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Don’t Play With Your Food

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Sam is sitting in his room in the house he and Dean are renting. He’s still getting used to having separate rooms, after so long crammed in a motel room with Dad and Dean, and later just Dean. The brief time at Stanford, where he’d had his own room, seems so far away as to have happened to someone else entirely. It’s weird, having somewhere he could go to get away from Dean, but he finds he likes the privacy.

He has a fair idea what Dean’s doing with that privacy, but he doesn’t mention it. Dean’s still so awkward about showing his affection for Cas where anyone can see that Sam doesn’t want to make it worse by teasing him. He has a feeling Dean thinks he would be weird about it, but Sam’s happy for him. Dean’s been alone too long, and Cas is good for him. He keeps him from spiraling down into a morass of inferiority and failure, although he doesn’t do that as often now that the Apocalypse is over.

As for him…

“Hey, Sammy.”

Sam sighs, not even flinching as Gabriel appears in the room. “It’s Sam.”

Gabriel pouts. “Dean calls you Sammy.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like there’s anything I can do to stop him.”

Gabriel gives him a significant look, and Sam sighs again.

He doesn’t know what Gabriel is still doing here. He’d helped them against Lucifer, but once he was back in Hell, Sam had expected him to go back to messing with people, or else take up his duties as an Archangel again.

Instead he pops in at unpredictable intervals, and every time he does, Dean complains, since he cleans the house out of sweets. Even now he’s got a king-sized bag of Reese’s Pieces and is shoveling them into his mouth by the handful.

“What do you want, Gabriel?”

“I’m bored,” he complains, as if he expects Sam to do something about it.

Sam snorts. “I’ve got better things to do than entertain you!”

There’s a glint in Gabriel’s eye, but all he says is, “What things? You’re not hunting right now.”

Sam scowls. It’s true. Even if they hadn’t decided to take a well-deserved break, the Apocalypse had scared everything but the demons into hiding. You would think every supernatural whatsit out there would use the chaos of the Apocalypse as an excuse to run amok, but there had been nothing. Now that it’s over the demons are gone, and the other things haven’t come back yet.

Gabriel finishes up the last of the candy, balls the bag up and throws it in the trash, then heads downstairs. Sam follows him warily, since God only knows what he’d get up to if he left him alone. Short-sheeting Dean’s bed with him in it, making the toilet flush backwards, repainting the entire house fuschia… The possibilities are as endless as Gabriel’s notably sick imagination.

But he only makes a beeline for the kitchen and starts rooting in the freezer. He comes out with a nearly-full container of vanilla ice cream and snorts, then opens the refrigerator.

“Dude, you can’t just eat that,” Sam protests feebly, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to stop Gabriel from doing anything he wants.

Gabriel pokes his head out of the fridge, a sly smile on his face. “Why? Is there something else you’d prefer me to do with it?” He has that glint in his eye again, the one Sam doesn’t want to think about. He feels his face heat, and decides to ignore the obvious innuendo. Gabriel’s an Archangel, and despite the fact that Sam knows he’s probably committed more carnal and venial sins than a small country, some part of him still insists that Archangel=pure.

Gabriel’s gone back to rooting in the fridge, looking for something, Sam doesn’t know what. A moment later he gives a triumphant cry and comes out with a bottle of chocolate syrup.

Sam sits down at the table, knowing they’re likely to be awhile. Gabriel rattles around finding a bowl and spoon, plops down next to Sam, scoops out some ice cream, and squeezes what seems like half the bottle onto it.

Then he starts eating, and Sam blushes again and looks away, because he’s making little grunts and moans and sighs that are positively pornographic, his tongue darting out obscenely to lick away the ice cream, swirling the spoon in his mouth.

He looks around again at a tap on his shoulder to find Gabriel holding out a spoonful of slightly-melted ice cream. “Want some?”

Sam blinks at the idea of Gabriel wanting to share, then, instead of taking the spoon, he leans forward and eats the ice cream while Gabriel is still holding it.

There’s a weirdly intense, almost electric moment where he and Gabriel lock eyes, then the next thing Sam knows they’re back in his room and Gabriel has slammed him against the wall, his tongue down Sam’s throat.

It’s ridiculous, because Gabriel is at least eight inches shorter than he is, but Sam can’t do anything to stop it, even if he wanted to. It would be like trying to push back a flash flood with his hands.

And, really, that’s what it is. He’s being swept along, Gabriel’s hands in his hair and pushing up under his shirt, his own hands fisted in Gabriel’s jacket, keeping him there, although there’s not much chance he’ll leave.

Gabriel certainly kisses like he knows what he’s doing, despite the fact that he seems more desperate than anything, pushing his tongue as far as it can go into Sam’s mouth, swallowing his moans.

Sam briefly wonders what the hell he’s doing, but if he’s honest with himself he has thought about this before, and Gabriel probably picked up on it, damn him.

Gabriel chuckles against him, confirming that, yes, he has been in Sam’s head.

At that, Sam growls and pushes him towards the bed. Gabriel goes willingly, but once there Sam finds himself pinned. And not only pinned, but naked.

That’s when he realizes that Gabriel still has the bottle of chocolate syrup. “No way!”

Gabriel just grins at him and drizzles the syrup down his throat.

Sam’s about to protest at the mess, and at being treated like a confection, but then Gabriel’s tongue snakes out and licks the syrup off, and all he can do is moan.

Gabriel laps at the chocolate syrup pooling in the hollow of his throat and Sam moans again. Gabriel looks up at him and smirks, before pouring more chocolate syrup over his chest. He latches onto a nipple, swirling his tongue to get the last drops of syrup and Sam cries out and fists his hands in Gabriel’s hair.

Gabriel lays a trail of syrup down his stomach, then follows it, as Sam jumps. He spends an unholy amount of time lapping at Sam’s navel, until Sam thrusts his hips up and growls, “Gabriel, for God’s sake!

Then he finally, finally, pours syrup over his hand and coats Sam’s cock with it, jacking him. Sam thrusts his hips up into the pressure, no longer thinking, just reacting. Then Gabriel leans down and…oh God. Sam was right about him committing all kinds of sins; what he’s doing should be illegal.

He’s so wrapped up in that that he almost doesn’t feel a sticky-slick finger breach him. When he realizes what Gabriel’s doing, some semblance of thought returns. “Oh, hell no!”

Gabriel pulls off and smirks at him. “Hell, yes,” and curls his fingers, and stars explode behind Sam’s eyelids.

Gabriel works him open, slowly. I’m letting an archangel fuck me using chocolate syrup for lube. Sam feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest, but then Gabriel’s entering him and fuck.

Gabriel takes his time about it, all trace of his earlier desperation gone, long, leisurely strokes that hit Sam’s prostate every time, until he’s a complete mess.

He thrusts up into him, growling, “Go faster, damn you!”

Gabriel smirks and complies, nearly fucking him through the mattress.

When his orgasm hits he grays out for a moment, nearly turned inside out. When he comes back to himself, Gabriel’s nosing at his ass.

“Wha–”

He gets his answer as a tongue touches his ass, and fuck, definitely should be illegal. His spent cock twitches, and he’s about to protest that it’s disgusting, but that means Gabriel might stop.

When he’s cleaned him out to his satisfaction, Gabriel moves back up his body and leans in.

“Dude, gross,” Sam says, pushing him away, but Gabriel only snorts.

“Come on, you’re not going to catch anything.”

So Sam reluctantly lets Gabriel kiss him. He tastes like a mixture of chocolate and come, which is probably the weirdest thing he’s ever tasted, and considering his life, that’s saying something.

When Gabriel pulls away, Sam asks, “Still bored?”

Gabriel pretends to think for a minute. “Nope, not right now. Although you know me, I’m apt to get bored again at a moment’s notice.”

Sam smiles at him. “I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”