Sam swears he's only been asleep ten minutes when he registers warmth along his back and teeth in the meat of his shoulder. There are fingers sliding through the hair at his groin in silent, impatient demand.
When he opens his eyes there's still a hazy edge to the world.
"Jesus, Gabriel, again?" Because, no matter what Dean thinks, there is such a thing as too much when it comes to sex.
Sam's skin is already close to a tingling mess of sensation and he's pretty sure he's going to have so many incriminating bruises that there'll be no excuse other than the obvious.
"You're going to kill me," Sam decides. Because it's very quickly becoming clear that Gabriel doesn't know the meaning of the word 'satisfied.' That he fully intends to mistreat him until he can't see straight, or can't walk straight at least.
"You have no idea what you look like laying there," Gabriel complains, voice low and heavy in the dark. Like it's Sam's fault, like he's doing it on purpose. "I can't concentrate on anything else."
Sam kind of wants to tell him that isn't his problem, wants to tell him to go away and let him sleep. But Gabriel's hand is very distracting.
"I'm literally physically incapable," Sam grumbles. "You've destroyed me."
Gabriel huffs amused disbelief against his shoulder. "Don't be melodramatic."
Sam's about to point out that he isn't being melodramatic he's telling the truth, but Gabriel's pulling on the edge of his hip, leaving him on his back in the sheets. Then he's sliding over, pressing down into him and Sam's protests end up crushed somewhere under Gabriel's mouth.
Gabriel makes everything harder and deeper than Sam knows what to do with, in a way he thinks maybe he likes a little too much. His cock twitches in a way that feels like self-preservation more than actual pleasure. Sam growls complaint and catches the too-soft weight of Gabriel's waist and the back of his neck, holds him there and calls him half a dozen filthy names.
It doesn't make him stop, if anything it makes his hands less careful. They dig in and push at Sam's thighs in a way that's greedy and demanding. In a way that tells him exactly what Gabriel wants. Sam's not just twitching but hard now, in a way that very nearly almost hurts and even that's good. He has no idea how he managed that.
Gabriel folds over him, pressing his fingers into Sam's waist, and for just a second he's weight and desperation and something that feels cold and overwhelming - and then it's gone. Gabriel is just Gabriel again, eyes dark and hot and watching him like he doesn't know how to want anything else.
Sam shudders and gives in, spread his legs.
Well-fucked is not phrase Sam ever thought he'd be using to describe himself and definitely not in this context. But there really is no other way to describe how easy it is when Gabriel pushes his leg up and slides into him.
Sam makes a noise, something soft in his throat that tells him he needs this, no matter what he says. Even though every steady push is close to the edge of genuine discomfort. He thinks maybe it's a little of the desperation that grips Gabriel still shivering under his skin and he stretches his arms up over his head, folds them round the headboard and takes it.
Gabriel can't stop touching him, fingers sharp and greedy and distracted. Until Sam lowers a hand and catches one slim wrist; drags it to where he's hard and desperate and presses it down.
Gabriel makes a noise in his throat like he approves of Sam demanding things and he wraps his fingers round him and makes it good.
He always makes it good.
When Sam comes it's too sharp and too hot, the wet rush of it almost vicious. Blood roars in his ears and his breath aches in his throat.
It takes him a long time to come down.
Gabriel pushes his hair off his face and slides out of him and Sam does wince then, one brief irritated protest, but he's damned if he isn't still half caught in the rush of greedy pleasure.
"Go to sleep," Gabriel says simply and Sam obeys like it's a command.