Castiel was shaking when he woke, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Angels didn’t sleep, but he found that resting was making his grace last longer. The dreams, though, weren’t doing much for his sanity.
He looked down at the wet patch on the front of his pants and frowned. It was wrong. Inappropriate. Perverted in the worst ways. He never wanted this when he started searching for Dean. These dreams, they weren’t him. They couldn’t have been his actual desires. It was just his grace fading. Maybe it was because it wasn’t his own grace. Yes, of course. Another side-effect.
A chuckle at his back startled him, making him stand from the chair he’d been resting in. No.
Someone please stop me I have actual work to do, I can’t keep doing messy sketches. But I can’t stop. Help.
I’ve been feeling quite sick and crappy the last days and obviously that means I have to make self-indulgent whump art :I