Sleep mode
Summary: A contribution to that irreplaceable and irrepressible genre, Winchester #1 Wakes Up To Find That He Has Accidentally Fallen Into Bed The Previous Night With Castiel, Gabriel, and Winchester #2. What To Do In This Situation? What To Do?
Pairings: Castiel/Dean/Gabriel/Sam, Castiel/Dean, Gabriel/Sam.
Written: 20 June 2012.
Rating: Explicit.
Length: c. 2700.
Warnings: Mild Wincest
Notes: Originally written for lady_drace's prompt "Team Free Love (Dean/Castiel/Sam/Gabriel) anything! Just make it filthy!" at obstinatrix's comment kink meme.
AO3 link.
“Um,” Sam said carefully, somewhere behind Dean.
It was Sam’s “I think something is wrong” voice #281 - the “Dean what prank have you played on me while I was asleep” voice with an edge of “just how drunk was I last night”. No actual panic. Worth waking up, not worth opening eyes, not until potential for actual mocking presented itself.
Okay then.
The sheets were too soft. Also, they were sort of stuck to Dean’s cheek.
“Gross,” he decided, in a lazy grumbling sort of way.
He wriggled a bit, trying to move his head off what had apparently been a stellar wet patch a while ago. It didn’t work, because there was an arm lying heavily over his neck and shoulders. Also, now he thought about it, hips snugged up against the small of his back. Naked ones.
“Sam,” he mumbled, “gerroffmyneck.”
“I’m not touching your neck, Dean,” Sam grumped, in “we have more important things to worry about right now, Dean, ohmygod, how is this my life and how am I related to you and I think I got my panties in a twist somewhere” voice #4. (He had about thirteen of those.)
Someone licked Dean’s ear, all wet and sloppy. Then they pressed a smirk against it. Definitely a smirk.
“I’m touching your neck,” Gabriel said helpfully.
Dean considered this.
“Huh,” he contributed, after a moment’s fuzzy thought.
“Also your ear. And your hair.” Yep, nuzzling, right there. “And your back, and this rather enticing little dip of your spine,” the hips rolled suggestively, and hey, there was definite interest pressing in there, and Dean would get offended but he was kind of warm and comfy and Gabriel felt really really good behind him and his arms were wrapped around someone who was all sleepy-loose and smelled nice, “and also your ass, and my foot is tucked between your knees.” He wriggled it. “Just so you know.”
Sam made a quiet spluttering noise.
Dean stretched, taking his time over it, feeling the slide of skin against hot skin front and back, and yep, that was pretty much an accurate catalogue, okay. He tugged the warm body in front of him in closer, and nosed his way into soft, sweet-smelling hair. There was a deep murmur, halfway to a growl, a Castiel kind of noise, and bed-warm arms nudged their way around his waist.
Gabriel made a wounded noise as his hips were displaced from where they’d been getting all nice and cosy.
“Also,” he added, with a “how dare you interrupt me when I’m talking and also considering rubbing one out over your frankly delicious back” voice, which Dean mentally noted down as #1 until he heard any more of them, “pretty much everywhere else over the last eight hours.”
Sam’s spluttering noise was not quiet this time.
“’K,” Dean mumbled. “Do something about Sam, wouldya, he sounds like a leaky faucet.”
Gabriel made a thoughtful hum against his ear. Then Dean’s back was suddenly cool to the air, and Sam’s chirp of indignation was cut off in a series of wet noises.
Dean grumped vaguely at the cold, and rolled onto his back into the angel-warm (and sticky) spot Gabriel had vacated. Huh. Interesting set of aches. In the weirdest places.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was very ornate.
Then it was obscured by a mess of dark bed-head, and two owlishly blinking blue eyes.
Well, if his hair was that messy already...
Dean grinned brightly at him, and reached up to tousle his hair some more. Castiel made a noise like a disgruntled cat, but leaned into the touch.
“Hey Cas,” he murmured, pretending his voice wasn’t doing that warm fuzzy thing it kept doing around Cas lately. “We had an orgy last night, didn’t we?”
Castiel’s mouth curved against his palm, just a little, and his eyes went sly and soft. “We engaged in loving, consensual polyamorous activities,” he concurred gravely.
Dean considered this information.
“Was there tequila?” he hazarded.
“Occasionally.” Castiel tilted his head thoughtfully. “Also professions of friendship and familial devotion, and many manly backslaps that devolved quickly into hugs, and Gabriel’s solemn promise, extracted under duress, never to attempt to drive your car, ever. Or to reupholster it. Her,” he amended considerately.
That sounded reasonable. Dean’s thumb curved over Castiel’s mouth, one slow drag of skin against dry-rough skin. Castiel’s mouth opened just a fraction under it, just enough for Dean to feel the heat inside.
Huh. Apparently Gabriel wasn’t the only one with morning wood.
Sam made a moan, which sounded like he was aiming for frustrated but really really needed some target practice.
Definitely not the only one.
Castiel’s eyes slid away from Dean’s, over to Dean’s right, over to whatever Sam and Gabriel were doing, and they went dark and very considering in a way that made Dean’s skin prickle hopefully.
Dean followed his gaze, because he was feeling amiable and open to suggestion and Castiel’s fingers were trailing back and forth across his ribs in a very interesting manner.
Sam’s head was thrown back over the pillow, hair falling loose and wild all over the stupidly luxurious sheets, body one long, taut line of hunger and straining demand. One leg was flung out wide, probably falling off the mattress, and the foot of the other was planted on the bed just by Dean’s knee, muscles tight, as he tried to shove his hips up against the indolent, immovable clench of archangelic hands on his hips.
Sam’s hand was scrunching impatiently at Gabriel’s shoulder, rubbing up and down over the soft curve of it like he was just barely keeping himself from grabbing and demanding, which Dean could understand because Gabriel was... going to town. On Sam’s stomach, the sneaky teasing son of a bitch. And, okay, fine, in the crease between hip and thigh (a flash of tongue, a flash of teeth, a flash of the evilest grin ever), and around the top of his thigh, and down between his legs, and over and around his balls, and...
Sam keened, and thrashed helplessly from the waist up, shoulders bunching and rolling against the pillow, cheeks flushed and mouth gaping. Dean reached over, snagged his hand before it could shove its way into Gabriel’s hair, and pinned it to the mattress between them.
“Hair-grabbing’s rude, Sammy-boy,” he chided, hoarse and low. “Didn’t I ever tell you? Let the man do his work.”
Sam whined helplessly. Castiel made a very interested noise, almost a growl, and lowered his head to mouth at Dean’s shoulder. Gabriel lifted his head, grinning like a leopard, and flickered his tongue over his lips. There was something white gleaming there, stretching for a moment between the tip of his tongue and the darkness inside his mouth, and his cheek was streaked and glistening where it must have nudged up against Sam’s cock, and his hair was absolute chaos and stuck in clumps here and there and Dean thought now he could dimly remember rubbing some of that into there, and...
Ha. Sam was so screwed. In several creative ways.
Gabriel’s expression went covetous and he dived back in, letting go of Sam’s hips. The hand farthest from Dean snaked its way up to twine, incongruously gently, with Sam’s free one; but lest anyone think he was going sweet or something, the other hand slid down between Sam’s thighs, following the trail nipped by Gabriel’s teeth. Sam turned into a pleading, writhing mess, the kind that told Dean pretty clearly exactly where Gabriel’s tongue was and what he was doing with the fingers moving just out of Dean’s sight, and just how over-sensitised Sam’s...
A hot, heavy weight landed across Dean’s hips, and his eyes snapped front and centre.
Huh. Castiel. Naked Castiel. Sitting on him. Naked. Staring at him. Looking lustful. Dean hadn’t even known he could do that. And naked. Dean hadn’t been willing to swear that there was actually skin under all those clothes either. Apparently there was. Skin. Lots of skin. Very very noticeable. Especially where... oh, holy shit. Bruises. Stark and vivid against pale skin. Hands and fingers around his wrists, at his shoulders, above his hips in the soft curve of his waist. Some of them Dean’s, he was pretty sure, but definitely not all of them. Teeth, bites, neck and throat and jaw and thigh and sweet zombie jesus over one nipple, and that one over his collarbone had broken the skin. And Castiel hadn’t healed them. He liked them, wanted that evidence there, and his eyes were burning hot demand into Dean’s face and Dean was very, very sure he was on board with this.
It was probably too late for gay crises when your body was one long, delicious, stretchy ache of new experiences and your dick was straining up towards your apparently not asexual angel for another round, anyway. Dean’s brain knew when it was in its own best interests to stay in, hah, sleep mode.
“Done with your little freak-out, honeybunch?” Gabriel purred somewhere, all hunger and dark amusement.
Sam’s hand clenched hard around Dean’s, and Castiel growled low promise and cupped his hand hard and possessive around Dean’s jaw and tilted his head up at just the right angle and leaned down to take his mouth, to devour it, to fill up Dean’s senses with the taste and the smell of him and the feel of hot mouth and lips and tongue and teeth, impatient and demanding and not at all in the mood for teasing.
Dean groaned into it and spread his free hand wide over Castiel’s back, over the push and stretch of muscles there, feeling it arch under the touch. Sam snapped out a pissy “OhmygodGabriel just do it, would you?”, and Dean would have looked but right then Castiel nudged his chin back, hard, and bit down on his throat. The sharp white starburst of pain had Dean gasping and rolling his hips up into friction, sliding himself over sticky-slick crevices and through the scratch of hair. Castiel licked the spot like a cat then nipped again, wriggling against Dean’s body, so the sensitive head of him slid for one blood-hot moment against Castiel’s own length, then slipped over his thigh, then snagged against the heavy warmth of his balls.
“Cas,” Dean groaned, and lost the rest of his words. Castiel, his Castiel, felt too good on top of him, long and lithe and so much fervour contained into one impossibly tiny space, leaking out in heat and conviction and the alien brightness of his eyes.
Sam let out a shout next to him, jerking on Dean’s hand and arching halfway off the bed, and even if he couldn’t remember all of last night that clearly Dean recognised that sound, knew Gabriel had just pulled his hips up and slid home in one hard, glorious shove. He could feel it all the way through Sam, thrumming through his body and through that sweat-slick clasp of his hand, that one point of connection between them all. But right now he was more concerned with the fire in Castiel’s eyes, the power in the hand pinning Dean’s shoulder to the bed as he shifted back and up, the decisive roll of his hips on top of Dean’s, and oh holy son of a hellhound bitch the heat of him, the impossible wet heat opening so tight and easy around Dean after who the hell cared how many rounds last night. The quick shoves of his hips, firm and unarguable as if this were a battle, pushing himself down onto Dean and taking him, just taking, like those inches of heated flesh had belonged to him all along, ever since he’d rebuilt Dean, and he was just taking them back.
Dean closed his eyes against the sight, because he couldn’t look and hold it together, and shoved up into Castiel and made embarrassing broken noises that he didn’t give a shit about.
Castiel settled full on top of him, panting low like a growl, and his hand spread out warm and almost gentle over Dean’s stomach.
Dean felt, dimly and distantly, that he ought to be surprised. Apparently Castiel was a toppy son of a bitch. Who knew?
Castiel moved, and Dean’s brain whited out. Nope. No surprise here.
It was all confusion and sensation. Castiel’s hands in his hair and his body rippling, writhing, taking, moving a bit clumsy and determined but all at his own pace, fast and demanding and utterly glorious, like Dean wouldn’t have thought he could manage, but hell, Castiel had always rewritten everything Dean had ever thought was possible about himself. The thud and bounce of the bed, a complicated compound rhythm between Castiel’s movements and Gabriel’s, between the hard gasps punched out of Sam’s throat and the pleading groans dragged out of Dean’s. The bruising grip of Sam’s hand, and the shove of his shoulder in against Dean’s now, and his leg flung over the nearest of Dean’s, and he could feel it, the rhythm of their bodies, all of their bodies, working together, a stupidly complicated combative struggle of a thing, a mess and an argument that pushed them all to their limits and way past, but that always somehow worked. Always got them there, in the end.
And that was Gabriel’s mouth and stubble brushing over Dean’s cheek for a moment on an up thrust, and Sam’s groan that Dean answered with one of his own, and Castiel’s mouth open hot and pleadingly honest against his throat, and Castiel’s back working determinedly under his hand and Sam’s knee hitching up on a gasp against Castiel and Gabriel’s foot scrabbling against Dean’s ankle for purchase against the slide of sheets, and Castiel’s hands and Sam’s mouth and Gabriel’s groan and SamGabrielCastiel and Dean was gone, just gone, shouting it out to the stupidly ornate ceiling and grabbing Castiel as close as he could as Gabriel lost it noisily beside him.
He came down slowly, skin pricking cool with sweat, chest heaving against the weight of Sam’s head panting against his shoulder and gentle, elegant fingers brushing softly back and forth over his breastbone.
Gabriel mumbled something unintelligible into Sam’s hair, and Dean made a garbled noise of agreement. To whatever it was.
Someone moved. Something squelched.
Sam snorted messy amusement into Dean’s shoulder. Apparently at some point he’d come too, because that was definitely a languorous lazy Sammy noise, and a languorous lazy Sammy body tangled up against Dean’s side, with an added archangel blanket.
Which left...
Dean opened his eyes for the second time that morning to darkened blue eyes against a stupid ceiling.
“Hey you,” he croaked, all charm.
“Dean,” Castiel acknowledged, his voice one deep scrape of want. “You are a mess.”
Gabriel made a small amused noise. “And whose fault is that?”
Apparently orgasms couldn’t shut Gabriel up. Dean was all kinds of not surprised by this.
Castiel cocked his head to one side and dragged his eyes over Dean’s body slowly, over all the marks and the flakey dried bits and the mess in his hair and all those other bits that Dean had been too distracted to itemise properly so far.
“All of us,” he decided serenely. “Definitely all of us.”
“Back at you,” Dean informed him cockily. “I know those ain’t my teeth on your thigh, sweetheart.”
Sam mumbled something embarrassed into Dean’s neck; and Castiel shifted on top of him, hungry and wanting, and made Dean twitch.
Then he rolled, all sudden and ninja-like if a ninja was lazy and couldn’t get his limbs working properly, until he had Castiel pinned under him, decadent against blue silk sheets.
“We should clean you up,” he suggested innocently, and leaned his head down to lick at the trickle of sweat running its way over a mark on his neck.
Castiel growled frustration and heat into his ear, then lost it all in a rush when Gabriel (who was on very rare occasions even more ninja-like than Dean) pushed one of his knees right up and dived in, mouth open and wet and messy over his thighs.
Sam made the grumbling noise of “I am far too tired for this nonsense” #81, but he moved, and Castiel’s eyes darkened with the slow drag of Sam’s oversized body nearer and nearer to his hip. To where Gabriel, the only one of them who had a hope of holding Castiel still, had him pinned immobile, his cock standing up desperate and neglected and hungry, waiting for the slide of Sam’s massive paws and his generous mouth.
“Sssh, sssh,” Dean murmured dark and soft into Castiel’s throat. “Our turn, angel. Let us take care of you for once, yeah?”
Castiel’s hand snagged painfully tight in his hair.
Dean’s brain could wait a while longer before it came back online.