When thou sleepest, let them keep thee; and when thou awakest, talk with them. (1/2)
Summary: Sam tries to make the pairing tag read “Sam/Gabriel’s Library”. Castiel and Gabriel get jealous and stage an intervention. Aka, Sam keeps forgetting to go to bed, Castiel looks stern, and there is sleepy arguing and sex.
“Cas,” Sam definitely did not whine. “Timing, man. Coffee and breakfast.”
“Your ordinary breakfast hour is seven thirty in the morning,” Castiel pointed out, too bland not to be smug. “Forgive me for expecting you to be coherent at eleven seventeen. Perhaps you had a late night?”
Pairing: Castiel/Gabriel/Sam. References to background Castiel/Dean and every other permutation of OT4 excluding Wincest (Dean doesn’t appear in this fic).
Written: 29-30 April 2012. And then 1 May because suddenly there was a part 2.
Rating: NC-17
Length: c. 8800.
Warnings: Slightly pre-Wincest thoughts on Sam’s part.
Notes: In His Image verse, set about eleven months after the end of that fic. Written because
tawg made me do it when I realised I’ve never actually written a threesome, despite my tendency towards OT4. No prior knowledge necessary beyond ‘they stopped the Apocalypse and paired up, and now Castiel has angel minions.’
... At least, that was the original plan. But then, after the first half, somehow Sam and Castiel needed to have a conversation. And then there was a confused and tired angel, and foot massages, and the sudden introduction of an explanation of Jesus into this verse, and... guys, I fail at PWP.
In other words, read part 1 for the porn, part 2 for the talking.
AO3 link.
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The process of Sam’s mind sauntering and winding its way towards consciousness was not a fast one. Which meant (he dimly registered) angel. Or angels. Angel smell. Dozy warm limbs, and that soft musk like wool and that weird little burnt-spice smell underneath it. Safety.
He shifted a bit, turned his cheek against the pillow’s deep swell, and nuzzled lazily into fine cotton. It snagged faintly on the skin of his lips, dry and bitten ragged from… something last night, some impatience and frustration that he was too sleepy-content to think about now. Waking up like this, having the leisure to be slow, to indulge that pleasant sensuousness of the barely awake… this was good. Like it was only them in all the world. But in a good way. Not an Apocalyptic way. That would be no fun. Just… just a screw-you-everyone-else way. Just for now. Just them.
There was a small furnace pressed up against his back. An arm was draped around his waist, with the hand resting loose and casually possessive over his stomach, and one socked foot had wormed its way between his shins.
Gabriel.
Sam tipped his head back on the pillow, seeking, until the back of his skull rested on top of the head that was burrowing into the back of his neck. Because. Because… if Gabriel really didn’t want to keep waking up with a face full of hair, he should stop nuzzling into the back of Sam’s neck while he slept. Sam privately suspected he just liked grumbling.
He usually nibbled at the nape of Sam’s neck while he did it, right where the handprint scar made it tingle, so Sam kind of doubted it really pissed him off.
Sam could feel the sunlight falling heavy and warm across his shoulder from the high arched window behind him.
His and Gabriel’s bedroom, then. Late morning.
Huh.
He blinked his eyes open. Castiel was watching him.
“Hey,” Sam mumbled, and reached out to brush his fingers against the angel’s bare shoulder, because he still found it strange and wonderful that he was allowed to touch. “Timezit?”
Castiel’s hand lifted, and the backs of his knuckles trailed across the inside of Sam’s wrist. His eyes remained grave, the deep calm blue of the warning sea. “Past eleven.”
Sam felt his forehead crumple into puzzlement. “Huh,” he pronounced after a moment. That about seemed to cover it.
After a moment, his brain provided another snippet. “Uhm. Wasn’t I… in the library? I think I was in the library. Maybe in the bit that’s actually in Macedon. I think.” And, okay, so it had only been eleven months, but Sam was pretty sure he was never going to get over the thrill of walking into that twisting echoing arching endless room, with all its nooks and crannies and alcoves tucked into different countries and dimensions, and all its sneaky little exits into various of Gabriel’s houses all over the world. Bobby was still trying to work out how he could wheedle Gabriel into making an exit into his panic room.
“You were,” Castiel said, in that little half-growl of his that meant disapproval. “You were passed out at the desk. For the eighth night running.”
Oh.
Sam made a vague sort of grimace. “Sorry?”
The current ruler of Heaven gave him a dark look.
Castiel’s stares should definitely be disallowed as weapons of debate. Especially first thing in the morning. Sam grumbled sleepily and tried to burrow his face back into the pillow. The pillow smelt good. It smelt like him and Gabriel and sleepiness. Home.
“Sam.” Castiel’s voice thrummed its way inexorably into his bones. “I have offered to find you research assistants, angelic or human. Must I offer again?”
“Cas,” Sam definitely did not whine. “Timing, man. Coffee and breakfast.”
“Your ordinary breakfast hour is seven thirty in the morning,” Castiel pointed out, too bland not to be smug. “Forgive me for expecting you to be coherent at eleven seventeen. Perhaps you had a late night?”
“I hate you,” Sam muttered, through a mouthful of pillow. Sneaky evil angels of sneakiness. Sneaky angels who came and curled up in his bed and pretended to be asleep while most of their consciousness wandered off to do important heavenly business, and yet who still managed to know exactly when Sam was going to wake up.
“What a shame,” Castiel murmured, darker and lower and closer, so that his breath fanned over Sam’s face.
Warmth stirred in Sam’s stomach, under Gabriel’s hand.
Sam pressed forward without a thought, mouth parting in expectation; but Castiel retreated.
Sam opened an eye to stare soulfully at him. It didn’t work on Castiel nearly so often as it did on Gabriel - mostly it made him do that moue he did where he was pretending not to be amused - but sometimes that was enough to get him to play along anyway.
Castiel propped himself up on his elbow, where Sam couldn’t reach his mouth without effort (the spoilsport), and reached out to run a thoughtful finger along the line of Sam’s jaw. “Sam. What’s so important that it can’t wait for morning, every night?”
Sam sighed, and forced himself to wake up just a bit more. Because he had explained this, twice, and out of all of them he would have expected Castiel, with his dogged determination and his inability to just stop for the night, to be the one to understand.
“It’s not about finding this or that fact, Cas, or solving any one case. It’s about… all those shelves, all those books?” He turned his head just a little, to catch at the wandering finger with his lips and let it go again. “It’s about that… that little moment of inspiration, putting it all together. There’s so much there that we don’t know, as hunters, and there’s so much that the authors of the books themselves didn’t really know they knew. You could take three different books from completely different centuries and countries that have never been read together by one person before, and all of them could offer different pieces to a puzzle none of their authors even knew existed. You can’t just… just grab a few reading assistants and say, hey guys, look for anything about daevas.”
Cas tilted his head to one side, that little birdlike question of his; only, the way his hair was all flattened on one side and all sleep-mussed on the other and his mouth was still soft with relaxation made him look more like a quizzical puppy. “That’s a lot of information for one mind to process,” he offered mildly, like he was still trying to understand.
Sam smirked at him, all lazy and fond at the corners, and slunk one hand forward under the sheets to trail the pads of his fingers over Castiel’s belly, to make him shiver. “Not tryin’ to do it all, Cas,” he drawled, hearing his own accent drag morning-slow and thick in his mouth. “Just keep gettin’ distracted, and the hours fly away, y’know?”
“You should take better care of yourself,” Castiel rumbled, his voice hitching in the middle. There was a note of reproach in it, even as his eyes drifted to slits like a cat’s under the caress; and Sam answered it with earnestness.
“I will, Cas. I know. Promise I’ll close the books at half ten tonight, whatever I’m reading.”
“Remind me, honeybuns,” Gabriel drawled against the top of his spine. “When was the last time I heard that promise? And, huh, the last time before that? Pretty sure that makes three this week.”
Castiel eyed Sam with the sternness of the judgement of Heaven, because he did that, especially when Dean tried to deal Sam a bad hand at cards.
“Gabriel,” Sam yawned, and slid the hand that wasn’t on Castiel up across his own hip to tangle with Gabriel’s fingers. “Morning. Been here long?”
Gabriel bit him. “Exactly as long as you, you great lumbering oaf. Since three forty-nine in the small hours. If you collapse in exhaustion and catch pneumonia and swine flu and scurvy I’m not healing you, you know.”
“… Hold on.” Sam blinked, then eyed Castiel narrowly, as the other angel frowned and visibly flicked through his vast mental reference guide for some obscure cultural connection between sleep deprivation and scurvy. “Is this an intervention?”
Gabriel’s mouth curled against the back of his neck. “Would you like it to be?”
“Because seriously, guys -”
“There could be restraints,” Gabriel purred helpfully.
Castiel looked disturbingly thoughtful.
Sam swallowed.
“Uhm.”
“I believe you were about to protest your maturity and your ability to decide your own bedtime without the assistance of the people who care about you,” Castiel supplied, and inched a little closer.
Goddammit. They were tag-teaming him.
… And, with the little roll of Gabriel’s hips against the base of Sam’s spine, that was suddenly a really intriguing word.
“Brat,” Sam breathed, probably at Gabriel, and hooked one hand around the back of Castiel’s neck to pull him in. Castiel’s mouth opened against his, hot and imperious. One precise finger under his chin tipped Sam’s head inexorably back until Castiel could nudge his mouth wider and work his way in; and Sam went with it, loose and easy with greed.
Gabriel made an interested noise behind Sam.
This was still new, this thing with Castiel. Not the sex - it was months since the angels had started bed-hopping, to a resounding lack of objection from either Winchester - but waking up to find him here, having his body warm and lax under Sam’s hand through the night. Not every night, of course - mostly he was with Dean, and sometimes both angels were, and sometimes they were too busy altogether to just leave their vessels behind in faux-sleep with even a thread of consciousness - but sometimes, when Dean was off on a hunt, when Castiel wanted a bed anyway even though he didn’t really sleep, he’d slip in and join them, nowadays. Easier, he said, when dealing with Heaven’s most incalcitrant, to have a foothold, a part of him, somewhere safe and warm. Pleasanter, he probably meant. Either way, it felt like an unexpected luxury to Sam, every time.
Dean was… still Dean. A bit mellower maybe, and a hell of a lot happier with his expanded family, and his Castiel, and knowing that nothing was going to try to make Sam evil this week, and that the world usually wasn’t about to end. He laughed more, and kicked back more, and got up to truly terrifying schemes with Gabriel (and, okay, sometimes with Sam). But he still wasn’t much good at sharing his space with three other people, day in and day out, with a routine breakfast and dinner and the same bed at the end of every day. He got crotchety. So, while Sam was happy to have an angel drop him off where he needed to go for hunts and take him home in the evening, Dean drove. He’d drive away for days at a time on his own, do his own hunts at his own pace, and the angels were only allowed to drop by (short of an emergency) if he called them. Even if he had one of Gabriel’s rookies with him, those were the rules: drive everywhere, use no mojo unless absolutely necessary. Learn to do it the human way.
It could have been an admirable stance to take, except that Sam knew his brother, and knew that most of it was sheer bull-headed stubbornness. But hey, not complaining. It meant Castiel in his and Gabriel’s bed more often. It meant more mornings waking up stretched out under Castiel’s demanding body, or to the sight of Gabriel and Castiel curled up together trading kisses sweet and open-mouthed, or… well.
Pinned between an indolent lion of an archangel and an insistent black-velvet leopard of an angel, claws and all. One hand dragging tease-slow down his ribs and another hooked sharply into his hair, holding his head to just the right angle. The heat and tickle of breath just behind his ear. The lush shove of a tongue, followed by its slow exploratory curl against his teeth. The solid weight of interest against the base of his back, sliding and nudging into the valley of his spine with each lazy roll of Gabriel’s hips. The pulse of heat that he swore he could feel radiating off Castiel’s body, against Sam’s stomach and thighs and everything in between, because everything below Castiel’s chest was just out of reach, the teasing son of a bitch.
… Yeah, Sam could live with this. He liked that Castiel didn’t act like a guest anymore. Demand looked good on him.
Gabriel’s hand slid over the spur of Sam’s hip with its second handprint and cupped it for a moment, just holding, fingertips hovering a little further forward and a little further down where they brushed ever so slightly against the first dark curls. A tease, sure, dirty and promising evil, and Sam knew exactly which grin Gabriel would be wearing right now; but it was tentative too, a touch of that breathless little incredulity Gabriel still got sometimes over just the fact that Sam was here, that any of them were here, and wanted him.
And that attitude, right there? Reasons number one through six (excluding four) why Sam had prodded Gabriel towards doing more than just kissing Castiel, and, later, Dean. (Number four was the obvious sheer hotness factor, which, given they were all of them perfectly happy to make out in front of any of the others, was entirely selfish.)
Sam shoved back against him, and groaned his name into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel echoed it back on a dark-edged sigh; Gabriel rocked sharply into Sam; then Sam’s mouth was free and damp in the cool air as Castiel surged forward and in against him, rose up half over him and claimed his brother’s mouth.
Stupid angle, and it was impossible for Sam to see properly without craning his neck; but he could catch it from the corner of his eyes, and his imagination could do the rest. Castiel’s heat was digging hard and insistent into his stomach, jerking slick little trails where Gabriel’s hand had rested barely five minutes ago, and Sam’s shoulder was caught awkwardly between Gabriel’s shoulder and Castiel’s collarbone, and Castiel’s arm was jammed into the bed beside Sam’s ear as immovable and stolid as a marble column, and Gabriel was making those demanding, wounded little noises in his throat and Castiel was biting them off his lips, and… yeah. Threesomes could be stupidly awkward things, far too many knees and someone’s teeth knocking painfully against someone else’s shoulder, but hell, if you could laugh together they were worth it.
Sam growled happy and inarticulate into Castiel’s throat, and opened his mouth there. Castiel made a sound like all the protest had been punched out of him and shoved one long hand down between them. It closed, hot and hard and dry, around Sam; and Sam shouted and arched forward into it, digging startled nails sharp into Castiel’s shoulders.
“Promise me,” Castiel’s voice vibrated gravel-rough in the air. “Promise me again, Sam, and mean it.”
“Christ, fine.” Sam squirmed against him, then wound his free arm around Castiel’s waist and tugged him in harder. Castiel’s knee slid between his thighs and nudged him open, and Gabriel took advantage to nuzzle his hips in closer behind. “Fine, okay? I promise.”
“What do you promise?” Castiel’s hand was leisurely slow and moved like everything under it - hell, all of Sam’s body - was Castiel’s rightful territory, by inheritance and by conquest. Sam growled under it and shoved back, raked his fingernails up Castiel’s spine, because he wasn’t into that attitude, and it wasn’t hot. Wasn’t.
“Ten thirty, bed,” Sam grumbled, and nipped at the corner of Cas’ jaw. Then he kissed it. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
Castiel’s hand, and everything under it, was suddenly slick with lube. Sam lost his groan into the soft column of Castiel’s throat. Gabriel’s foot, still wearing that stupid fluffy sock, worked its way slyly back in between Castiel’s shin and Sam’s, nudging Sam’s leg just that bit further up and open.
“Isn’t he just?” Gabriel crooned lustfully into Sam’s ear, because he could make even the stupidest combinations of tone work. “I bet given right place, right time, right species, he’d have been an arcade games addict, don’t you think? Forget the time for hours trying to defeat the evil pinball emperor, only come home when the arcade owner -”
“And I promise,” Castiel overrode, fingers circling delicately, “to visit the library at ten thirty-one every evening. Or to send another angel in my place, if I am otherwise occupied.”
“Oh, hell, Cas, no,” Sam hissed, lacking a certain edge of vehemence due to Gabriel’s fingers trailing up the back of his thigh. “I’m not having some random angel turn up to drag me off to bed like a kid.”
“Then you’d better make sure to be gone by then,” Castiel countered smoothly, and opened his mouth against Sam’s collarbone.
Sam still wasn’t as good as Dean at working out when Castiel was screwing with him. He thought he might be, this time.
It probably wasn’t a good idea to test it, though.
Gabriel snorted. Then his hand turned around at the top of Sam’s thigh, and the backs of his knuckles nudged, encouraging.
Sam stretched out between them, a long luxurious shift of skin against skin and hungry groans echoed from one chest to another, and wrapped his leg around Castiel’s hips.
Gabriel made a greedy noise, and got his hands everywhere.
“I can’t win with you two, can I?” Sam hummed into Castiel’s cheek, a stutter of breath as his chest strained against the angel’s; then he pushed Castiel’s mouth open, and took it hungrily. Castiel purred into it, or growled, and the hand that Sam had trapped between their bodies wriggled its way out and slid around over Sam’s hitched-up thigh to join Gabriel’s.
Christ.
Gabriel’s fingers were skittering, tweaking, pushing, clever and demanding, never quite predictable, and Castiel’s were pressing inexorable and firm right at the centre, almost promising, about to gratify any freaking moment now, come on Cas.
Sam felt the mouth curling and opening against his shoulder, and was anticipating the quiver of Gabriel’s sex-rough voice before he heard it. “But you can score. Twice, if you’re up for it.”
“Gabriel.” Sam’s own voice came out in a gravelly sort of a whine against Castiel’s tongue, and he arched back his neck so that all his hair fell in the archangel’s face. “One corny joke about me being goals and you’re sleeping with Dean for a week.”
Gabriel spluttered the hair out of his mouth, then blew it aside. “Poor Dean,” he smirked, and bit down hard on his own handprint on Sam’s skin.
Sam shouted without words and arched sharply back. Castiel’s finger slipped in, slick and hot and sweet, and the sound choked off into a whine in Sam’s throat. Castiel’s mouth left his and chased it, caught at the skin where it thrummed, and dragged the noise out again as his hand pressed its advantage.
Sam tossed his head back, blinking the hot sun out of his eyes, grabbing helplessly for Gabriel’s shoulder. The archangel hissed something unintelligible which Sam didn’t care about because he was raising himself up just enough to lean over and meet Sam’s wordless demand, to cover and open and fill Sam’s mouth with his own.
Castiel mouthed hot along the twist of Sam’s neck where the tendon strained to the surface, and writhed in deeper. The stretch of it, the intrusive depth, was still new and strange, still a challenge, but fuck, Castiel was good at this. Rough and persuasive at once, in a way that made Sam want to press into it and swallow him up, take and be taken. And yes, Sam knew exactly where Castiel would have learned this, but he wasn’t thinking about that, about Cas’ hands on (in) Dean and Dean spread out flushed and beautiful and open under Cas, gritting out expletives and gasps of instruction as Cas ignored them all and did everything his own way, in his own time, and took Dean apart.
… Because thinking about that would be weird.
A second finger slipped in, dangerously easy, and Gabriel swallowed the strangled noise straight from Sam’s mouth. It was really hard to jerk your hips when your whole body was pressed up between two immovable objects.
Castiel’s lips stretched against his throat, thinned out into something suspiciously like a smirk.
“Are you trying to turn my brain off?” Sam panted out, sort of muffled. “Because I should warn you, I can keep arguing all the way through sex.”
“He can,” Gabriel put in helpfully, and nipped at Sam’s lip. “It's his sex superpower.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Castiel agreed, all gravity and gravel and growl.
Sam’s throat made a frustrated achy noise, quite of its own accord.
Then Castiel’s fingers stretched wider, impossibly wider, and - fuck. Gabriel’s finger, pushing in between them.
Sam’s world went white for a moment.
“Okay there, Sammy?” Gabriel purred low and dark against his cheek.
“No,” Sam snarled, and fumbled back blindly for Gabriel’s hip, tugging at it sharp and insistent. “Come on, come on, stop playing about, now.”
Castiel shuddered against him, between his legs, long and lithe and deceptively soft against Sam’s larger body. Sam burrowed forward into him, seeking, heat against slick luscious heat. Then he was empty, left gasping and hungry, just for a moment before Gabriel was there. Hands smoothing over his sides, mouth gentling the back of his neck, fingers brushing his hip then settling in a firm grip over the second handprint there and holding him still for one hard, slow shove of heat.
Sam braced himself against it, against Castiel, and groaned ragged through it. Castiel cradled him close, heat of breath on Sam’s mouth and heat of damp hungry flesh against Sam’s own, crystal-sharp focus locked on Sam’s eyes, drinking in every twitch and gasp with that boundless fascination and love that was all Castiel, all him.
“Cas,” tore its way out of his mouth, and, “Gabriel, Gabriel, come on.” Then his angel was there, snugged up close and hot behind him and inside him and through him. Gabriel was breathing harsh and ragged in his ear, quivering with self-restraint; and Sam groaned out a laugh for no good reason, except that they were all here, and Cas’ mouth was quirking at the edge all serious and adoring, and it was good.
“You called?” Even without a proper breath in his lungs Gabriel could still manage to sound unutterably smug.
“Shut up and move,” Sam ordered, and dug his fingers into the hand on his hip. Gabriel laughed, open and delighted and still incredulous, and Sam didn’t begrudge it to him. After all, he’d been without a credible credo for over two thousand years. It probably took a while to work out how to believe again.
Then Gabriel moved, and Sam gave up on thought.
See, there were disadvantages to threesomes, sure. Not least, getting three people to move well together, to all fit in the same space without demanding too much too greedy too quick. But when two of the three were angels, and had (okay, so Castiel had) the patience of eons, and could feel the rhythm and the surge of blood and body and desire without even needing to touch or look, and could get off on watching the race of your hormones responding to their touch… yeah, that helped smooth over a hell of a lot of the coordination problems. Which meant Sam was left with the dilemma of splitting his attention between the delicious slot and slide of cock against cock in front and the relentless roll of hips behind that split him open and withdrew again and again, owned him tenderly and completely.
Yeah. Sam’s life was rough.
Castiel’s hand cupped Sam’s neck, trailed over his shoulder, settled on his ribs. Even with Sam’s eyes fluttering barely open, rolling his hips back into Gabriel and forward into Cas and thinking of so little else, he could feel the arrow-sharp point of Castiel’s attention: in the glimpses of bright blue in front of his eyes, in the delicate press of soft fingertips against his skin, in the soft suck and hiss of his breath.
Castiel didn’t really do threesomes. Castiel did focus, and he did indefatigable curiosity, and he did worship.
Castiel, Sam was pretty sure, still found the plethora of emotion and sensation that came with sex more than a bit overwhelming. He liked to savour, to hone in, to spend hours of single-minded attention on one thing. And, no matter how many people were in the room, he didn’t even try to pay attention to more than one person at once. Right now, Sam was his whole world. Heady, and terrifying, and hot.
Gabriel surged forward into him, challenge and tease and bone-deep satisfaction, and Sam’s breath did something like a sob.
Castiel growled, thoughtful, and nipped at his chin. Sam wordlessly spread his hand to span Castiel’s back, all the sensitive white skin between his shoulders, pulled him close and felt the blades of the bones roll slow and delicious under the tips of his fingers.
Gabriel… Gabriel pretended to tease, pretended that sex was just a game, and sometimes it wasn’t a pretence. Some minutes it wasn’t. Gabriel was fun, and funny, and always reminded Sam to laugh. But that in itself, the fact that laughter was possible and safe, meant a hell of a lot more to Gabriel than the act of sticking his dick into something. And, well, it was something Sam had forgotten for a few years himself.
Also? Gabriel was hot. And one of the many advantages of having angels in bed was the ability to flip off normal human limitations. Even lying on his side like this, Gabriel had exactly as much leverage as he wanted to have, hips and teeth and cock and hands, and Sam was joyfully helpless against it. And even like this, Sam wasn’t being shoved forward onto his belly or his hands and knees by the force of the angel against his back, because there was an angel against his chest and his mouth and his hips, an angel hot between his thighs, thoughtful and ominous and moving in perfect unanswerable rhythm with Gabriel, giving as good as he got.
The backs of Castiel’s fingernails scraped deliberately against the insides of Sam’s wrists, and Sam’s heart thudded off a beat. Because, that expression, that terrifyingly pensive look in sly blue eyes…
Castiel took both Sam’s wrists and stretched them up, gentle and inexorable, above Sam’s head.
Gabriel groaned deep into Sam’s spine, and Sam’s treacherous cock jumped hard against Castiel’s. Except. He wasn’t into that, dammit, and he had the definite feeling that if he gave Castiel an inch here Castiel would take a celestial mile and Sam would never see daylight again.
Only, without his hands to steady him, with only a leg wrapped around the hips of an angel a hell of a lot stronger than he was, he hadn’t a freaking chance of moving himself, of controlling his own movements, of being anything other than a… a vessel, rolled back and forth between two of the most powerful angels in Heaven and earth -
Castiel’s eyes bored into him, sharp and blue like the stars, and Sam swallowed, hard.
That was the other thing about having Castiel here. When it was just Sam and Gabriel, Sam called the shots, pretty much every time. Or Gabriel, on Sam’s sufferance. With Castiel…?
Sam glared, and twisted his arms, hard. They didn’t move an inch. Gabriel’s mouth opened in a stutter of breath into his hair, and the push of his hips shoved Sam’s forward into Castiel’s so sweet and hard that Sam almost lost it right there.
Sam struggled, and tugged, but only just enough. He never opened his mouth. Because Castiel would let go, if he asked. Sam was a hell of a lot more sure of that than he was that he wanted Castiel to let go. And every time he pulled and found himself restrained, every time Castiel pushed gently forward in response, every time Gabriel juddered forward into him (hard and desperate and disbelieving), Sam’s body shuddered and leapt closer and closer to the edge.
Dangerous game. Not one Sam was quite ready for.
Castiel let go, and kissed him, sweet and soft and deep. Sam bit his lip sharply. Then he shouted into his mouth and knotted his hands too hard into his hair, and let go, lost himself entirely in their arms, in the last disjointed jerks of Gabriel’s hips.
“Worst sub ever,” Gabriel breathed teasingly over Sam’s ear five minutes later. Because of course he couldn’t leave something like that alone.
“Not your sub,” Sam growled, and rolled onto his back so he could glare properly at Gabriel.
Gabriel took full advantage of all the sudden skin in front of him. “Nope, you’d be shit at it,” he agreed cheerfully, with one hand running in lazy sated glee over Sam’s floating ribs. “Really not your thing, letting someone else take the reins and keep them.”
And Sam had to narrow his eyes at the thoughtful smirk of doom, and at the way Gabriel’s eyes snagged and held on Castiel’s across the expanse of Sam’s chest. “Dean, now…”
“Gabriel.” Sam gave Castiel a pleading look, but the angel was too caught up on whatever he was seeing promised or replayed in Gabriel’s eyes. “Really don’t want to know.”
Gabriel ducked his head, and nuzzled into Sam’s shoulder.
“If you catch him on the right day. Fights every step of the way,” he murmured, gentle and almost reverent, “but goes so sweet at the last, doesn’t he, sparrow?”
Castiel’s eyes darkened into something beautiful and private.
“Guys,” Sam said plaintively. “Afterglow. Leave my brother out of it.”
Castiel blinked down at him, far too innocent. “Of course, Samuel. I apologise.”
Sam reached up a lazy hand to flick at Castiel’s nose. “I bet you do.”
Castiel’s mouth softened at the edges, belying the absolute gravity of his eyes. “However, I believe Dean has almost finished this job in Newark. If you find yourself too tired tonight, after working late, I’m sure you wouldn’t object if Gabriel and I were to leave you ‘out of it’ and join him for the night.”
Gabriel snickered against Sam’s skin, the treacherous son of a bitch. Sam narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t it lucky that we’re on opposite coasts, then? See you once Dean drops off, angel.”
“Slavedriver,” Gabriel purred into his shoulder.
Part Two.