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Gabriel isn’t thinking of anything when he pops into the Casa de Winchester of the week. Or, rather, he’s thinking of too many things, so much so that his thought process kind of fries out somewhere between considering Plato’s philosophies and the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in about two months and that he totally killed his brother half a year ago and Jesus fuck it doesn’t feel like a long time but somehow feels like an eternity at the same moment⎯
So, yeah. Gabriel isn’t thinking of anything when he pops into the latest boring, poor motel room from which his brother and Dean are conspicuously absent. Maybe they’re finally fucking it out. Father knows those two need it; Gabriel’s going out of his mind with the amount of tension. It isn’t even sexual half the time, either, but more like romantically charged, and it makes Gabriel want to rip his hair out in exasperation. It doesn’t matter, though, because the person he likes seeing the most (well, maybe it’s a tie when Cassie isn’t being an asshole) is there at the shitty motel. He’s humming to himself as he gleefully assembles a salad that is both way too colourful and green for Gabriel’s tastes.
“I fed a man to sharks this weekend,” Gabriel mentions suddenly, watching gleefully as Sam visibly startles. He curses, throwing a dark glare over his shoulder, but there’s no abrupt spillage of salad the way Gabriel was hoping for. He pouts; Sam ignores the expression.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Wrong Daddy’s boy, Sammy,” Gabriel teases, smirking. A brief look of confusion passes over Sam’s face before realisation dawns on him, and he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I don’t need a reason to be here, you know this.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Gabe,” Sam mutters dismissively, turning back to his salad. A brief twinge of something passes through Gabriel and he makes a face at Sam’s back. A year ago, hell, even half a year ago, Sam never would’ve dared to expose himself like this. Never would’ve thought for a second to turn his weak spots to an enemy, John Winchester’s teachings sticking well and true. But this isn’t six months ago or more than a year ago, when Gabriel was still riding the high of escaping the Winchesters once again. They’re entirely different beings, now.
Now, Sam… Maybe he doesn’t trust Gabriel, exactly, but there’s something a hell of a lot close to that between them. Now, Gabriel kind of likes the fool humans. Now, he spends his days seeking them out with flimsy excuses or sometimes none at all, because they don’t care. Sam doesn’t care, at least; Dean looks at him like he’s grown a second head whenever he pops in without there being a particularly difficult case plaguing them. He expects Gabriel to always have the answers, too, and not that there’s been a hard-to-crack case that he hasn’t had the answers for yet, but still⎯ There’s gotta be one out there, and besides, he certainly isn’t at Dean’s beck and call.
Gabriel huffs at the thought. Like he’s some little lackey angel, like Castiel. No, he does whatever he damn well pleases, and if that includes spending a little extra time around a huge source of dopamine or whatever the fuck the angelic equivalent is⎯ Well. That’s no one’s business but his own, Gabriel thinks.
“You fed a man to sharks?” Sam repeats eventually, snapping Gabriel from his thoughts. He doesn’t sound scolding, not particularly, but a little curious and mostly distracted with his food. Poor, squishy humans and their incessant biological need for edible fuel. Gabriel, briefly, sends thanks to his Father for ensuring angels were well-above all of that. He knows that Sam isn’t ignoring him, per se, but he also knows that the man isn’t paying him particular attention. Sam’s rather flexible, especially compared to his brother, and he takes Gabriel and Gabriel’s shenanigans in stride.
Plus, Gabriel is pretty sure that Sam likes hearing his stories.
“Well, first I made him listen to ABBA’s Angel Eyes on repeat for like four hours, but eventually, yeah. I was in Italy, you gotta let me take you there sometime, kiddo, ‘cause I swear it’s one of the prettiest places in the world. I mean, hell, we could make a trip of it, and I could take you to Sicily, check out the Valley of the Temples, and then we could visit Athens or see the Library of Alexandria in its heyday. You know me, I’m pretty flexible,” Gabriel winks, because he can’t stop himself. Sam glances at him when he hops onto the counter, crossing his legs and sticking a sucker into his mouth. He earns himself a raised eyebrow for the sugar, but Sam doesn’t say anything. It’s okay. Gabriel has more than enough words for the both of them.
“Anyway, he was a piece of shit scumbag worth nothing, so I served him up his ‘just desserts’ nice and slow.” Gabriel’s face grows thunderous in remembrance. Sam knows better than to ask.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Greece. Or Italy,” He offers instead, offhand. Gabriel grins. “Honestly, I’d like to get the hell off of this continent. Doesn’t really matter where we go.” Sam shrugs. Oh, the things Gabriel could show him. A certain cheesy Disney song pops into his thoughts and the radio sparks to life before he can stop it. He’s fast enough to recover, making sure the radio plays some random, but tolerable pop song. Sam makes a face, but he taps his foot with the beat subconsciously.
“You sayin’ I can take you out, Sammy?” Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows.
“I’m saying that I’m sure I can dig up a stake somewhere if you keep calling me Sammy.” Sam fires back, unflinching, and Gabriel laughs. This is why he likes being around the man so much. People have made him laugh over the centuries, but no one can do it with as much frequency as Sam⎯ Gabriel’s normally laughing at himself, at the jokes he’s played or the one-liners he comes up with. It’s nice to be matched in banter and humour, even if Sam turns his nose up at some of Gabriel’s pranks.
(Really, he has no room to judge⎯ Gabriel makes him laugh the hardest with horrible, terrible dad jokes and stupid puns that require less than an iota of thought.)
“Alright, alright, keep your stakes to yourself, kiddo. Where’s Tweedledum and dumber?” Sam makes a face, something torn between amusement and disapproval. Gabriel winks, making disapproval win out as Sam’s lips curve into a familiar frown. He’s handsome, Gabriel thinks, and it’s not like he hasn’t noticed before, but… Sam has more smile lines, these days. He’s getting older. It sends equal parts melancholy and vicious, selfish pleasure through Gabriel. He stuffs those feelings, the thoughts about Sam, way down deep and tells himself it’s only because it’s the six month anniversary of⎯
Well. Let’s just say Gabriel has a good reason to feel off-kilter.
“Out,” Sam says evasively. Gabriel narrows his eyes.
“Oh, Samshine, you know being vague is a surefire way to get me interested!” He coos, making Sam level him with a bitchface of epic proportions. Gabriel snickers. “C’mon, tell me, tell me, what are they up to? Has Cassie finally manned up and confessed? Well, ‘manned up’ in the figurative sense. You know angels don’t have gender.”
Sam sighs, as if giving in. Gabriel grins, gleeful. “They’re out. I didn’t ask, I only promised that I’d be on babysitting duty so no one would bother them.”
“Babysitting duty? Sheesh, you think they skipped a few steps⎯” Sam gives him a pointed look. “Oh. Oh, you sly, conniving asshole. I don’t get babysat! Just for that, Samalam, I’m filling your brother’s bed with eggshells.”
“I’ve put way too much work into getting them to be in the same room and consider the idea of ‘feelings’ without combusting or having a mental breakdown over liking guys, and you aren’t undoing all of my hard work.” Sam replies simply, rolling one of his shoulders in a half-shrug. Gabriel glares at him. He’s tempted to rip through the paper-thin cloaking he knows Castiel has over Dean just to be contrary, to prove that he isn’t as easily controlled as Sam thinks⎯ But it feels like too much effort, and Sam is still watching him. He’ll know the minute Gabriel tries anything of the sort, because somehow, the man has become incredibly adept at reading him in only six months. Gabriel doesn’t like to think about it too hard. “Wanna watch the Great British Bake-Off?”
“I dunno, maybe I have plans for crashing a romantic getaway between a certain dumbass and blue-eyed angel.”
“Please,” Sam rolls his own pretty hazel, green, brown, sunflower-coloured eyes. They can never decide what colour they want to be. Gabriel likes it. “As if you’d ever miss Cake Week.”
Fuck him.
“You are damn lucky you’re cute, Sammyboy.”
“I know,” Sam agrees, a lazy smirk spreading across his lips. “You coming or not?” He turns around without bothering to wait for an answer, taking his disgusting leafy greens with him. Gabriel rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Sam’s back, but hops down from the counter.
“If they kick off my favourite contestant again, I’m gonna riot, Sam, I’m gonna fly the fuck to Great Britain myself and dump all their tea in the harbour and give my favourite contestant a million bucks⎯ Holy shit, are you flagging?” Gabriel stops in his tracks, incredulous. His gaze has zeroed in on Sam’s ass, which it does more frequently than he admits, but for once he is not admiring⎯ He’s observing. There is a distinctly grey handkerchief tucked into Sam’s left pocket alongside one that looks like it might be fuschia or possibly pink, which. What the fuck.
Gabriel’s usually pretty entertained around Sam, as the human makes for excellent distraction, but now it feels like he’s stopped thinking entirely.
“Hm? What’d you say?” Sam calls behind his shoulder absently, already walking away and flopping onto the couch. He’s too relaxed to be lying or evading, although Gabriel would’ve clocked him the second he tried. For all that Sam is adept at reading him, it goes both ways. Gabriel’s developed a sixth⎯ more like a millionth, considering every sense he has as an angel⎯ sense for when Sam is lying.
“Where are we, again?” Gabriel asks. He goes and sits next to Sam on the couch, though, because he’s not an idiot. Passing up free time to snuggle close to his favourite Winchester? Fuck no, not even for the very tantalising mystery that’s just opened itself up to him. Speaking of opening something, someone up… Gabriel tries to banish all thoughts of Sam doing anything in the vicinity of sexual, but his brain is pretty goddamn vast, and it’s like trying not to think of a white elephant.
“Somewhere in the Midwest,” Sam answers, giving him a strange look. Gabriel ignores the confusion.
“I meant the town, jackass, and the state, too,” He replies, a little more snappish than he means to be. Sam’s face pulls into his offended bitchface, and you know, maybe Gabriel should’ve considered that he wasn’t straight long before this. Although, that’s kind of stereotypical, and the Winchesters are known for being anomalies anyway.
“Don’t be a dick,” Sam retorts, which Gabriel deserves, so he only considers throwing Koolaid in the shower heads for a second. “Why does it matter, anyway? You never care where we are. You’ve literally told me before that so many of our motel rooms are the same that they could be their own liminal spaces.”
“I stand by that,” Gabriel objects to Sam’s incredulous tone. “Why’s it such a big deal that I know, huh, Sambo?” He challenges. Not the best idea, probably, considering how damn stubborn Sam is. When they really get going, talking each other in circles, Dean often gets so frustrated that he dumps ice water on their heads. Gabriel returns the favour by dying his clothes pink, but still, he likes it. Not the ice water, but the fact that Sam is so engaging. That, for a while, his world narrows just to the soul across from him, and Sam’s does the same for him.
“Because you’re never up to anything good, and I really don’t want you messing with Cas and Dean!” Sam exclaims, gesturing at the air. Gabriel pouts, mock-offended. His tricks no longer work on Sam, though, and the man hardly looks repentant. In fact, he’s actively glaring at Gabriel.
“Why, I’d never, Sam,” Gabriel replies in his best stricken Southern belle accent, clutching at his chest like there’s a convenient strand of pearls around his neck. Sam squints at him, but the corner of his lips twitches in amusement.
“You’re being weird.”
“Haven’t you gotten used to it by now?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, but not like this. You’re being…shifty. What the hell did you say earlier?” Sam, as always, is too damn observant for his own good. Of course he connected Gabriel’s sudden change in behaviour with the question he hadn’t heard just minutes earlier. Gabriel hates him. (He doesn’t, and that makes everything way worse.)
“Wow, I’m so hurt, you really don’t listen to a word I say. This is why we’re getting marriage counselling, Samuel.” Gabriel proclaims, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eyes. He snaps discreetly, and the illusion of a therapist’s office settles over the shitty motel room. Sam barely reacts to the change in scenery, only pausing to direct a dirty look at the fake psychiatrist sitting opposite of him before his focus is back on Gabriel. Normally, Gabriel relishes that sort of thing⎯ Sue him, he never grew out of his attention whore phase. Right now, though? Gabriel would prefer for Sam’s attention to be anywhere else.
“And now you’re doing your Trickster evasion thing.” Sam points out. Gabriel frowns at him. He really doesn’t like how well Sam knows him, doesn’t like how comfortable Sam is with just saying shit like that without regard for consequences, because he knows Gabriel won’t dish them out. He doesn’t even want to know the answer to his original question, anyway, because as much as he fantasizes about Sam, that’s all they’ll ever be. Fantasies. And imagining some other guy getting tied up by Sam or whatever the hell else he’s potentially signalling⎯ Well, it hurts more than a fantasy ought to, and Gabriel doesn’t do feelings.
“And how does that make you feel, Sam?” The psychiatrist lady asks with a killer, too-bright smile, right on time. Sam glances at her again, irritated. Gabriel smirks. This, at least, he’s familiar with. Annoying the shit out of Sam is his favourite pastime.
“Gabriel⎯”
“No, Sam, you’re talking to me right now.” The psychiatrist interrupts kindly. Sam’s eyes flash with anger. It does something for Gabriel, because he’s got a lot of self-preservation but apparently a guy with a temper and the ability to kill him is interesting. He’s given up on questioning the things about Sam Winchester that he finds attractive. None of that is a problem⎯ Gabriel’s had more awkward physical attractions over the years, like when he realised that Frigga was very hot and very much not into him like that ‘cause he was cosplaying a god who was practically her son.
No, the thing that trips Gabriel up with Sam is that it’s more than physical attraction. With Sam, it isn’t just the fact that Gabriel would very much like to get his hands all over that fine body, but that he also wants to take care of Sam. Not in the sexual way, although that’s more than fine, but just…generally. Making him laugh more, giving him more of those gorgeous smile lines, making sure he’s safe and happy and sated. Keeping him fulfilled, showing him the goddamn world since all he knows is a brief respite in California and then a series of shitty motel rooms repeated over hundredfold. Gabriel wants, wants, and wants. But for once, Gabriel’s keeping his sticky fingers away from anything remotely approaching romantic or sexual with Sam Winchester. He flirts, but he flirts with everyone, even Dean on occasion, just to watch that forehead vein bulge. He knows that he’ll never have a chance, not as himself.
Hell, until he saw those handkerchiefs, he’d been sure that he’d never have a chance in this vessel.
“I feel like Gabriel should actually talk to me instead of hiding away behind these damn illusions. I feel like I somehow missed something monumental, which shouldn’t be possible considering it was like, half a sentence, and I feel like I want to go back to the shitty motel room and eat my salad and watch the Bake-Off.” Sam says pointedly, and Gabriel can feel his eyes burning into his neck. It’s remarkable, really, the effect Sam has on him. Probably something that should be studied, put down in the history books, how weak an archangel is for some random human⎯ Too bad that Gabriel would never allow that, and that Sam isn’t just some random human. Not to the world, maybe, and especially not to Gabriel.
“You’re right, Sammich, I shouldn’t keep you from your food.” Gabriel snaps his fingers and the illusion melts away. His smile feels forced, and he wonders why the hell he’s acting so…unbalanced. None of this should be affecting him the way it is. Part of his mind calls up the feeling of dying Grace burrowing into his skin, the shards of ice that he feels like he can’t escape even now, the blood drying on his hands and the scrubbing for hours that never quite made it disappear⎯
“Gabe?” Sam asks, soft. The nickname isn’t rare, yet Gabriel’s stupid heart trips up inside his vessel anyway. “Just tell me what’s up. You’re kinda freaking me out.”
“I killed my brother six months ago,” Gabriel laughs, humourless. “And I feel like I’ve never left that damn hotel room.” Sam sucks in a sharp breath. There’s a zing of satisfaction of catching him off-guard before it disappears as quick as it’d come. He flicks absently at the TV and it sputters to life in the middle of a commercial.
“Gabe⎯”
“I know,” He says, cutting Sam off. “I know. It was for the greater good, it stopped the Apocalypse, whatever. I know. I mean, hell, Sam, it saved your life. I’m never going to regret it. He was still my brother. He was a fucking grade-A asshole and there was no one worse than him alive, he was the fucking Devil, but I can’t stop feeling his blood on my hands. I’ve killed people before. I kill people all the time, and if there was anyone who deserved it, that was my brother. I just… I can’t get out of that hotel room.”
“You can grieve him.” Sam has some weirdly complex look on his face, one that Gabriel can’t decipher. He furrows his eyebrows at the man. “You can… Gabe, you know you can grieve him, right? He was still your older brother. If there’s anyone who gets feeling conflicted about family, it’s me.”
“I don’t want to grieve him,” Gabriel says, contrary to the last. Sam smiles at him. It’s soft, gentle, the kind of thing that the hunter either doesn’t allow himself to express or doesn’t have reason to. It does all sorts of fucked up things to Gabriel’s head.
“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” Sam sounds fond. It throws Gabriel for a loop, utterly destroying whatever quippy reply he had on the tip of his tongue.
“Yeah, well⎯” He huffs, frustrated. Sam’s eyes twinkle as his smile stretches bigger.
“C’mon, asshole, let’s watch the Bake-Off and laugh when your favourite contestant gets voted off the island first again,” He teases, and his smile has slipped entirely into a smirk. Gabriel squawks at him, digging his hand into Sam’s side in retaliation. Sam laughs, shoving him away, and they wrestle for a few minutes before Gabriel comes out triumphant, having successfully wedged the remote away from Sam.
“Tea in the harbour, Sam, all of it,” Gabriel grumbles in vague threat, twisting as he uses the remote to change the channel to the Great British Bake-Off.
“You’re not even American,” The hunter returns. Gabriel scrunches his nose.
“And you're not even funny, but you don’t see me complaining, huh?” He snarks. Sam huffs without irritation, his hands splayed haphazardly out over Gabriel’s back. He’s awkwardly draped over the man’s lap, Sam slumped and half-buried underneath him. They’re all comfortable, loose limbs and casual cuddling. Gabriel feels like he shouldn’t like it so much, like how secure Sam is with him, but he’s always been a sinner, a rule-breaker to the last. Indulging in this is not so much of a crime in the grand scheme of everything he’s done.
“I dunno how you always pick the losers.”
“I have a big heart, Sammy, they get me with their tragic backstories and tear-stained eyes,” Gabriel snipes. Sam’s responding chuckle feels like it vibrates through where their clothed skin touches.
“I think you just like an underdog.”
“It got your ass out of the Apocalypse, didn’t it? Maybe stop judging my tastes, Samalamadingdong.”
“True,” Sam manages after the biggest laugh yet. “Can’t deny that.”
“Shut up, it’s starting,” Gabriel hisses, getting comfortable. He pillows his head on his arms and settles in to watch. Sam shifts absently from underneath him, but Gabriel hardly pays him any mind. Humans are so fidgety. By angelic standards, Gabriel is the fidgetiest, but even then, he can’t hold a candle to the amount of subconscious moves and adjustments humans make all the time. Sam is prone to them more than most.
“You get too invested in this,” Sam replies dryly. He lifts a hand to Gabriel’s hair, curling an errant strand around his finger.
“Sam, I’m gonna throw you into the harbour if you don’t shut up.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Sam mutters, sarcastic as hell. Gabriel feels something… click inside. It’s like he’s been so busy these past few months running and avoiding that he forgot how to simply be. It’s never easy to exist in the moment as an archangel, and somehow, when he got tangled up in all his⎯ things concerning Sam, he’d forgotten how to do that. It’s nice to simply exist for a while, sprawled out on top of his favourite hunter. Gabriel refocuses onto the TV and allows the mindless buzz of reality television to wash his thoughts away.
⎯⎯⎯
“So, bondage, huh?” Gabriel asks, which he figures is as good a starting point as any.
“What?” Sam drops his hairbrush with a clatter, whirling around in the motel bathroom to find Gabriel standing adjacent to the doorway. He leans against the wall, grinning when he catches Sam’s eye. It’s a different day, they’re in a different town, a different part of the Midwest, probably, and Sam’s outfit is different⎯ That one soft dark blue flannel of his over a black undershirt and some tighter jeans than usual, although that might just be Gabriel’s wishful thinking. What’s remained the same, however, is the two handkerchiefs peeking out from Sam’s left back pocket.
Gabriel knows Sam, and he knows that he wouldn’t just have random handkerchiefs lying around unless they meant something. Especially not that eyesore of a fuschia one that doesn’t go very well with his flannel. Actually, Gabriel can’t remember the last time he’s seen either Winchester in something pink that wasn’t a prank. It probably offends their ‘manly sensibilities’.
“Please, Samshine, don’t play dumb. I’ve been around for eons, you think I don’t know when someone’s flagging?” Gabriel valiantly ignores the fact that the last time he tried to have this conversation, it derailed into them talking about feelings and him somewhat processing Lucifer’s death and the hand he had in it. He’s got his eye on the prize today, and he will not let Sam Winchester bamboozle him into being gross and emotional.
“Oh,” Sam says, and he looks…relieved? Disappointed? Maybe? Gabriel can’t tell, which is disconcerting. “Keep your voice down, would you?” He grumbles, pushing past Gabriel. His hair looks perfect, of course, as it always does. Sam hardly even needs to brush it, he wakes up looking like an Adonis.
“Dean-o isn’t here, don’t worry, Samalam. ‘Sides, why would it matter if he was? He’s got his whole queer thing with Cassie,” Gabriel dismisses, waving a hand in the air as he trails Sam from the bathroom to the other man’s bed. Sam sits down, pulling on his boots, but not before he looks up and gives Gabriel a stunning bitchface.
“Yeah, yeah, that doesn’t mean I want Dean knowing what the hell I’m into.” Sam pauses. “Actually, I’d prefer not to have confirmation on whether or not Dean knows what the flagging system is at all. Nope. Not interested.” He shudders, looking disgusted. Gabriel rolls his eyes.
“You humans and your squicks.”
“You cannot possibly tell me that you’d talk to someone like Cas about what you’re into, or that you want to hear what he’s into.” Gabriel pauses, considering.
“Touché, kiddo, touché. I guess that’s true.” Sam smirks, victorious. “Where are you going?” He changes the subject, not wanting to hear the hunter brag about being right. Sam is cute when he’s smug, and it makes Gabriel ten times more likely to jump his bones and/or confess deep, dramatic feelings. It’s the second option that freaks him out, mostly because Gabriel’s never quite filtered himself, and all it would take was a second of forgetting to watch his mouth for a confession to slip out. It’s ridiculous that it’s gotten this bad, that his feelings are so close to the surface, but it’s not like there’s anything Gabriel can do about it.
He’s tried! He’s tried avoiding Sam (a bust; Sam is funny, and persistent, and annoying, and great at praying over long distances, and knows angel summoning circles), tried fucking other people (okay, but they weren’t Sam, and his illusions didn’t even offer any appeal anymore), tried carving out his heart (not really; Gabriel’s dramatic, but not to that point). So for now, Gabriel’s settled in for the long run. If his feelings aren’t going to go anywhere, so be it. Gabriel’s ignored worse, like the massive target on his back after he revealed himself to the world at large by murdering his older brother.
“To a club, obviously,” Sam says, voice dripping with incredulity. Gabriel blinks. Right, yeah, that…makes sense. He glares at Sam for the tone, and the fact that the man’s sheer presence apparently renders him incapable of higher thought. “Why? You wanna come with?”
“Sure,” Gabriel replies immediately, even though he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s already horribly, loudly possessive over Sam when the hunter is in danger; he practically broadcasted an angel mating signal when he killed Sam’s biggest enemy. (Not that he’d done that intentionally, although he certainly reaps the benefits now⎯ His siblings steer clear of Sam Winchester, thank fuck.) He imagines that it’ll be ten times worse in some dark, crowded club, where Sam will possibly go out on the dance floor and will definitely be trying to pick up some random guy who’s into bondage and spanking.
“Not like I’ve got anything better to do,” He sighs haughtily, trying to cover up how desperate he sounded. Sam gives him an amused smile before a slow once-over.
“Are you really going in that?” Sam raises an eyebrow. Gabriel looks down at what he’s wearing, already offended. Then he has to admit that khakis and a loudly patterned Hawaiian t-shirt with his favourite pink sneakers probably isn’t the way to go. He snaps his fingers, hardly thinking about it.
“Better?” Gabriel prompts when no answer is forthcoming. Sam looks gobsmacked, which is mildly worrying. His Grace has been unruly ever since he killed Lucifer, and it only gets worse whenever he’s with Sam, subconscious inhibitions lowered. He summons a floor length mirror to appraise his look, smirking when he sees himself. “You had me worried I looked like a peacock, jeez, Sammyboy.”
“You certainly have the attitude of one,” Sam agrees dryly. “You look good. It might be a bit overkill for Indy, though.”
“You’re just jealous of my superior sense of style, Samshine,” Gabriel teases. He’s wearing a black mesh top that glitters when it hits the light underneath a dark grey version of his usual bomber jacket and high-waisted black skinny jeans, which gives him the illusion of more height. His pink sneakers look a little out of place, but Gabriel doesn’t care, because he’s always gotten attached to material objects easily. He snaps his fingers again and a smoky, smudged eyeliner completes the look.
“Make-up?” Sam questions, sounding dubious. Gabriel rolls his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting your panties in a bunch now, Sam. I expect that kinda fragile masculinity from your brother, not you. ‘Sides, aren’t we going to a gay club?” He cocks his head to the side as the mirror fades from existence. Sam shrugs, eyes darting away before he looks back at Gabriel. Oh. It’s not that he’s hyper-masculine and uncomfortable with it despite still clearly having some queer experience. It’s that Sam, actively, is finding him attractive. Gabriel feels like he’s about to burst out of his skin and has to spend a second stuffing his true form back into shape.
“Like I said, it’s just a little overkill.”
“Well, you don’t look queer in the slightest. If I didn’t know what those handkerchiefs meant, I’d assume you’re straight as hell. Actually, I did assume that for, like, the longest time.” Sam frowns at him.
“I like these clothes!”
“I know. It’s tragic,” Gabriel agrees, earning another bitchface. He pulls some eyeliner and a make-up brush into existence. Sam looks at him warily as he approaches, slotting himself in between the hunter’s knees. “C’mon, kiddo, don’t you trust me?”
“...Yes.” Sam says, no less suspicious. Gabriel grins.
“You’ll look like every lumberjack’s wet dream, I promise.” He gets an eye roll for his troubles, but Sam doesn’t pull away when Gabriel grabs his chin. Overall, a win. “Close your eyes.” It’d be easier to angel mojo the make-up onto Sam, even if it wasn’t as precise as Gabriel wanted it to be, but he likes this. He likes being close to Sam, relishing in the hunter’s warm life force. Plus, this way, he gets to ogle the guy he has feelings for without getting looked at weird.
“Are you done yet?” Sam fidgets in that annoying human way of his. Gabriel clicks his tongue.
“Impatient, are we, Winchester? Just be a good boy and sit still for five minutes.” He doesn’t consider the implications of his words, the flirty undertone, until they’re already out. Sam practically freezes under his touch, which is interesting. From the placement of his handkerchiefs, Gabriel expected him to prefer to take the lead in situations. Either way, he’s pleased with the reaction, especially since it allows him to finish Sam’s make-up in a record three minutes.
“There we go, kiddo.” Gabriel smirks wickedly as he takes a step back. Sam blinks, allowing his eyes to adjust, before he frowns.
“That’s your plotting face,” He accuses. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“What?” Gabriel splutters, taken off-guard. Sam’s frown only increases in severity. “I don’t have a plotting face!”
“You totally do.”
“Do not.”
“Do, too.”
“What are you, five?” He hisses. Sam glares.
“You started it.”
“I did not⎯” Gabriel cuts his objection off at the sight of the smug smirk on Sam’s lips. He narrows his eyes. “Oh, you’re a bastard, Winchester.”
“Thank you.” Sam replies, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He stands from the motel bed, and suddenly Gabriel has to look up at him once more. He’s tempted to change into some chunky heels, just to get some of that height advantage back, but ultimately decides to keep his sneakers. Again; too attached.
“Where are we going?” Gabriel asks, already trying to mentally plot out the location of any queer clubs in Indianapolis. Sam makes a face.
“We are not Angel Airing to the club, Gabe.” Gabriel’s confused for all of a split second before he realises that, of course, Sam wouldn’t want to be mojo’ed anywhere. He’s planning on getting lucky tonight, and that means dragging someone to the shitty motel in a car, not travelling with an angel. He tries to ignore the bolts of jealousy and hurt the realisation sends through him.
“I expect recompense in the sweetest drinks they have available if you’re making me travel in a car, Samuel.”
Sam laughs, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Gabe. Whatever you say.”
Gabriel aches.
⎯⎯⎯
“How long have you known Sam?” Charlie asks, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard over the thumping base. Her girlfriend, or hook-up, has one delicately manicured hand wrapped around her arm. Her name is Dorothy, which made Gabriel nearly bust a lung because of the implications, being able to say friend of Dorothy’s and meaning it. He gestures vaguely with his probably third, maybe fourth, piña colada of the night.
“Oh, forever,” He isn’t slurring his words, but he’s definitely on the right side of tipsy. It takes a concentrated effort to remain this way, as an archangel. It’s weird because Gabriel’s concentrating so hard on maintaining it that, really, his focus shouldn’t be all lackadaisical and random. Yet here he is, acting perfectly human. “He was with my brother first.”
“Ooh,” Charlie says appreciatively. Gabriel has noticed that a lot of queer people tend to love drama, and Charlie is no exception. Dorothy laughs, low and raspy.
“You stole him?” There’s no judgment in her voice, and in fact, maybe there’s a little respect. Gabriel shrugs, a stupid smile on his face. He’s having fun here tonight, surprisingly. He’s enjoying talking with Charlie and Dorothy, and up until he disappeared to the bathroom, Sam had been wonderfully touchy. Nothing too sexual, romantic, nothing that could technically blur the lines, but still. More affectionate than Gabriel was used to.
“Not so much. Kicked my brother’s ass, though, ‘cause he’s a massive creep,” Gabriel offers. There’s only so much he can say here without giving himself away. Dorothy nods in understanding, and Charlie’s face goes all sympathetic. He can already tell that she has a bleeding heart, not that she’s made any efforts to hide it. It’s kind of endearing. “Sam can handle himself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Charlie agrees, shaking her head. “I thought he was gonna beat somebody up when y’all first came in, ‘til I saw his make-up and the ‘kerchiefs.” Oh, Gabriel is so bragging when Sam gets back. He knew the make-up was the right choice.
“Don’t let his looks fool you, Sammy’s really just a big puppy. I mean, seriously.” For all the hunter’s use of violence, perhaps borne out of necessity, Sam really was a loveable dork at heart. He craved casual affection and recognition for the things he’d done, and he was incredibly selfless. Every day, Gabriel saw how much he wanted a normal life, or at least a life that didn’t try to kill him so damn often, and every day, Gabriel saw how Sam shoved that desire aside to help others. “Just mention something nerdy and you’ll see.”
“Ooh, like what?” Charlie asks, interested, and Gabriel grins. He knew he’d pegged her correctly. She practically radiated nerd vibes.
“Lord of the Rings or, like, basically any philosopher ever. He loves discussions of mortal quandaries and fantasy fiction, sci-fi, too.” Charlie brightens at the prospect. An arm slides around Gabriel’s waist and he turns slightly, expecting to see Sam only to be met with the very alcoholic breath of some random blond hunk.
“Hey there, doll,” The blond smiles drunkenly. Gabriel snaps back to sobriety so fast it would give him whiplash, were he capable of feeling that. “Lemme buy you a drink.”
“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, bucko,” Gabriel replies, irritated. The blond frowns, like he isn’t used to being rejected. He probably isn’t, because objectively, he’s fairly attractive and muscled up, but still. Gabriel isn’t interested, wouldn’t be interested even if he hadn’t come here with Sam.
“Awwh, come on, doll, don’t be that way⎯”
The arm around his waist is abruptly ripped away as a hand lands on the blond’s shoulder, forcefully tugging him away. The man stumbles back, aided by his lack of sobriety, and there Sam stands, wearing a look of vicious, protective anger. Gabriel feels heat stir in his belly.
“I believe he said no,” Sam manages through gritted teeth. They’re drawing stares, and Gabriel’s ready to work some discreet angel mojo, but thankfully, the blond holds up his hands in surrender.
“Shit, man, sorry. Didn’t realise he was taken.” The guy stumbles off without another word, and Sam’s gaze finds Gabriel instantly. He softens, all of that anger disappearing. It’s sweet, even if the rage had been hot. Gabriel grins at him.
“You okay?” Sam asks, concerned. He moves closer, crowding against Gabriel’s barstool the way he’s been practically all night.
“Aw, Sammy, were you worried?” He purrs, looking at Sam through his lashes. Sam gives him a disgruntled look, but there’s still a spark of worry in his eyes. “C’mon, big boy, you know I can handle myself.” Gabriel wiggles his fingers in a wave, a pointed reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of. Sam relaxes, sliding an arm casually around Gabriel’s shoulders.
“I’d rather you not use angel mojo in this very crowded, public place.” He mumbles under the guise of pressing his face close to Gabriel’s hair, his lips a breadth away from Gabriel’s temple. He rolls his eyes, despite feeling like he’s going to explode. And wouldn’t that really be a kicker? A gay club, burned out because Gabriel couldn’t handle his own emotions and let his true form slip? The thought earns an ironic snort.
“Ugh, you guys are sickening,” Charlie complains, breaking the moment. Gabriel looks at her, amused. “Seriously, though, you good, Gabriel?”
“Sheesh, what is with everyone assuming I’m some delicate flower?” He protests. “I’m fine, Charls, I’ve been hit on aggressively before. It’s no big deal.” Truly, Gabriel means it. He’s dealt with pushy assholes before and he’ll deal with them again; such is life. It’s sweet that the humans in front of him seem to care so much, but it’s largely unnecessary. Gabriel knows well how to protect himself, even sans angelic Grace. Learning to fight as Loki was a necessity, and also fun.
“We care, Gabriel,” Dorothy says gently. “We’ve only just met, but that doesn’t mean we don’t. Of course we want to look out for you.” Her sweet, innocent words disarm him, and Gabriel’s left speechless for a moment. He recovers himself soon enough, trying not to show how hard the words hit.
“Well then, let’s dance and save this night! C’mon!” Gabriel doesn’t wait for an answer before he grabs Sam’s hand, dragging him out into the thick crowd of bodies. Sam follows willingly, a smile dancing on his lips that Gabriel doesn’t know how to read. This is where he’s best at home, Gabriel thinks. Dancing in the middle of revellers, the scent of sex and sweat in the air, the music thumping in his bones. This is where he feels the most whole, Gabriel and Loki, archangel and pagan, all of it.
“Don’t be a stick in the mud!” Gabriel shouts at Sam, who rolls his eyes. They’re dancing, then, too close with their skin sliding against each other’s maddeningly. Sam isn’t as relaxed, isn’t as comfortable, but he’s trying and that’s all that really matters. His hand is locked tightly in Gabriel’s own, their fingers tangled together like Sam’s worried about losing him. Gabriel chooses to forget himself in the music, eyes falling shut as he simply basks in the sparks of pleasure all around him. It’s no effort at all to reach out with his pagan senses, to feed a little on the hedonistic energy surrounding them. It’s a high better than any mortal drug could give him, that’s for damn sure.
When he opens his eyes again, he finds Sam staring at him rapturously.
“What, Sammy?” Gabriel asks, breathless, and then Sam crashes their lips together and he’s breathless for a whole different reason. His lips part and Sam’s tongue slides between them, one of his hands cradling Gabriel’s face with the other still steadily clinging to his hand. His eyes fall shut and he kisses back enthusiastically, feeling drunk on nothing but Sam, Sam, Sam. It feels like the man is invading his senses, his very being, everywhere, until he’s all Gabriel knows.
It’s the best fucking kiss Gabriel’s ever had.
“Get us out of here,” Sam demands against his lips. He’s helpless to agree. They land in the motel room shakily, Sam’s lips still against his, moving hungrily. It’s like he wants to consume Gabriel from the inside out, and maybe that should be terrifying, but he’s so fucking hard it hurts.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so hot,” Gabriel groans in between kisses, blindly stumbling back until his legs hit a mattress. His hands scrabble against the damn flannel and shirt Sam is wearing, cursing the man and wondering why the hell he favours so many layers.
“I respond to ‘Sam’, actually, or maybe God if you’re lucky,” Sam teases, pulling off his flannel and undershirt. Gabriel laughs, because of course Sam would make a replica of the same shitty joke he did weeks ago. Then all of that glorious tanned skin and muscles is suddenly exposed for his viewing pleasure, and Gabriel forgets anything that isn’t this room, this moment, with Sam.
“You’re depriving the whole goddamned world with those flannels you wear,” He breathes, hands roaming over Sam’s chest. Sam smirks, roguish and cocky, and for the love of all things holy Gabriel wants to devour him. His fingers curl through his belt loops and he pulls Gabriel flush against him, mouthing along his neck. He can feel Sam, the hard, hot line of him through their jeans. A ragged groan leaves Gabriel’s lips.
“Sam, fuck⎯”
“C’mon, Gabe, wanna see you,” Sam murmurs against his skin, pressing his thigh in between Gabriel’s legs and holy fuck he fears he might actually be in danger of coming in his pants for the first time in centuries. “Drivin’ me crazy all night in this damn shirt, this jacket, those ridiculous sneakers. That make-up of yours, fuck, wanted to kill anyone who so much as looked at you.” Gabriel laughs, breathless, and snaps away it all except for his jeans. They’re tight, beyond uncomfortable, but he sure as hell isn’t rushing this, not when he has Sam in his arms, right where he’s been dreaming for months.
“Perks of fucking an archangel,” He teases when Sam pulls back from his neck. He’s not expecting the way Sam’s pupils entirely blow out so there’s only a thin sliver of sunflower-brown ringed around them.
“You’re gorgeous,” Sam says, reverent. Gabriel flushes from his ears to his chest.
“I bet you say that to all the girls, pretty boy.” He quips, and Sam’s shaking his head before he can even get the words all the way out. He pulls Gabriel into a kiss, but it’s slow, careful, none of the hurried hunger from seconds prior. It’s just as compelling, if in a different way. Gabriel sighs happily into the kiss, mapping out the planes of Sam’s stomach with his hands.
“No. No girls,” Sam whispers against his lips. “Just you.”
“Careful, kiddo, a guy might get ideas with you sayin’ stuff like that.”
“What if I said I wanted you to?” Sam looks more hesitant in this, now, than anything else he’s done or said. Gabriel blinks, baffled. “What if I wanted you to get ideas, Gabe? What if I wanted this to be more than, hell, a one-off?”
“Of course,” Gabriel agrees immediately. “I’ll give you anything you want.” It’s too much, too fast, his filter slipping away from him as easily as breathing. Sam’s eyes widen before that hungry look is back on his face, and he’s swiping a thumb over Gabriel’s lips.
“Would you let me tie you up? Been wanting to for weeks, fuck, Gabe, imagined how pretty you’d look under my rope.” It’s not just dirty talk; Sam’s genuinely asking, clear from the way his gaze has turned searching as he looks for hints of hesitance that he isn’t going to find. Gabriel swallows, and Sam’s eyes track the movement.
“Yes, Sam, hell fucking yes⎯” Sam is on him before he can get it all out, licking into Gabriel’s mouth as he pushes him back onto the motel bed. Gabriel moans from underneath him, snapping his fingers and instantly making the bed bigger, softer. Sam grinds his thigh against his erection and an embarrassing whimper leaves Gabriel’s lips. He pulls away with a smirk, cheeks flushed and hair mussed from where Gabriel tangled his fingers in it.
“C’mon, angel, let’s get you outta these pants.” Sam reaches for his zipper and Gabriel lets him, committing every movement to memory. “Shit, Gabe, really?” He says, sounding somewhere between exasperated and horny as he sees Gabriel’s red, silk boyshorts. Gabriel winks when Sam catches his eye.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, kiddo.” The outline of his cock is visible, straining against the fabric with a wet spot near the tip. Sam’s eyes darken, blown out with arousal.
“You want me to take the edge off, angel?” He drawls, ghosting his hands along Gabriel’s inner thighs. He’s purposeful with his movements, enough to the point that when he finally gets close to Gabriel’s cock but simply stops, Gabriel makes a mortifying whine that he will never admit to in a million years. “Or do you want me to leave you begging, wanting, while I tie you up? Either way, I’m getting this inside me,” Sam says firmly, indicating Gabriel’s cock.
“Figured you’d be into it the other way around, actually,” Gabriel says, torn between playful and desperate. Sam’s eyes snap to his and he raises an eyebrow.
“What? You think that just because I’m gonna have your cock up my ass, I won’t be in control? Oh, angel.” His tone is mocking, and fuck if that doesn’t get Gabriel more needy than ever. He’s always had a bit of a thing for degradation, and Kali had indulged him to his heart’s content, but Sam is a whole ‘nother level.
“Please, kiddo, for fuck’s sake.”
“What is it, angel? What do you want?” Sam draws him in for a filthy, searing kiss. Gabriel knows there’s no goddamn way he’s gonna last if this keeps up, and his hips jerk instinctively against Sam’s leg. “Need me to take the edge off?” He whispers, intimate and close. Gabriel shivers, nodding. Sam’s gaze doesn’t leave his as he moves down the bed, eventually wrapping one big hand around Gabriel’s cock. He shudders at the contact, head falling back as his eyes slide shut.
“You’re so beautiful, Gabriel,” Sam says, truth coating every inch of his voice. He pulls Gabriel’s cock free from his boyshorts, using the obscene amount of precome to ease the slide of his hand against it. “Been dreamin’ about you for so long.” He doesn’t get the chance to respond before his dick is enveloped in a tight, wet heat. Gabriel moans, choked, as his eyes fly open. He twists a hand in Sam’s hair, the man’s eyes focused on him with a single-minded intensity.
“Sam, Sammy, fuck, kiddo, your mouth, you’re too much. So fucking hot, Sam, thought about you all the time, thought about you tyin’ some stranger up and hated them for it, fuck, Sam.” Gabriel babbles, only half aware of the words falling from his mouth in a torrent. Sam hums and the vibration nearly kills him. “Not g’nna last, Sam, please,” He whines, tugging on Sam’s hair. He keeps it gentle, though his concentration is shot to shit, because he knows how protective Sam is over his damn hair and the last thing he wants is to ruin the mood.
“C’mon, angel,” Sam pulls off of his cock with a wet pop. “Want you to come in my mouth, fuck my throat.” The mouth on that man. Gabriel soon loses any coherency, half-moans of Sam’s name falling from his lips as Sam swallows him down again. He fucks Sam’s throat, exhilirated that he gets this chance and going out of his damn mind because Sam is so fucking good at it.
“Sam, g’nna cum, kiddo, Sam, please,” Gabriel warns before he’s cumming, fireworks happening behind his eyelids. Sam swallows it, licking Gabriel’s sensitive cock clean as he goes boneless. Fuck, he hasn’t had an orgasm that good in months. Sam crawls back up, pressing kisses to Gabriel’s cheeks, nose, forehead, until eventually he makes it to his lips. Gabriel basks in the attention, feeling sated.
“You still wanna be tied up for me, angel?” Sam checks in, voice a little hoarse, and Gabriel’s eyes fly open. He looks amused at Gabriel’s obvious eagerness. Just the thought of Sam tying him up has his cock trying valiantly to join the conversation again. He’s an archangel, the refractory period is fucking amazing, but it still takes more than three seconds.
“Yeah, ‘course, never wanted anything more, kiddo.” Sam smirks, dark and possessive. Gabriel doesn’t care one bit; in fact, he probably likes it more than he should. “Use this.” He blurts out, shoving a bundle of golden silk into Sam’s hands. Sam settles on his lap, examining it with interest.
“...This isn’t normal rope,” He says eventually. Gabriel gives him a no shit look, earning a huff of laughter. “I know it’s bondage rope, jeez, Gabe. I meant it’s… It feels like you.” Sam blushes. It’s cute, the way he’s suddenly a blushing virgin, when a few minutes ago he told Gabriel to fuck his throat. Gabriel appreciates a multifaceted man. He shrugs, feigning a nonchalance he can’t quite reach.
“Yeah, well, it’s my Grace, so that makes sense.”
“Your Grace?” Sam chokes out, eyes wide. Gabriel scrunches his nose.
“Not, like, all of it or anything. Just a manifestation of a portion of it. It’ll hold me better, even if I…lose control. I mean, not to brag, Samshine, but I am an archangel. It takes concentration to make sure I don’t regularly break some squishy human; bondage rope is kinda like tissue paper,” He explains. Sam no longer looks surprised, but rather, awed. It’s a little overwhelming, if Gabriel’s feeling honest.
“You really want to be at my mercy, huh, angel?” There’s a hungry edge to Sam’s voice, something low and possessive that makes heat lick up the back of Gabriel’s neck in all the right ways. He is suddenly, painfully aware of the fact that Sam is still wearing jeans and that Gabriel hasn't gotten his hands on that beautiful cock yet.
“I trust you,” Gabriel replies, simple and oh so truthful. Sam blinks, lust fading for a moment as he's caught off-guard yet again. Gabriel relishes it. He's not predictable, not by a long shot, but Sam is the only person in several centuries to come even remotely close to understanding him.
“A guy might get ideas with you sayin’ stuff like that.” Sam mimics, voice rough, and Gabriel sees the out for what it is. He's so considerate, Sam is, of Gabriel’s feelings and lack of capability to talk about them. It's no wonder when he's been managing Dean for his entire life, but sometimes the sheer perfection of Sam Winchester catches him off guard. Still, this isn't an out Gabriel wants to take.
“Aren't you supposed to be tying me up, having your way with me?” He questions innocently, batting his eyelashes at Sam. The man gives him an amused, faintly disgruntled look in return.
“Tell me red if you wanna stop, okay, Gabe? Yellow to⎯”
“For fuck’s sake, Sam, I know how the traffic light system works, I’m not a virgin,” Gabriel complains, cutting Sam off. Sam’s expression darkens.
“You’re such a brat,” He hisses, grabbing Gabriel’s jaw tight enough to hurt. “Don’t forget that I’m the one in control here, angel.” Gabriel doesn't whimper, but he comes damn close. He swallows down the sound and smirks, instead, that smug asshole grin he knows gets on Sam’s nerves.
“Maybe you oughta remind me, Sammy,” He breathes, wicked.
“How many times have I told you not to call me that, Gabriel?” His voice is an octave lower than usual, threatening, and sparks tingle at the base of Gabriel’s spine. Sam reaches down between them and squeezes Gabriel’s cock, making the angel cry out in surprise.
“Yes, sir, for Christ's sake⎯” He doesn't miss the way Sam shifts on his lap, clearly needing relief from the tight confines of his jeans. Gabriel reaches forward, palming Sam through the fabric only to get his hand smacked away. He pouts at Sam, who looks equal parts unimpressed and lustful.
“No touching, angel,” Sam orders. Gabriel’s instinct is to push back⎯ He's never taken well to being told what to do, but something doubtful in Sam’s eyes stops him. Like he doesn't believe Gabriel can really listen, like he doesn't have the skill. Gabriel bristles. He can be good; it's just rarely as fun as breaking the rules is. “Hands behind your back. Push out those pretty tits for me, Gabriel.” It’s like Sam’s voice has a physical presence, dragging against Gabriel’s skin, and he complies before he knows what he's doing.
“Oh, you're evil,” Gabriel hisses when Sam moves so they're chest to chest, his ass placed perfectly over Gabriel’s growing erection. “Sir.” He remembers to add at the last second, earning a huff of laughter from Sam.
“You love it, baby.” Sam hooks his legs around Gabriel’s waist, the line of his cock pressing against Gabriel’s stomach even through his jeans. It’s an awkward angle to tie someone up at, but Sam approaches it with finesse, like he's had a lot of practice. The thought sends shocking amounts of jealousy through Gabriel, and he bites down between Sam’s neck and shoulder. “Gabriel,” he says warningly. Gabriel smirks against his skin.
“What, sir?” He murmurs, arrogant.
“Should've known you'd be a brat in bed,” Sam sighs, pulling the rope taut. It's his Grace, so it feels different than usual bondage rope, but it's a good difference. Good as in, Gabriel doesn't think he can accidentally tear out of it if he doesn't watch his strength. He can get out of it, of course he can, it’s his, but he won't break it unless he wants to. “Feel okay?”
Gabriel tugs experimentally as Sam shifts back, just so they can see each other. He grins roguishly at Sam once the knots hold.
“You’re good at this,” he replies, approving. Sam’s cheeks go red.
“Lots of practice,” Sam murmurs, appraising him. He likes what he sees, Gabriel realises and feels a little fucking giddy over it. Even the mention of Sam’s past partners can't bring him down from that. He leans forward for a kiss and Sam obliges, moving his lips against Gabriel’s and sliding his tongue into his mouth. “Lube, angel,” Sam demands, minutes or maybe centuries later. Gabriel blinks, dazed, and a bottle of lube appears on the bedcovers next to them.
“Oh, this is hell,” Gabriel says when Sam grabs it, realising what the man intends to do. Sam smirks at him.
“Patience is a virtue, angel,” he lectures, peeling his stupidly tight jeans off. He doesn't waste time with teasing before taking his boxers off, too, allowing his gorgeous cock to bounce out. Gabriel’s mouth waters, instantly. He shifts against his bindings, itching with the urge to lick, suck, touch. He's going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn't get to touch Sam.
“You’re a goddamn sadist, Sam Winchester,” Gabriel complains, breathy and way too needy for his tastes. Sam hums, considering, as he drizzles lube over his hand and starts to jerk himself off. Gabriel’s arms flex, and he has half a mind to rip away the rope⎯ but that isn't the game they're playing.
“Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Gabriel challenges. Sam’s eyes flash.
“Or I’ll bend you over my knee and make you.” Gabriel pauses. Well, at least that answers that question of whether or not the handkerchief was fuschia. “Sit back and watch the show, angel,” Sam orders as his hand leaves his cock. Gabriel doesn't think of disobeying for even a second, keeping his eyes glued to Sam as he circles a finger around his hole. A punched-out groan leaves Sam’s lips as he starts to finger himself, not wasting time with going slow or being gentle. Gabriel wants to hold him down and wring orgasms out of him for hours, to worship that body like it's meant to be.
“Sam, fuck, you’re so pretty, so beautiful, can't wait to have you stretched out on my cock. You’re perfect, sir, so good for me, giving me such a damn amazing show⎯ Fuck, the things I wanna do to you, kiddo, that ass of yours.” Sam never said anything about not speaking, and Gabriel’s got a dirty mouth and dirtier thoughts. “Wanna hold you down and eat you out until you're crying, begging me for more, wanna fuck you until you can't remember your own name. I want to ruin you for anyone else, anyone who isn’t me.”
“Gabriel.” Sam moans, and it’s like he's forgotten how to breathe. Gabriel’s hips twitch, moving against nothing but air. “Gabe, shit, condoms⎯” Sam crawls back on top of him, no longer riding his own fingers. Gabriel would question the lack of thorough preparation, but he trusts Sam, and he trusts the other man to know what he can handle.
“Again, kiddo; archangel. I'll never not be clean, there's nothing you can give me, so unless you want it for comfort reasons…” Gabriel trails off meaningfully. Sam’s eyes blow out with lust and he crashes his lips against Gabriel’s in a rough, messy, wet kiss. He moves onto Gabriel’s lap, grinding down on his cock and making Gabriel moan.
“Gonna ride you, angel, fuck, can’t wait to have your cock filling me up,” Sam says against Gabriel’s lips. He shoves Gabriel flat onto the bed, straddling him, and for a second, Gabriel is overcome with a fanatic devotion. Sam is his everything, his soul, his, his, his. “Gabriel,” He moans when he pushes down on Gabriel’s cock. The sensation is practically excruciating to Gabriel’s still-sensitive dick, tight and hot and slick, and it’s all made so much more potent by the expression of ecstasy on Sam’s face.
“Sam,” Gabriel says, reverent. He gets no reprieve before Sam is bouncing on his cock, his pace fast and unrelenting. “Fuck, Sam, baby, ‘m not gonna last, holy shit⎯” He’s cut off when Sam leans down, drawing him into another filthy kiss. His hand is tacky with lube from where he grabs Gabriel’s jaw but he hardly cares, so lost in everything that makes up Sam.
“Want you to come inside me, angel,” Sam murmurs. “Show everyone who I really belong to.”
“Fuck,” Gabriel breathes, and it’s like everything he's ever wanted handed right to him on a silver platter. Sam reaches down between them, jerking himself off even as he keeps riding Gabriel’s cock, those thick thigh muscles flexing. Gabriel has never been more grateful for his strength. “Sam, Sammy, can't hold on any longer, please⎯” Something in his expression must get through to Sam because he softens, almost…loving as he looks at Gabriel.
“It’s alright, angel. Come for me.”
Gabriel’s pretty sure he ascends to the fucking astral plane and goes hurtling through the space time continuum.
⎯⎯⎯
When his consciousness returns, it's not even a few minutes later. There's a puddle of cum drying on his stomach and Sam Winchester half-behind him and half-draped on him, untying the Grace that still binds him. Gabriel hums sleepily, and Sam’s movements pause for the briefest of seconds as hebpresses a kiss to the base of Gabriel’s neck.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, babe,” He teases, loosening the elaborate contraption of ropes. Gabriel rolls his eyes, something affectionate settling in his chest. He calls Sam every nickname under the sun, and would probably do the same for pet names, but it’s refreshing to hear the hunter refer to him with one.
“If you were capable, I’d show your pathetic human body the wonders of coming as an archangelic being with way too much sensory input, too. Asshole.” He huffs, but his tone is warm, gentler than it ought to be. His words startle a brief chuckle from Sam’s lips.
“I had no idea you were so sensitive,” Sam drawls mockingly, slipping the ropes off of Gabriel’s chest. He snaps, lazily clearing any mess they may have made between them, and Sam presses a kiss to his lips in thanks. It feels chaste, soft, sweet, all these things that aren't sex-crazed or hormone-fuelled. It's like… feelings. Like Sam has feelings for him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Winchester,” Gabriel mutters to himself. Sam grins cheekily at him, slightly flushed with a sex hair bedhead. He's adorable, painfully so. Gabriel kind of hates him for having the audacity to look so cute.
“Can I keep these?” Sam asks, making Gabriel’s brows furrow in confusion before he works out that the man means the ropes he's still holding. The ropes made out of Gabriel’s Grace. A part of him flickers with apprehension, immediately, because it’s one thing to use Grace in sex-related shenanigans, and it’s quite another to keep it out. Free for the taking. Even if he's sure that it couldn't really be used nefariously⎯ it's bondage rope⎯ it's still nerve-wracking to consider. His Grace is part of him, arguably one of the most intimate parts.
“It’s okay, Gabe,” Sam says, interrupting his thoughts. His expression is curiously non-judgemental, although he can’t quite hide the disappointment in his eyes. “I know it’s personal. You don’t have to say yes.”
“I want to,” Gabriel blurts out before he can stop himself. “I meant what I said. I trust you. I just… I don’t trust the world. Can't I keep them for a while, and you can see them whenever you want? I'll work up to letting you take them, but to start, I think moderation is best.” He pauses, nose scrunched in disgust. “That’s the first time I've ever said that. I hated it.”
“You…want this to happen again?” Sam looks hesitant, and Gabriel frowns. Haven't they already confirmed that this isn’t a one-off?
“Um, yes?” He replies disbelievingly. “Or did you miss all that mindblowing sex? Do you not want it to happen again?”
“Of course I do!” Sam protests, looking stricken.
“Then what's the dealio, Sambo?” Gabriel gets the distinct feeling that he's missing something in this conversation. Sam’s cheeks darken red, and he frowns. He's doing his little kicked puppy face, the one that happens subconsciously whenever Sam’s convinced himself that he doesn't deserve anything good.
“Hey,” Gabriel says, gently turning Sam’s face to him and pressing an easy kiss against his lips. “Talk to me, Samshine. You're the one who's always harping on communication, anyway. Lead by example.”
“I can’t… I can’t do this as just friends. I'm not built for it, and I mean, fuck, I've tried before. So if this is just an easy lay for you, an exciting fling, I’m sorry, but I have to stop now.” Sam exhales sharply, looking like he’s facing a firing squad as he awaits Gabriel’s reply. His heart is simultaneously breaking in his chest at the fact that Sam believes there's a universe where he isn't disastrously in love with him and flying high because⎯ Fuck. Sam has feelings for him. Sam likes him back, and hell, that makes Gabriel feel like a middle schooler to even think of, but it’s true.
“You aren't an easy lay,” Gabriel says with a laugh. Sam looks at him in confusion. “I mean, Christ, Sam, I've been hitting on you for months. Nothing about this was easy! Of course I'm not just in this for your dick, even if it’s a damn fine one. I'm in it for you.” Sam’s face cycles through disappointment, offense, shock, and settles on a blinding smile of awe within the span of a second.
“You have feelings for me,” Sam says, torn between delighted and smug. Gabriel rolls his eyes, shoving a hand at his face.
“Do you have to make it sound so gross?”
“Are you kidding me? I've got an archangel in his bed who just tried to communicate with me and agreed to go on a date tomorrow, I'm never shutting the fuck up about it.” Sam pulls Gabriel close into a squishy human hug, and he allows it, grumbling under his breath the whole time. He curls his arms around Sam’s chest and tangles their legs together.
“I never agreed to a date,” He complains, because clearly, Sam is cheesy and romantic and Gabriel doesn't want to touch that shit with a ten foot pole. Not yet, at least. He's still adjusting to the whole feelings revelation.
“I'll bake for you and you can critique it with your shitty British accent.”
“I absolutely agreed to a date.” Sam laughs, and the sound is torn between relief and pure, simple happiness. Gabriel’s heart twinges in his chest. This is what he wants, he realises. This is Sam happy, safe, and sated, and all it took was Gabriel to make it happen. He never wants to leave Sam’s arms. “Also fuck you, Sammyboy, my accent is fantabulous.”
“That isn't even a word!” Sam protests. Gabriel rolls his eyes and pokes him in the cheek just because he can.
“You’re like a walking dictionary.”
“Says the archangel of the Lord who knows all languages in existence.”
“Low blow, Samuel.” Gabriel pouts, not meaning it. Sam grins at him. It’s sweet, loving, kind… All those things he figured Sam could never feel for him, and yet here they are. Gabriel thinks it's a miracle he hasn't exploded ooey gooey Grace and true form all over the place from the sheer emotional feedback he's getting. Archangels are no t equipped for this much emotional stimulation.
“I really like you, Gabe,” Sam says suddenly, honest to a fault. Gabriel rolls his eyes.
“I'd sure hope so, after having my cock up your ass in the past fifteen minutes⎯”
“You’re so goddamn vulgar,” Sam complains, earning a pointed look. “Shut up and take the compliment.”
“Fine,” Gabriel says sulkily. Sam runs his fingers through his hair and, really, they need to slap this boy with a big ol’ warning: addicting label. Gabriel glares at the thought. No one else except for him is going to get a chance to find out just how addicting Sam Winchester is, he decides. Sam belongs to him, and he belongs to Sam, willing and freely.
“I like you, too,” Gabriel admits, eventually, after too many minutes have passed. Sam hums, and he doesn't need to be looking at him to know that the hunter is wearing the cheesiest, sappiest smile he can manage. “Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything!” Sam protests, but he's laughing, so he knows exactly what he's doing.
“You’re an asshole, Winchester,” Gabriel says, burying his face in Sam’s chest.
⎯end.