“Oh, yeah?” asks Dean, keeping his voice as even as he can despite the familiar tightening in his belly at the rough gravel-rasp of Cas’s voice through the phone, “so how’re we gonna go about ganking this thing, then?”
“The traditional method is a bone, soaked for seven hours in holy water, and then dipped in salt,” comes Castiel’s voice back through the line, and god, there must be something seriously wrong with him because even those few, completely unarousing words have gone straight to his dick.
Before he even knows what he’s doing, Dean’s palming himself through his pants, rubbing at the growing bulge there with the heel of his hand and thanking his lucky stars Sam is out as he says, “Any particular kind of bone?” and slips his hand inside his waistband, dragging it down and curling fingers tightly around his cock.
“The bone of a holy person is traditional,” replies Castiel, completely unaware his voice is now being used as fodder for Dean’s sordid masturbation fantasies – he’s stroking himself in rough, tugging strokes, twisting his wrist at the end of each and biting his lip so as not to groan – and continues, “any bone should do, though, provided it is human and has been interred in a graveyard.
Dean’s getting close, already, just from the hot pull of his own hands and Cas’s sinful voice, rough like sex and smoke and arousal in his ear, and when the angel adds, “You had better come quickly, Dean, the creature will kill again soon,” Dean barely hears the last few words as he does as he’s told and comes in a sticky mess all over his hand and stomach.