Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Well, this is new: the bunker, teeming with so many people that they’re practically tripping over each other. Twenty-five refugees rescued from Apocalypse World along with Jack and Mary. A new and friendly face greets you at every turn, and everybody’s cheeriness ramps up as the booze supply ramps down.

But a hunter can’t live on booze alone, especially since it’s like, nine in the frickin’ morning. Dean finds you in the kitchen as you get coffee brewing. “Hey,” he says, quiet and warm. “You holding up okay?”

“I am.” You seal the coffee tin, smiling up at him. The kitchen is already crowded, so the two of you stand close. “Gabriel and Jack shanked Michael, Sam shanked Lucifer. We’re finally getting all these guys some R&R. Yeah, man. I’m holding up just fine.”

“Ah, c’mon.” Dean leans his lower back against the counter. “You haven’t slept in two days.”

“Neither have you.”

“Yeah, well.” He’s watching you from under his lashes. “Not worried about me.”

Your cheeks heat. “Somebody oughta be.” 

For a second his eyes go all soft. You’ve caught him giving you that look a lot lately, come to think of it—but he always looks away, and fast. Flustered.

He’s not looking away now.

“Hey.” Sam’s arrived, pulling a jacket on over a fresh shirt. “I’m about to make a food run. Gonna get some of, uh. Everything.”

“Dude,” says Dean, “how? The cards are almost cleaned out, and our cash ain’t exactly gonna feed an army.”

“Don’t need it.” Gabriel’s right behind Sam, still looking weirdly chic in that blueish leather jacket. “Leave the credit card fraud to me. Might even take us someplace fancy.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Fancy?”

“Yeah,” says Gabriel. “I’ve seen the quote-unquote ‘mini-mart’ around the corner. Feed a crowd this size, we gotta hit up someplace bigger. Better-er.”

“What’s this about credit card fraud?” Cas joins in, and leans back on the counter beside you. He’s so close that your shoulders brush, and you automatically start shifting to give him space, but. . . you know what? You like being this close. To all of them, really. Especially huddled together like this, an unspoken agreement that nobody else needs in on this conversation. That you guys are a capital-T Team.

It’s also an echo of the last few days. The five of you have been doing this, hovering close ever since you got to Apocalypse World. Casual touches, shoulders brushing. Magnetic closeness whenever shit got real. Affectionate teasing during quiet moments. There’s been an electric, addictive kind of camaraderie in the air, a kind you’re not getting from Jack. Or Mary. Or Ketch or new-Bobby or new-Charlie or any of the others.

Yeah. You stay put at Cas’ side. What’s the matter with closeness? The others don’t need to know that this all feels so delightfully flirty. That it’s making you think (even more than usual) about actually, finally making a move on Dean, and what he’s really like in the sack. If there’s any truth to the bravado. How much of himself—in the intangible sense—he’d let you see.

Although, to be honest, you’ve wondered the same thing about every dude in this huddle.

Christ.

“Gabriel’s gonna give us a hand,” Sam explains to Cas. “We’re too broke to feed thirty people.”

“Yeah,” drawls Gabriel. “Half an expired six-pack and a handful of stale Oreos aren’t gonna cut it for the masses.”

Dean glares. “Hey. You keep outta those Oreos.”

“Dude,” you say. “Not a problem.”

“Oh, come on.” He’s grinning now. “Gives ‘em character.”

Sam looks vaguely ill. “So we’re leaving now. Any requests?”

“Beer,” grunts Dean, and then briefly glances sidelong at Cas. Quieter, he adds, “And one of those, ah. Those seasonal ones. With the lemons, ’n shit.”

Cas gazes at him so fondly that you nearly aww aloud. Those summer shandies are the only beer Cas drinks willingly.

“And if we’re going big or going home, here,” says Dean, “Sam, you oughta get as much green shit as you want. Artisanal lettuce, or whatever the hell. Promise I won’t even give you any shit about it.”

Sam grins. “Yeah, right.” 

Gabriel glances at you, his hazel eyes shining. “What about you, kiddo. Special requests?”

Oh nooo. Dean’s nickname for you, coming from Gabriel, makes your face heat. It sounds. . . well. Fine. It sounds nice. “More coffee, definitely.” You jerk a thumb over your shoulder at the gurgling percolator. “Almost out. What about you, you gonna get anything crazy? I mean—I know you don’t have to eat, but aren’t you into, like. . .”

“. . .anything that’d give a normal person diabetes?” Dean finishes. 

“Yeah, no.” Gabriel’s smirk definitely goes flirty. “That was an act. Witness protection, remember? Believe you me, my vices get way more fun than Starbursts and Snickers.” 

Sam’s mouth flattens to a thin line. “Yeah. We believe it.”

Cas holds up both hands, but he’s smirking, too. “Sorry we asked.”

Gabriel elbows Sam. “So. We ready to hit the road? Cheat a multimillion-dollar credit card corp out of their pocket change?”

Sam gives you, Dean, and Cas a look like, I can’t believe I agreed to this. “Let’s go,” he says. Gabriel winks at the three of you, then follows Sam out.

Behind you, the percolator gurgles its last. “Finally,” says Dean, and gently bats his way between you and Cas to get at the mugs on the shelf beneath. “Thanks for brewing this up,” he says, and hands you the first mug he pours. 

Your face heats again. His fingers nudge yours during the handoff.

Yeah. 

You’re definitely gonna give that whole making-a-move thing more thought. 

* * *

Ah, great. The line for the showers trails all the way to the kitchen.

Like. Dangit. These folks haven’t had hot water in years. No plumbing, no showers, just standing in a pan of icy river water. Your last shower was barely two days ago, so you’re nowhere near as bad off. But still. Grit skritches between your toes, and sweat’s dried all over your body. Your muscles ache from two solid days of running and fighting and looking over your shoulder.

“Ugh.” Dean joins you at the end of the line, towel over his shoulder, lips pursed as he does the math. “Thought it woulda died down by now. Might as well wait ’til tomorrow, at this rate.”

“There is no way,” you grump. “I’m too grody to be allowed.”

“Ugh. Same.” After a moment, he leans in a little. “We could always try the pool.”

You stare at him, scandalized. “Ew.”

“The pool showers,” he clarifies. “Y’know, that whole wall of ‘em.”

“Oh, yeah.” You glance at the line again. It isn’t moving. It hasn’t moved, not in the last five minutes.

You glance back at Dean, who lifts both eyebrows, a silent whaddya think?

As if he doesn’t know.

* * *

The pool showers are just four rudimentary stainless-steel stalls lining the far-left side of the pool, which sits three levels down. You’re lucky each stall has a curtain. When you get down there—you detoured back to your room for a suit, thinking of the hot tub to soak those tired muscles—Dean’s whistling in the stall on the far left, the vinyl curtain drawn, water running.

Lord, something about this feels debauched. Vulnerable. Exposed. You draw the curtain across your stall, furthest away from him, but as you strip down, it is so freaking obvious that Dean is barely ten feet away, naked and wet and scrubbing. Water chasing over his chest, his back, down his thighs, rivulets through the cut in his hips. . .

Okay, maybe a pan of icy river water would do you some good right now.

Dean’s shower is still running when you twist yours off. You shimmy your wet, squeaky-clean body into a dry, two-piece swimsuit getup before running a towel through your hair.

Jacuzzi time. Hell yes. 

You head to the clouded-glass door first, and flick a switch along the bank of lights. Nearby—half a dozen steps from the door—the jacuzzi rumbles to bubbly life.

As you sink in and settle onto the ledge made for sittin’, the churning hot water climbs your body in a fizzy wave. Ahhh. Good grief, you needed this. Your sore-ass body needed this. Thank the gods Sam and Dean tackled the pool room as a get-it-back-to-full-functionality project a few years ago. You close your eyes, tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, and let your arms float.

Slowly, your muscles unlock; your thoughts drift away. Tension melts out of you. Your mind goes blissfully blank—for like a second, anyway.

Now that you’re here, you finally have a moment to think about everything that’s gone down over the last few days.

And everyone.

Like Gabriel and his vexing permanent smirk. The way his hazel eyes keep flitting to yours as if to share an inside joke, the quick arch and drop of his brows. The brush of his shoulders during the fight in that vampire tunnel. He covered your six. He made it a priority to cover your six, and when it was over, he hastily, almost frantically, checked you for injuries—an up-and-down of his wide eyes. You have no idea what you did to deserve his attention, except maybe. . . ugh, lord. Maybe he read the sudden streak of envy that darted through you back in the bunker, after he stumbled out from behind that bookcase with Rowena. His hair all mussed, jacket gone, shirt rumpled. Somehow that’d done it for you. You couldn’t look away, unlike Cas, who pointedly acted like it never happened.

Cas. Guh, you were glad for his company in Apocalypse World. After that tunnel, back in the wilderness, Cas caught your arm as you stumbled over a ridge. You were still bleary-eyed and half numb with the sudden loss of Sam. But Cas steadied you, and, heart warming at the tenderness of his touch, you swayed into his arms for a weary embrace. When you finally pulled back, his worried eyes made it clear that he hated as much as you did that there wasn’t any time to slow down and process it all.

Sam was—you can’t think about what happened in that tunnel. What matters is that Sam came back, shaken up but alive. The minute it was clear Lucifer wasn’t about to rain hellfire on everyone, you’d frickin’ hurled yourself into Sam’s arms. Dean may be your—well, whatever—but Sam’s always been there, and more than once you’ve come close to telling him how bad you got it for Dean. Because Sam wouldn’t laugh, and he’d never tell you there’s no chance, and nobody that hot should be that nice, and it’s just. . . it’s Sam. He’d sagged into you with way more exhausted relief than you expected, and man, that was as much of a comfort as his return itself.

And Dean. Dean. He couldn’t move, after those vamps took Sam. Cas dragged him along—literally took two handfuls of jacket and hauled him—but Dean didn’t really start hustling until you took a chance and slipped your hand into his, palm to palm in the dark, fingers wrapped tight.

He’d looked at you, wide-eyed in the flashlight beams, and he just. . . his resolve came back. His gaze focused, his grip tightened. He pressed his mouth to the back of your hand before releasing it to take a two-handed grip on his shotgun again.

He stuck closer after that. Didn’t protest when you insisted on going back with him to get Sam’s body. Took a protective, seemingly automatic half-step toward you when Lucifer showed up, as though you weren’t both the same level of shit-scared. Later, as everybody loaded up the bus, you caught him giving you that look soft look again, only this time you’d called him out on it. “What,” you said. “What’s that face.”

An entire internal debate flickered in his eyes. At last he said, “Just realizing how screwed I’d be if you weren’t here.”

Not how screwed we, the royal we, would be. Not how screwed this camp would be, your friends, even the tight five, the newest iteration of Team Free Will. Just him. How screwed I, Dean, would be.

You brushed it off. What else could you do? “Oh, I know it. I’m invaluable.”

“Joke around all you want,” he said, soft again. “It’s the truth.”

You stared at him, stunned at the sincerity. He stared right back, lips parted, like there was still more unsaid. It occurred to you how close you stood.

Then Mary appeared with a “Dean!” that startled you both apart.

That was just hours ago.

What was that? Not just you with Dean, but everybody with. . . well, everybody? You caught that gaze Gabriel leveled at Cas, from between Cas’ legs, once the five of you tumbled through the portal—and the resulting surprised look on Dean’s face, one that clearly said I had no idea I’m into that. Cas and the way he greeted the newly-resurrected Sam with a palm to his cheek, wide eyes searching, and Sam’s actual, honest-to-goodness blush. Gabriel, checking—whoa, that’s right. Checking out Dean’s ass as Dean bent over that bus’ fucked up engine.

Whatever. You’re imagining it. You’re probably horny, too, because that kind of fight-and-flight nonsense just does that. Soon as shit calms down, you always want closeness, craving intimacy so fiercely that it nearly becomes tangible. Cas brushing your shoulder in the kitchen, Gabriel’s low, amused “kiddo,” Sam’s knowing glance, you and Dean caught staring at one another again—at this point, it all feels like sparks cracking off flint and steel, into kindling.

“Hey,” says Dean, startling you out of your, uh, let’s call it a reverie. He’s walking closer, running a towel through his hair. Jeans and a loose black tee, shower flip-flops. Half-grin. Guh. He studies the hot tub situation. “Think you got the right idea, there.”

“Wanna join me?” you ask, because by the look on his face, anything seems possible. “Pretty sure this is the only thing that’s gonna get my muscles to unwind.” 

“Hear that,” he says, towel now over his shoulder.  “Getting too old for this shit.”

You snort. “We aren’t that old.”

“Old enough to need a soak, anyway.” He pauses at the edge of the hot tub, right near you, hands on his hips. He says, like a warning, “I don’t have trunks with me.”

You roll your eyes, heart skipping pleasantly. “As if I’ve never seen you in your tighty-whities before. We’ve been sharing hotel rooms for years.” 

He grins and slings the towel off his shoulder. “Yeah, all right. I’m comin’ in.”

You at least pretend not to watch his hands work at his button, his zipper, then dip beneath his waistband to pull his jeans off. His boxer-briefs are deep red, clinging to the curve of his ass. And it’s true, you have seen him running around motel rooms before in the almost-buff. It’s just been a long time. Lately he makes sure he’s covered. Whatever—you absolutely steal a glance when his shirt goes up over his head, and woof. Sam teases the guy about having a dadbod, but lordy, there is nothing there you wouldn’t pounce on if given the chance.

Dean eases on into the hot tub with a ridiculous “Auughhhhh” of pleasure, settling in—to your surprise—pretty close to you. Arms’s length, maybe. Squee. You send a little splash his way, and he laughs, head tilting back. “Yeah,” he says, “you definitely had the right idea.”

Keep the giddiness on lock. Keep the giddiness on lock. “It happens, every once in awhile.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the self-deprecating one, here. You—you have good ideas all the time. Recently, too. You saved my ass back there. In Apocalypse World.”

You blink at him. “When?”

“When you—” He scratches the back of his head. “I was in bad shape, after Sam. I know you were too, but you. . . you helped me focus up.”

Oh, god. You mutter, “Is that what we’re calling hand-holding these days.”

He grins, looks away. “Well, it worked. Just reminded me that there was still. . . y’know. A lot left to lose.” His eyes flicker back to you. Warm, and. . . and longing. 

Welp, time to panic. “Glad it worked out. I mean, look where we ended up. Been awhile since we had a win this big.”

“No friggin’ kidding.” He lifts the arm closest to you and settles it on the ledge, dripping all over the tile floor as he carefully, minutely, turns his body to face you. “Feels good. Feels like. . . I dunno.”

Your heart pounds hard. Pleasantly. “Feels like what?” 

“Like. . .” Dean draws his lower lip into his mouth, not quite meeting your gaze. “Like I might finally get to take care of some things I been putting off.”

Meep.

“Oh,” you whisper. He shifts closer, and—

The pool room door hisses open.

Somebody goes, “Well, well, well,” in a voice that echoes off every wall. “Thought you guys could keep the hot tub a secret, didja. Like a buncha jerks.”

Gabriel’s striding toward you both, oblivious to the now-dissolving tension. He’s wearing navy-blue swim trunks with a pattern of tiny, bright yellow rubber duckies, towel over his bare shoulder and chest. He’s. . . surprisingly stacked. Compact, but built. His flip-flops thwap comically against his heels.

“Ugh, Jesus.” Dean ducks his head. “Think there might’ve been a reason for that?”

Gabriel grins. “Yeah, I get it. You wanna celebrate our resounding victory in relative peace and quiet. Too bad—this one belongs to more than just you two.” He drops his towel by the edge of the hot tub, steps out of his flip-flops, and snaps his fingers. Instantly a metal bucket of brewskis on ice appears in reach of you and Dean. Gabriel’s already lifting a bottle to his lips. “Mmmh. Way better than a shower beer.”

Dean’s hackles go down a bit at that peace offering even as Gabriel drops in on his other side with a splash. Okay, then. Time to recalibrate. With a deep breath, you grab a beer and are just getting Gabriel to mojo the cap off when the pool door hisses open again. 

“Dammit.” It’s Cas, with that consternated yet fond face he wears whenever he’s adjacent to Gabriel. “I did my best, Dean, but he’s immune to distraction.” 

Why direct that at Dean? Does that mean Dean. . . oh, god. Ohhh, squee. Dean must’ve wanted this time alone, then. You sip beer, mind racing. Dean must have mentioned to Cas—

“C’mon,” says Gabriel, both arms draped around the tiled edge of the jacuzzi now. “Like you could keep me away from this party. This party has a hot tub.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Moth to a flame.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling, which pleases you way more than it should.

“Whatever,” Dean sighs. He reaches into the bucket and holds up a beer. A summer shandy. “Cas, c’mon. Why doncha join us.”

Cas only relents when you and Gabriel echo Dean. Cas accepts the beer, long fingers curling around the neck. The cap’s disappeared before it’s out of Dean’s hand. Cas is toeing his shoes off when the door hisses again.

“Seriously?” Dean twists around to look, then his shoulders relax.

Sam’s paused with his hand on the bar across the door. He starts a smile, stops, and re-starts it even bigger. “Why am I not surprised Gabriel found the hot tub.”

Dean shoots you a look that you’re pretty sure means, I can’t believe we just got triple cock-blocked. Then he offers Sam a beer. “Get in here, man. Havin’ a party.”

“Yeah, seems like it.” Sam hesitates, glancing behind him. Then he comes on in.

“Lock that, will you,” Dean mutters to Gabriel, who smirks and snaps his fingers. The door latch rattles briefly. Dean glares at Gabriel’s obvious delight. “What. Just don’t want more stragglers.”

“Sure.” Gabriel sips beer. “C’mon in, Sam. Cas. Water’s fine.”

Cas settles in at your right, shoes and socks off, pants rolled neatly up to his knees. He dangles his legs in the water, swirling them slowly, hands clasped loosely between his thighs and around his beer. “I’m fine here.”

Gabriel sighs. “Suit yourself. Sam, we got room for you.” He nods between himself and Cas.

Sam’s standing by awkwardly, one hand around Dean’s beer offering. “Didn’t bring anything to swim in.”

“You got skivvies, right?” Gabriel looks him over. “And you look like you hosed off before that line formed, so our germaphobe-in-residence over here isn’t gonna get weird about dirty water.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m wearin’ my underoos, too. Get your ass in here.”

Sam grins and relents. You try to be subtle, watching him flick his shirt buttons open, his hair falling forward as he steps out of his jeans.

“That’s more like it,” Gabriel says happily, and super obviously checks Sam out from head to toe. Their chemistry’s been off the charts, too. Surprisingly tender in the way their fleeting touches linger, looks of concern when the other doesn’t notice. He lifts his beer as Sam eases on in. “Cheers, gang,” he says. “The witches are dead. Here’s to Sam and that hell of a final shank.”

“Couldn’ve done it without you guys.” Sam raises his beer, too, and suddenly everybody’s got their bottles hoisted. It’s starting to sink in: holy shit, this really is momentous. Lucifer’s dead. Michael’s dead. Everybody came home alive. “The five of us make a good team,” says Sam. “We all had each other’s backs out there. We all made sure we got to come back here and—and get wasted in this hot tub.” 

Dean snorts. “Hear, hear.”

“Cheers,” says Sam, and everybody leans in to clink bottles. You watch him, delighted that he’s so delighted. He meets everybody’s gaze as you all toast, like he’s making sure each member of the little circle know how important they are to him.

“So how’s it feel, Sammy.” Dean leans both arms on the ledge behind him as the bunch of you settle in again. “Knowing Lucifer’s gone for good.”

“I still barely believe it.” Sam shakes his head, grinning. “Feels good. Really good.”

“I can tell,” you say. “Haven’t seen you this happy in a hot minute.”

“Yeah.” Sam drinks again. “Kinda feels like I haven’t stopped smiling since we got back.” 

“Got your brights on,” says Gabriel, his eyes crinkled.

“It’s a good look,” Cas says. He’s slowly rolling his beer bottle between his palms, fingers splayed. “Different.” 

“Shoulda seen him with that cashier at Costco.” Gabriel waggles his brows. “Thought she was gonna swoon.”

Hey, if Sam got flirty, maybe he’s feeling it, too, that post-fight neediness—but before you can try to suss it out, Dean says, “Wait, Costco? Thought you were gonna go someplace ‘fancy.’” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” teases Gabriel, holding out a hand. “I just assumed free samples of pigs-in-a-blanket were as sophisticated as you get.”

To your surprise, Dean laughs at that.

“We had to pick up some basics,” Sam clarifies. God, his chest is muscley. And his tattoo. . . “Nowhere else to find toilet paper for thirty people. And like, pallets of beer.”

“Though we did stop at a Whole Foods.” Gabriel drinks—pinkie up. “Our boy here wanted the good organic shit.”

“I don’t see the issue,” says Cas, his mouth tugging up on one side. “Organic produce is better for the environment, better for the people who farm it. Not to mention the people who eat it.”

Sam points at Cas with his whole hand. “See? Thank you, Cas.”

Cas lifts his bottle. “Just stating the obvious.”

“Anyway, you guys are wall-to-wall with supplies,” says Gabriel. “And about one zillion pallets of beer.”

“I call that mission accomplished.” Dean’s got his brights on, too. “We deserve to kick back, every one of us. Let off a little steam. But for real this time, none of that get-wasted-then-get-right-back-to-work crap. That beer’s gotta last us some serious down-time.”

Feeling bold, you nudge his knee with yours beneath the water. “Whatcha got in mind?” 

His smile says, I felt that and wouldn’t mind if you did it again. “I dunno. Any ideas?”

“Traveling for fun, maybe,” says Cas. “Instead of for a case. Somewhere you haven’t been—if there is such a thing.”

“Yes. Beachside.” Dean leans in. “I was just talkin’ about that the other day. Sam heard me.”

Sam smirks. “I’m down. Toes in the sand works for me.”

“Dude,” you say. “Better idea. Let’s take Sam to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. He can nerd out, then we can hit up the beach afterward.”

“Butterbeer and beaches.” Sam goes kind of dreamy-eyed. “That actually sounds awesome.”

“Or,” says Gabriel, “save the cash and have one big orgy.”

That raises an instant cacophony of “Jesus,” and “Oh my god, dude,” and “Beyond impractical,” and then a loud, protesty, “Geeez oh Pete, I wasn’t serious.”

Then silence.

Well. Save for the rumbling jacuzzi, anyway.

Your face feels warm. Warmer than it should, considering you’re stewing in hot water. You can’t look at Dean, but somehow you drag your eyes up to Gabriel. Who’s already looking at you. Gulp. “Dude,” you say. “Okay. Serious question.”

“Pff,” mutters Dean. “He doesn’t do serious.”

“Shush,” you insist, and round on the archangel. “Gabriel.”

“Yes’m.”

“How do orgies—seriously—how do they actually work?”

For all the hell raised over his joking suggestion, nobody protests your question.

Gabriel sets his beer down, then puts his elbows on the ledge behind him, arms spread, wrists draped like an echo of wings. His lower lip pulls up, and his eyes sparkle. “Depends.”

Great. “On what.”

“On everything. The people involved. Whether or not they communicate before the big bang, or if it happens organically.”

“Can’t believe it ever happens organically,” Sam mutters.

Gabriel turns those wicked eyes on him. “That’s where you’d be surprised, mon frère.”

“You’d think Sam of all people would believe in shit happening organically,” Dean says under his breath, and you snort.

Cas clears his throat. “It’s complicated enough managing feelings and preferences between two people. I can’t imagine more than that. Especially spontaneously.”

Dean bolts a look his way like how the hell would you know?, but Gabriel keeps going: “I mean, hey, sometimes it’s just a reaction. Maybe the people involved had just the right amount of booze and narcotics. Maybe they just went through some buck-wild trauma. Sometimes everybody’s just a horndog. Sometimes all that at once.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Usually it just takes one person who’s down to clown, and then you’re off.”

“So.” You gulp. “How does it usually work out after?”

“Well, I mean. It’s an orgy. You gotta go into it with the understanding that you’re not gonna get a drawer at everybody’s place afterward. It’s a one-time thing, most likely. If the conditions are right, it comes into being, and if you overthink it, it’s all over. Finito.”

“Ah,” says Dean. 

Gabriel grins. “Dean, you’re already overthinking it. It’s not about logic, or making it work, or—thinking, at all. It’s about turning off your brain. It’s just you, and them, and giving in.” His eyes gleam. “Taking and giving. Sensation and satiation. Trying new things. Trusting that everybody there wants it as bad as you do.”

You can’t help but notice that everybody else is a little quiet, eyes downcast or rapt on Gabriel, soliloquizing like a jester on a throne. “Thanks,” you manage.

Gabriel studies you. “What for.”

Nosireebob, your groin is not starting up a low, steady, distracting throb. “Asked you for a serious answer.” You barely keep from crossing your legs. “I got one. That was real thoughtful.”

“Hey, don’t sound so surprised.” He leans back against the ledge. “But yeah—people always wanna give sex this big, grand meaning, but sometimes it’s just sex. A consumer-to-consumer transaction where everybody gets what they want. And that’s fine.” His brows rise and fall once more. “Tell you what. . . you guys wanna try it out sometime, you just let me know.”

Your stomach drops pleasantly. Whoa.

Dean blinks. “Wha—what, all of us?” 

Those hazel eyes sparkle. “Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t turn down a one of you. Good looking folks like yourselves—tell you the truth, I can’t believe I gotta explain this stuff. Each of you look like you could compete at a professional level.”

“What would an orgy league even be called,” you mutter.

“MLD, maybe,” suggests Gabriel.

“Stanley fuck tournament,” Dean tries. 

“Quimbledon finals,” you add.

“If it’s a race,” Cas hedges, “a grand prick.”

That startles everyone into laughter; you reach up and over for a high-five. He gives it, happily, and hides his pleasure behind another sip of shandy.

“Well.” Sam brings a hand outta the water to rub his nose. “It’s a nice compliment. But I’m pretty sure I speak for the rest of us when I say we’ve never had an orgy. With anyone.”

“Yeah, right,” says Gabriel. “You can play the blushing virgin all you want, but clearly even Cas over here—” 

“Dean said something about twins, once,” Cas interrupts.

Gabriel wolf-whistles. “Twins?”

Dean hangs his head, grinning. “Yeahhh. The, ah. The Cartwright twins. Gotta be ten years ago by now.”

Oh, god. That’s right. You’ve heard this one. You wish you didn’t think it was hot, but. . . 

“Ooo,” says Gabriel, eyes crinkled again. “Tell me more, tell me more. Redheads? They were redheads, weren’t they. Curvy, gorgeous. . .”

Dean glances at you, and oh boy, your stomach drops with the giddiness of a shared secret. He says, “Not exactly.” 

Sam smirks into his beer. 

Gabriel notices. “What.” 

Dean licks the shine off his lower lip. “Curvy’s a stretch.”

“Mmkay. So what—cute face, thin waist?”

“Yeah,” says Dean. “Beards, too.” 

Gabriel slowly swivels his entire body toward Dean. “Oh ho ho.”

Cas is staring at Dean, transfixed. “Is that why you never shared their first names?”

Dean’s gone patchy-pink. “Most people don’t ask.”

“Sneaky,” Gabriel says happily. “I got a newfound respect for you, Deano. Thought you were all wine, women, and song, not—not wine, two men, and thongs."

You nearly spit your drink laughing. 

“He’s more of a whiskey guy,” says Sam, eyes gleaming.

Dean winks at you. “Nothin’ wrong with wine and whiskey.”

“Man.” Gabriel lifts his beer by the tips of his fingers, dipping his mouth toward it as he watches you and Dean. “You two’ve been oozing sexual tension at each other since I showed up. When are you gonna do somethin’ about it?”

Heat flashes through your face; embarrassment strangles any hope of a witty comeback. 

“Gabriel.” Sam’s voice is suddenly low. Humorless. “Don’t.”

Oh, god. So everybody already knows about—about whatever the fuck is or isn’t between you and Dean. Fuck.

“What?” Gabriel sets his bottle down with a clink. “They’re not the only ones. Half an hour ago I caught Sammy over here checking out my caboose. And yesterday. And the day before that." 

“Gabriel,” says Dean through his teeth. “Shut up, will you.”

“Nah. I’m doing you guys a favor. That whole conversation just now—I mean, look at you. You guys can barely make eye contact, you want it so bad. Even Cas. He’s so curious, he doesn’t even know where to start. Does he wanna take Dean to pound town, or is he gonna let Sam drive him there first? Or does he wanna know how it feels when a woman—”

Sam snaps, “Gabriel.”

“Jeesh.” He shifts, resettling. “For people who claim they can get laid whenever they want, you guys sure are some repressed sons a’bitches.”

“We aren’t repressed,” you protest. “We just. . .” That argument’s over before it starts. You finish lamely, “. . .we aren’t repressed.”

“Yeah?” Gabriel’s eyes shine with challenge. “Prove it.”

Maybe it’s the booze. Or the way his hair falls across his forehead, the heat in his hazel eyes. Or the way you can feel Dean trying not to look at you. And the thought that—hell. If Dean hasn’t made a move despite the apparently-super-obvious signals you’ve been sending, you’re not beholden to him. You’re not beholden to anybody.

You stand up all at once.

Water pours off you, shivers down your sides and hips and thighs. Everyone turns to look at you, bug-eyed, but Gabriel just holds your gaze, wearing a half-smile so charming that it’s both infuriating and somehow, just, ugh, really friggin’ hot.

For a second, you consider storming outta here.

But only for a second.

You set your beer down. It takes just one step, water tugging past your calves, to get your knees up on the ledge, directly over Gabriel, straddling his thighs, your hands braced on the edge of the hot tub. As you settle onto him, desire flickers in his eyes like a guttering candle. He hasn’t moved.

No one around you has moved, either, but you can feel their held breaths, how intensely they watch you.

“Whatcha waiting for,” Gabriel purrs, almost as low as the rumbling hot tub itself.

You dip your head, and your parted lips touch his parted lips, and then both sets sink together. Beneath the water, his hands latch onto your hips, warmer than the water itself, thumbs digging gently into your sides. You gasp as tingles swirl through you, and he uses that gasp to glide his tongue against yours, to press in.

Dean makes a slightly strangled noise.

You pull back with a shiver, nose to nose with Gabriel now. Your heart pounds and pounds. “Not repressed,” you insist, and, thinking of Dean: “Just cowards. Afraid of—of it meaning too much to take it back.”

His thumbs drag heat along your skin. “That,” he murmurs, “was not cowardly. And forget meaning. Give it meaning later. Just let sex be sex.”

You lick your lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

One of his hands strokes up into your hair, the plash of water almost quiet against the rumble. “C’mere,” he says, eyes half-mast now, flickering between your gaze and your mouth. He makes it so easy. So obvious. You dip back down and kiss his smirk away.

His hand at your hip digs in a little more, and your breath catches, expecting him to pull you groin to groin—but he doesn’t. All that sass, and a gentleman, too. Neat. But you’re not gonna let this be a two-person show. 

You reach blindly to the right until your fingers bump Sam’s arm, and as you tighten your grip, so do his muscles. Which, holy shit. A whimper leaves your mouth to flit across Gabriel’s, and as he grins, you pull Sam closer. “Sam,” you pant, easing back, arousal pounding deep between your legs. “Gimmie a hand, here.”

Gabriel tears his gaze from you with effort, but by the time he gets to Sam, he’s burning up all over again. “Hey, tough guy,” he says, but there’s something gentle to it.

Sam’s wearing a look you’ve never seen on him before, a smoldering satisfaction. “You were planning this from the start.” 

Gabriel smirks. “Toldja I had better vices than sugar.”

“That you did.” Sam glances at you as if to make sure you’re on board, and when you don’t protest, he looks back at Gabriel. “So ‘just let sex be sex,’ huh,” he quotes, in a voice that goes directly to your clit and teases it. “Are you sure?”

“For you?” says Gabriel, throwing the challenge right back. “I could make an exception.”

Sam gets close enough that his leg nudges yours. He reaches up from the water, settling one huge hand over Gabriel’s jaw, part of his neck. Then he lowers his head.

Gabriel moans into their kiss, filthy and shameless, his hand leaving your hair to reach for Sam, and you watch, stunned, as their mouths open, the pink shine of their tongues sliding slow and hot together.

“Fuck,” you manage, standing to slip backward off Gabriel’s thighs to give them room. But as you turn, you lose your footing, and you splash-stumble—

—directly into Cas. Arms against his chest, nose to nose, staring up at him. You’re soaking the front of his shirt and between the knees of his pants. “Shit,” you breathe, “sorry, I—” 

“It’s fine.” He sounds a little bewildered. No—breathless. When he shifts, it becomes hella apparent that your hands are basically—oh, lord—braced on his solid, barely-curved pecs. His arms hover at your sides, uncertain, one of them still holding his shandy. But his wide blue eyes land on your mouth and stay. His own lips part on a shaky breath in. 

Yeah, you’re doing this, too.

His mouth is warm and soft, tastes just as gorgeous as it looks. He must’ve put down the beer, because both his hands land on your shoulders, engulfing them in warmth and pulling you closer. When Sam and Gabriel make a needy sound, Cas groans a little, too. You part your lips, hoping desperately that he goes with it, and holy shit, does he ever. Cas’ tongue pushes into your mouth, slow, then deep. The hunger in it makes you gasp, and open up to him. 

You’re so wonderstruck that after a few moments, you gotta break off just to look at him. The blue in his eyes burns wickedly as he murmurs, “And you assumed I’m inexperienced.” 

“Is he really not,” Sam says, with a strangled gasp on the end of it; you glance over to see Gabriel laying a hickey into his neck.

You look back at Cas, knowing you’re starry-eyed and not caring. “He’s incredible.” With a shaky breath, you wrap a hand around his tie, curling it across your palm. “You wanna get in with us, Cas?”

Those blue eyes dart down to his tie. One of his brows is up, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I could be convinced.”

You tighten your grip and pull.

He sloshes into the hot tub in a sparkling rush of waves, clothes and all. The splashes darken his shirt where it clings to his skin, rendering it virtually transparent. You start plucking at the wet buttons. “Let’s get this off.”

He covers your hand with his own, dripping wet now. “I’ll do it.” He glances past you, and his smile tugs up again. “There’s someone waiting for you.” 

Dean. God, you know he means Dean. 

Gabriel speaks up. “We can take over for her, big boy.” He and Sam both stare at Cas, Sam’s kiss-bitten lower lip shining.

Yep. Your cue to move. “He’s all yours, guys.”

Cas’ knees brush yours as he goes to them, and then you’re alone. Ish. You’re intensely aware of Dean behind you, but suddenly you’re so flipping nervous that the other three basically blur into the background.

This is impossible. The rest of them—you could stand to have this once and then not again. Or y’know, maybe again someday, since spontaneous orgies are apparently a thing. But it’s gonna break you if you only get to do this once with Dean.

Behind you, he says your name so softly you almost lose it to the sound of the water.

God. Okay. Just—you started this party. Keep it going. 

You turn toward Dean, and oh god—his eyes are a little wide, his lips parted and full. His hair’s up at all kinds of wild angles, his freckled shoulders just out of the water, which laps at the upper points of his tattoo. He gulps, then gets halfway to his feet, one hand on the edge of the tub behind him, the other outstretched, open. Reaching for you, as water pours down his body and churns at the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

Hnnngh. You fold your fingers into his, and he tugs you toward him gently, eyes locked. Like with Gabriel, you go to your knees on the ledge, up over Dean’s thighs. His hands smooth along your arms, which you have no idea what to do with, so you brace them behind his head on the tub’s edge, careful not to knock over his beer. Also like with Gabriel. Dean’s eyes shine arousal-dark, searching your own. “I know,” he starts, then falters, has to drag in a breath and start again. “I know what he said.” Dean nods toward Gabriel. His voice is so quiet, so close to the water, that it feels like you’ve got your own private, shimmering little kingdom here. “I get that this is just—just sex.” 

You close your eyes briefly, shivering. It’s gonna happen. You’re gonna do this with him. “Yeah. . .?”

“But you’n me—I can’t just one-and-done it with you. ‘Cause I. . .” He breathes out, shakily, warmth flaring against your lips. “Been hoping for a lot more than that for awhile now. Just didn’t know how to say it.” 

Oh man. Oh, man. His eyes are huge and hopeful and scared. “Dean,” you breathe. 

“So if you—if that’s gonna complicate whatever we’re doing here, then hey, y’know—I get it if you don’t wanna do it. With me, specifically.”

“Dean.” You work your fingertips into the damp, soft hair at the back of his neck. “I was about to give you that same damn speech. Can’t ‘one-and-done it with you.’ Hoping for more. The whole thing.” 

He blinks up at you. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You could laugh, you’re so fucking giddy. “You—you were gonna tell me, weren’t you. Before Gabriel showed up. You were about to make some kinda move.”

His eyes fall to your mouth. “C’mere ’n find out.”

Dean kisses you and your belly drops, your body goes weightless. His lips cling in a perfect fit, the right pressure, the right place. His hand smooths up your back beneath the water and out of it, only adding to the feeling of weightlessness, of floating in contentment so thorough that you don’t have it in you to be nervous anymore. You nibble at his lower lip, then kiss him again with parted lips and carefully slip your tongue against his mouth.

He not only opens up for you, he opens up with the neediest, most whimpery little sound you’ve ever heard. His tongue delves against yours, careful, slowly, before he takes it deeper.

It takes you a second to hear the chorus of “Wooo,” “YES” and a “Nice!” echoing off the corners of the room, and another second to realize it’s all for you and Dean. Face burning, you pull back from Dean to find Sam, Cas, and Gabriel all cheering you on. Gabriel’s even got a woo-woo-woo fist pump going.

Laughing, you send a splash of water their way, and Gabriel sends one back triple that size. You and Dean yelp, ducking as though that could help, and the wave crashes down overtop of you and then some, slicking the tiles beyond the tub. Dean shakes water out of his face, beaming up at you. “We gotta get ‘im back for that,” he says.

“Yeah.” You turn to mock-glare at the three of them, but whoa—they’re already back to business. Cas’ head is tilted back as Sam mouths at the hollow of his throat, drags Cas’ soaking clothes down his shoulders. Behind Sam, Gabriel lays a soft bite into the back of Sam’s neck. His arm is draped around Sam’s waist, muscles flexing as it shifts. His wrist and hand work out of sight, beneath the water. He’s staring directly at you and Dean.

Fortunately, Dean’s staring too. You turn back to him, breathing in shaky little gulps. “Dean,” you whisper, “all the stuff we just said—how do you wanna handle all this?”

His forehead rests against yours. “Tonight, if it’s good with you. . . I think anything goes.”

“Yeah.” You wrap yourself tighter around him. “Okay. Yeah, I’m good with that. And after tonight?”

He looks up at you with big, solemn eyes, and gulps visibly. “I don’t wanna share.”

You shiver. “Me neither.”

Gabriel calls, “You guys gonna need some alooone time, or are we gonna crack this piñata?”

Dean starts a slow-growing grin. “Somebody oughta shut him up.”

You kiss a smile into his temple. “I volunteer as tribute.” 

This time when you cross the scant step and a half over to Gabriel, the uncertainty has melted away. You hold his gaze, and hell, you’re working it a little. You’re hot stuff. The way Cas, Sam, and Gabriel all turn to watch you get closer, there’s no room for doubt.

Sam moves to you first, and close. Water still runs down his chest and over his tattoo, tugging at his sparse trail of hair from chest to the waistband of his boxer-briefs. He’s hard as hell, which you notice only because when Gabriel takes his hand out of said boxer-briefs, Sam’s tenting the dark fabric. Sam’s eyes radiate heat, skimming you up and down. His big shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall. Christ, you’re right up against him. He murmurs, “Hi.”

“Hey.” He’s almost made you giggle. “What’s up.”

He ducks his head to grin, his damp hair hanging in his face. “Y’know, not too much.” He touches the side of his neck where Gabriel’s bruised the barest mark. 

All at once you remember that tunnel—and the whole growling, seething contingent of vampires, how they absolutely swamped Sam. They didn’t just kill him; they put him on his knees first, execution-style. One of them sunk its teeth deep into the meat of Sam’s neck and tore free so easily it didn’t even look real, and Jesus, you’ve seen blood in this line of work but never, ever anything like that, so much at once, so fast. You saw the exact second the light left Sam’s eyes, when his fear, his fight, turned into blank, glassy nothingness. 

The sound of your name snaps you out of it with a flinch. Sam’s got worried eyes on you, his brows together and tilted. From the sound of it, Gabriel and Cas are behind you doing something scandalous to Dean, which means they’re too busy to notice that the reality of nearly losing Sam for good is finally, suddenly, hitting you all at once. Right in the middle of a friggin’ orgy.

“Um.” Your throat’s gone tight. Cool. “Sorry—I’m okay, I just. . .”

There was nothing you could do, locked a dozen yards away, fighting two more vampires. The swarm dragged Sam into a side tunnel, leaving a wide, wet trail of blood, and Dean. . . Dean was so gutted that you knew you’d lost him, too. 

“Those vamps,” you croak now. “You—they were just. They were on you, and then you were gone, and we. . .” Your breath catches. “We couldn’t. . .”

Sam’s mouth forms a thin line of worry. His hand finds your arm, huge and warm, then traces down to take your hand. He lifts it, settling your palm against his—oh, lord—his defined-as-fuck abs. His skin is soft, the muscles quivering under your touch as he breathes. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“You’re here.” You gulp, and. . . guh. You trace a thumb across the skin above his waistband. “You’re real.”

His forehead bumps into yours, breathing shakily. “I shouldn’t have brought Lucifer to that camp. I didn’t—I knew people would get hurt, and I still—” 

“Hey, I know.” With your free hand, you weave your wet fingers deep into his ridiculously warm, ridiculously soft hair. “But you made the right call.” You manage a smile, because holy shit, this reality is still sinking in, too: “You never coulda shanked him otherwise. He’s gone, Sam. Thanks to you.” And because he looks like he needs to hear it again, you repeat, “Thanks to you.” 

His arms cross your back as he pulls you to him, and his kiss is an open, desperate little lunge. He kisses like he’s just now remembering that he came close to never kissing anyone again. He’s incapable of waiting to find out whether you’re down for tongue action, because he gets to it quick, and so eagerly that it totally surprises you. Fortunately he is tal-en-ted, so you sink further into his arms with a sigh of relief, the water on your skin only amplifying the closeness of touch, the hardness in his shorts nudging into your belly. 

Eventually it clicks that Gabriel, who’s yammering somewhere astern, is talking about you. You pull apart from Sam’s kiss to breathe, “What?” Sam’s soft mouth presses right beneath your ear, starts trailing lower.

“You two,” Gabriel says, closer this time. His hands settle on your hips from behind, and heat churns in your belly. “Put this on Pay Per View, and I’d never leave the house.”

“Yeah, right.” You duck your head against Sam’s shoulder, shuddering beneath his lips. “You’d get bored.”

“Doubt it.” Gabriel’s voice rumbles just beneath your other ear. His fingertips slip under the back band of your top, in between Sam’s clasping arms. He doesn’t try to undo it, pull it apart—he just hovers there, teasingly. A question. “Whatcha think, kiddo. We gonna keep this moving?”

You twist to look at him, delight and neediness amping up your bravery in equal measures. “You first.”

“Challenge accepted.” Gabriel takes half a step back, hooks his thumbs into his swim trunks, and pulls ‘em down. He tosses the whole sopping-wet bundle onto the tiles with a splat.  

Fuck. Oh, hell. Water rumbles at the divots in his hips. The solid jut of him stands barely above the waterline. You can’t even help it—you go right to him.

Even beneath the warmth of the water, he’s hot in your hand, hard enough that he strains into your touch with a bit of a breathless noise. Behind you, there’s another splat against the tiles; Sam’s ditched his shorts, too. 

Dean and Cas—behind Gabriel, both seated on the underwater ledge—are watching the whole thing hungrily, Cas half in Dean’s lap. Your eyes on Dean’s, you pant, “Gabriel. That thing you were just about to do for me. Just now.”

“Mmhm.” He comes closer, dips his mouth against your neck. His palm smooths up your back, beneath your swimsuit top again. “Ready?”

The catch of his lips shivers through you. “Yes.”

His fingers twist; the whole thing loosens. Sam helps, their fingertips dancing along your back. Dean’s gaze never leaves yours even as Cas’ arm works in his lap, beneath the water. When your top is clear, when your arms come down, Dean’s brows have tilted desperately as he takes in the sight. The way Cas pitches up a little, Dean must be rolling his hips.

“Man,” Gabriel murmurs, “look at you,” and he starts kissing slowly down from your collarbone. Behind you, Sam’s less patient. His hands trace around to your chest, slow smooths of his palms before he rolls your nipples between the lengths of his long fingers. He’s still doing it when Gabriel’s mouth arrives, tongues around one nip in a ridiculously lewd circle before he suckles it into his mouth with Sam’s help.

Pleasure lashes from the wet warmth of his mouth down through your belly, into your groin, flickering and sparkling through the building heat. You slump back against Sam, who holds you up, panting softly beneath your ear as Gabriel licks over both you and his fingers. Before long Gabriel’s sucking Sam’s fingers into his mouth, too, index and middle, and Sam moves them back and forth, his arousal now pressed hard to your lower back. His other hand smooths down across your belly, into the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms. You arch into the touch, but he stops just before he can dip into your folds. He rasps, “Yeah?”

You nod, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Please.” You lock a hand around his wrist to pull him down further. “Sam, please.” Your hips shudder up against the touch as he spreads you open, slick and wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “this is—is this in any way sanitary, the water, and if we actually—” You can’t say bone down in the jacuzzi, you can’t. “—is this—?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gabriel’s back at eye-level again. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s good. What’s even more disconcerting is that you completely, 100% trust him. You mull that over as he and Sam start making out with gusto over your shoulder.

Cas arrives at your left, still in his boxers and all kinds of gorgeous with his tanned, smooth skin. His eyes trace over your body, plus Sam’s shifting wrist just above the waterline, plus Gabriel’s fingers, working at one nipple since his mouth is busy. You reach for Cas through the tangle of bodies.

He slots up close, pressing his mouth to your temple. It’s damp with sweat and jacuzzi water, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Look,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering to the other side of the hot tub.

You look. Dean’s on his feet now, staring at Sam’s moving hand with so much open hunger that your insides swoop sharply with a rush of need—which Sam’s busy fingers catch, pulling your arousal higher and higher. Dean’s eyes drift up to yours, his desperation clear. He rasps, “That okay? What they’re doing?” 

God, you adore him. “Yeah. I—nnnh. Yeah.” Like you’re proving a point—but mostly because you want to see how Dean reacts—you take Cas’ hand and pull it toward Sam’s, into your swimsuit bottoms, so their huge hands fight the fabric, but slip so gently back and forth along you, holding you open to the water, to their touches. “Fuck,” you gasp, panting hard now, hips bucking helplessly.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes, and ducks his head. 

Sam nibbles at your earlobe. “I wanna take these bottoms off.”

Deep breath. You nod. “Go for it.”

Gabriel snaps his fingers, and your swimsuit bottoms disappear then reappear outside the tub, next to his own. Suddenly Sam and Cas have much more room to work with, and Sam plunges his touch deeper inside you while Cas starts smoothing the pads of his fingers over your clit. With a cry, you melt back against Sam, hips lifting as you chase the combined rush of pleasure. Instinct tells you to close your eyes, but Dean’s staring with so much desperation that its resonates down to Sam and Cas’ touches as delicious arousal.

Gabriel wades toward Dean. “All right, Romeo. Your turn.”

It feels like they planned this, the three of them, the way they’ve got Dean and you facing one another now. Gabriel slots himself against Dean’s side, tracing his strong, lightly-veined hand down Dean’s front until he dips beneath the water, starts jacking in slow strokes that round his biceps. Dean’s eyelashes flutter, and he sags into Gabriel.

Sam murmurs, “Cas, take over for me,” and he lifts his hands to fill them both with your breasts, kneading gently and maddeningly until his thumbs graze your nipples and he tweaks them gently, then a little more fiercely. Your whole body jerks, and Cas groans against your neck as he slips two fingers inside you. Dean and you watch one another all the while, heaving for air, bodies twitching into the touches of whoever’s got you.

At last Dean’s gotta reach down and grip Gabriel’s wrist. “Not yet,” he grates, his knuckles white. “Not yet.”

Gabriel murmurs something else, eyes shining wickedly.

Dean glares at Gabriel, but growls, “Please.”

“That’s more like it.” Gabriel releases him. “Got something else in mind, anyway.” 

In the shuffle that follows, Gabriel steals Sam away from you, leaving Cas. Then Dean’s up in your space, his eyes roaming over your body before landing on your face. “Cas,” he rasps, “how’s she feel.”

Cas plants his mouth at the junction of your shoulder. His fingers twist slowly all the way out of you. “Ready.”

Dean briefly closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

“Not yet.” Cas can do this whole wickedly teasing thing, too, apparently. His hands settle on your hips. “You’ve still got your boxers on.”

Dean steps out of them like they’re on fire—or at least, he tries. He loses his footing, splashing backwards with a surprised yelp. Before he totally wipes out, Cas slips around you quick as lightning and seizes Dean’s wrist.

Dean gawps at him, surprised, and lets himself get hauled back upright. He breathes, “Don’t you ever get tired of savin’ me?”

Cas doesn’t let go. He moves closer, tracing his other hand up the shadows of the veins in Dean’s arm. He murmurs, “No.”

Aaand they’re off. Kissing. Which is entirely too chaste a word for it. They’re making the hell out. Wide-open mouths, shining pink curls of their tongues, Dean’s full-body shudder, the prickling scrape of stubble on stubble loud enough to hear. The muscles in their arms shift with every touch, knuckles blanching to grip tight. 

“Damn.” That’s from Sam, watching them now. 

Gabriel, who’s sidled up to him, purrs, “Feeling left out?”

“Uh.” Sam’s throat bobs. 

“Feeling left out,” decides Gabriel. “C’mere, hot stuff.”

You leave them to it, and wade toward Dean and Cas. Dean’s boxer-briefs are officially gone, so the line of his waist just keeps going, narrowing to his hips, his thighs. Cas isn’t so bad himself—all that smooth olive skin, and he’s just as defined for all he’s a little more broad-set then Dean. The top curve of his ass, covered by his blue boxers and perked just above the water, is ridiculously inviting—so you take advantage. You skim your fingertips down his back, then on down, beneath the elastic waistband until you’ve got a taut-soft handful of angel ass.

Cas turns toward you, opening Dean up to your line of sight, then takes your hand and tugs you closer, toward Dean, like—like he’s offering you to Dean. This should probably be weird, crows the part of your mind still hung up on logic. But instead, since Dean’s looking at you like the rest of the room isn’t even there. . . yeah, it’s working for you.

But god, it’s still Dean. Unattainable, no matter what he mighta said in the heat of the moment. Your face heats. You take your hand back. “Dude,” you mutter, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Cas sees right through you. “Do you still doubt how much he wants this?”

Based on visual cues alone, you got no doubt whatsoever. The evidence is standing just barely out of the water, practically pointing at you. “You shouldn’t.” Cas brushes hair back from your ear, close now. “Try him.”

Well. Well, fine.

You take another wading step toward Dean, and when he reaches for you, you kind of curl into each other, pressing body to body, arms encircling. Wet heat, delicious brushes of warm skin, thick hardness pressed against your belly, his hands smoothing up and down your back, forehead dropping to yours as he breathes, “God, you feel good.” 

There’s so much of him, and it’s all lightly freckled and smooth and tattooed and whoa, perky, and shadowed with muscle, the hardworking kind, not some macho male ego boost but because his job requires it, because his life depends on it, and you love it, you always have and you’ve never been this close, never been allowed— 

Y’know what, this is probably what Gabriel meant about overthinking stuff.

You tilt up to Dean and touch your mouth to his. His hands come up to frame your face, eagerly, and he sighs a long, relieved “Mmmmh,” into the kiss. He parts his lips a moment later, and his tongue carefully brushes yours, his thumbs sweep gently across your cheeks. Somehow that tenderness, amidst this down-and-dirty anything-goes extravaganza—it makes your knees shake. In that kiss, as your tongues meet and twine and slip together, there’s hope, and promises, and so much more than you ever thought he’d want to give. 

Meanwhile Cas has taken up pressing lush kisses to the exposed, tilted part of your neck, which does nothing for your wobbling knees. Reluctantly, you pull back from Dean. “Gotta sit down before I fall down,” you whisper.

He grins, with a nonzero amount of smugness. “C’mon. Cas—we’re moving.”

They both tug you to sit on the underwater ledge, but Cas gets there first, and—sue you, you wanna give Dean a bit of a show. You settle into Cas’ lap with your knees framing his thighs. So what if it’s this evening’s default position. It lets you feel everything, and it’s all the easier to move that way with the help of the water.

But before you can lean in to Cas for a kiss, his eyes flicker past you, over your shoulder—and somehow they go dark and wide at once. Intrigued, belly flashing with heat, you turn to see.

Sam’s laid out with his elbows on the tiles, his heels braced on the ledge underwater, knees parted to let Gabriel between his thighs. His head’s tilted back, eyes shut, chest heaving as he gasps. Gabriel watches Sam with one hand wrapped around the base of Sam’s dick, thumb holding it steady. His tongue twists at the crown, a shining circle, and he sinks back down. Sam breathes “Ungh,” and all the muscles in his flat, softly-muscled belly clench. 

“Not bad,” Dean rumbles. His lower lip shines swollen and kiss-bitten, and he still hasn’t sat down beside Cas yet. “But you could do one better.”

Gabriel pulls off with an absurd pop. “Yeah? How would you know?”

“Dean.” Sam’s eyes are open, now. “Tell them.”

Slowly, Dean moves toward Sam and Gabriel. You and Cas just watch, totally spellbound. Dean looks practically hollow with hunger. “Couple times, we, uh. Back before we found the bunker. We’d pick up a girl who couldn’t choose between us.”

“So we let her choose both,” says Sam. “Do that a few times, you learn things about each other pretty quick.”

Gabriel stares at him. “Things like what.”

Dean locks one hand around Sam’s knee. “Lemme show you.” 

“Jesus,” Sam gasps, and his head falls back again.

“Fuck,” you agree, ducking your forehead to Cas’, and he pulls you in tight, your legs wide for a thick, hard grind of his dick through the crotch in his suit. He’s watching them, too, and bodily shifts you both so you can do this and still watch. 

Dean takes Gabriel’s hand, maneuvering it down, shaping fingers along the way so that Gabriel drags two of them behind Sam’s balls, and down further still, until Sam’s brows go high and he breathes, “Nnnnyeah,” and drops his head back again. His chest heaves; his arms shake. 

“Look at that,” breathes Gabriel. He brings his fingers up, slicks them in his mouth, and goes back to moving slow, the way Dean showed him. “Never knew you were such a slut, Sam.”

Sam strangles out a laugh-moan. “You’re the—the one who started all—fuck.” His hips roll as Gabriel swallows him down again, and he huffs “Oh, Jesus,” as Dean runs a broad, flat hand up the sparse trail of hair that leads to Sam’s navel. 

There’s no time to wonder how the hell you should feel about that, because when Castiel makes a rough little noise, you turn back to him. God, who cares about any of those fools when you have this fire-eyed, dark-haired angel all to yourself. His skin is smooth beneath the water, soft over hard-packed cords of muscle, and his sandy jaw scrapes the pads of your thumbs as you trace across his stubble. His lips part in such clear invitation that your body involuntarily lurches against his, eager to get even closer. 

As he kisses you, his grip folds around your ass, two big handfuls, and he pulls you against him in just a little bit of rhythm. Arousal shivers down the walls of your empty, aching entrance, so fuck it—you start fumbling at Cas’ boxers, fabric in your hands beneath the water. He lifts his hips, the dark shape of his boxers float away, the violation of physics making you think grace was involved, and—

You gasp, shuddering as you land against him, that smooth, hard length pressing deep between your bare folds, not in but along, and he groans through his teeth, his hands flexing against your ass. With effort, you drag your gazes up to one another’s. He pants, “Do you want this?”

How is that even a question. “Yeah. Cas, of course—”

“No, I mean.” He’s panting, too. “Do you want this from me. First. Because I think. . .” He glances over at the other three.

He’s asking about Dean. Who’s sidling up to Cas, eyeing both of you. “Hey.” He presses a kiss to Cas’ neck, with a brush of his tongue against the shadow of Cas’ stubble. Cas’ eyelids flutter. “Heard some commotion over here,” Dean slurs against Cas’ neck. “Thought I’d check it out.”

“See.” Cas speaks with difficulty, but he’s smiling. “I’d need to get in line.”

You can’t help but smile, too. Fine—maybe you do want Dean first. “Yeah, all right. Good point.”

“God,” Sam moans from across the water, “how are you even—fuck—!”

When you turn to look, Gabriel’s buried two fingers deep in Sam’s ass, working them slowly in and out. He drawls, “C’mon, Sam. I know you’ve heard about the miracle of the lubes and the fishes.”

Sam throws an arm over his eyes, laughing helplessly even as he moans. Cas and you shift around so that Cas can stand and head their way.

“I woulda gone with water into KY,” says Dean, cracking a grin. “But that’s just me.”

“That’s because you’re—” Gabriel ducks his head and moans.

Cas has slotted up behind him, reaching around. “He’s what,” Cas nearly purrs, and muscles in his arm flex.

Gabriel just groans and cants his hips back. 

Dean sits on the ledge where Cas just was, and you clamber the hell on top of him, only this time his boxer-briefs aren’t in the way, so—oh. You cling to his warm-wet shoulders, slotting right up against him the way you did with Cas. Dean’s jaw clenches; he grinds out a deep, strangled sound and locks his arms around your lower back. “Okay,” he gasps, “fuck.” 

“Yeah.” You thrust your hips a little, letting your slickness ride along his dick, the sharp-soft ridge bumping gently back and forth over your clit. Your arms shake. Your slack mouth brushes his, and he strokes one hand deep into your hair. The water around you rocks and rolls. Prickles of his chest hair catch on your pebbled nipples. It’s overwhelming. Years of needing this, hoping so desperately that he’d want you this way. . . and he did, he does. He’s here. Right here. “Dean?”

Your name comes back in another strangled noise. His eyelids hover at half-mast, the vibrant green of them locked on you. His voice is a low rumble. “You ready? We doin’ this?”

Almost. “Gabriel?” 

“Nnnyeah—ugh, Cas, who the hell taught—yeah?”

You’re still eye to eye with Dean. “You gonna loan us some grace so I don’t have to go find a condom?”

“S’done,” he croaks. His forehead’s just parked on Sam’s hip, his own hips rolling into Cas’ hand. “Got you—nngh, got you covered. Have at it.”

You nod against Dean, and breathe against him, “Then yes.”

Dean’s spare hand dips below the water. You shuffle further up on your knees, mouth to his temple as he strokes the very tip of himself along, and through, and back. And then in, just enough to catch and stay and startle a whimper from deep in your chest. “All you,” he pants. He skates his lips up the side of your neck. Goosebumps shiver down your arms despite the warmth of the water. His hand settles heavily at the submerged small of your back. “Fffuck. You—you take me when you want me, huh.” 

“Mmh.” Another nod. You keep on clinging, shifting only to see his gorgeous freckled face as he pants up at you. He. Feels. Spectacular. Bare and smooth, so damn hard. You’re already clenching around even that scant pressure, and the sensation ripples through your groin. With a deep breath, forcing your muscles to unclench, you slowly, gaspingly, sink down onto him until the bottoms of your thighs meet the top of his. His mouth seals against yours, plucks deep, dives in. His arm clings tighter, possessively, around your lower back.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when he gives you the air, “oh—fuck. Dean.” You tighten yourself around him. Pleasure spirals around the edges of contact, buried deep and snug, and he groans your name again.

There’s a splash to your right. It’s Gabriel, who you hadn’t even noticed crossing the hot tub, and who’s now settling in beside you and Dean. Cas and Sam trail just behind. One of Gabriel’s hands traces up your spine, and the thought that he’s watching this, that he’s so clearly getting off on it. . . “Thought you were busy,” you pant.

“I was.” His eyes shine darkly, and his chest still heaves a little. “Then you two got started without us.”

You arch against his palm. “Guilty.”

His half-smile is almost as good as Dean inside you. “How’s she feel, Dean.”

“How the—hell d’you think.” Dean’s forehead drops to your collarbone, hips straining like he’s holding himself back. “Too friggin’ good to be real.”

Your heart soars, but you’re eyeing Gabriel (and barely ignoring Sam and Cas, who—Sam’s sitting outside the tub on the tiled floor again, towel beneath him, Cas spreading his knees as they kiss and kiss and kiss). “I dunno how the—how the rest of you wanna—”

“We got some ideas.” Gabriel’s fingers stroke up into your hair, displacing Dean, wet and tangled and somehow not pulling at all. “Might leave you two at it.”

You and Dean blurt at the same time, “You don’t have to—” And instantly look at each other, surprised and flustered.

Gabriel’s half smile grows to a whole one. “That’s what I thought.” He drifts a little closer, right up to Dean’s side, and Dean is clearly trying so hard not betray his own desperation that it’s honestly kind of hot. Gabriel brushes his thumb down the center of Dean’s bottom lip, and murmurs, “You wanna open up for me while she rides you?” 

Dean’s choked moan is answer enough. Gabriel gets to his feet. 

He also snaps his fingers, which instantly switches off the rumbling hot tub. All the bubbles quietly fizz and hiss, fading to calmer, smoother, glassier water. With the rumbling suddenly gone, everything that happens afterward hits you in ebbing and flowing rushes of sound: the quiet slap and splash of little waves as you lift up and sink back down onto Dean’s thighs. Dean’s helpless noises of pleasure as Gabriel cups his jaw and eases himself past Dean’s lips. Sam’s gasp as Gabriel reaches back to palm his dick, standing at attention as Cas drags him closer by the thighs. Dean’s moan as you murmur in his ear about how you know he can take Gabriel deeper than that, his hips rolling every time you sink back down. His moans rake heat up your sides, down into your groin, because they’re broken and wide around the length of Gabriel. It’s all echoing faintly off the walls.

Sam gasps again when Cas breaches him; he’s up on his elbows but his head tips back, chest heaving. Cas smooths a hand up his belly, soothing and sexy, and Gabriel just tightens his grip, working Sam though it. “God,” Sam gasps, as Cas’ hips roll back out, back in, ass tightening, “fuck, Cas—fuck, that’s good.” Man. You thought Gabriel was joking about somehow gracing lube into existence, but you guess not—otherwise there’s no way that’d be going half as well as it is.

Cas’ head is bowed, shoulders tight. His every exhale harshes a groan. Jesus, it’s hot. For a moment you falter in your pace, just watching them. You want—you want Cas’ soft mouth back on yours. You want to wrap your hand around Sam and stroke, just like Gabriel.

Dean releases Gabriel with a wet, slick sound, searching your eyes. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Deep breath. Water laps at the tips of your breasts. “Sam’n Cas, they’re just—you guys are so far away.”

Sam laughs breathlessly. “Guess we are.”

“Can we get up there?” You’re eyeballing the real estate just behind Dean’s head, the tiled floor. There’s a towel beneath Sam—mojoed there, you assume—but no other towels nearby. You glance at Dean. “If we get something to cover the floor?”

Cas looks over, and even bleary with lust, his eyes sparkle. “Leave that to me.”

Between one blink and the next, his long trench coat is spread on the tiles behind Dean’s head, beside Sam. The silky, satiny lining shines along the folds of fabric. Dean grins at Cas, then up at you. “Works for me.” 

Rising out of the water, your body feels deliciously heavy. Jesus, it wasn’t obvious until this moment how naked you are, but Dean—Gabriel—hell, they’re all watching you. Dean ducks in close. “Wanna be on top, still?”

Your legs are jelly; riding him is work, even if the water made it a little easier. “Rather it be you, if that’s okay.”

“Hell yes.” He cups your cheek, then helps you out of the water.

Except when you get down close to Sam, he’s—guh, he’s distracting. His eyes hold yours, his hair trembling where it hangs in his face. Swaying every time Cas’ hips lock to his. You can’t help it; you get down on an elbow, pressing your body along the side of his, and you lean in for a kiss. He lets himself settle onto his back so his big hands can sink into your hair, and he moans when you alight a hand on his chest and start sliding it down his belly, all the way to the ruddy length of his dick. When you slip your fingers around him, god, he’s hot, hard, and he twitches into your grip, arching his hips even as Cas fucks him. You loop a calf over Sam’s thigh, tight along Cas’ side, and can’t help the way you grind yourself into Sam’s hip.

It isn’t until Dean moans that you think to wonder where he and Gabriel got to. Dean’s still standing on the ledge beneath the water, but Gabriel is kneeling on that ledge, one arm draped on the side of the hot tub like he’s going for a Sunday drive, the other fisting the base of Dean’s dick as he, Gabriel, works his mouth up and down the shaft. And Cas has one hand in Gabriel’s hair, seemingly—holy hell—controlling Gabriel’s pace.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, ducking to Sam’s chest, “can you guys multitask, or what.”

Dean actually whimpers in response, but Gabriel pulls off to look at you—Cas lets him—and he turns those pleasure-addled hazel eyes on you. “You know how good you taste on him?”

Full-body shudder. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel gazes up at Dean, but you know he’s talking to Cas when he says, “Gimmie more.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean grabs Cas’ arm, the one holding onto Gabriel. “You—god. Lemme keep some ‘a my dignity, huh.”

“S’matter, Dean,” Gabriel drawls, jacking him a little, “don’t wanna go off too soon?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam pants.

That makes you snort, your heart warming to Dean even more than you thought possible, but he just groans again, and croaks, “You try holdin’ back with an angel going to town on your dick. See how long you last.”

Sam starts another breathless laugh, then a disappointed sound strains from the back of his throat. You look up; Cas has pulled out, but gets down to an elbow on the side where your leg isn’t draped. His blue eyes practically sparkle with challenge. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the warmth of his voice ghosting over your knuckles. “Let’s see how long you last.” 

You steer Sam directly into Cas’ mouth. As Cas’ lips close, Sam tips his head back and groans so loudly, you wonder if it’ll bring people running. Can’t blame him, though; Cas’ gorgeous mouth can’t even be real, it’s that pretty, and you’re reminded of how badly you wanted to kiss him again. Well—fuck it. You’ll take it any way you can get it. 

You work yourself down with kisses pressed along Sam’s body until you’re sort of curled against his side. Cas lets up as you get close, a half smile tugging at his wet mouth. “Here to help?”

You shrug one shoulder, grinning. “Thought I’d see what I could do.” 

Cas sways closer; of course he knows what you want. Your mouths meet so softly, you’re glad that you aren’t standing. Sam bumps against your chin.

“Patience, young Padawan,” Gabriel chides; apparently he’s watching. Yep, he’s totally watching, and so is Dean, whose eyes are flared wide and dark. It makes your heart skip. “They’ll get to you.”

Sam just groans his frustration as Cas’ tongue touches yours, a careful brush until you delve a little deeper. And you’re distracted, eyes closed, until Sam’s body jolts. A glance reveals Gabriel leaning on the ledge now, stroking his fingers in and out of Sam. “Just pickin’ up your slack, Cas.” 

Water splashes as Dean perches on the edge of the hot tub, trailing one deliciously warm hand up your thigh and hip as he goes. He’s watching everyone, all of it, chest rising and falling as he pants. There’s no urgency, though—or at least, no demand. So you nuzzle Cas’ nose with your own, pull back, and let your slack lips close around the head of Sam’s dick.

As you kiss down the length, Cas starts at the top, and Sam lets out a noise that’s halfway to a sob. He’s flat on his back now, arms above his head, gripping his own elbows as his hips roll up. Jesus, it’s hot. “Toldja,” says Dean, still stroking along your hip. “Not so easy, is it.”

Sam makes a noise like “Hnnghnn.” Your lips meet Cas’ as you go, and his forehead bumps yours, his own groan vibrating around Sam. “Fuck,” Sam gasps, “guys—wait. Wait, I’m. . .” He struggles back to his elbows as you and Cas pull off, and Gabriel pulls out. Sam croaks, “Just need a second.”

“Uh huh.” Dean looks so smug. He’s shifting now, crawling over you as you unfold your body. With some shifting, some traded grins and ducked heads, you settle onto your side once more, one leg draped on top of Sam’s. Dean crawls overtop you, between your and Sam’s entwined legs—sort of spooning you from the top, his hips settling against your ass, easy access to the wide-open span of your groin. Where he fits himself again, snug, against your entrance. He holds himself up over you, muscles standing out curved and shadowed on his arms, and dips to kiss you. It’s a weird angle, but holy damn, does it work. “You tell me when,” he murmurs against your lips.

With the three of them watching, panting, you reach back for Dean’s hip and haul him inside, ducking to bury your cry against Sam’s chest. The past few minutes have only made you wetter, acutely aware of your own emptiness, clenching desperately around where Dean had been just moments before. Now that he’s back, it—fuck. That simple press forward twists pleasure around nerve endings you didn’t even know you had. And the way he groans so deeply, helplessly—yeah, you’re back to absolutely ravenous.

Beside you, Sam’s body arches as Cas sinks inside him once more. You reach for his dick again, letting its spit-slick wetness slip through your fingers every time Cas’ hips jolt his. Just when you wonder, through pleasure that’s bordering on frickin’ delirium, where Gabriel is, he appears above you and Sam, squatting on his hamstrings. Which, on a naked man, should look absurd. Instead you just—you want. “All righty,” he says, going to one knee, glancing between you and Sam. His voice is quiet. Thick with need. “Who wants it.” 

“Dibs,” you breathe, right before Sam croaks, “Please.”

Gabriel’s eyes flash. “I’ll get to you in a minute, Sam. But you get points for being polite.”

Good grief. Gooood grief, Gabriel’s heavy in your mouth, pressing against your tongue. The angle should be impossible but hey, so should all of this; maybe there’s grace involved. Every thump of Dean’s hips into your own drives Gabriel just a little deeper into your throat, and the way Dean’s every exhale has some voice to it, apparently it looks just as hot as it feels. Your eyes are closed, the better to feel them both.

Sam lets out a noise so hot that arousal fissures through you in a cresting wave that promises you’re gonna come soon. When you open your eyes, whoa—Gabriel’s bent over take Sam into his mouth, one hand braced on the tiles. Sucking on Sam, sucked by you. Ish—you’ve let go of him, pausing to watch.

“God,” Dean breathes, watching it too, “what the fuck number is that? Sure as—nnngh—sure as hell isn’t 69.”

“I didn’t come here for the math,” you gasp, and Gabriel has to pull off of Sam to laugh.

Dean grins down at you, and there’s so much more than amusement in those crinkled green eyes. There’s a runaway joy shining out that you haven’t seen in. . . man, a long time. Everything happening, everywhere his focus could be at this moment, and he’s looking at you. His hips stall for just a moment as he ducks to nuzzle at your nose, capture your lips in a kiss. He’s wanted this for so long, you realize with a rush of heat. Maybe even longer than you have. Wonders never cease. 

Gabriel shifts away from you so that he can dip himself into Sam’s mouth, back to the original number, which leaves you and Dean. And god—this is good, but you want Dean closer, covering you, shielding you with his arms. Your own little world, like when you’d kissed so close to the water. You reach back to pause his hips, slowly encourage him out, and then roll to your back.

Dean settles down over you, braced on an elbow by your shoulder, his smooth, warm hips clenched between your thighs. He’s looking at you so softly, so gently, as he settles in belly to belly, and reaches to guide himself back inside you. God damn—your hips arch exactly like Sam’s did, your whole body accepting Dean as he presses you back open, eases back out, sinks in again.

Your left side presses to Sam’s right, whose throat bobs as he sucks Gabriel down. Cas still pistons into him, and as his hand strokes up Sam’s hip, it finds yours and grips, your fingers tangling together. He starts—buh, Cas starts using that grip to pull himself harder into Sam, who’s doing the same thing Dean is, which is making increasingly desperate noises with every exhale.

At this angle, though, finally—Dean’s free to let loose. And he does. Thick, heavy strokes, the slap of his thighs against your hips, deep and frictioned and endless, sparkling arousal pulling again and again over one particular spot deep inside you. Each wave is edged in brighter and brighter pleasure, multiplied with each of Sam’s broken moans, Cas’ breathless groans, Gabriel’s shameless cries. Dean’s belly-deep rumbles, a steady “Ungh, ungh, ungh,” that you’re certain he doesn’t even know he’s doing. His eyes are open, now, nose to nose, drinking you in. The lights above frame the mess of his hair, the movement from the hot tub casting shivering, livewired light-shadows across the ceiling. Your own little world, exactly as you wanted. And yet—as Gabriel slips a hand between you and Dean, sinking his fingertips against your clit—still connected to everyone else.

Sam pulls off Gabriel and groans, “Fuck, I can’t—I can’t—” And Gabriel’s moans go loud and hot, still shaped around Sam’s dick. Sam tilts his head back, throat working as he shouts, his whole body pulling taut and quivering.

Gabriel pulls off, his mouth shining-wet, and—his fingers paused on your clit, his voice totally destroyed—croaks, “Sam,” and Sam brings one big hand up, wraps it around Gabriel’s dick, and strokes him tight and fast. Gabriel moans again with Sam back in his mouth, and shoots all down Sam’s chest and belly.

Oh, god. Sam’s panting, “Yes—Gabriel—Cas, c’mon—” And Cas hikes Sam’s leg up over his shoulder, and Sam cries, “Fuck,” and the thick, smacking thump of Cas fucking him just picks up faster, harder, and Cas’ gasps stutter and break, breathless noises as his hips roll up, again and again until he drives in deep, and stays.

Dean’s own pace has faltered, but not from coming—just from watching the others, which you’ve been doing, too. He comes back, though, brows pulled up in sheer, sexy desperation. “Fuck,” he croaks, “m’so—so close, but I—I wanna do this together—”

Jesus. “Yeah.” You close your eyes. It comes out as a whimper: “Dean, fuck, I’m right there, I just need—”

A warm, wet mouth closes around your left nipple and traces wide, deep circles with the point of a tongue; at the same time, a thumb presses in against your other nipple and starts teasing in firm circles. You gasp, entire body bucking into the touch, and into Dean—and it’s Gabriel doing this to you, his mouth and both hands busy now.

“Fuck,” you gasp at the ceiling, at Dean, helpless with breathless laughter, “oh, god.” 

“Sam,” Gabriel murmurs against you, “gimme your hand,” and then Sam’s damp fingertips are at your lips, a gentle touch, and without even thinking about it you open your mouth. He strokes two fingers down your tongue; salt, bitterness, and Dean watches, breathes, “Fuck—ah, fuck,” and your name, and then his hips jerk in surprise and he cries out as if startled. When you look down, Cas—who’s still inside Sam, though slumped on one arm—is touching Dean with his spare hand, hidden from sight but following him into every thrust.

Oh, god. Arcs of pleasure flash through your walls, and then catch and then build, flaring up to a crescendo that the hot, bare thrusts of Dean drag into a crashing intensity, and fuck, fuck, fuck—you’re coming. Holy hell, are you coming, clamping down in shuddery spasms as Dean groans, and gives it to you deep, gives it to you hard, gives you everything. You pull Sam’s fingers away, gently tug Gabriel off, and then drag Dean down to you, wrapping your arms around his broad, freckled shoulders, his waist. He kisses you thick and full, bites down on your bottom lip with a gentleness that’s nearly shocking against the brutality of his thrusts. 

With his last thrust, your hips rolling up hard, Dean’s desperate noises fade slowly from the tiles. Then it’s just panting, interrupted with ragged gulps, involuntary whimpers at involuntary twitches. Dean drops his head to your shoulder, burying his face in your neck. You cradle the back of his head, eyes squeezed shut. Giddy. You are thoroughly, absolutely giddy.

Slowly, people start pulling out. Shifting around. Cas actually gets up on the tiles. Gabriel rolls to his back, his head somewhere just behind your own. Sam stays on his back at your left; Dean cuddles his whole body up to your side, one arm draped over your middle. Cas settles in on Sam’s left, perched up on one arm, hand in his wild hair. You stay put, hauling in air as the ceiling shimmers and dances with light.

At last, Gabriel rasps, “Toldja it could happen organically. Stick that in your garden and water it, Sam.”

Sam laughs. You reach up to thwap whatever part of Gabriel you can hit. His shoulder, turns out. “Don’t be smug,” you mutter fondly.

“Speak for yourself,” he huffs. “Laying there mid-swoon.”

You snort. “Touché.” With a deep, satisfied sigh, you sling an arm over your eyes. “Gabriel, I can’t believe you thought Cas was a prude.”

“I live to surprise,” Cas says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Anybody who smolders like that knows exactly what they’re doing.”

“I don’t smolder,” Cas protests, without a shred of conviction. 

“You definitely smolder,” says Sam. “I’m pretty sure you invented the entire concept.”

“I can’t take all the credit.” Cas stretches, languidly (you’re definitely peeking from beneath your arm). “Maybe I invented it, but Gabriel perfected it.”

“At least the waggly eyebrows,” you say, and Gabriel laughs.

You uncover your eyes when Dean gently bonks his head against your shoulder, and you turn toward him, nuzzling happily.

“Ugh,” Sam says at last. “I’m a mess. Gonna need another shower.”

Gabriel lifts an arm, snaps his fingers. The soaked situation between your legs clears; the coat beneath you dries. So does your body. So does Sam’s, and Dean’, and Cas’s. “Man,” you mutter, “that woulda come in handy an hour ago.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dean’s back up on an elbow. “Then where would we be.”

“Nowhere near as satisfied,” says Gabriel, “that’s for damn sure.”

Sam sighs, and reaches up to scrub at his face. “For the record,” he says, “I still want the beach vacation.”

Dean grins. “Think we can get Gabe and Cas to mojo us across the border?”

Cas brightens. “Mexico?”

“Mexico,” Dean agrees.

Gabriel smirks. “We can if that means we’re invited." 

“Yeah,” says Dean. His eyes are back to that warm, affectionate glow you’ve been seeing so often lately. “Obviously. You guys, and Jack, and mom. Few other takers, if we can get ‘em. The whole family.”

You’re literally laying in a naked pile with four dudes, and now’s the moment your face heats back up. Dean’s so earnest it hurts to look at, in the best way. You can’t take your eyes off him.

“Sounds like a blast.” Gabriel stretches now. “We can get our From Here to Eternity on.”

Cas lifts one amused brow. “You’re the one who said we’d do this with no expectation of anything afterward.”

“Hey, sue me—I didn’t know you guys’d be this good at it. You wanna make it happen again, especially on a sandy shoreline, dual-wielding cervezas. . . you know how to find me.”

“Whaddaya know,” says Dean. “He’s clingy.”

“Give you somethin’ to cling to,” Gabriel mutters.

“Good grief.” Sam sits up, linking his arms around his knees. “I’m gonna head back up,” he says. “Getting hungry.” But he doesn’t move, and for a moment he just looks at each of you. “Um,” he says. “Thanks, for all that.”

Gabriel slaps a hand over his own face. “Sam, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m embarrassing you. There’s a difference.” Sam’s eyes shine. “Whatcha guys think. Hungry?”

You consider it. “I could eat.”

“I’ll eat if Gabe helps us commit more credit card fraud,” says Dean. “After this, if you guys expect me to chow down on anything besides a thirty-minutes-or-less double-pepperoni, you got another thing comin’.”

You touch his cheek, grinning. “This is the man I’ve chosen to bone.”

His eyes shine. “I’d say you chose wisely.”

“Ugh,” says Gabriel. “They’re already gross. C’mon, gang. Let’s get topside before the rest of the crew wonders where we’ve gone.”

“Or even worse,” Cas mutters, “before they guess where we’ve gone.” 

Dean helps wrap you up in a towel, kissing you as he goes. He steps into his jeans bare-assed, bare-chested. Cas and Gabriel are back in their clothes in an instant, and you look away to give Sam privacy, absolutely aware of how strange it is that suddenly there’s a need for it.

You and Dean are the last two to trail from the room, but he touches your hand, pausing you. The clouded glass door hisses shut after the others. He says, like he’s nervous, “We’re still, uh. You’n me. The stuff I said back there, before everything kinda—kinda went off the deep end, literally—just wanna make sure you know I meant it. I still—I have no idea how this shit works, or how to make it work, especially after everything we just—but if you wanna try, then, dammit. I’m game. And if you don’t—”

You kiss him. With Dean, sometimes, you gotta show instead of tell. You slip your arms around his waist, clinging tightly, pressing into the warmth of his body as you encourage the kiss a little deeper. Parted lips, tentative tongues. Slowly, realizing that’s your answer, he relaxes into it. He’s smiling when you pull back. “I’m game, too,” you promise. “Super game. Hella game.”

He nods against your forehead. “Yeah. Okay. Good.”

The door hisses open.

“Guys,” says Gabriel, phone lit and held aloft, “Where we ordering from? Sam says he’ll commit seppuku if we do Dominos. Can’t blame him there—takes only one bad experience, amiright.” 

You and Dean trade the exact same longsuffering look. “Dean, what’s that local joint you hoard coupons for?”

“Sassy Tomato,” he sighs. “I’ll call, I got ‘em on speed dial.” He waves Gabriel onwards. “C’mon, c’mon. Scoot. Let’s get this show on the road.”

You take one last giddy glance back at the room, feeling strangely indebted to the place. When you turn to leave, Dean's waiting, holding a hand out to you with the most adorable little smile lighting his eyes. Face warming pleasantly, you weave your fingers through his, and together you follow Gabriel into the hall.