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"Dude."
Wincing at the voice near his ear, Dean burrowed his head in his pillow and mumbled sleepily, "F'coff."
The bed beneath him vibrated with Sam's laughter and if Dean's arms were functioning, he'd have slapped him for having such a disruptive ribcage. However, his arms weren't functioning so he settled for another, more pronounced retort of "Fuck off."
Sam chuckled again. "Kinda difficult when you're clinging on like a koala down there, man."
Dean murmured something that was supposed to have been 'You can take your koala and shove it up your ass' but which actually came out as a incomprehensible consonantal slur.
Mornings sucked ass.
Sam, the dick, just laughed at his vocabulary plight and began to jab at Dean's forearms as he teased in a baby-talk voice, "C'mon, koala Dean. It's morning now; you need to let go."
Dean stuck his head further into his pillow in the hopes that it would make Sam go away.
Seeing as how his pillow currently was Sam, it was kind of an impossible dream.
"Quit pokin' me," he groused and elbowed Sam in the stomach before settling his arm, completely accidentally, back across Sam's torso. "'M not a fuckin' koala."
"You sure?" Sam mocked. "You seem pretty cuddly to me."
Dean groaned. It was their day off, they had no hunts to do until the next night, and it was too goddamn early for this shit.
"'M gonna eat your liver," he decided, coming around to find his face squashed against his younger brother's gigantic torso. "See how fuckin' cuddly you think I am then."
Sam was not fazed by declarations of cannibalism and asked, "Is that before or after you stop drooling on me?"
"During," he retorted, adding sound effects for good measures, "Om nom drool nom."
"You're disgusting."
"This from Farty the Wonderdog? The only reason I'm all over you is because you fuckin' gassed me in my sleep. Asshole."
"So you're cuddling me like a teddy-bear right now because of gas poisoning?"
"'S'not cuddling," Dean corrected with conviction. "'S self-preservation."
"How's that?"
"I lie on you, you pass less gas, neither of us die," Dean explained simply. "I'm saving lives here, Sammy."
"Really?" Sam's arms came up around Dean's shoulders and he tried not to sigh like a girl at the snuggly comfort they provided. "Because it looks kinda like you're doing some post-sex cuddling there, man. Some all-night post-sex cuddling."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Dean intoned in his best fortune cookie voice. If, y'know, fortune cookies had voices.
"I see that," Sam agreed. "I mean, who'd have thought that the big, bad Dean Winchester was a closet cuddler."
"Fuck you. I don't cuddle closets."
Sam's sarcasm was almost tangible. "You're hilarious."
Wiping at the corner of his mouth, Dean snuggled back into the warmth of the bed (and its other occupant) and closed his eyes. "I know. You love it."
He may or may not have wiggled his toes happily when Sam's hand came up to smooth down his hair as his brother replied sleepily, "Yeah, I do."