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“You’re cheating,” Sam accuses and Michael has to duck his head to hide his grin, because, yeah: there’s really nothing more adorable than the offended, pouty expression that never fails to appear whenever Sam and Lucifer are within the same room. Sam resembles nothing so much as a hissing, spitting kitten—fur all ruffled and tiny little claws poised to strike at the slightest provocation. Michael sort of wants to pet him or maybe tease him with a bit of string—or take advantage of their proximity to… Well. He’s an angel, not a monk, yes? Celibacy is highly overrated.

“I am not cheating,” Lucifer says. His grin is positively feral. “There is no rule against touching your opponent.” This last statement is punctuated with a thrust of Lucifer’s groin against Sam’s rear. Sam’s face goes quite dangerously red. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, you could always yield.”

“Never,” Sam says. “It’ll take more than underhanded tricks to beat me at this game!”

“If you lovebirds are quite done bickering,” Adam interjects from the sideline, obviously amused, “perhaps you’d like me to spin again?”

“We are ready,” Michael says.

“Yes, give us your worst,” Sam says.

Shrugging, Adam flicks the spinner board and calls out, “Right hand, blue.”

Instantly they’re all jockeying to find the most advantageous spots on the mat—and when they’re done Sam’s position is even more delightfully precarious than before. Not only is Lucifer practically cradling him from behind, but Sam’s face is hovering mere inches from Michael’s half-hard cock.

Sam sucks in a shaky breath.

Michael meets Lucifer’s gaze with his own and grins wickedly. He’s pretty sure that this is one game that they’ll all win.

 “Jesus,” says Adam. “Keep in mind that I’m an impressionable young man, yeah? If this devolves into kinky sex all over the Twister mat, you guys owe me pizza.”