A Musebox

There's a noise a frustrated protest when Dean can't move his hips, but then he becomes way more interested in the tongue and wet heat working over him. His own hands bury themselves in Gabriel's hair, toes curling against the bedsheets as he mumbles curses and encouragement, or encouragement spattered liberally with curses, who's really paying attention anyway? So long as the angel. Just. Doesn't. Stop.