Oooo, can I scratch at your door like a hungry cat and yell for Dean/Cas/Jimmy? As prompt, waking up hungover/disoriented after a night out partying and puzzling out wtf is going on and who all those limbs are attached to.
always for you, hun. <3
oh and wait this is poly, and today is free day for @polyshipweek! I am totally going to pretend this is intentional. It's been so long since I've managed to do ANY prompt days, much less two for one event!
(twincest tw, incest tw, deanjimstiel, modern au, rated Mature. unedited.)
Dean woke up slowly, squinching his face to try to remember how his muscles worked. Judging by the disgusting, cotton-mouthed feel in his mouth, he was somewhere between still drunk and hungover, and judging by the roilly, crampy feeling in his stomach, he had the worst sensations of both states. The only good thing was that the bed was warm - not too hot, but definitely not cold. His body ached in pleasant, familiar ways; an unfamiliar hand rested on his hip and two bare legs were sandwiched between his knees. His memory of the previous evening was blurry, but sensation was enough to tell him that he hadn't come home alone, and whoever it was hadn't left yet.
Awesome combination.
Maybe they could wake up to round 2?
Finally, reluctantly, Dean opened his eyes.
Surprise - not his home. His vision was a little fuzzy but unless he'd developed spontaneous colorblindness, or Sam had come over in the last 24 hours and done a surprise remodeling of Dean's bedroom (which. possible.) there had never been a time when his walls were this shade of yellow and his bedding was red.
A blanket-draped mound beside him shifted, rolled a little, and made a muttering sound.
Oddly, the legs Dean could feel didn't move.
Frowning, he forced himself to consciousness enough to catalog his surroundings more thoroughly.
Unfamiliar decor: check.
Last night's one-night-stand-possibly-also-morning-after-fuck lying before him: check.
Hand on his waist, fingers curling as the person before him shifted: check.
Legs against his legs... the knees would be backward if they belonged to the person before him? No check. Definitely uncheck.
Wait...he SHOULD check.
Whatever were words?
Twisting to look behind him dislodged the hand on him, but Dean couldn't spare it any attention as he stared, wide-eyed, at the sex god lying behind him. The blankets were tucked beneath his shoulder, giving Dean a clear view of ruddy skin, morning stubble, and dark hair a mess of spikes and loose tendrils, the remnants of what must have been an actual style the previous evening. Dean was hot - he knew he was - and that he'd find a hot partner wasn't a surprise, but fucking damn, this guy was incredible.
And was only one of the two other people in the bed.
Drunk Dean had scored a threesome.
Way to hit it out of the park, me.
Dean turned back toward his other partner, and was greeted by brilliant blue eyes blinking back at him. The formerly blanket-cloaked figure was now clearly a man, propped up on an elbow, bleary gaze stunningly beautiful as he looked Dean up and down. From his sun-kissed cheeks to his dark hair to his well-past-five-o'clock shadow, he was indistinguishable from the guy lying behind Dean.
No. That couldn't be right.
Dean must be more still-drunk than he realized.
He looked back over his shoulder at hot-as-fuck dude one.
Still looked the same.
He turned back to hot-as-fuck dude two.
Also the same.
The two were so similar that if Dean didn't know better, he'd think the fucking bed had been bisected by a mirror.
But if that was the case, then I'd have been bisected by a mirror, and ew.
Though...if I was getting bisected by him...by THEM...at least I'd die happy.
No wait, what the fuck, brain no.
"Morning, Dean," said sex god the second and hell that voice was incredible, raspy and deep.
"There are two of you?" Dean managed weakly. Very smart. Great job. A+. Definitely perfectly on track to get fucked by the gorgeous guys...the gorgeous identical twins???...again.
"There are," muttered the same voice from behind him. "Is that a problem?"
"You didn't seem to mind last night," said the one in front him. "I'm Cas, by the way."
"Not even when he was dick-deep in me," added the other one. "And - Jimmy."
"Which is honestly unusual," admitted...hell, Dean couldn't even keep track. They traded dialogue between them so easily that he felt like he was in the world's best fucking echo chamber.
Fucking echo chamber? A chamber of fucking echos? An echo that fucks?
Oh hell, I am definitely still too drunk for this.
"That sounds hot," Dean muttered in a low rumble. "Wish I could remember."
"Really?" Whichever one had spoken sounded genuinely surprised.
"I mean, we could arrange a replay if you mean it..."
"You don't know how fricken rare it is to find a partner who is truly cool with it... with us..."
"I'll own, I was a little worried you were only so into it because you were so smashed that sometimes you seemed to think you were seeing double."
"Waking up with you still here is. reassuring."
"And--"
"Stop talking," Dean groaned. It was too much goddamn noise, beautiful, spectacular, tempting, perfect noise. "So, you fuck each other."
"Frequently."
"And...who fucked me?"
"Both of us," came the smug answer.
"And you're cool with, uh, 'replaying' that this morning?"
"If you are," they agreed simultaneously.
"Oh, hell yeah," said Dean. "Hell, if you want, maybe we can put this show into syndication..."
The laughter that surrounded him was gorgeous.
"It's a little early for commitment..." allowed...Jimmy? Maybe? Was Jimmy the one behind him?
"...but I think I speak for both of us when I say, there's at least a chance for renewal..."
And four hands enveloped Dean, touching his face, his back, his belly, his ass.
"Fuck yeah...let's get this show on the road..." he groaned. His half-drunk hangover was suddenly a world away.
"On one condition," said maybe-Jimmy.
"Anything," Dean said breathily.
"Drop the episode jokes..." maybe-Cas said.
"So...this gig has jumped the shark?"
"Just. Stop. Talking."
"Make me."
And they did.
And, fuck, was Dean sure he was in for the run of his life with these two...
(Oops this got long. *sweat drop*)
(send me a ship and a very short prompt like a genre/trope/kink/setting and I'll supposedly write a three sentence ficlet that'll actually be way longer than three sentences.)
Whenever I enter the tag #swiss army man into the search, dozens of posts come up. Some are old, some are new. Meanwhile, anywhere from 150 to 300 people have been reading my Swiss Army Man stories on AO3 and not leaving comments, reviews, or even kudos. Give me SOMETHING, people! Yes, I’m begging. I’m needy and nobody else seems to be writing them.
Please reblog this and get the word out! I love writing Manny and Hank so much, and I hope you like my stories. Let me know!
I’ve had to unfollow some people tonight, which makes me sad. I try my best to stay out of drama in this fandom. I stay in my lane, keep my head down and avoid the haters wherever possible.
And now this fuckery. My love and support for Daryl is what will carry me through this show to the end. It’s beyond painful to realize that so many people completely do not understand this character I love so dearly.
But I draw the line at laying blame at his feet solely because, apparently, using him as a scapegoat is a convenient way to avoid facing the grief of losing a beloved character.
Sadly, it’s easier to propagate hate than to deal with emotions.
If this is the case for you, I’m sorry. Truly I am. But don’t think for one second that I’ll allow your bullshit to show up on my dash. I will unfollow you. I will block you. I hope you’ll do the same with me.
