…”
Castiel looks down in embarrassment, but it doesn’t escape Sam’s notice that his gaze stops right at his waist. Shit.
Calmly, Castiel looks back up. His expression is inscrutable, but he says, “Sam, I think we should talk.”
Sam nods. He agrees he totally agrees. “Just a sec, though,” he croaks, and he leans down to kiss his best friend.
The noise Castiel makes is better than anything that filtered out through the door. His arms go around Sam’s neck.
That night, the sock on the door goes back in the drawer where it belongs.
Karate, SPN Demonic Octopus Guardian 