Alcohol Affairs
Title: Alcohol Affairs
Pairing: Balthazar/Sam
Rating: M for suggestive commenting
Word Count: 695
Spoilers: Vague Season Six in that Balthazar exists.
Warnings: Pure Crack, Pure humor, acts committed while under the influence but later not regretted, much.
Notes: Spur of the moment drabble, first attempt at Balthazar/Sam.
Summary: Balthazar probably shouldn't have had all those drinks with the youngest Winchester.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Balthazar woke slowly, not even realizing that his coming to awareness again meant that he'd slept in the first place. Mainly because as an angel he didn't sleep. Except for that one time that he'd promised himself never to think about again.
He saw more of Castiel's physical vessel that time then he ever wanted to. No offense meant to the humans, of course.
Anyway, besides the whole waking up thing, Balthazar also realized that his head, rather, his vessel's head, really fucking hurt. "Owww, shit." he whimpered. He had the sense that he was sprawled out ungracefully on a hard, flat surface. Taking a moment to just breathe through the throbbing in his head, Balthazar set about the tedious task of opening his eyes.
That accomplished, Balthazar found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Oh, bollocks, he thought. If I got drunk and screwed some human again I'm gonna be pissed. Screw whoever said angels couldn't get drunk, with a whole lot of alcohol and a mastered control of a vessel it was a hell of a lot easier then was probably advisable. With a supreme effort he managed to lift his head enough to take stock of both himself and his surroundings. Naturally, there was something that occurred to him first.
"Where the Hell am I? Why am I on the floor? And where the fuck are my pants!" he really wanted to shout but his head hurt too much so instead Balthazar settled for growling at the world in general. The last thing he expected was to be answered by a sadly familiar voice in the direction of a bed the angel figured he should have been on.
"Dunno, but not Hell. You're on the floor 'cause that's where I pushed you and your pants are probably where ever you threw them." the pissy voice informed him, "Now shut the fuck up so I can sleep off what you did to me last night. Bastard."
Balthazar sighed and let his head thump back to the carpet. Of course he did. Because as if he didn't already have a death wish by turning against Raphael but then he just had to go and get drunk with the younger Winchester, who he then apparently fucked into the mattress he wasn't even allowed to sleep on.
Castiel is going to be pissed, well, not pissed but definitely disappointed. Damn. He moaned quietly to himself and debated getting up, not an appealing idea honestly, when he had a much more pressing thought.
Oh, shit. Dean is going to roast me in a pit of holy fire for fucking Sam. How is this even my life?
He groaned again, louder this time as he struggled to accept his imminent death. There was a strangled huff from the bed and rustling before Sam, with tousled floppy hair and a bitchface, leaned over the edge to glare at him.
"If I let you up on the bed will you shut the fuck up and sleep?"
Balthazar thought for a moment, weighing his options(which were shit, really) before giving a shrug with the reasoning that he's already screwed so he might as well be comfortable for the last sleep before he's fried by a pissed off Winchester.
"Promise, darling."
Sam scowled but disappeared and Balthazar began the struggle to get up and on the bed, it took longer then his pride would admit but he finally made it and collapsed beside Sam, who was already mostly asleep.
"Try to spoon or touch me with the intention of sex before I've slept another eight hours and I won't save you from Dean later."
Balthazar perked up a moment, happy to realize he might just not be dead after all, and then settled down to sleep off the remains of too much alcohol. Then he had another thought, "So I can touch you with the intention of sex after the eight hours?"
"Balthazar! I said shut up! Jesus..."
Subdued again, the angel resettled and closed his eyes, much happier that he was not to die and apparently had been given permission to screw Sam after this.
It made for rather pleasant dreams.