Disclaimer: Don't own. Just playing in the sandbox.
Warnings: Uhm. Nothing more than what the summary and pairing would tell you.
After Raphael jams his elbow into Michael's side for the fourth time and Gabriel accidentally knocks Lucifer over with an overly enthusiastic knee jerk, the eldest archangel sighs and sits up.
"Alright," he says. "This isn't going to work unless we figure out what the he—heck we're doing. First off, who's where?"
"I'm on top," Lucifer says immediately. Gabriel scowls.
"That's because you're a vain control freak," he says petulantly.
Raphael sighs. "If we do this the right way, three of us are going to be 'on top,'" he points out, sketching air quotes around the last two words. "And I'm sure we can change the order up every once in a while. Right, Michael?"
"Right," Michael agrees. "So, for now, Lucifer's on top—"
"The actual top," Lucifer interrupts, "not just in the middle top."
"The actual top," the eldest amends. "Gabriel can be next and then—what, Raphael?"
"I, uh, actually…"
"Spit it out, dude," Gabriel drawls, already shifting around so that Lucifer's draped over his back, hands gently working at the wing joints.
"I'd like to be, uh, onthebottom," the youngest archangel says quickly. Michael takes a moment to figure out the individual words, then smiles.
"Yeah, okay. So, we good?"
Lucifer grins over Gabriel's shoulder, one hand snaking out to stroke at Raphael's side. "Yeah, we're good. Can we get to the action, now?"
Gabriel rolls his eyes and Michael opens his mouth to answer, but Raphael surprises them all by pulling the eldest down on top of him and arching up, one wing reaching out to tangle with the other two archangels'. "Please," he breathes against Michael's mouth.
And suddenly, they're a shuddering mess of writhing limbs and wings, mouths meeting and hands caressing every bit of skin they can reach. Somehow, this time it's so much more coordinated than the last attempt and no one gets hit with an errant joint.
When they get around to the actual act itself, it's so much more than any of them had thought it might be. They'd all known it would be good (how could it be anything but?), but none of them had anticipated pleasure this intense or a sense of connection, of belonging, this certain.
After, they're a tangle of sweaty, flushed bodies, perfectly content to remain in this place of connection, of utter contentment, that they've found.
Michael's almost asleep and Gabriel and Lucifer are thinking of starting up again in the next room over when Raphael rolls over (putting him mostly sprawled over Lucifer and a bit over Michael) and says, "I wonder how many times we could do that in a single night?"
The other three blink at him, then Lucifer snorts, Gabriel laughs himself off the bed and Michael just pulls the younger angel closer and smiles.
"We've got all the time in the universe to find out," he tells Raphael. "Let's answer that question another time."
Raphael sighs, but pushes just a bit closer and kisses Michael like he's still surprised he can. "Yeah, okay. But soon, maybe?" he adds, childish hope lighting up his dark eyes.
It's Michael's turn to sigh, but Lucifer answers this time. "Yeah, Raphael, soon. Maybe when Michael gets his centennial day off."
Michael groans. "I hate you guys," he grumbles into Raphael's shoulder.
Gabriel, climbing back on the bed, flops down across Michael and Lucifer. "Nah, you love us. And we all love each other."
They all share a smile, full of soft happiness and affection. "Yes," Michael says, as Lucifer pulls the covers up over them. "We do."