Fic: Almost isn't quite good enough. [NC-17]
Title: Almost isn't quite good enough.
Author: ravensilverwing
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x08
Warnings: Swearing. Kissing. Groping.
Word Count: 1,586
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Sam offers Gabriel a beer, and a whole lot more.
Notes: After 5x19 I just had to write something, anything so... And no I can't seem to write porn without a little angst. I'm fun like that. :) So it's not quite porn and the background stuff sort of goes alongside the Why should I trust you? Verse But by no means requires it to understand what's going on.
The last rays of sunlight held little light and no heat. The temperature already dropping but Gabriel didn’t move. Was still staring out across the junk yard in silence. Watching the last of the orange and gold dip below rust stained wrecks and jagged scrap metal. Cracked glass refracted light into half aborted rainbows. Not enough light to cast them across the ground, just enough light to send splashes of colour across weathered dashboards.
Warmth had sunk into the wreck behind him, soft heat radiating across his lower back as he tilted his head back to catch the last rays of the sunlight.
He’s not surprised to hear Sam’s boots crush dry grass and rough gravel as he approaches. He’s been out here all day, avoiding Dean. Avoiding his little brother. Even avoiding Bobby. Avoiding everything and everyone these days. Doesn’t want to feel the constant tug, the teasing glimmer of his Father’s presence.
He’s avoiding all of them, all of it, but he doesn’t go far, won’t go far. Won’t leave them here alone, won’t leave them unprotected. They think they know what they’re up against, but they have no clue. No idea. Lucifer is so much more dangerous than they could ever imagine.
Sam’s boots finally round the last corner to his row of wrecks. Old husks of metal and glass, jagged and rusted and useless as a whole. It’s the perfect place to hide out, contemplate just how screwed they are. And they are screwed, so completely and utterly screwed. If it wasn’t for...no, not going to think about it. He knows why he’s doing this, no need to rehash the insanity of it.
“Hey,” Sam calls softly in the growing dark. “Thought you might want a beer.”
And he’s even dangling one by the neck. Long fingers wrapped just under the bottle cap. Any moment it could slide free but his careful hold keeps it steady, stops its rapid descent into destruction.
Trying to wrench his mind free from that line of thought but it’s too late, it’s the type of day he’s having. Soft snort. Type of day? He’s been like this for weeks. Insanity. This entire venture is insanity. Their plans, his feelings...Damnit. Don’t think it. Just...don’t think it. Tearing his eyes away but getting caught in Sam’s gaze. Eyes questioning. He won’t come closer, won’t approach without some sign that his presence is welcome or at least won’t be rejected.
It’s gone too far, already gone too far if Sam’s looking at him like that. This is wrong. He should...shouldn’t.
“If I wanted beer I could have made my own Sam.”
Half blush, heat and colour racing up Sam’s cheeks in the twilight. But he’s reaching out, making demanding motions with his fingers against his own better judgement anyway.
Why not? It’s a beer. It’s Sam. It’s fucking twilight in a junkyard, surrounded by things that are broken beyond repair.
“So, you going to spend another night out here?” Sam’s moving closer, sliding up against the wreck he’s been leaning against for hours. Sliding close, close enough that he can feel heat radiating from his body. He could move, should move, isn’t moving away.
Taking a mouthful of beer instead and trying not to think about why Sam is asking. He knows, already knows what he’s thinking, why Sam’s asking. Sam wants him to come inside. Wants him to...another mouthful...wants him to stay with him.
He just wants him to watch him while he sleeps. It’s nothing more. Sam doesn’t, it’s just...he’s the only schmuck...But Sam sprawls out next to him, legs widening. For balance, must be for balance, as his arms spread wide and across the car roof. One arm sliding against his back. Heat. Thumb pressing into his lower back.
Tense, going suddenly still. Sam is...but this is Sam. Sam who...who’s glancing at him under his lashes to gauge his reaction. Who’s leaving the thumb pressed against his t-shirt covered back while taking a deep pull of beer from the bottle in his other hand.
Sam...Sam who he’s been watching sleep for months. Who he’s had curled against his side more times than he can count, reaching out for him in the middle of nightmares. Muttering his name during dreams. Sam who’s watching him now, watching, staring and smiling softly around another pull of beer.
Sam who’s obviously trying for subtle but is failing miserably, unless he’s not trying to be subtle at all. He is sliding his hip closer til it bumps into his, even if he’s not looking at him this time, is staring out at the last hints of golden light strobing into the velvet blue.
If Sam is fucking with him...but no. He knows Sam isn’t messing with him. Dean yeah, he’d expect something like this, well not exactly like this, but he’d expect Dean to fuck with him. He might even admit that he deserves it, but Sam wouldn’t fuck with him. Not like this, not about this. Sam, sighing softly.
On the days he’s honest with himself, he knows that Sam suspects, has noticed something. He hasn’t broadcasted it, definitely hasn’t, but Sam, Sam’s been there. He’s had his hands on Sam, ghosted fingers across Sam’s forehead in the middle of the night, soothed hands over his shoulders at the break of dawn after nightmares. Sam...lips twisting bitterly. Sam is not stupid. Sam has noticed.
He’s been a fool. An obvious fool with Sam. Was broadcasting his feelings all over Sam before he even acknowledged that what he was feeling went beyond lust, desire for a quick fuck.
“So?” Sam’s thumb taps against his spine.
He refuses to look at him. Refuses to follow, to give into the temptation. Sam has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s just...whatever it is he’s doing but he’s not looking for, isn’t...He isn’t entertaining the thought. He’s ignoring this insanity completely.
“Gabriel?” Voice soft but he doesn’t sound worried, sounds sure, so sure of himself, like he’s made it this far and now he’s confident.
“Sam.” Turning his head to tell him...
Lips, mouth warm, tastes of beer. Tongue taking advantage, pressing in, slowly parting his lips, taking control. Control which, he’s not even, he can’t...opening, letting Sam have control. Letting Sam kiss him soft, slow, part his lips and slide inside again and...the taste of beer. Taste of beer, taste of Sam and opening wider, pressing into it. Mouth and lips and tongue and Sam. Reaching a hand out and yanking him closer. Ignoring the sound of the beer bottle sliding off the wreck and thumping onto grass to roll and spill beer across the ground.
Ignoring everything but Sam’s weight pressing him against the car at his back, forcing his thighs wider to accommodate him. Hand tangling in Sam’s hair, palm sliding under his shirts. Feeling the moan of appreciation rumble into his own chest. Sam’s hands tangled in his own hair, holding his head steady, in place while Sam just plunders his mouth.
And he lets him. Lets Sam tug on his hair and kiss him harder, lets him bite, suck, dart his tongue across his bottom lip. Lets himself be manhandled and stroked and rocked against til he can’t stop his own hips grinding up into the pressure, wanting more, wanting but he shouldn’t...
“Fuck!”Panting hard. Lips still close enough to brush over Sam’s, not so much breaking the kiss as turning it softer, teasing. Tongue stroking over Sam’s bottom lip as he tries to wet his own. Hearing Sam moan, feeling his fingers twitch tight in his hair, other hand gripping his shoulder. Shoulder so close to...
“Sam?!”
Dean. Dean’s calling and it’s not from the house. Not from the back porch. Not from...
“Fuck!” And Sam sounds frustrated. Disappointed. Hot. Head turning, looking out into the shadows between the wrecks, towards the sound of his brother’s voice. Fingers slipping over Gabriel’s shoulder and across his shoulder blade and groan, moan, hips bucking. Oh fuck.
Head turning back slowly, eyes wide.
“Gabriel?”
And he’s panting, gasping for breath as Sam’s fingers linger, teasing in wide circles, then lines. Soft whine, hips grinding, groaning. Which just makes Sam’s fingers scrape, clutch, dig in and Gabriel’s eyes roll back, lashes flutter close as his entire body arcs, shudders...
“Oh...” Sam’s jaw falls open as Gabriel whines harsh, loud, breath coming in moaning pants. “I...um.”
“Sam?” Dean’s getting closer.
“Shit.” Sam curses.
He can’t...he needs to open his eyes, make himself presentable because Dean, Dean seeing him like this. Fuck. Sam made almost made him...So close, so damn close and he can’t. Dean’s going to be here any moment. Any moment and all he can think of is pushing into Sam, rubbing, rocking, grinding. Damnit, finishing what they started!
“Go.” Cracking his eyes open to croak the single word.
Sam’s eyes swing back to stare, conflicted.
“Go!” Hissing the word now. Dean can’t see this. He just can’t.
So Sam lets him go. Hands sliding gently, carefully free. So careful not to touch his shoulder blades, the space between, his entire back this time.
“Come inside tonight.” Sam insists.
He can’t help the soft bark of laughter.
“I’m not so sure I...”
Because he’s not sure it’s a good idea, until Sam buries a hand in his hair again and kisses him hard and fast and dirty. Tongue a tease and a promise and okay, maybe he won’t, or maybe he will.
Then Sam pulls away and vanishes into the dark.
Author: ravensilverwing
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x08
Warnings: Swearing. Kissing. Groping.
Word Count: 1,586
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Sam offers Gabriel a beer, and a whole lot more.
Notes: After 5x19 I just had to write something, anything so... And no I can't seem to write porn without a little angst. I'm fun like that. :) So it's not quite porn and the background stuff sort of goes alongside the Why should I trust you? Verse But by no means requires it to understand what's going on.
The last rays of sunlight held little light and no heat. The temperature already dropping but Gabriel didn’t move. Was still staring out across the junk yard in silence. Watching the last of the orange and gold dip below rust stained wrecks and jagged scrap metal. Cracked glass refracted light into half aborted rainbows. Not enough light to cast them across the ground, just enough light to send splashes of colour across weathered dashboards.
Warmth had sunk into the wreck behind him, soft heat radiating across his lower back as he tilted his head back to catch the last rays of the sunlight.
He’s not surprised to hear Sam’s boots crush dry grass and rough gravel as he approaches. He’s been out here all day, avoiding Dean. Avoiding his little brother. Even avoiding Bobby. Avoiding everything and everyone these days. Doesn’t want to feel the constant tug, the teasing glimmer of his Father’s presence.
He’s avoiding all of them, all of it, but he doesn’t go far, won’t go far. Won’t leave them here alone, won’t leave them unprotected. They think they know what they’re up against, but they have no clue. No idea. Lucifer is so much more dangerous than they could ever imagine.
Sam’s boots finally round the last corner to his row of wrecks. Old husks of metal and glass, jagged and rusted and useless as a whole. It’s the perfect place to hide out, contemplate just how screwed they are. And they are screwed, so completely and utterly screwed. If it wasn’t for...no, not going to think about it. He knows why he’s doing this, no need to rehash the insanity of it.
“Hey,” Sam calls softly in the growing dark. “Thought you might want a beer.”
And he’s even dangling one by the neck. Long fingers wrapped just under the bottle cap. Any moment it could slide free but his careful hold keeps it steady, stops its rapid descent into destruction.
Trying to wrench his mind free from that line of thought but it’s too late, it’s the type of day he’s having. Soft snort. Type of day? He’s been like this for weeks. Insanity. This entire venture is insanity. Their plans, his feelings...Damnit. Don’t think it. Just...don’t think it. Tearing his eyes away but getting caught in Sam’s gaze. Eyes questioning. He won’t come closer, won’t approach without some sign that his presence is welcome or at least won’t be rejected.
It’s gone too far, already gone too far if Sam’s looking at him like that. This is wrong. He should...shouldn’t.
“If I wanted beer I could have made my own Sam.”
Half blush, heat and colour racing up Sam’s cheeks in the twilight. But he’s reaching out, making demanding motions with his fingers against his own better judgement anyway.
Why not? It’s a beer. It’s Sam. It’s fucking twilight in a junkyard, surrounded by things that are broken beyond repair.
“So, you going to spend another night out here?” Sam’s moving closer, sliding up against the wreck he’s been leaning against for hours. Sliding close, close enough that he can feel heat radiating from his body. He could move, should move, isn’t moving away.
Taking a mouthful of beer instead and trying not to think about why Sam is asking. He knows, already knows what he’s thinking, why Sam’s asking. Sam wants him to come inside. Wants him to...another mouthful...wants him to stay with him.
He just wants him to watch him while he sleeps. It’s nothing more. Sam doesn’t, it’s just...he’s the only schmuck...But Sam sprawls out next to him, legs widening. For balance, must be for balance, as his arms spread wide and across the car roof. One arm sliding against his back. Heat. Thumb pressing into his lower back.
Tense, going suddenly still. Sam is...but this is Sam. Sam who...who’s glancing at him under his lashes to gauge his reaction. Who’s leaving the thumb pressed against his t-shirt covered back while taking a deep pull of beer from the bottle in his other hand.
Sam...Sam who he’s been watching sleep for months. Who he’s had curled against his side more times than he can count, reaching out for him in the middle of nightmares. Muttering his name during dreams. Sam who’s watching him now, watching, staring and smiling softly around another pull of beer.
Sam who’s obviously trying for subtle but is failing miserably, unless he’s not trying to be subtle at all. He is sliding his hip closer til it bumps into his, even if he’s not looking at him this time, is staring out at the last hints of golden light strobing into the velvet blue.
If Sam is fucking with him...but no. He knows Sam isn’t messing with him. Dean yeah, he’d expect something like this, well not exactly like this, but he’d expect Dean to fuck with him. He might even admit that he deserves it, but Sam wouldn’t fuck with him. Not like this, not about this. Sam, sighing softly.
On the days he’s honest with himself, he knows that Sam suspects, has noticed something. He hasn’t broadcasted it, definitely hasn’t, but Sam, Sam’s been there. He’s had his hands on Sam, ghosted fingers across Sam’s forehead in the middle of the night, soothed hands over his shoulders at the break of dawn after nightmares. Sam...lips twisting bitterly. Sam is not stupid. Sam has noticed.
He’s been a fool. An obvious fool with Sam. Was broadcasting his feelings all over Sam before he even acknowledged that what he was feeling went beyond lust, desire for a quick fuck.
“So?” Sam’s thumb taps against his spine.
He refuses to look at him. Refuses to follow, to give into the temptation. Sam has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s just...whatever it is he’s doing but he’s not looking for, isn’t...He isn’t entertaining the thought. He’s ignoring this insanity completely.
“Gabriel?” Voice soft but he doesn’t sound worried, sounds sure, so sure of himself, like he’s made it this far and now he’s confident.
“Sam.” Turning his head to tell him...
Lips, mouth warm, tastes of beer. Tongue taking advantage, pressing in, slowly parting his lips, taking control. Control which, he’s not even, he can’t...opening, letting Sam have control. Letting Sam kiss him soft, slow, part his lips and slide inside again and...the taste of beer. Taste of beer, taste of Sam and opening wider, pressing into it. Mouth and lips and tongue and Sam. Reaching a hand out and yanking him closer. Ignoring the sound of the beer bottle sliding off the wreck and thumping onto grass to roll and spill beer across the ground.
Ignoring everything but Sam’s weight pressing him against the car at his back, forcing his thighs wider to accommodate him. Hand tangling in Sam’s hair, palm sliding under his shirts. Feeling the moan of appreciation rumble into his own chest. Sam’s hands tangled in his own hair, holding his head steady, in place while Sam just plunders his mouth.
And he lets him. Lets Sam tug on his hair and kiss him harder, lets him bite, suck, dart his tongue across his bottom lip. Lets himself be manhandled and stroked and rocked against til he can’t stop his own hips grinding up into the pressure, wanting more, wanting but he shouldn’t...
“Fuck!”Panting hard. Lips still close enough to brush over Sam’s, not so much breaking the kiss as turning it softer, teasing. Tongue stroking over Sam’s bottom lip as he tries to wet his own. Hearing Sam moan, feeling his fingers twitch tight in his hair, other hand gripping his shoulder. Shoulder so close to...
“Sam?!”
Dean. Dean’s calling and it’s not from the house. Not from the back porch. Not from...
“Fuck!” And Sam sounds frustrated. Disappointed. Hot. Head turning, looking out into the shadows between the wrecks, towards the sound of his brother’s voice. Fingers slipping over Gabriel’s shoulder and across his shoulder blade and groan, moan, hips bucking. Oh fuck.
Head turning back slowly, eyes wide.
“Gabriel?”
And he’s panting, gasping for breath as Sam’s fingers linger, teasing in wide circles, then lines. Soft whine, hips grinding, groaning. Which just makes Sam’s fingers scrape, clutch, dig in and Gabriel’s eyes roll back, lashes flutter close as his entire body arcs, shudders...
“Oh...” Sam’s jaw falls open as Gabriel whines harsh, loud, breath coming in moaning pants. “I...um.”
“Sam?” Dean’s getting closer.
“Shit.” Sam curses.
He can’t...he needs to open his eyes, make himself presentable because Dean, Dean seeing him like this. Fuck. Sam made almost made him...So close, so damn close and he can’t. Dean’s going to be here any moment. Any moment and all he can think of is pushing into Sam, rubbing, rocking, grinding. Damnit, finishing what they started!
“Go.” Cracking his eyes open to croak the single word.
Sam’s eyes swing back to stare, conflicted.
“Go!” Hissing the word now. Dean can’t see this. He just can’t.
So Sam lets him go. Hands sliding gently, carefully free. So careful not to touch his shoulder blades, the space between, his entire back this time.
“Come inside tonight.” Sam insists.
He can’t help the soft bark of laughter.
“I’m not so sure I...”
Because he’s not sure it’s a good idea, until Sam buries a hand in his hair again and kisses him hard and fast and dirty. Tongue a tease and a promise and okay, maybe he won’t, or maybe he will.
Then Sam pulls away and vanishes into the dark.