Every fertile inch (5/6)

Previous chapter.

Week 5.

Pridie ides Septembris (September 12).

Note: So, this chapter completely fails at PWP. It’s 13k long, and only about 5k of that is actually in the bedroom. Most of it is rambling family conversation around the table. I blame Charlie, Gabriel, and Family Themes. And also the fact that everybody’s learning to relax now. If you haven’t read the main fic, most of the group conversations before and after the actual sex scene will make no sense; but it might help to know that, while Castiel is living with Sam and Dean, Anna and Gabriel are staying with Charlie for now; that Anna and Charlie have A Thing; and that Gabriel has PTSD which means touching him is generally not a good idea.

 

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“Fuck a goose,” Gabriel exclaimed politely, as he dropped onto the vacant bench opposite Dean in his nice quiet corner of the Roadhouse.

“‘Fuck a duck’ sounds better,” Dean pointed out absently, trying to get this weird plait-knot thing to lie flat. “If you’re into, you know, fowl play.”

Gabriel snorted and kicked his feet up onto the table, at right angles to Dean’s. Ellen wasn’t around, so boots on tables were fair game, so long as you wiped the tabletop down before she noticed. “What poor textile are you butchering today, Winchester?”

Dean flipped him off, unravelled the last few rows (they’d been all lumpy anyway), and handed it over. He’d got the techniques from Missouri, so it was in theory a human design. Gabriel, though, had taken it upon himself to work out how those techniques, intended for large-scale fabrics, could be adapted for something the size and durability of an angel wedding bracelet. He’d supplied the threads, too, because apparently getting the right colours was important and there weren’t that many options in the local dyes.

Apparently Dean was already paying him back by working on removing the stick from Castiel’s ass. Dean wasn’t quite sure he approved of anyone but himself speculating about Castiel’s ass.

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