Possession, SPN, Sam/Gabriel, PG-13
Title: Possession
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character: Sam/Gabriel
Summary: Some of his scars were fading with time. Some were so faint that even he could miss them.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
A/N: From the Five Things Meme. Written for Airspaniel with the prompt Biting/Bruising.
Sometimes, between jobs, Sam liked to sit around in parks in the afternoon. He had no idea what Dean thought he was doing, or if Dean even noticed. He just needed a little peace and quiet to put himself back together afterwards.
He preferred spaces with sculptures and statues. He liked their smooth lines and unblemished surfaces; a reminder that not everything was patched together and stitched back up again.
Some of his scars were fading with time, some were so faint that even he could miss them. Some of them were still new enough to ache if he twisted the wrong way, flaring red when knocked or stretched.
Occupational hazard. Unavoidable reminder of this life. Just one of those things.
And then there was the other mark. The one that faded over a day only to come back sharp and clear by next morning. A nightly ritual that he'd begun by putting up with and now? Now he resented it when it was prevented or interrupted. A small area on his hip, speckled red where the capillaries had burst but not quite a bruise because pain wasn't a part of it.
This blemish wasn't a memory made flesh like the others, a patchwork chronology of his unlikely survival. This was a promise. It said that, whatever he was, whatever he'd been made to be, he belonged to someone.
It was easily one of the stupidest things he'd ever thought. He had what was left of his family - Dean and Bobby had nearly died for him how many times now? Not counting the times they had actually died for him. He was loyal as hell to them.
But it wasn't the same. This wasn't something he could really explain. He knew what it meant, now at least. Gabriel knew what it meant, which is why he turned up every single night, even if he didn't stay. He'd appear like a whirlwind, spinning Sam, pushing him into whatever first got in the way, kissing him hard and stripping down Sam's jeans before he fell to his knees. He’d be there just long enough to leave imprints of his teeth where he sucked hard on the skin of Sam's hip. As the bite-marks faded, the redness would intensify. His own little brand of ownership.
Sometimes it wouldn't stop there, sometimes he'd stay. On one memorable occasion he'd stayed long enough to earn a scandalised look from Dean, who thereafter knocked on Sam’s door every time. Sometimes he'd be gone before Sam even knew he was done. He was an unpredictable asshole, but that's what you get for sleeping with an Archangel who played Trickster for too long.
That and a constant reminder that he owned you, and you had absolutely no right to damage or destroy his property. Sam would rather get shot in the kneecap than admit how comforting that was sometimes.
He focused back on the faux-Grecian statues in front of him, and realised that one was wearing a paper hat. Another seemed to be holding a lit sparkler.
He huffed in amusement. At least they weren't in perverse positions this time.
"Bored?" he asked thin air.
"You think too hard, Sammy. I'm surprised your brain hasn't exploded from overwork." The voice was behind him and he had no intention of turning around.
"Don't call me Sammy."
"Well I could go back to Seven-Inch Sam but you didn’t seem to like that one, either." Gabriel hopped over the back of the bench and slid down beside Sam.
"Or was it Dean that objected to it?"
Sam glared. Gabriel just smirked and licked his lips.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Stop provoking Dean."
"Hmm, let me think about that one.” Gabriel paused for a second. “No."
"Asshole."
"One of my many virtues."
Sam tipped his head back, exasperated. He stared up at the sky for a second, wondering how long Gabriel would stay quiet.
Approximately two seconds later, Sam felt Gabriel straddle his lap. He wondered if he could sell his soul for angelic Ritalin.
"Gabriel, we're in a public park at three in the afternoon in Kentucky. Get off me."
"Why? I've always wondered what it'd be like to be lynched."
Sam raised his head to find Gabriel's face less than an inch from his. It was hard to glower at someone when you could feel their breath on your skin. He tried anyway.
"Not funny." Sam tried to push him back onto the bench. He may as well have tried to bend one of the statues. Gabriel was clearly not moving until Gabriel chose to.
One hand was idly stroking Sam's hip, over and over on the exact spot.
"I want to see it," Gabriel said, his voice dark and demanding.
Sam swallowed down, well aware that Gabriel could and would strip him naked on a whim. He also tried to ignore the small part of him that whispered about how much he liked the idea.
"Motel," he ground out.
"Motel?" Gabriel complained, as if waiting for even as long as it took to move them there was a great sacrifice on his part.
"Get me back to the room and I'm all yours."
Sam felt Gabriel's hand slide down the side of his waistband, fingers pressing against the mark.
"Yes," Gabriel said as the world blurred around them. "You are."
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character: Sam/Gabriel
Summary: Some of his scars were fading with time. Some were so faint that even he could miss them.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
A/N: From the Five Things Meme. Written for Airspaniel with the prompt Biting/Bruising.
Sometimes, between jobs, Sam liked to sit around in parks in the afternoon. He had no idea what Dean thought he was doing, or if Dean even noticed. He just needed a little peace and quiet to put himself back together afterwards.
He preferred spaces with sculptures and statues. He liked their smooth lines and unblemished surfaces; a reminder that not everything was patched together and stitched back up again.
Some of his scars were fading with time, some were so faint that even he could miss them. Some of them were still new enough to ache if he twisted the wrong way, flaring red when knocked or stretched.
Occupational hazard. Unavoidable reminder of this life. Just one of those things.
And then there was the other mark. The one that faded over a day only to come back sharp and clear by next morning. A nightly ritual that he'd begun by putting up with and now? Now he resented it when it was prevented or interrupted. A small area on his hip, speckled red where the capillaries had burst but not quite a bruise because pain wasn't a part of it.
This blemish wasn't a memory made flesh like the others, a patchwork chronology of his unlikely survival. This was a promise. It said that, whatever he was, whatever he'd been made to be, he belonged to someone.
It was easily one of the stupidest things he'd ever thought. He had what was left of his family - Dean and Bobby had nearly died for him how many times now? Not counting the times they had actually died for him. He was loyal as hell to them.
But it wasn't the same. This wasn't something he could really explain. He knew what it meant, now at least. Gabriel knew what it meant, which is why he turned up every single night, even if he didn't stay. He'd appear like a whirlwind, spinning Sam, pushing him into whatever first got in the way, kissing him hard and stripping down Sam's jeans before he fell to his knees. He’d be there just long enough to leave imprints of his teeth where he sucked hard on the skin of Sam's hip. As the bite-marks faded, the redness would intensify. His own little brand of ownership.
Sometimes it wouldn't stop there, sometimes he'd stay. On one memorable occasion he'd stayed long enough to earn a scandalised look from Dean, who thereafter knocked on Sam’s door every time. Sometimes he'd be gone before Sam even knew he was done. He was an unpredictable asshole, but that's what you get for sleeping with an Archangel who played Trickster for too long.
That and a constant reminder that he owned you, and you had absolutely no right to damage or destroy his property. Sam would rather get shot in the kneecap than admit how comforting that was sometimes.
He focused back on the faux-Grecian statues in front of him, and realised that one was wearing a paper hat. Another seemed to be holding a lit sparkler.
He huffed in amusement. At least they weren't in perverse positions this time.
"Bored?" he asked thin air.
"You think too hard, Sammy. I'm surprised your brain hasn't exploded from overwork." The voice was behind him and he had no intention of turning around.
"Don't call me Sammy."
"Well I could go back to Seven-Inch Sam but you didn’t seem to like that one, either." Gabriel hopped over the back of the bench and slid down beside Sam.
"Or was it Dean that objected to it?"
Sam glared. Gabriel just smirked and licked his lips.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Stop provoking Dean."
"Hmm, let me think about that one.” Gabriel paused for a second. “No."
"Asshole."
"One of my many virtues."
Sam tipped his head back, exasperated. He stared up at the sky for a second, wondering how long Gabriel would stay quiet.
Approximately two seconds later, Sam felt Gabriel straddle his lap. He wondered if he could sell his soul for angelic Ritalin.
"Gabriel, we're in a public park at three in the afternoon in Kentucky. Get off me."
"Why? I've always wondered what it'd be like to be lynched."
Sam raised his head to find Gabriel's face less than an inch from his. It was hard to glower at someone when you could feel their breath on your skin. He tried anyway.
"Not funny." Sam tried to push him back onto the bench. He may as well have tried to bend one of the statues. Gabriel was clearly not moving until Gabriel chose to.
One hand was idly stroking Sam's hip, over and over on the exact spot.
"I want to see it," Gabriel said, his voice dark and demanding.
Sam swallowed down, well aware that Gabriel could and would strip him naked on a whim. He also tried to ignore the small part of him that whispered about how much he liked the idea.
"Motel," he ground out.
"Motel?" Gabriel complained, as if waiting for even as long as it took to move them there was a great sacrifice on his part.
"Get me back to the room and I'm all yours."
Sam felt Gabriel's hand slide down the side of his waistband, fingers pressing against the mark.
"Yes," Gabriel said as the world blurred around them. "You are."