Gabriel/War - NC-17 - 1/?defiant_deviantSeptember 4 2010, 10:00:39 UTC
((Mystery-flavored kink fill atm, mostly just expressing that I AM GOING TO WRITE YOU PORN. Rest will come along shortly. Hopefully you like these parts!))
Gabriel knew that War was in town long before the Winchester boys. He met the horseman by accident, playing around some podunk little town in Florida where he can try out some tricks before he takes them into Miami. As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one that came through to practice.
It’s the car he comes across first. Gabriel doesn’t really think about it when he pauses in his step to admire the fine work of machinery, because a place like this isn’t worth anyone’s time when there’s an apocalypse on the way. War preffers the big games and has been playing in Europe and Africa as far as he knows, New York and the west coast if he actually chooses to put on his walking clothes. So at a cursory glance, there’s just a real fine filly of a Mustang parked outside mom and pop’s diner in the midday sun, sleek and red as sin. Gabriel pulls his sunglasses down his nose to look and feels his mouth begin to water. Just what was a car like that doing out this way? At most, he’s thinking there’s a demon with a suit and a schedule to keep, and wouldn’t it just be too perfect if he were to walk right over and steal it now?
It’s as hot as Satan’s ass in this backwater township - you couldn’t walk five feet before you’d be wearing what they called a ‘glow’ around these parts. It’s the type of heat that can make a man feel like he’s broiling alive, the type of heat that can start a fight. Even Gabriel has to breathe a little heavier and mop his vessel’s brow as he crosses the street to do just what his whim has told him to. Temperence isn’t something he keeps on his resume any more.
Once he actually gets to the Mustang, he knows exactly what he’s looking at. By then, though, it’s too late.
“She’s put on a few pounds over the years,” War seems to muse, but his eyes have settled intently upon the archangel, as if he knows Gabriel’s intent exactly. As he slowly stalks over to lean against the hood of the car, the angel gets a good look at him. He’s got a meatsuit on, of course, an outward appearance that bares no familiarity to the trickster. It’s a necessity to put on the sheep skin to walk among the flock, and with his ring War has spun himself a neat little cocoon of normality. Gabriel can imagine the real owner of this disguise abandoned somewhere in the swamp, sliding heavy through the moss, bloated if he hasn’t been picked clean.
No, he recognizes War right away because he knows how to look. His senses are not crippled by what his eyes perceive; there is heat pouring off the entity that stands before him now, tempered aggression and the scent of something chaotic. Standing near this thing makes him rife with tension like a horse that dances behind the gate, chomping at the bit. He’s in control of himself but he can’t help but feel as if something is about to break loose and cause an avalanche around him. Makes him wary - makes him keen. That’s how he knows for sure.
“What are you doing here?” He hazards, forcing a smile of cocky delight. It’s like bumping into an old college buddy now. Gabriel already knows what the answer will be, and yet it’s as if the confirmation will make it easier for him to come to a decision. How soon does he need to get the hell out of Dodge?
“Business as usual, I’m afraid,” And there’s a surprisingly human gesture in the raised shoulders, as if the situation is completely out of his hands. Wherever the horsemen go, bodies froth up in their wake. He can’t fault War for being what he is, what he can’t help but do, but the angel will not allow himself to think for a moment that War doesn’t enjoy every purpose he is put towards.
Re: Gabriel/War - NC-17 - 2/?defiant_deviantSeptember 4 2010, 10:00:55 UTC
Gabriel has been there, tasted the heat and put his will toward the destruction of those who would seek to block the way to his goal. He knows the exhileration of a quarrel, the release brought by conflict, God, the addiction of victory. Even in his prime he has never really been a soldier, but Gabriel knows the feel of a battle well enough to know it is a prickly and unstable plaything. Few humans escaped its grasp, fewer still had his brothers.
And Gabriel is tempted then, the question hangs on his tongue. How is my brother?
He swallows it, every bitter inch.
Instead he groans in the back of his throat, a pitiable whine for War’s tight leash. Puts his hands in his white jacket pockets and rocks back on his heels. “And here I thought we might catch up. Aw, well, if ya gotta...”
War blinks, tilts his head slightly as if he’s just watched the angel’s vessel sprout another head. He’s clearly surprised, but even worse than that, he seems amused, seems to be considering something. Gabriel had certainly not planned on him mistaking sincerity in his tenor, but somehow he can’t object now. This is by far one of the most interesting and dangerous encounters he’s had in a while, and all War has even done is swagger in and give him the stink eye for oggling the Mustang. He’d decided to himself that he didn’t particularly care to be in the same vacinity as anything close to his scale of power, but now that he had been put in the situation, he found a part of himself was almost craving it.
“It has been quite a while. What, a millennia?”
“About three, officially.”
A low whistle from War, whose hand slides fondly down a contour of his scarlet mount, more truly a part of him than the fingers that brush it. “Well you’re in luck, my fine-feathered friend, cuz the work will work itself out now that the seed’s been planted. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to check the turkey in about an hour, but for now... How ‘bout a ride?”
And how the hell is Gabriel supposed to say no to an offer like that? It could be a trap, but Gabriel’s pride says he could outwit anything visceral War can pull, even welcomes the challenge. The afformentioned entity is moving to the driver’s door, which seems to already be unlocked and gives easily under the pull of his hand. The angel finds himself sidestepping to follow him, keeping enough distance to stay out of the horseman’s reach while he appraises the upholstery. Impressive. The old gal really did clean up well. He has only one question, a very, very important one. Because if Gabriel is going to allow himself to be tempted, it’s got to be the real deal, all the way.
Gabriel knew that War was in town long before the Winchester boys. He met the horseman by accident, playing around some podunk little town in Florida where he can try out some tricks before he takes them into Miami. As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one that came through to practice.
It’s the car he comes across first. Gabriel doesn’t really think about it when he pauses in his step to admire the fine work of machinery, because a place like this isn’t worth anyone’s time when there’s an apocalypse on the way. War preffers the big games and has been playing in Europe and Africa as far as he knows, New York and the west coast if he actually chooses to put on his walking clothes. So at a cursory glance, there’s just a real fine filly of a Mustang parked outside mom and pop’s diner in the midday sun, sleek and red as sin. Gabriel pulls his sunglasses down his nose to look and feels his mouth begin to water. Just what was a car like that doing out this way? At most, he’s thinking there’s a demon with a suit and a schedule to keep, and wouldn’t it just be too perfect if he were to walk right over and steal it now?
It’s as hot as Satan’s ass in this backwater township - you couldn’t walk five feet before you’d be wearing what they called a ‘glow’ around these parts. It’s the type of heat that can make a man feel like he’s broiling alive, the type of heat that can start a fight. Even Gabriel has to breathe a little heavier and mop his vessel’s brow as he crosses the street to do just what his whim has told him to. Temperence isn’t something he keeps on his resume any more.
Once he actually gets to the Mustang, he knows exactly what he’s looking at. By then, though, it’s too late.
“She’s put on a few pounds over the years,” War seems to muse, but his eyes have settled intently upon the archangel, as if he knows Gabriel’s intent exactly. As he slowly stalks over to lean against the hood of the car, the angel gets a good look at him. He’s got a meatsuit on, of course, an outward appearance that bares no familiarity to the trickster. It’s a necessity to put on the sheep skin to walk among the flock, and with his ring War has spun himself a neat little cocoon of normality. Gabriel can imagine the real owner of this disguise abandoned somewhere in the swamp, sliding heavy through the moss, bloated if he hasn’t been picked clean.
No, he recognizes War right away because he knows how to look. His senses are not crippled by what his eyes perceive; there is heat pouring off the entity that stands before him now, tempered aggression and the scent of something chaotic. Standing near this thing makes him rife with tension like a horse that dances behind the gate, chomping at the bit. He’s in control of himself but he can’t help but feel as if something is about to break loose and cause an avalanche around him. Makes him wary - makes him keen. That’s how he knows for sure.
“What are you doing here?” He hazards, forcing a smile of cocky delight. It’s like bumping into an old college buddy now. Gabriel already knows what the answer will be, and yet it’s as if the confirmation will make it easier for him to come to a decision. How soon does he need to get the hell out of Dodge?
“Business as usual, I’m afraid,” And there’s a surprisingly human gesture in the raised shoulders, as if the situation is completely out of his hands. Wherever the horsemen go, bodies froth up in their wake. He can’t fault War for being what he is, what he can’t help but do, but the angel will not allow himself to think for a moment that War doesn’t enjoy every purpose he is put towards.
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And Gabriel is tempted then, the question hangs on his tongue. How is my brother?
He swallows it, every bitter inch.
Instead he groans in the back of his throat, a pitiable whine for War’s tight leash. Puts his hands in his white jacket pockets and rocks back on his heels. “And here I thought we might catch up. Aw, well, if ya gotta...”
War blinks, tilts his head slightly as if he’s just watched the angel’s vessel sprout another head. He’s clearly surprised, but even worse than that, he seems amused, seems to be considering something. Gabriel had certainly not planned on him mistaking sincerity in his tenor, but somehow he can’t object now. This is by far one of the most interesting and dangerous encounters he’s had in a while, and all War has even done is swagger in and give him the stink eye for oggling the Mustang. He’d decided to himself that he didn’t particularly care to be in the same vacinity as anything close to his scale of power, but now that he had been put in the situation, he found a part of himself was almost craving it.
“It has been quite a while. What, a millennia?”
“About three, officially.”
A low whistle from War, whose hand slides fondly down a contour of his scarlet mount, more truly a part of him than the fingers that brush it. “Well you’re in luck, my fine-feathered friend, cuz the work will work itself out now that the seed’s been planted. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to check the turkey in about an hour, but for now... How ‘bout a ride?”
And how the hell is Gabriel supposed to say no to an offer like that? It could be a trap, but Gabriel’s pride says he could outwit anything visceral War can pull, even welcomes the challenge. The afformentioned entity is moving to the driver’s door, which seems to already be unlocked and gives easily under the pull of his hand. The angel finds himself sidestepping to follow him, keeping enough distance to stay out of the horseman’s reach while he appraises the upholstery. Impressive. The old gal really did clean up well. He has only one question, a very, very important one. Because if Gabriel is going to allow himself to be tempted, it’s got to be the real deal, all the way.
“Air conditioning?”
“Of course.”
Sold.
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