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“What's in it for me?”

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Gabe knows that it is a bad idea to play with his brothers' toys. Not that Mike or Lou would admit as much. Mike would spout something about tools, not even disagreeing when his little brother quips he's one of them, barely able to contain a snicker. He'd insist he's following dad's grand plan like the dutiful son he is, “just obeying orders”, and not even realize how bad that sounds to people in this century. Not that he cares about people. He's the kind of soldier who doesn't mind a billion civilian casualties or two, so long as the war is won.

Lou – oh, Lou would be worse. He'd sidestep the whole 'playing with people' issue, because dad forbid he take responsibility or even just listen to anyone's reasoning but his own. He would just start whining again about dad playing favorites, how unfair everything is and how much he's been maligned, and Gabe got enough of that a couple eons ago. Way before dad decided to put Lou in timeout.

Unlike his brothers, Gabe likes people. They're fun...and these particular people are even more entertaining than most. He actually likes Dean, despite that little single-person murder spree he's allowed himself. He's protective, and cares, which – honestly, Michael could use some of both. A lot of both, thinking about it.

And then, there's Sam. Gabe has to give it to Lucifer; his brother likes 'em cute. It helps him when he wears them, and has to manipulate someone. If you don't know him, Lou always sounds so reasonable, and empathetic, and – how can you resist when he turns up the adorableness? He's a pet. Would a pet ruin you? (Lou would. He totally would, for no other reason that he's bored.)

And so here's his perfect vessel. Built like a brick outhouse, a trained murderer (of monsters, but still – if he wanted to, baby Winchester could totally kill someone before they knew what hit them) and Sam can still look harmless and sweet and even tiny if he really tries. And that without any magic help. If anything is unfair, that is. (To play Loki, Gabriel's stuck in a vessel that is actually tiny. At least, in comparison.)

In fact, the adorableness is what drew Gabe in at the start. After the first time they met, he kept tabs on them. Of course he does. Everyone in heaven and hell is keeping tabs on them all the time. What's one more, right?

The boys won't ever know. In fact, as far as they're concerned, he's dead. What else could he have done? They were trying so hard, he couldn't resist. Even if it was all just a pretense, he had to give them what they wanted. All that effort deserved to be recognized; they're similar enough to his siblings that he knows he can't deal with seeing them disappointed.

He's not surprised when things are right on track. Dean's going to hell. Well, they need a Righteous Man down there, and who's more righteous than Mike's own sword? (Gabe giggles a bit. He's always found that definition vaguely pornographic.) Sam refuses to let it happen. Gabriel could just pop round, assure him that it won't last – that Michael will need Dean back, so he'll have to send some grunt or another to retrieve the boy for him ...But where would be the fun in that?

All he wants is to get through that rather gorgeous head of hair that Sam's powerless to derail the plan. The sooner he gets on board, the easier things will be for him, too. The only sane thing to do, when Mike and Lou are involved, is to check out and let them do their thing. Physically, if you can, or psychically, if you have no other option.

It turns out he's underestimated Sam Winchester , which he really should have known. He knows Lucifer, after all. The boy can outstubborn even him, outrageous as that sounds. Shouldn't an archangel's perception of time give him an edge? Okay, Gabriel has always been impatient. Still.

What Gabe is and has always been is ready to snatch any occasion of pleasure, too. And while he hadn't meant it as such, his little failed lesson turns into one. That Wednesday death is meant as penance for boring him out of the loop, and hopefully to finally drive the point home. Again, that's a complete fiasco. The Winchesters can be as annoying as his own family, that's why they're perfect, damn.

Sam won't stop, as long as his brother is concerned...and when he's recognized, Gabriel sees his chance. Fine, he doesn't just have a weakness for cute, he also loves cleverness. And Sam has just been so, so clever. When the kid starts begging, on top of that...well, if Lucifer didn't want him taken advantage of, he should have kept him on a shorter leash.

The puppy eyes come into play, and Gabriel almost caves. No human should be able to weaponize them like that. The only thing that stops him is knowing what they are. He's seen the face that launched a thousands ship a few millennia ago – of course he had to see her, he's curious like that – and these? The puppy eyes that'll doom the world. Even Michael himself might stumble if they turn on him full power.

Instead, he looks (up, damn it) and asks, “Well, what's in it for me?”

“...I didn't know Tricksters dealt in souls, too.” He's hesitating, but not unwilling.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Of course I don't. What would I do with a soul, uh?”

“Then what?” Sam's arms spread , and the boy looks more delicious than he has any right to.

“You've been clever before. Figure it out.”

Sam frowns. “With a human I'd say money, but...”

Gabe laughs in his face, materializing dollars all over the floor. “As much as I appreciate that your money comes from tricks and cheating itself, I can make you a whole pool of these, if you'd like. Never understood the appeal of coins, to be honest.”

“So, I know you like sweets...”

“And if you were talented in that area you'd keep your brother happy with homemade pies, wouldn't you?” Gabriel grins at the almost bashful nod he receives.

“Pranks, but I was hoping you were done for a least with us.” The puppy eyes only get more intense. How is it even possible?

“You're exhausting,” he huffs. “In fact, I would teach you a lesson on how to take a joke..if we hadn't proven beyond reasonable doubt you're a dog that just. Won't. Learn.”

Sam glares weakly at him, but immediately averts his eyes. At least the boy has enough common sense not to antagonize someone he's pleading from. The lip biting is pretty, though. “Anything, okay? I'd give anything, just – tell me, please. I don't have the time to research everything about you. I need Dean back, now.”

“You seriously don't know what I – or anyone, frankly – could want from you? I know you've grown up pretty much like strays, but did none of those motels have mirrors?” Gabriel looks at him, unimpressed. Lou is a manipulative bastard above all else. How can his perfect vessel be so unaware of the way he affects people, at least on some level? If everyone picked the wrong set of brothers, things are going to turn ridiculous so fast.

Sam blinks. “Sex? Is that what this is all about?”

“Hallelujah!”The archangel smirks.

The boy is already dropping clothes like they're on fire, when Gabe stops him with a raised hand. “If it's to be worth a life, you'll have to make it good.”

Sam actually blushes, and isn't that adorable. “Well, I don't exactly have 9 ½ Weeks' soundtrack here.” He's pouting, and Gabriel is so, so tempted to kiss it out of him.

“I could provide, of course, but you don't need that. Kinda tacky, if you ask me. Just go slow and let me enjoy it.” No rush.

The boy breathes deeply, and – damn, why is that pretty, too? A nod, and he's obeying. Not so much suited to Lou maybe, then.

Thankfully, the Winchesters wear so many layers there's still more than enough for a very nice striptease. The best, though? The eye contact. Sam's going slow, undoing button after button of his shirt, and that's nice, but it's the unwavering look on him that has Gabe's mouth watering. A mix of desperation, defiance, annoyance and sheer need, which might not be for him, but it doesn't matter. The feelings shimmer in wide eyes, sometimes an inextricable maelstrom, other times one gaining the advantage before it's chased away from another. Gabriel holds it, with faint amusement and a vaguely finicky expression (one he's copied off cooking show judges) to cover his enjoyment.

Finally, the shirt is completely open, slipping off a fighter's body. The archangel stops pretending and licks his lips. He nudges towards already unzipped pants that'd long be on the floor if he hadn't wanted to prolong the game.

Sam nods, and then takes his breath away. Gabriel had no idea this particular human could just...gyrate out of them, until they're pooling at his feet. A certain kind of actor? Sure. A hunter by upbringing, even with a little stint at being a normal student? When did Sam exactly learn? And how many secrets is he going to surprise heaven and hell with?

“Shoes off, and come here.” The angel's voice is rougher than usual.

Again, Sam obeys, kicking off his socks in the process, too. He's just taken a somewhat waddling step, when Gabriel says, “Let's make it easier...down with you.”

A momentary hesitation, then the boy is crawling, pants quickly left behind on his trail. When he's eye level with Gabriel's hardness – and he needs to hunch a bit for that - he stops. When a hand ruffles his hair, almost affectionately, he looks up, questioning.

“Do you want a taste?”

“You know what I want.” Just the shadow of a sob in his voice.

Gabriel sighs. “Never mind. I'll make it good for you, I promise.” He cups the boy's jaw, ignoring the unconvinced look he's receiving.

Suddenly there's a bed there. Huge, soft, the sheets red like candy apples. Or fresh blood, if that's in your mind. “Lose the underwear, and up you go.”

This time, compliance is immediate. And then, again, Sam stills. That same wondering look in his eyes.

“Lie back and think of England isn't really what I look for in a partner, you know. And we aren't even in England, so. I'll keep my side of the deal, but at least try to be entertaining, will you?”

That spurs him into action. And if the kiss tastes a little more like desperation than Gabriel usually prefers, well – way too many of his partners have been his own creations, lately. Something he'd never make up is welcome. This is true.

Sam drags him down on the bed, and Gabe just barely remembers to disappear his own clothes. It seems they're in a rush again, after all. A litany of pleases leave the boy's lips, stretching and twisting under him like the gorgeous serpent from Eden. (Hey, Lou really knows how to pick vessels, there's no denying that.) Gabriel promises himself that, as real as they are now, he'll have Sam forgetting his goal and actually pleading for him before the night is over.

He refuses to hurry. With so much golden skin under him...well, Gabe's undercover identity sure has a bit of an oral fixation, so why not? The first, eager lap stills his partner, possibly out of surprise. There are acres of skin (maybe not literally, but it sure feels that way) to taste, and he indulges himself. More licking, and nipping (that's why they're called nipples, right?), while he tries to figure out if the tattooed skin tastes differently from the rest. If he can make Sam keen with nothing more than his mouth.

He can, but then again – maybe his lover is giving him what he wants?...Not entirely, a quick grope assures him Sam's hard. He'll cut the boy some slack and not even try to read his mind. If he's fantasizing about someone else, well – Gabriel doesn't care. He's reasonably sure it's none of his brothers, after all.

Long legs curl around him, hands coming up to caress, almost reverent. When he's not trying to stab things into rightness, the younger Winchester can be as gentle as his cuteness promises. He clutches harder when, without warning, Gabriel's fingers start skirting his perineum. The sharp inhale that earns is such a sweet sound.

Of course, the angel doesn't actually go further than letting his fingers wander almost aimlessly but insistently in the area.

“If you're not going to do anything, I'll have to take charge.” It's a growl, and Gabe laughs. Go figure that Sam wouldn't just follow the script he had in mind for him. Too stubborn, uh?

“Patience,” he chides, but then breaches him. Trickster powers are nice. His little creations might be illusions, but if he can trick the nerve endings, he doesn't even have to use lube. Just ease them into believing there is.

Another half-choked gasp, and Gabriel's other hand pets a prominent hipbone. “Don't hold back.”

The moan that follows is loud, drawn out, and positively sinful. And Gabriel wants more. After all, what's the perk in leaving home if you still abide by dad's rules?

One more finger. Sam's a big boy – he can take it. Gabe is careful, spreading his partner slowly, finding again and again that lovely place that makes Sam so, so vocal. By the time they're at three, he's finally reached his aim.

“Please please please please.” This is not about Dean Winchester. (If it is, even Lou would find it embarrassing, if only for the implications of 'perfect vessel'.)

“Since you asked so nicely...” It's Gabriel's turn to moan, now. He likes acting cool, but this? There's no keeping up appearances. Not when all is warm-tight-pleasure. Not when Sam's legs entwine around him, as if worried he might get away. Not when they're clutching at each other like their partner is the only weight that might stop them from being blown away in a storm. (Different storms for both of them, for sure, but when has that ever mattered?)

For once, Gabriel's just taking, and taking, no thought about irony or tricks or family...or evading family...or anything else but the very human, real flesh under him. When Sam comes, under him, arching and shaking and screaming, he doesn't stop. He keeps pounding into him, ignoring the soft whimpers when time stretches, and pleasure turns into too much, too soon. His lover isn't trying to dislodge him, though, or even say “No,” “Stop,” or anything of the sort. If the angel could think, now, he would know what's restraining Sam, and let him go. But he's not thinking, and the sensual part of him would only snap that the boy should really not sound so delightful when he's uncomfortable.

As much as he would like to keep this up for ages, Gabriel finally gives into the orgasm that's been building...well, almost since he gazed on his current lover, strung out and crazed and as fascinating as a man-eating tiger. It sweeps over him, and he bites a nipple to garble any word that might try to come out. When his brain is back online, he guiltily laps at the abused nub, before sitting up.

Sam is still laying down, breathing soft. Not in a rush to shower and/or flee, apparently. If he's exhausted the giant...well, Gabe can't keep the smug grin from his face. “You know you're going to lose him anyway.” Last attempt to get the truth in that impervious brain.

Another glare, and this time Sam's not backing down. He's not attacking him only because Gabriel is the only chance he has to get what he wants. “I'm going to find a way.”
“What way, the same?” the angel jokes, rising from the bed.

Sam looks up at him – for once. “Would it work?” His eyes are sparkling with eagerness.

“Would it – who are you planning to seduce, uh? The demon who owns the contract? Or the hellhounds, maybe?”

“Possibly all of them?” The boy's voice is trembling.”If necessary.”

Gabriel can't suppress his groan. “Boundaries. You need boundaries! What the bloody fuck, Sam.” He jabs the stupid human in the chest. “Or maybe more cases in an asylum, getting some therapy on the side, uh?”
Sam laughs, but it's frail. Cracked. “Dean didn't put any boundaries when he sold himself. It wouldn't be fair of me to, would it? The whole fucking hell can screw me, if that's what it takes. I'm just proving Dean right, anyway.”

“I'm not sure I want to know what this is about, but I know someone who will adore that mindset of yours. Not that it'll save him, though.”

Sam sits up. Shrugs. “Just Dean's teasing. Never thought I'd miss being called bitch that much. But if that's not the way, fine. I'll find something else. You'll see.”

“I'd rather not see how disappointed you're bound to be, but hey. If you miss me, give me a call. I'm up for a repeat anytime.” He slides a paper with his number behind the boy's ear, like a magician, before frowning and disappearing it. Instead, the number appears sneakily on a hip. It'll wash out, sure. If Sammy wills it to. A finger snap, and time rewinds.

And that was supposed to be it. Put the ball in Sam's court, and if the boy'd rather not see him anymore, good. The family dinners are going to be awkward enough as it is. Lou will complain about this for eons to come..if he survives, that is. Even if it was just an one off, because letting such beauty go to waste would be a sin in its own right.

Gabriel has never been very good at sticking to his own resolutions.