Written for @mittensmorgul ’s The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt (round one.) If you haven’t already, make sure you read part one !
Dean can’t believe Sam is actually sleeping.
The younger Winchester had obviously been startled by Castiel’s unexpected choice of “pyjamas,” but of course Sam would handle the situation with grace and tact, and after taking a moment to collect himself, simply roll over and fall asleep.
Dean, on the other hand, has been tossing and turning and cursing the gods all night long (mentally, of course; he has no idea if Cas is actually sleeping or simply lying there, still as a statue, with all the patience that comes from being a divine creature thousands and thousands of years old.) It’s also fucking hot in this hell-hole.
Dean has to fight the urge to sit up and peek over at the bed. He’s dying to see if Sam’s long limbs are indeed crowding Castiel, and how the angel seems to be dealing with it. And the sweat! Is Cas repulsed? Cas doesn’t sweat, after all, but Sam must be sweating- Dean’s sweating, and a couple hours ago, overheating, he’d even climbed out of his ‘sleeping bag’ and started to use it as a mattress instead. Not that it made the floor any more comfortable.
A sudden thought strikes fear into Dean’s heart. What if- what if Cas likes it? Sharing a bed with Sam?
Mercifully, fortune smiles on Dean and he gets a green light - Castiel is snoring, which means he’s actually sleeping, and Dean is absolutely going to take advantage of this opportunity to see what’s really transpiring on the bed. Dean’s surprised at the sound. It’s not an obnoxious, angry-grizzly-bear snore or anything; actually, it’s rather cute- a gentle rumble on each inhale, followed by a slow, steady sigh on the exhale, and Dean can tell it’s Cas because Sam usually only snores when he’s sick and then he sounds like a freaking air raid siren. Focus, Winchester, Dean tells himself sternly, rolling onto his side and crawling quietly on all fours towards the bed, determined to see his fill without waking either Sam or Cas.
Once he gets close enough, he slowly pushes himself onto his knees, ignoring the pain shooting down his back (he is never sleeping on the floor again) and peers over the edge of the bed, thankful for the threadbare motel curtains that allow just enough moonlight to stream through.
Castiel almost takes Dean’s breath away. The tauntingly thin straps have slid off Cas’s shoulders, and the hem of the skirt? nighty? negligee? has ridden up to the point that there is very, very little left to Dean’s already overactive and well-used imagination. The dark pink satin looks glossy and inviting, and Dean wants to run his hands all over it… Castiel’s mouth is parted, his lips soft and full, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, but the mussed hair and haphazard way his pyjamas of choice are bunched around him scream of sex. He looks debauched, and fuck, Dean is a goner.
Then he notices Sam.
Sam, who is wearing only black boxers, and whose right arm is crossed over his body and slung low on Castiel’s hip.
Sam, whose head is nuzzled up only inches from Castiel’s neck, breathing him in.
Sam, whose long, hairy left leg has somehow found its way between Cas’s calves.
Dean feels a white-hot spike of jealousy streak through him, anger pooling in his stomach. He knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows that Sam is sleeping and it doesn’t mean anything, but the fact that Cas is allowing it, conscious or not, fills Dean with resentment. Dean is jealous. Insanely jealous. What he would give to be the one touching Cas like that, sharing space with Cas like that… To be permitted the same casual intimacy, to feel Cas’s skin on his skin and that goddamn satin thing under his fingers…
“Fuck,” Dean growls, immediately clamping his mouth shut in terror when he realizes he’d spoken aloud.
Cas stirs, but doesn’t seem to wake, and for a moment Dean is relieved, until the fucker rolls over, CLOSER to Sam, and burrows in snugly. Sam’s arm slides easily over the satin, accommodating Castiel’s movement by wrapping itself completely around Cas’s waist. They are facing each other now, foreheads almost touching, Cas’s muscled leg now thrown leisurely over Sam’s. Dean is only just noticing the thin sheen of sweat covering them both, and immediately wants to punch something. Like Sam.
“GODDAMMIT,” Dean spits through clenched teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Why had he agreed to this stupid bet in the first place? Sleeping on the floor is bad enough, but now this?? He needs a drink, he needs some air, he needs to yank Sam off of Cas by his stupid hair…
Cas sighs in his sleep, and while in reality there’s nothing sexual about it, it calls to mind all the different noises that Dean imagines Cas could make in his gravelly voice, and something in Dean just snaps.
“Okay, okay, enough! You win, bet’s over!” Dean calls loudly, ripping the thin blanket out from underneath Cas since he can’t pull the covers off.
“Wha- hey! Dean!” Sam protests as he’s wrenched from sleep, and he sounds pissed. He sits up, blinking, clearly annoyed. “What’s your problem?”
Cas opens his eyes blearily, and looks around, a bit disoriented before he collecting himself. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, suddenly alert, tensed for danger. “Dean? Is something wrong?”
“Yeah!” Dean snaps. “My problem is you guys can’t keep your fucking hands off each other, and meanwhile some of us are trying to get some sleep around here!”
Sam looks at Cas and back to Dean, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. “Wait… let me get this straight. You’re mad at us because you can’t sleep… because we’re -touching each other - in our sleep?”
Dean feels his cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, but it’s too late now, the damage is done and he still feels outraged even though he knows he has no right. “I- yes! Yes, Sam, I’m mad! Because you guys tricked me into this stupid bet so you could spoon all night, and feel each other up, and God knows what else, and meanwhile I’m stuck here on the floor playing witness to it! I didn’t sign up for that, and I didn’t sign up for Cas’s stupid fucking sexy pyjamas, and I’m tired and I’m mad and my back fucking hurts and you two are NOT sharing a bed anymore, you hear me?”
There’s nothing but silence for a few moments while Sam and Cas process this information.
“Sam,” Castiel says evenly, his face neutral. He is staring at Dean, and Dean stares back. “I think you should go sleep in the Impala.”
Sam’s mouth falls open. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Cas’s blue eyes are still permanently fixed on Dean, a spark of his angelic grace burning hot. “Sam,” he repeats, a little more forcefully. “I believe you would be much more comfortable if you slept in the Impala for the remainder of the evening.”
Sam blinks a few times before pushing himself off the bed. He snatches the blanket and pillow from the floor and stomps angrily to the door. “You guys fucking suck,” he snaps as he wrenches the door open. “I’m so not going to forget this.”
“Neither are we.” Cas promises with a low growl, and Dean’s mouth goes dry. Sam scowls and slams the door shut behind him.
“Cas,” Dean says hoarsely. “I can explain.”
Cas takes a few steps towards Dean, hot as fuck and more intimidating than Dean has ever seen him.
“I- I just really like satin, okay? And it kind of threw me for a loop, and I haven’t slept yet, so I think I’m just overtired and maybe a little loopy-” Dean babbles incoherently, his heart thudding against his ribcage.
“Dean,” Cas says quietly, his voice dark and tinged with fire. “Get on the bed. Now.”
Dean feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. “I- what? You- you want me… on… on the bed?”
Castiel smirks briefly. “I want you seven ways from Sunday, but I thought that the bed might be a good place to start.”
And oh- holy shit- that was not at ALL what Dean was expecting, but he does NOT need to be told twice. He scrambles onto the bed with a whimper, already hard in his boxers, and turns nervously to face Cas.
“I have loved you and wanted you for a long time, Dean Winchester,” Cas murmurs, his eyes travelling across Dean’s body. He looks positively feral, standing there, bathed in moonlight.
“I feel the same way,” Dean admits, sweating profusely now in nervousness and anticipation. “Have for a long time.”
“I didn’t realize,” Cas says in wonder. “If I’d known a bit of satin would draw it out, I’d have tried this a lot sooner.”
“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean blurts out, his hands finally reaching out to grab onto Cas, revelling in the feeling of the satin over taut flesh. “It’s so fucking hot. You are so fucking hot, you have no idea, God, it turns me on so fucking much.”
“You do realize this means I won the bet, right? I would have been perfectly comfortable to stay there all night,” Cas teases, reaching out a hand to trace the line of Dean’s jaw, sliding his thumb up to catch the hunter’s plump lips, and Dean chuckles. “Although I think I will much prefer this new arrangement.” Cas whispers, dragging his lips across Dean’s stubble.
“Yeah, Cas. You win, fair and square.” Dean says breathlessly, leaning in as their lips meet hungrily for the first time.
Yet as the bed slowly becomes a collection of tangled limbs, sweat, and sex noises- as promised- Dean can’t help but feel like he won, after all.
Don’t imagine Dean kissing Cas relentlessly because he loves him so much. Don’t imagine Cas buying flowers for Dean & laying them on his bed after a particularly difficult hunt. Don’t imagine Dean insisting Cas move into his room & Cas finally giving in with a huge grin on his face. Don’t imagine Dean setting up a romantic dinner for them when Sam goes out. Don’t imagine Cas leaning into Dean & closing his eyes to feel his heartbeat. Don’t imagine them slow dancing at 3 am in their pyjamas. Don’t imagine Sam walking in on them cuddling on the sofa fast asleep & smiling. Don’t imagine Dean constantly reassuring Cas how amazing he is, how much he appreciates him & how much he needs him. Don’t imagine Cas staying up all night telling Dean how much he loves him.