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Sam wakes up out of a blessedly clear sleep, no visions of Apocalypse or chats with Lucifer. It startles him, this absence of torment, but then he spies the figure at the window. Gabriel, who usually lounges or rocks on his heels or adopts some other peculiarly human affectation, looks oddly stiff as he stares out at the night sky.

Sam slides out from beneath the covers and pads across the floor. He hesitates at laying a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, and settles for standing close, enough that Gabriel can lean back into him if he wants. But Gabriel remains... at attention, is the best analogy that Sam can come up with, and it worries him.

"Gabriel?" he ventures quietly. "You okay?"

"They're talking," Gabriel says, and lays a hand on the window. Beyond him Sam can see dark clouds rolling in the sky, prelude to a storm. "Loudly," Gabriel adds wryly, and seems to shake himself out of his reverie. He leans back into Sam, his small figure still somehow substantial and unwavering next to Sam's enormous frame. Sometimes Sam can feel the energy skittering below Gabriel's skin, lightning under his touch, and tonight it seems to echo the unrest in the sky.

Sam curls an arm around Gabriel's shoulder. "Do you wish you were up there?"

Gabriel's short bark of laughter is harsh. "I've been gone a long time."

Sam tightens his grip, a kind of despair lacing through him. He doesn't have much to count on these days, and the fact that the Trickster is a major lynchpin for hanging onto his sanity is pretty much a cosmic joke. And yet, if Gabriel going back to Heaven could untwist the knot of unhappiness that he seems to carry with him, Sam sure as hell (ha) isn't going to be the one to deny him.

The thought escapes Sam's mind before he can grab it back, and Gabriel tenses in his embrace. "No, Sam," he says softly, and turns. His lips find Sam's, he's breathing into him. "I'm where I want to be." He slithers his fingers under Sam's t-shirt, grips into the sharp lines of Sam's back as if he can anchor them both with his touch. Sam's breath hitches as Gabriel bites his bottom lip, sharp enough to hurt. "I'm the Trickster, remember? I'm always where I want to be."

With a snap of his fingers he proves it, moving them to the bed and discarding their clothes in an instant. Gabriel's cock, already hard and leaking, juts between them as he makes his way down Sam's body, slurping and sucking with obscene greediness that leaves Sam gasping. Sam curls his fingers into Gabriel's hair and tugs, stopping Gabriel before he can move further, and Sam's voice is dark when he chokes, "Gabriel, inside me."

There's a beat where their eyes meet, and whatever Gabriel reads there is enough to curtail his playing. He slicks himself with what Sam has kept on the bedside table and presses into Sam with one finger, but Sam shakes his head. "Now, Gabriel," and then Gabriel is inside him, all fiery burn and needy pressure and Sam has to bite his tongue not to cry out when Gabriel's balls slap against his ass. He makes a noise that sounds something like "more" and then Gabriel is everywhere, all he can see and feel, and the bed is shaking beneath him or maybe the room is shaking around him but Sam doesn't care because he's coming with white light behind his eyes and Gabriel's hand on his dick and Gabriel buried so deep inside him he'll never leave.

Sam comes back to himself with Gabriel panting on his chest, the covers pulled around them like a cocoon. "Sleep," Gabriel says, but it's not an angelic command, just a drowsy suggestion. "I'm not going anywhere."

And Sam sleeps.