The air was dry with summer heat, and smoke was on the yellow moon
His Sam. His Chamael. His Samuel. His beloved, and now his brother again. Dean and his beautiful, terrifying, world-changing fraternal adoration had been indulged long enough. He’d had his time with new-Sam, with Sam reunited with his old grace. He’d reassured himself that Sam was still Sam, adored him and worshipped him and doubtless done terribly obscene things to him along the way, and okay, so Gabriel had spent a few hours revelling in the fierce, soft relief of Castiel’s mouth and body, but now Dean and Castiel had gone back to Sioux Falls for Christmas, with Castiel wearing that sappy look that meant he was probably going to make it snow in South Dakota just for Dean, and Gabriel and Sam had stayed behind, for a summer Christmas.
Now, it was Gabriel’s turn.
The earth was red and grey underfoot, and the coarse grass and little spikey shrubs fell away in soft, time-worn curves around them, grey-gold and silvered by the moonlight. Sharp and sweet through the dry air came the scent of eucalyptus, and distant smoke.
“This just feels weird,” Sam murmured, between open-mouthed snatches of breath. “I know Christmas is summer down here, as Sam, and I know as Chamael that it doesn’t matter, and I know Christmas has nothing to do with Jesus anyway. But all this warm air…” He broke off for a moment to nip at Gabriel’s ear, then came back to his mouth when Gabriel made a wordless noise of protest. “It still doesn’t feel like Christmas.”
“You are such an American now,” he sighed against Sam’s lips. “Half the world isn’t in the northern hemisphere, you know.”
Sam smirked into his cheek. “And your logic just keeps getting more simplistic the closer I get to your cock.”
“Hey.” Gabriel growled against Sam’s mouth, then against his throat, for good measure, because it always made him shiver and that was still true. “I think my little brother just implied that I am less than utterly awesome.”
Sam groaned and let his head fall back, let his hair fall heavy and sweet around Gabriel’s throat. “Shit. Now I have two possessive, smug big brothers. Who watch Dr Sexy together and both have a terrifying, stupid sense of humour.”
Gabriel smirked, and bit in under his ear. “Get used to it. We’re going to be epic, Sammy boy.”
Sam’s huge strong human fingers curled warm into his hair, and his more-than-human breath hummed soft and promising-sweet into Gabriel’s cheek. “Gabriel, we already are. All of us.”
A curlew cried in the distance, haunted and mournful.
Gabriel felt himself shiver, hard and quick and violent, and he drew back to cup his hands around Samuel’s face. Sam matched him, stare for stare, a little half-smile hovering on his lips and the shadow of fucking magnificent wings hanging in the air all about them, and Gabriel felt for the first time, really felt, the fact that Sam could now match him strength for strength, all the way, and not just in his (mostly) human vessel.
Which was incredible. And terrifying. And also very hot.
Gabriel decided to go with that last, because it was easiest, and also because Sam was his, even if he was also Castiel’s and Dean, and he’d been very very patient and good.
He lunged, hard enough to bruise a human, hah, except that Sam was still human in all the best ways, in all the ways Gabriel had fallen for, stubborn and flawed and magnificent and creative; and then something more, the best of the brothers he fled from so long ago, with all the worst bits left behind when Chamael had cut them out and made his own fall, made his own fate. Sam met his mouth readily, stroke for stroke, shove for shove, giving him everything and demanding the return back again, plundering him, making him account for himself and never backing down, just like he always did.
Just like Chamael would have, if he’d let him.
Gabriel groaned deep, matched Sam’s groan into his mouth, and let his head fall back, let himself go limp in surrender, in apology, in regret and triumph and utter trust. Sam caught him, took him up, laid him down on the gritty red earth, cocooned in soft, dark feathers of bronze and brown and cream. Then he looked up, eyes glittering and mouth curving, and bit Gabriel on the chin.
Gabriel yelped, and tried to muster the focus to glare down the length of his nose at the grinning face too close to his. “Toppy bastard. What?”
“Stop it.” Sam bit him again, just under the chin, deliberate and not gentle. “You’re not going all absolution-fuck on me now. This isn’t you, or me, this is us. Pull your weight.”
… Oh, so it was like that, was it?
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Fine.” Then Sam was flat on his back on the ground with Gabriel triumphant and immovable on top of him.
Or that was the plan. Except that Sam knew him, and now had the power to back that up, and suddenly weighed more than Gabriel could move without kicking in a hell of a lot more juice, and he also had his hand on Gabriel’s crotch, which was very distracting. Gabriel could be forgiven for being distracted. Because Sam was distracting.
Then Sam smirked at him, and vanished their clothes.
Gabriel whined shamelessly, because he totally deserved it, and chased Sam’s mouth without much success as it slid from his chin up under his ear, then over his forehead into his hair and down by sly zig-zags to the hollow of his throat.
Fortunately Gabriel was also a sneaky bastard. And he’d had centuries more than Chamael to prance around in vessels.
He manifested his wings, sly and careful, aiming for just insubstantial enough that Sam’s human eyes wouldn’t catch the movement, suppressing their resonance on the frequencies that would trigger any of his angelic senses that weren’t currently locked onto the pull and throb of Gabriel’s blood, the thrill singing in the forefront of his mind, the fierce delight and relief of his soul. A delicate balance, but Gabriel had spent years carefully showing exactly as much of himself as he wanted to thousands of different creatures, and Sam was out of practise, and distracted.
Hah. Distracting bastard was distractable, Gabriel was so winning here.
He took a moment, with Sam’s breath and the hint of his lips hovering over his throat, to look, to enjoy. The familiar and beloved mortal shape of him, crouched over Gabriel’s apparently smaller form, the powerful line of his shoulders drawn sharp against the stars. Behind and above him, Sam’s wings, full and soft and magnificent, so human, so unlike the stark black and silver wings of the Chamael Gabriel remembered, woven of almost a century of human compassion and fierceness and day-to-day moments. And arching around and behind those, almost enclosing them both, almost touching, Gabriel’s own, bright and alive and joyful.
Sam nosed up under his chin, pressed his mouth hot and soft to the underside like a prayer and a promise. Gabriel let his head fall back, wriggled luxuriously against Sam’s chest and hip, and closed his wings possessive and warm around him. Sam’s whole body jerked and shuddered at the touch, and he buried his face in Gabriel’s neck for a moment, breathing hard. Gabriel smirked and purred against his ear. He swept one hand up Sam’s back, brushing lightly over the down between his shoulder blades, and buried it deep in his hair to cradle him close.
“That feels…” Sam huffed a breathless laugh against Gabriel’s throat. “Really, really different on feathers than on skin.”
Gabriel nestled his other hand into the sensitive hollow between the back of Sam’s shoulder and the arch of his wing bone where it slid out from human skin, trailed his fingers out between feather tracks to the deep gold feathers in the shape of Dean’s handprint just a little way out on the delicate underside (and honestly, those two, could they be any more hilariously epic?). “Yeah?” The wing arched, just a little, pressing in soft against him and stretching out in a mute plea, and Gabriel pressed his mouth in under Sam’s ear, issuing a firm instruction to his heart to stay where it was and give up on this whole leaping wildly about all over the place business. “Gonna let me get some of my own back for all those hours and hours you take over this?”
Sam’s mouth curved around Gabriel’s collar bone, and he ground down with his hips, slow and deliberate. “Don’t think you’re up for that tonight.”
Now that he pointed it out, Sam had a point. A pointy one, which was pointed. Which he made very… firmly.
“Another time,” Gabriel conceded, and licked Sam’s neck all sloppy and messy to make him yelp. Sam tugged on his hair sharply, which wasn’t fair because Sam’s hair was far more ridiculous than Gabriel’s, which was shiny and perfect and made of awesomeness, and slid down Gabriel’s body, biting at his chest on the way. Gabriel felt the breath he didn’t need stagger in his chest and throat, and Sam took advantage of that moment to shove Gabriel’s thighs apart imperiously with one knee.
The black swan flew across the sky, the wild dog called across the plain.
“Gabriel,” Sam rumbled against his belly like a prayer. “Gabriel.”
Gabriel groaned something in return, buried his hands in Sam’s hair and drew curving patterns on his scalp. Sam obediently nuzzled his way downwards, all moist heat and demand, but he wouldn’t be distracted.
“Sodom and Gomorrah, Gabriel. You remember. The first thing you said to me. Really said. The first time you picked up a phone. Just after I’d had to take a shotgun and grenades to that whole town when the Croat vaccine got there first.” He rested his forehead for a moment on Gabriel’s hip, then pressed his mouth into the corner of his thigh, hot and hungry and tender. “I remember, I do. And Gabriel, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Chamael, and two of his lieutenants, fresh-faced and beautiful and dangerous, letting a whole community choose to sin. To show their sin, because they hadn’t been the first, far from the first, but the first ones who couldn’t be hurt by it, the first ones to vanish as the lustful hands were laid on them.
Sam drew the soft flesh of Gabriel’s thigh into his mouth, held it there, warmed it and caressed it, and let it go again. “I should have chosen earlier. So long ago, Gabriel. I should have seen it.”
Gabriel dug his fingers into bone under skin under tangled hair, bruising and sharp and not letting go. “So should I, gorgeous. So should we all.”
Sam growled in response, hard and loving and so fiercely here, and swallowed Gabriel down in a sudden shock of heat and caress.
Gabriel hissed, words lost, and bucked up against the broad, implacable hands pinning his hips to the cooling soil.
He lost himself, let Sam lose him, in the pattern of lips and mouth and throat and breath, in the gleam of Sam’s eyes in the dark, in the hard push of his hands and the vulnerability of having that vast body wedged between his legs, in the little murmurs and groans that Sam always made when he was doing this and the ripples and flashes of desire across his grace that echoed them.
Ghostly pale wings slipped by, just clearing the peak of Sam’s left wing, as a tawny frogmouth snapped a moth out of the air and veered off into the trees.
Then Gabriel yelped and swatted at his own shoulder. “Freaking mosquitoes. Who the hell asked you?”
Sam lost himself into gales of snorting laughter into the hollow of Gabriel’s hipbone, so ungraceful and so easy and so very Sam that Gabriel couldn’t resist saying to hell with blowjobs and pulling Sam up to devour those beautiful, hiccuping gasps right from their source. Even though that was one of his cardinal rules, the Cardinal Rules of the Archangel Gabriel number six at least, never mess with blowjobs. Sam went with it, lithe and contented, grumbling something halfway protesting in his throat and nipping at Gabriel’s lip. Which Gabriel frankly counted as a win, because, hey, Winchester.
Or angel. Whatever.
Wasn’t like it was going to change things.
Gabriel made one of those little happy noises in his throat that Dean always laughed at and generously allowed his mouth to be ravished by an archangel, because this sort of thing should happen to him more often. It was a sign of a terrible imbalance in the universe, he decided imperiously, while doing that scritchy thing with his nails in Sam’s hair that always made him melt, when an archangel always had to be on the giving end of the awesomeness of being an archangel. Seriously. Gabriel ran his other hand down Sam’s side, tickling through feathers and curling persuasively around the back of his hip. Castiel and Dean and Sam got to be snogged by an archangel daily. Practically. Mostly. If Gabriel had anything to say about it and they weren’t all busy doing stupid busy stuff that wasn’t about sex with him. He tugged a little, coaxing. Only fair Gabriel got some awesome archangel awesomeness of awesome sometimes, and it was possible that thing Sam was doing to Gabriel’s lower lip was wasting his vocabulary away into (awesomely archangelic) nothingness.
“Gabriel?” Sam’s voice was muffled into the corner of Gabriel’s mouth as he obeyed the terribly terribly subtle prompting and rolled onto his side, obligingly leaving one knee hooked over Gabriel’s. “You’re having a ridiculous thought process again, aren’t you?”
“You,” Gabriel informed him graciously, sneakily sneaking sneaky fingers back around that gorgeous arse in the hopes of doing interesting things to it, “are having far too many thought processes at all for someone who is currently being snogged by an archangel.”
Sam smirked into his cheek, lips scraping over the stubble that Gabriel had decided two days ago would look interesting and manly. “That line’s never going to work again, Gabriel.”
“Au contraire, mon ami.” Gabriel beamed at Sam with what he felt was appropriately enormous and terrible glee, especially now he had a hand full of his favourite arse on the planet. “It’s going to work twice as often.”
Said arse flexed lusciously in his hand as Sam burrowed in closer, pressing oh-I-wonder-what-that-could-possibly-be in to slide hot and promising over the crevice between Gabriel’s hip and thigh, just where Sam’s mouth had been not so long ago. “You’re such a dork. Really. Both of you. How the hell did I end up getting raised by Dean, and raised from Hell by you, and he thinks a double cheeseburger is the height of cuisine and you speak every language ever thought of perfectly and still think a few words of French in a bad accent sounds sophi-”
Hah, magical Sam off-switch was still the same with his grace back. Gabriel purred triumphantly around a mouthful of Sam-neck and slid his finger deeper, slick and greedy. Then added its neighbour, because apparently Dean had been very thorough in his investigation of his newly sparkly little brother. Not that Gabriel blamed him. He thought his sparkly little brother was pretty hot too. Both his sparkly little brothers, now.
Sam groaned, low and rough, reverberating through Gabriel’s mouth. Gabriel obligingly pushed deeper, one hard aching shove, the way Sam liked it when he was already open and kind of sore, and Sam arched up into it, wings flaring soft and heavy against the sky.
“Why am I not surprised,” Gabriel whispered up along the taut line of Sam’s neck, “that big bro needed to prove he’s still the bigger man?”
Or that maybe, just maybe, Dean didn’t quite trust him enough with all that not-Sam strength to let his brother take the reins, not just yet?
Sam huffed out a breathless little laugh as Gabriel’s tongue traced around his ear, and Gabriel’s third finger traced around where the other two were buried. “That was just round one. Didn’t expect me to recover so soon.”
Gabriel purred. Being able to shuffle around your own hormone levels was also awesome. Poor little Dean, the only one left who couldn’t. He’d just have to lie around and look useless and naked and pretty and debauched in the middle of their eternal angel orgies. “Surprise buttsex?”
Sam rolled his eyes in that stupidly over-dramatic exasperated way he had like he was trying to strain some important eye muscle. It lost a lot of its effect when he was also shuddering all over because Gabriel was sitting up and pulling his fingers impatiently out of where they’d been burrowing, Gabriel was pleased to notice.
“Stay off the lolcat websites, Gabriel, we’ve talked about this.”
“You’re still talking, stop talking, this is wrong,” Gabriel complained in his I-have-commanded-the-legions-of-Heaven tone that Sam always totally failed to respect because he was a Winchester, and hauled Sam bodily into his lap. Sam growled and buried his teeth in Gabriel’s neck with absolute technical obedience, the archangelic little bastard, so Gabriel yelped and swatted his entirely edible arse. It jerked in a gratifying way, shoving other parts of Sam’s anatomy that were really due some attention up against Gabriel’s stomach and, incidentally, against other parts of Gabriel’s anatomy that were really due some attention.
No complaints there.
Sam mumbled his name into his neck, gentle and hungry and right on the edge of demand, so Gabriel generously and self-sacrificingly ran one hand in a long soothing sweep down the curve of Sam’s beautiful spine and shifted his own hips and arranged things just right for Sam to sink down in one long white-hot push of greed and adoration that stole the breath from both pairs of lungs. And hell, this was really really not going to last long.
Not round one, anyway.
Sam’s thighs flexed over his, a taut promise of pressure and movement, echoed by the lift-and-tense shift of his wings. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting, and settled the wings forward a little, hooded, just within reach, soft and dark and deep in the night air, brushing against Gabriel’s bare legs and tickling his sides.
Gabriel whimpered quietly and held himself very very still.
Sam laughed quietly against his ear, and wriggled again. Deliberate. Provocative. Distracting.
“It is so very, very easy to shut you up.”
Gabriel growled charmingly and rolled his hips. Sam’s laughter stuttered off into breathlessness, so Gabriel did it again and decided firmly that that meant he’d won.
Who was he kidding. He had Sam Winchester in his lap, Chamael in his lap, being sexy and magnificent and happy. He’d already won.
… Yeah, apparently too much time around Dean and his big soulful eyes turned you into a sap.
Sam shifted, pushed down hard. Gabriel let his eyes flutter shut against Sam’s cheek and moved with him, moved perfectly with him. Pulled Sam’s body in flush to his and gave up on all those last bits of pretense, devoured his mouth with the desperation and demand of centuries of loneliness and half a decade of delicious joy in the counterbalance. Sam’s back moved under the insistent cling of Gabriel’s hands, sinuous and powerful as water, as the ocean that had nurtured his grace for him for millions of years. Nurtured him, and been nurtured by him.
Gabriel loved, and was loved in return. Fierce and tender and warm and kind of sticky because it was hot here, and he could make his vessel not sweat but that was cheating. And he wanted this, real and gritty and human, just like Chamael, just like they’d both chosen. All the messy, jagged bits of it, and the bright glory of it all.
His hand slipped over the slick of Sam’s back, the give and shove of his muscles. Gabriel groaned breathless complaint and locked the little vagrant bruisingly around the nearest feathered handhold, fingers pushing deep under feathers and burying themselves in the hot thick velvet beneath. Sam made an utterly broken sound and lost all his breath at once into Gabriel’s mouth, sweet and warm. Then there was delicious heat throbbing wet all over Gabriel’s stomach and chest, spreading slick and tacky between them. Gabriel pulled viciously down on the wing, drank every tiny noise greedily from Sam’s slack mouth, buried himself deep in the body of his beloved and let himself be lost.
After that, it was all slow helpless kisses, loose and blurry around the edges, the leisurely recollection of all the bits of self that felt kind of scattered everywhere and reassembling them into something like coherency. Remembering how vessels worked, how arms worked.
Legs, those were tricky. Gabriel vetoed legs and just sort of shoved until Sam fell over. Which was awesome. Sam was awesome. Awesome mattress. For sprawling all over.
Maybe Dean was infecting his vocabulary too. He’d care about that tomorrow.
Sam had nice ribs. They were handy for dozing on. Also nuzzling.
Then. “Fuck,” said Sam, and slapped himself on the arm.
Gabriel snorted. It took ages for him to dig his vocabulary up out of sleepy warm red mud, but he finally managed to mumble “Mosquitoes?” into Sam’s ribs.
“Mosquitoes.” Sam huffed out his long-suffering why-is-life-and-my-big-brother-so-mean-to-me sigh, bouncing Gabriel’s head in a completely unacceptable and kind of fun way. “Seriously. Who made this country?”
Gabriel yawned, and nuzzled his way down to the relatively safe pillow of Sam’s stomach. “Yeah, I don’t know, some guy. You should file a complaint.”
The starry lustre blazed on high, still echoed down the heavenly strain,
And still they sang…
Now, it was Gabriel’s turn.
The earth was red and grey underfoot, and the coarse grass and little spikey shrubs fell away in soft, time-worn curves around them, grey-gold and silvered by the moonlight. Sharp and sweet through the dry air came the scent of eucalyptus, and distant smoke.
“This just feels weird,” Sam murmured, between open-mouthed snatches of breath. “I know Christmas is summer down here, as Sam, and I know as Chamael that it doesn’t matter, and I know Christmas has nothing to do with Jesus anyway. But all this warm air…” He broke off for a moment to nip at Gabriel’s ear, then came back to his mouth when Gabriel made a wordless noise of protest. “It still doesn’t feel like Christmas.”
“You are such an American now,” he sighed against Sam’s lips. “Half the world isn’t in the northern hemisphere, you know.”
Sam smirked into his cheek. “And your logic just keeps getting more simplistic the closer I get to your cock.”
“Hey.” Gabriel growled against Sam’s mouth, then against his throat, for good measure, because it always made him shiver and that was still true. “I think my little brother just implied that I am less than utterly awesome.”
Sam groaned and let his head fall back, let his hair fall heavy and sweet around Gabriel’s throat. “Shit. Now I have two possessive, smug big brothers. Who watch Dr Sexy together and both have a terrifying, stupid sense of humour.”
Gabriel smirked, and bit in under his ear. “Get used to it. We’re going to be epic, Sammy boy.”
Sam’s huge strong human fingers curled warm into his hair, and his more-than-human breath hummed soft and promising-sweet into Gabriel’s cheek. “Gabriel, we already are. All of us.”
A curlew cried in the distance, haunted and mournful.
Gabriel felt himself shiver, hard and quick and violent, and he drew back to cup his hands around Samuel’s face. Sam matched him, stare for stare, a little half-smile hovering on his lips and the shadow of fucking magnificent wings hanging in the air all about them, and Gabriel felt for the first time, really felt, the fact that Sam could now match him strength for strength, all the way, and not just in his (mostly) human vessel.
Which was incredible. And terrifying. And also very hot.
Gabriel decided to go with that last, because it was easiest, and also because Sam was his, even if he was also Castiel’s and Dean, and he’d been very very patient and good.
He lunged, hard enough to bruise a human, hah, except that Sam was still human in all the best ways, in all the ways Gabriel had fallen for, stubborn and flawed and magnificent and creative; and then something more, the best of the brothers he fled from so long ago, with all the worst bits left behind when Chamael had cut them out and made his own fall, made his own fate. Sam met his mouth readily, stroke for stroke, shove for shove, giving him everything and demanding the return back again, plundering him, making him account for himself and never backing down, just like he always did.
Just like Chamael would have, if he’d let him.
Gabriel groaned deep, matched Sam’s groan into his mouth, and let his head fall back, let himself go limp in surrender, in apology, in regret and triumph and utter trust. Sam caught him, took him up, laid him down on the gritty red earth, cocooned in soft, dark feathers of bronze and brown and cream. Then he looked up, eyes glittering and mouth curving, and bit Gabriel on the chin.
Gabriel yelped, and tried to muster the focus to glare down the length of his nose at the grinning face too close to his. “Toppy bastard. What?”
“Stop it.” Sam bit him again, just under the chin, deliberate and not gentle. “You’re not going all absolution-fuck on me now. This isn’t you, or me, this is us. Pull your weight.”
… Oh, so it was like that, was it?
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Fine.” Then Sam was flat on his back on the ground with Gabriel triumphant and immovable on top of him.
Or that was the plan. Except that Sam knew him, and now had the power to back that up, and suddenly weighed more than Gabriel could move without kicking in a hell of a lot more juice, and he also had his hand on Gabriel’s crotch, which was very distracting. Gabriel could be forgiven for being distracted. Because Sam was distracting.
Then Sam smirked at him, and vanished their clothes.
Gabriel whined shamelessly, because he totally deserved it, and chased Sam’s mouth without much success as it slid from his chin up under his ear, then over his forehead into his hair and down by sly zig-zags to the hollow of his throat.
Fortunately Gabriel was also a sneaky bastard. And he’d had centuries more than Chamael to prance around in vessels.
He manifested his wings, sly and careful, aiming for just insubstantial enough that Sam’s human eyes wouldn’t catch the movement, suppressing their resonance on the frequencies that would trigger any of his angelic senses that weren’t currently locked onto the pull and throb of Gabriel’s blood, the thrill singing in the forefront of his mind, the fierce delight and relief of his soul. A delicate balance, but Gabriel had spent years carefully showing exactly as much of himself as he wanted to thousands of different creatures, and Sam was out of practise, and distracted.
Hah. Distracting bastard was distractable, Gabriel was so winning here.
He took a moment, with Sam’s breath and the hint of his lips hovering over his throat, to look, to enjoy. The familiar and beloved mortal shape of him, crouched over Gabriel’s apparently smaller form, the powerful line of his shoulders drawn sharp against the stars. Behind and above him, Sam’s wings, full and soft and magnificent, so human, so unlike the stark black and silver wings of the Chamael Gabriel remembered, woven of almost a century of human compassion and fierceness and day-to-day moments. And arching around and behind those, almost enclosing them both, almost touching, Gabriel’s own, bright and alive and joyful.
Sam nosed up under his chin, pressed his mouth hot and soft to the underside like a prayer and a promise. Gabriel let his head fall back, wriggled luxuriously against Sam’s chest and hip, and closed his wings possessive and warm around him. Sam’s whole body jerked and shuddered at the touch, and he buried his face in Gabriel’s neck for a moment, breathing hard. Gabriel smirked and purred against his ear. He swept one hand up Sam’s back, brushing lightly over the down between his shoulder blades, and buried it deep in his hair to cradle him close.
“That feels…” Sam huffed a breathless laugh against Gabriel’s throat. “Really, really different on feathers than on skin.”
Gabriel nestled his other hand into the sensitive hollow between the back of Sam’s shoulder and the arch of his wing bone where it slid out from human skin, trailed his fingers out between feather tracks to the deep gold feathers in the shape of Dean’s handprint just a little way out on the delicate underside (and honestly, those two, could they be any more hilariously epic?). “Yeah?” The wing arched, just a little, pressing in soft against him and stretching out in a mute plea, and Gabriel pressed his mouth in under Sam’s ear, issuing a firm instruction to his heart to stay where it was and give up on this whole leaping wildly about all over the place business. “Gonna let me get some of my own back for all those hours and hours you take over this?”
Sam’s mouth curved around Gabriel’s collar bone, and he ground down with his hips, slow and deliberate. “Don’t think you’re up for that tonight.”
Now that he pointed it out, Sam had a point. A pointy one, which was pointed. Which he made very… firmly.
“Another time,” Gabriel conceded, and licked Sam’s neck all sloppy and messy to make him yelp. Sam tugged on his hair sharply, which wasn’t fair because Sam’s hair was far more ridiculous than Gabriel’s, which was shiny and perfect and made of awesomeness, and slid down Gabriel’s body, biting at his chest on the way. Gabriel felt the breath he didn’t need stagger in his chest and throat, and Sam took advantage of that moment to shove Gabriel’s thighs apart imperiously with one knee.
The black swan flew across the sky, the wild dog called across the plain.
“Gabriel,” Sam rumbled against his belly like a prayer. “Gabriel.”
Gabriel groaned something in return, buried his hands in Sam’s hair and drew curving patterns on his scalp. Sam obediently nuzzled his way downwards, all moist heat and demand, but he wouldn’t be distracted.
“Sodom and Gomorrah, Gabriel. You remember. The first thing you said to me. Really said. The first time you picked up a phone. Just after I’d had to take a shotgun and grenades to that whole town when the Croat vaccine got there first.” He rested his forehead for a moment on Gabriel’s hip, then pressed his mouth into the corner of his thigh, hot and hungry and tender. “I remember, I do. And Gabriel, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Chamael, and two of his lieutenants, fresh-faced and beautiful and dangerous, letting a whole community choose to sin. To show their sin, because they hadn’t been the first, far from the first, but the first ones who couldn’t be hurt by it, the first ones to vanish as the lustful hands were laid on them.
Sam drew the soft flesh of Gabriel’s thigh into his mouth, held it there, warmed it and caressed it, and let it go again. “I should have chosen earlier. So long ago, Gabriel. I should have seen it.”
Gabriel dug his fingers into bone under skin under tangled hair, bruising and sharp and not letting go. “So should I, gorgeous. So should we all.”
Sam growled in response, hard and loving and so fiercely here, and swallowed Gabriel down in a sudden shock of heat and caress.
Gabriel hissed, words lost, and bucked up against the broad, implacable hands pinning his hips to the cooling soil.
He lost himself, let Sam lose him, in the pattern of lips and mouth and throat and breath, in the gleam of Sam’s eyes in the dark, in the hard push of his hands and the vulnerability of having that vast body wedged between his legs, in the little murmurs and groans that Sam always made when he was doing this and the ripples and flashes of desire across his grace that echoed them.
Ghostly pale wings slipped by, just clearing the peak of Sam’s left wing, as a tawny frogmouth snapped a moth out of the air and veered off into the trees.
Then Gabriel yelped and swatted at his own shoulder. “Freaking mosquitoes. Who the hell asked you?”
Sam lost himself into gales of snorting laughter into the hollow of Gabriel’s hipbone, so ungraceful and so easy and so very Sam that Gabriel couldn’t resist saying to hell with blowjobs and pulling Sam up to devour those beautiful, hiccuping gasps right from their source. Even though that was one of his cardinal rules, the Cardinal Rules of the Archangel Gabriel number six at least, never mess with blowjobs. Sam went with it, lithe and contented, grumbling something halfway protesting in his throat and nipping at Gabriel’s lip. Which Gabriel frankly counted as a win, because, hey, Winchester.
Or angel. Whatever.
Wasn’t like it was going to change things.
Gabriel made one of those little happy noises in his throat that Dean always laughed at and generously allowed his mouth to be ravished by an archangel, because this sort of thing should happen to him more often. It was a sign of a terrible imbalance in the universe, he decided imperiously, while doing that scritchy thing with his nails in Sam’s hair that always made him melt, when an archangel always had to be on the giving end of the awesomeness of being an archangel. Seriously. Gabriel ran his other hand down Sam’s side, tickling through feathers and curling persuasively around the back of his hip. Castiel and Dean and Sam got to be snogged by an archangel daily. Practically. Mostly. If Gabriel had anything to say about it and they weren’t all busy doing stupid busy stuff that wasn’t about sex with him. He tugged a little, coaxing. Only fair Gabriel got some awesome archangel awesomeness of awesome sometimes, and it was possible that thing Sam was doing to Gabriel’s lower lip was wasting his vocabulary away into (awesomely archangelic) nothingness.
“Gabriel?” Sam’s voice was muffled into the corner of Gabriel’s mouth as he obeyed the terribly terribly subtle prompting and rolled onto his side, obligingly leaving one knee hooked over Gabriel’s. “You’re having a ridiculous thought process again, aren’t you?”
“You,” Gabriel informed him graciously, sneakily sneaking sneaky fingers back around that gorgeous arse in the hopes of doing interesting things to it, “are having far too many thought processes at all for someone who is currently being snogged by an archangel.”
Sam smirked into his cheek, lips scraping over the stubble that Gabriel had decided two days ago would look interesting and manly. “That line’s never going to work again, Gabriel.”
“Au contraire, mon ami.” Gabriel beamed at Sam with what he felt was appropriately enormous and terrible glee, especially now he had a hand full of his favourite arse on the planet. “It’s going to work twice as often.”
Said arse flexed lusciously in his hand as Sam burrowed in closer, pressing oh-I-wonder-what-that-could-possibly-be in to slide hot and promising over the crevice between Gabriel’s hip and thigh, just where Sam’s mouth had been not so long ago. “You’re such a dork. Really. Both of you. How the hell did I end up getting raised by Dean, and raised from Hell by you, and he thinks a double cheeseburger is the height of cuisine and you speak every language ever thought of perfectly and still think a few words of French in a bad accent sounds sophi-”
Hah, magical Sam off-switch was still the same with his grace back. Gabriel purred triumphantly around a mouthful of Sam-neck and slid his finger deeper, slick and greedy. Then added its neighbour, because apparently Dean had been very thorough in his investigation of his newly sparkly little brother. Not that Gabriel blamed him. He thought his sparkly little brother was pretty hot too. Both his sparkly little brothers, now.
Sam groaned, low and rough, reverberating through Gabriel’s mouth. Gabriel obligingly pushed deeper, one hard aching shove, the way Sam liked it when he was already open and kind of sore, and Sam arched up into it, wings flaring soft and heavy against the sky.
“Why am I not surprised,” Gabriel whispered up along the taut line of Sam’s neck, “that big bro needed to prove he’s still the bigger man?”
Or that maybe, just maybe, Dean didn’t quite trust him enough with all that not-Sam strength to let his brother take the reins, not just yet?
Sam huffed out a breathless little laugh as Gabriel’s tongue traced around his ear, and Gabriel’s third finger traced around where the other two were buried. “That was just round one. Didn’t expect me to recover so soon.”
Gabriel purred. Being able to shuffle around your own hormone levels was also awesome. Poor little Dean, the only one left who couldn’t. He’d just have to lie around and look useless and naked and pretty and debauched in the middle of their eternal angel orgies. “Surprise buttsex?”
Sam rolled his eyes in that stupidly over-dramatic exasperated way he had like he was trying to strain some important eye muscle. It lost a lot of its effect when he was also shuddering all over because Gabriel was sitting up and pulling his fingers impatiently out of where they’d been burrowing, Gabriel was pleased to notice.
“Stay off the lolcat websites, Gabriel, we’ve talked about this.”
“You’re still talking, stop talking, this is wrong,” Gabriel complained in his I-have-commanded-the-legions-of-Heaven tone that Sam always totally failed to respect because he was a Winchester, and hauled Sam bodily into his lap. Sam growled and buried his teeth in Gabriel’s neck with absolute technical obedience, the archangelic little bastard, so Gabriel yelped and swatted his entirely edible arse. It jerked in a gratifying way, shoving other parts of Sam’s anatomy that were really due some attention up against Gabriel’s stomach and, incidentally, against other parts of Gabriel’s anatomy that were really due some attention.
No complaints there.
Sam mumbled his name into his neck, gentle and hungry and right on the edge of demand, so Gabriel generously and self-sacrificingly ran one hand in a long soothing sweep down the curve of Sam’s beautiful spine and shifted his own hips and arranged things just right for Sam to sink down in one long white-hot push of greed and adoration that stole the breath from both pairs of lungs. And hell, this was really really not going to last long.
Not round one, anyway.
Sam’s thighs flexed over his, a taut promise of pressure and movement, echoed by the lift-and-tense shift of his wings. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting, and settled the wings forward a little, hooded, just within reach, soft and dark and deep in the night air, brushing against Gabriel’s bare legs and tickling his sides.
Gabriel whimpered quietly and held himself very very still.
Sam laughed quietly against his ear, and wriggled again. Deliberate. Provocative. Distracting.
“It is so very, very easy to shut you up.”
Gabriel growled charmingly and rolled his hips. Sam’s laughter stuttered off into breathlessness, so Gabriel did it again and decided firmly that that meant he’d won.
Who was he kidding. He had Sam Winchester in his lap, Chamael in his lap, being sexy and magnificent and happy. He’d already won.
… Yeah, apparently too much time around Dean and his big soulful eyes turned you into a sap.
Sam shifted, pushed down hard. Gabriel let his eyes flutter shut against Sam’s cheek and moved with him, moved perfectly with him. Pulled Sam’s body in flush to his and gave up on all those last bits of pretense, devoured his mouth with the desperation and demand of centuries of loneliness and half a decade of delicious joy in the counterbalance. Sam’s back moved under the insistent cling of Gabriel’s hands, sinuous and powerful as water, as the ocean that had nurtured his grace for him for millions of years. Nurtured him, and been nurtured by him.
Gabriel loved, and was loved in return. Fierce and tender and warm and kind of sticky because it was hot here, and he could make his vessel not sweat but that was cheating. And he wanted this, real and gritty and human, just like Chamael, just like they’d both chosen. All the messy, jagged bits of it, and the bright glory of it all.
His hand slipped over the slick of Sam’s back, the give and shove of his muscles. Gabriel groaned breathless complaint and locked the little vagrant bruisingly around the nearest feathered handhold, fingers pushing deep under feathers and burying themselves in the hot thick velvet beneath. Sam made an utterly broken sound and lost all his breath at once into Gabriel’s mouth, sweet and warm. Then there was delicious heat throbbing wet all over Gabriel’s stomach and chest, spreading slick and tacky between them. Gabriel pulled viciously down on the wing, drank every tiny noise greedily from Sam’s slack mouth, buried himself deep in the body of his beloved and let himself be lost.
After that, it was all slow helpless kisses, loose and blurry around the edges, the leisurely recollection of all the bits of self that felt kind of scattered everywhere and reassembling them into something like coherency. Remembering how vessels worked, how arms worked.
Legs, those were tricky. Gabriel vetoed legs and just sort of shoved until Sam fell over. Which was awesome. Sam was awesome. Awesome mattress. For sprawling all over.
Maybe Dean was infecting his vocabulary too. He’d care about that tomorrow.
Sam had nice ribs. They were handy for dozing on. Also nuzzling.
Then. “Fuck,” said Sam, and slapped himself on the arm.
Gabriel snorted. It took ages for him to dig his vocabulary up out of sleepy warm red mud, but he finally managed to mumble “Mosquitoes?” into Sam’s ribs.
“Mosquitoes.” Sam huffed out his long-suffering why-is-life-and-my-big-brother-so-mean-to-me sigh, bouncing Gabriel’s head in a completely unacceptable and kind of fun way. “Seriously. Who made this country?”
Gabriel yawned, and nuzzled his way down to the relatively safe pillow of Sam’s stomach. “Yeah, I don’t know, some guy. You should file a complaint.”
The starry lustre blazed on high, still echoed down the heavenly strain,
And still they sang…