Re: Prompt: Dean/Gabriel, dirty talk
anonymous
November 3 2011, 05:05:08 UTC
Gabriel avoided Dean for two weeks. Or possibly Dean avoided him. Or Castiel just did his collie-dog thing where he glared at everyone until they were magically in the places he wanted them to be without them really noticing how they’d got there (and really, it was kind of embarrassing how quickly he’d programmed Sam and Dean to respond to growled orders, especially when it came to life and death situations or turning off the television after 10:30 pm, and Dean wasn’t even asking about Gabriel but it seemed to work on him too, against all logic).
Sam spent most of that time wearing his little tense and unhappy face that he did whenever any of them were arguing, especially when they wouldn’t tell him what was going on so that he could stare at them earnestly and tell them to hug and get the fuck over it (or words to that effect). Castiel just turned into a Dean-shadow, soft and angry and determined, but that was pretty much par for the course. Except for the little brittle edge whenever Gabriel was mentioned - or when Dean leaned in for a kiss. The one time Dean asked, Castiel just turned his head toward him and looked at him, eyes huge and dark, and said, “He did not see you in Hell, Dean. He does not remember as I do.” And okay, fine, but it didn’t actually tell Dean what it had been about, because all he remembered was moping that Castiel didn’t trust him enough to let him do that yet, then somehow that had morphed into him yelling at Gabriel something about keeping his funny-looking nose out of his and Cas’ business, and Gabriel yelling something about ungrateful stubborn bastards who couldn’t see when his baby bro was bending himself into knots trying to be something Dean was too stupid to understand. And shoving Dean up against a wall and starting to wrestle off his jeans. Possibly to make some obscure archangelish point.
Which all around made for a couple of weeks of ice-blue balls.
(And yes, so Dean had let Gabriel fuck him before he could let even Sam, never mind Cas, put his fingers anywhere near there, because yes, Gabriel was fun and really freaking sexy, but it didn’t mean nearly as much as a lifetime of looking out for Sammy, or uncountable barely remembered frozen years of pressed together flying out of Hell with one hand searing into his shoulder, so it was easier. It didn’t mean he didn’t like it or anything, with the others. He just had to work up to it. Getting back on the horse. Gradually. By stages. Ponies. Or something. Not that Sam and Gabriel were ponies. And his mind wasn’t doing him any favours here, because now it wanted to compare Sam to a carthorse, which was really not okay. But that first time with Castiel inside him, that was raw and terrifying and far, far too open.)
(And yes, so the whole rough sex thing happened often enough, whatever, they were all strong guys and they usually had a lot of adrenalin to work off. That wasn’t the same thing as being… as that.)
So, because Dean was only patient when he had nothing better to do, he caved and stomped into Sam’s room to demand Gabriel’s wherabouts. And half an hour later he was marching down to the lake where Sam always took his obsessive morning swim to find a brooding archangel sitting on a rock, arms locked around his knees, turning his head to look over his shoulder with a deer-in-the-headlights look hilariously identical to Sam’s.
“Getting old, Gabriel.”
Gabriel’s teeth flashed bright in the dusky light, all swagger and bravado. “Yeah? Tell me about it. Your little renegade’s sulky fit is cramping my style. Even my pancakes were all flat this morning. Do you know how many pancakes it takes to make a good blueberry stack when they all look like crepes?”
Dean snorted, and prodded him in the small of the back with his boot. “So next time you go to do something you know’s going to piss Cas off, think of your pancakes first. What the hell was that all about, anyway?”
Sam spent most of that time wearing his little tense and unhappy face that he did whenever any of them were arguing, especially when they wouldn’t tell him what was going on so that he could stare at them earnestly and tell them to hug and get the fuck over it (or words to that effect).
Castiel just turned into a Dean-shadow, soft and angry and determined, but that was pretty much par for the course. Except for the little brittle edge whenever Gabriel was mentioned - or when Dean leaned in for a kiss. The one time Dean asked, Castiel just turned his head toward him and looked at him, eyes huge and dark, and said, “He did not see you in Hell, Dean. He does not remember as I do.” And okay, fine, but it didn’t actually tell Dean what it had been about, because all he remembered was moping that Castiel didn’t trust him enough to let him do that yet, then somehow that had morphed into him yelling at Gabriel something about keeping his funny-looking nose out of his and Cas’ business, and Gabriel yelling something about ungrateful stubborn bastards who couldn’t see when his baby bro was bending himself into knots trying to be something Dean was too stupid to understand. And shoving Dean up against a wall and starting to wrestle off his jeans. Possibly to make some obscure archangelish point.
Which all around made for a couple of weeks of ice-blue balls.
(And yes, so Dean had let Gabriel fuck him before he could let even Sam, never mind Cas, put his fingers anywhere near there, because yes, Gabriel was fun and really freaking sexy, but it didn’t mean nearly as much as a lifetime of looking out for Sammy, or uncountable barely remembered frozen years of pressed together flying out of Hell with one hand searing into his shoulder, so it was easier. It didn’t mean he didn’t like it or anything, with the others. He just had to work up to it. Getting back on the horse. Gradually. By stages. Ponies. Or something. Not that Sam and Gabriel were ponies. And his mind wasn’t doing him any favours here, because now it wanted to compare Sam to a carthorse, which was really not okay. But that first time with Castiel inside him, that was raw and terrifying and far, far too open.)
(And yes, so the whole rough sex thing happened often enough, whatever, they were all strong guys and they usually had a lot of adrenalin to work off. That wasn’t the same thing as being… as that.)
So, because Dean was only patient when he had nothing better to do, he caved and stomped into Sam’s room to demand Gabriel’s wherabouts. And half an hour later he was marching down to the lake where Sam always took his obsessive morning swim to find a brooding archangel sitting on a rock, arms locked around his knees, turning his head to look over his shoulder with a deer-in-the-headlights look hilariously identical to Sam’s.
“Getting old, Gabriel.”
Gabriel’s teeth flashed bright in the dusky light, all swagger and bravado. “Yeah? Tell me about it. Your little renegade’s sulky fit is cramping my style. Even my pancakes were all flat this morning. Do you know how many pancakes it takes to make a good blueberry stack when they all look like crepes?”
Dean snorted, and prodded him in the small of the back with his boot. “So next time you go to do something you know’s going to piss Cas off, think of your pancakes first. What the hell was that all about, anyway?”
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