"They are talking about your current inability to perform sexually due to your propensity toward falling asleep at a moment's notice," Castiel murmurs, scratching his nails against Dean's scalp as he snuggles in close. "And while we do still have a feather left, I'm really not interested in thinking about such things while you have Derek in your lap," he snorts, rolling his eyes at his own inability to do anything but lean down and kiss Dean's pale forehead.

"Besides, it would go wasted. You're too high and too sick for fucking."