Fic: Pancakes
Title: Pancakes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x08
Warnings: Abuse of maple syrup
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "Can we please have a conversation that doesn't involve messing about with foodstuffs, just for a change?"
AN: Written for thestraychild whose ideas are like delicious candy.
Sam doesn't actually remember where the pancakes came from, he really doesn't. But they're good pancakes so he lets it slide. Besides, when Gabriel's around, things have a tendency to appear out of nowhere. And sometimes to disappear into nowhere at inconvenient moments.
"I'm just saying, Dean takes things too seriously, he puts too much on himself, which is why he thinks it's his fault when everything falls apart. He needs to chill out a little bit. It's freaky watching him walk around so tense when nothing's even happening. I keep thinking he'll just snap in half like in that fairytale."
Gabriel's ignoring his own pancakes in favour of smearing his thumb through the maple syrup curled round the edge of his plate.
"Are you even listening?" Sam complains.
"Uh huh, sure, Dean, blah, blah, blah, brotherly angst, blah, blah blah, fate of the world -"
"That's not funny."
Gabriel drags his thumb across his tongue, in a way that's unnecessarily pornographic.
"Stop it," Sam tells him firmly.
"Stop what?"
"You said you were interested." It's supposed to be more accusation than frustration. But Sam thinks it comes out unnecessarily whiny too.
He throws his hands up.
"I should have listened to Dean; he doesn't think you're serious about helping, he thinks you're just playing with me."
Gabriel smirks and gives him a look from under his eyebrows.
"Not like that," Sam tells him flatly. "Jesus."
"Why not like that?" Gabriel demands though his voice is mostly dare and amusement, so Sam ignores him.
"Seriously, why do you have to make everything so difficult?"
"Maybe I do it because it's fun," Gabriel tells him, and Sam pulls a face, disapproving and frustrated, because he's honestly not sure there's any way to convince Gabriel to do anything if it wasn't his idea first.
How the hell were you supposed to make an Archangel behave?
Gabriel laughs and leans over the table, leaves a tacky line of syrup across Sam's lower lip.
Sam swipes at him, but he's already gone and he's forced to lick it off.
"Can we please have a conversation that doesn't involve messing about with foodstuffs, just for a change?"
Gabriel makes a face like he's thinking about it.
"How old are you, seriously, because I'm starting to wonder." Sam refuses to be the responsible adult here, refuses.
Gabriel laughs and stands up and Sam's already glaring at his own plate, deciding the conversation is finished until Gabriel decides it isn't again. Until the angel shoves into his side, fork clanking when he drops it, and Gabriel plants his knee on the chair and slithers into Sam's lap
"Gabriel, what the hell -" Gabriel's mouth is sticky-wet, and fiercely hot inside. Sam can taste his amusement, the rumble of laughter against his tongue. He means to push him away, to get his mouth free to speak, but he ends up chasing that curl of sweetness instead. Hands fisted in the material of Gabriel's jacket in a way that isn't pulling but probably should be. The kiss opens up, leaves the edges of his mouth tacky. Gabriel's fingers shove into his hair, dragging it off his face.
"Cut your damn hair, Winchester." Gabriel pulls it, just a fraction away from pain, and then he's sliding away and Sam's left staring at empty space- until there's a tug on his jacket and he's up and out of the chair before he's even registered if he really wants to go anywhere Gabriel's taking him.
Anywhere appears to be the bed - where Gabriel shoves him down, with considerably more insistence than his size should give him, hands going up under his shirt in one warm slide, pushing it up high enough that he can drag it off over his head and toss it away.
Then Gabriel leans over and fishes something out of the sheets, and Sam knows instantly exactly what he snagged off the table.
The syrup is slow and heavy and cold and - fuck - it runs in slippery trails across every muscle of his chest, curling down the middle of his stomach, towards the waist of his jeans.
"I am not breakfast," Sam manages, which doesn't sound like a protest at all. But Gabriel looks far too smug when he catches Sam's wrists and holds them still before sliding up far enough to - treat him like breakfast. Leaving wet, tacky lines across his ribs, and up his chest, straying round his nipple with a vicious sort of intent, and Sam chokes on a breath and pushes up, just a little, into Gabriel's teeth.
Then the angel’s sliding his hand into his pants and unbuttoning them, and Sam lifts up so he can drag them off. Though he has no coherent idea why and then there's maple syrup where maple syrup has no business being.
Gabriel puts his mouth to better use, and Sam gets lost somewhere between the heavy tackiness of syrup and the soft wet slide of his tongue, making garbled appreciative noises somewhere in his throat. Shivery lines of sensation in Gabriel's obscene, delicious mouth, and that's really, really wrong-
- "Sam!"
"What?" Sam pulls his head off the pillow so hard and so fast he nearly smacks straight into Dean.
"Whoa, it's ok, the world isn't on fire," Dean tells him, when he comes into focus. "Dude, you were making noises, really loud noises."
The pointed eyebrow raise Dean gives him tells him exactly what kind of noises. Sam manages some sort of sound in his throat.
"A man deserves his porn, especially you lately, but seriously, paper-thin walls. Besides Cas was looking at you funny."
Sam blinks, and very carefully turns his head to look at Castiel. Castiel, head tilted just a fraction in careful inquiry, looks back.
"So, what were you dreaming about?" Dean asks with a smirk.
Sam pulls a pillow over his head.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x08
Warnings: Abuse of maple syrup
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "Can we please have a conversation that doesn't involve messing about with foodstuffs, just for a change?"
AN: Written for thestraychild whose ideas are like delicious candy.
Sam doesn't actually remember where the pancakes came from, he really doesn't. But they're good pancakes so he lets it slide. Besides, when Gabriel's around, things have a tendency to appear out of nowhere. And sometimes to disappear into nowhere at inconvenient moments.
"I'm just saying, Dean takes things too seriously, he puts too much on himself, which is why he thinks it's his fault when everything falls apart. He needs to chill out a little bit. It's freaky watching him walk around so tense when nothing's even happening. I keep thinking he'll just snap in half like in that fairytale."
Gabriel's ignoring his own pancakes in favour of smearing his thumb through the maple syrup curled round the edge of his plate.
"Are you even listening?" Sam complains.
"Uh huh, sure, Dean, blah, blah, blah, brotherly angst, blah, blah blah, fate of the world -"
"That's not funny."
Gabriel drags his thumb across his tongue, in a way that's unnecessarily pornographic.
"Stop it," Sam tells him firmly.
"Stop what?"
"You said you were interested." It's supposed to be more accusation than frustration. But Sam thinks it comes out unnecessarily whiny too.
He throws his hands up.
"I should have listened to Dean; he doesn't think you're serious about helping, he thinks you're just playing with me."
Gabriel smirks and gives him a look from under his eyebrows.
"Not like that," Sam tells him flatly. "Jesus."
"Why not like that?" Gabriel demands though his voice is mostly dare and amusement, so Sam ignores him.
"Seriously, why do you have to make everything so difficult?"
"Maybe I do it because it's fun," Gabriel tells him, and Sam pulls a face, disapproving and frustrated, because he's honestly not sure there's any way to convince Gabriel to do anything if it wasn't his idea first.
How the hell were you supposed to make an Archangel behave?
Gabriel laughs and leans over the table, leaves a tacky line of syrup across Sam's lower lip.
Sam swipes at him, but he's already gone and he's forced to lick it off.
"Can we please have a conversation that doesn't involve messing about with foodstuffs, just for a change?"
Gabriel makes a face like he's thinking about it.
"How old are you, seriously, because I'm starting to wonder." Sam refuses to be the responsible adult here, refuses.
Gabriel laughs and stands up and Sam's already glaring at his own plate, deciding the conversation is finished until Gabriel decides it isn't again. Until the angel shoves into his side, fork clanking when he drops it, and Gabriel plants his knee on the chair and slithers into Sam's lap
"Gabriel, what the hell -" Gabriel's mouth is sticky-wet, and fiercely hot inside. Sam can taste his amusement, the rumble of laughter against his tongue. He means to push him away, to get his mouth free to speak, but he ends up chasing that curl of sweetness instead. Hands fisted in the material of Gabriel's jacket in a way that isn't pulling but probably should be. The kiss opens up, leaves the edges of his mouth tacky. Gabriel's fingers shove into his hair, dragging it off his face.
"Cut your damn hair, Winchester." Gabriel pulls it, just a fraction away from pain, and then he's sliding away and Sam's left staring at empty space- until there's a tug on his jacket and he's up and out of the chair before he's even registered if he really wants to go anywhere Gabriel's taking him.
Anywhere appears to be the bed - where Gabriel shoves him down, with considerably more insistence than his size should give him, hands going up under his shirt in one warm slide, pushing it up high enough that he can drag it off over his head and toss it away.
Then Gabriel leans over and fishes something out of the sheets, and Sam knows instantly exactly what he snagged off the table.
The syrup is slow and heavy and cold and - fuck - it runs in slippery trails across every muscle of his chest, curling down the middle of his stomach, towards the waist of his jeans.
"I am not breakfast," Sam manages, which doesn't sound like a protest at all. But Gabriel looks far too smug when he catches Sam's wrists and holds them still before sliding up far enough to - treat him like breakfast. Leaving wet, tacky lines across his ribs, and up his chest, straying round his nipple with a vicious sort of intent, and Sam chokes on a breath and pushes up, just a little, into Gabriel's teeth.
Then the angel’s sliding his hand into his pants and unbuttoning them, and Sam lifts up so he can drag them off. Though he has no coherent idea why and then there's maple syrup where maple syrup has no business being.
Gabriel puts his mouth to better use, and Sam gets lost somewhere between the heavy tackiness of syrup and the soft wet slide of his tongue, making garbled appreciative noises somewhere in his throat. Shivery lines of sensation in Gabriel's obscene, delicious mouth, and that's really, really wrong-
- "Sam!"
"What?" Sam pulls his head off the pillow so hard and so fast he nearly smacks straight into Dean.
"Whoa, it's ok, the world isn't on fire," Dean tells him, when he comes into focus. "Dude, you were making noises, really loud noises."
The pointed eyebrow raise Dean gives him tells him exactly what kind of noises. Sam manages some sort of sound in his throat.
"A man deserves his porn, especially you lately, but seriously, paper-thin walls. Besides Cas was looking at you funny."
Sam blinks, and very carefully turns his head to look at Castiel. Castiel, head tilted just a fraction in careful inquiry, looks back.
"So, what were you dreaming about?" Dean asks with a smirk.
Sam pulls a pillow over his head.