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Be Careful What You Think Of

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Things went – metaphorically – to hell about a month after Gabriel signed on for saving the world from a more literal Hell.

At first, it had been so easy that Sam had immediately distrusted it, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was tension to begin with of course, but somehow he blinked and Gabriel was bringing Dean pie from obscure corners of the world and Dean was only mustering annoyance at Gabriel’s (mostly harmless) pranks. Castiel went from cold and standoffish to using the Winchester method of brotherly bonding – which Gabriel seemed delighted by. That was terrifying for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that Castiel apparently thought they were excellent models for humanity and healthy relationships. As for Sam, Gabriel poked and prodded and annoyed the hell out of him, but he always backed off before Sam got well and truly pissed.

And just when Sam started to relax, started to think that he actually kind of liked the way the four of them crammed into diner booths – Dean and Gabriel fighting over an extra inch of space on one side and Cas beside him on the other – that he kind of liked the way Gabriel’s eyes went honey-gold when he smiled, the way he laughed, the way his hair flicked up at the back… everything went wrong.

(If, later, he thought really hard, he might have been able to pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong: they’d been waiting for the food to arrive, Gabriel leaning across the table and making complicated gestures as he spoke to Castiel. Sam had seen his wet, pink tongue flick up to touch his teeth on an ‘el’, and had a vague thought about how Gabriel’s mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. Gabriel’s grin faltered for a split second, back so soon Sam didn’t consciously register the change, and the end began.)

Suddenly, Gabriel went from smiling wickedly and making crude, terrible jokes that Sam would never admit he found kind of hilarious sometimes, to actively ignoring Sam and vanishing in the middle of conversations. Dean was starting to get weirdly pissy about it, and Sam was tempted to point out he was acting like a chick whose boyfriend wasn’t paying enough attention to her, but refrained because things were tense enough already.

It went on like that for three weeks, with Gabriel showing up with increasing frequency until he was practically camped in the back of the Impala at any given time. Things would always start out relatively peacefully, but then out of nowhere Gabriel would start acting like a complete asshole, snapping at Sam and making biting comments before vanishing in a rush of wings. Sometimes, he’d just get quiet and tense, and the air would fill with a rustling sound like his wings shifting just out of sight.

Perversely, the more Gabriel acted like an asshole, the more Sam wanted to fuck him.

It became a habit to think about it – when Gabriel started mouthing off, Sam thought about shoving the archangel to his knees, forcing his pretty, clever mouth open and fucking his throat raw just to shut him up. When he was at his most arrogant, swaggering in and out of rooms and slouching in chairs with his legs sprawled apart, Sam wanted to fuck him open with his fingers, slow and just a little too rough, until Gabriel was squirming and incoherent and begging to come – God, did he want to make Gabriel beg – with his cock twitching against his belly and glistening with precome.

He wanted to bend him over and fuck him punishingly hard, pin him by the back of his neck and leave dark bruises there with his fingertips, where it would be hidden by Gabriel’s hair unless you knew to look. He wanted to bury his fingers that hair, fist them tight and thrust up into the slickwarm of Gabriel’s mouth until his lips were bruised, tug his head back and see his eyes glazed and his mouth red and wet with saliva and come.

And, yeah, it started out being about anger – about imagining the ways he could shut Gabriel up so he didn’t do something stupid like shoot the only archangel on their side, about wanting to dominate him – but after a while he started imagining it slower and more gentle. He found himself braced against the shower wall, gasping silently and hitching his hips up in desperate little motions as he imagined Gabriel above him, the shadows of his wings playing on the walls and his eyes bright and gold as some of what he really was under his human skin bled through. He always bit his lip and swallowed Gabriel’s name when he came, shaking against the tiles or the sheets, because he wasn’t entirely sure what counted as a prayer and what didn’t.

All in all, it made for a powder keg of tension. Honestly, Sam was surprised it took those three weeks to come to a head, considering Gabriel’s anvilicious approach to most things.


They were holed up in a motel room after their latest hunt, Dean gone in search of food and Sam idly clicking through news articles looking for omens. Gabriel and Castiel were having a quiet angel-talk in the background, and the sound of Gabriel’s voice tripping over rough syllables of some ancient, dead language was going straight to Sam’s cock. He couldn’t help but think of Gabriel so far gone he forgot himself, forgot English and babbled in –

“For fuck’s sake, Winchester,” Gabriel snapped, turning to glare with bright, angry eyes. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Sam asked, blinking in confusion as he was suddenly jerked out of his fantasy.

“Thinking! You think like your mind’s plugged into a fucking loudspeaker!” Gabriel snapped, scowling. “At least try taking me to dinner before you try getting to third base with your brain, Winchester.”

Gabriel hissed out a furious breath, still glaring, and vanished with a sound like thunder.

Sam paled, staring at the place Gabriel had just vanished from. Castiel looked taken aback by the sudden departure – or as taken aback as Cas ever did – and blinked, turning those enormous blue eyes on Sam as he made a low, horrified sound.

“He’s been reading my mind? The entire time?”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change, but the light in his eyes shifted and darkened with what Sam thought might be amusement.

“Yes. You think… loudly.”

You’ve been reading my mind this whole time?”

“No,” Castiel corrected. “It is easier for me to ‘block’ you. Doing so requires a degree of control that Gabriel’s power does not allow. Archangels were not intended for… finesse.”

Ordinarily Sam would be more than interested to hear what Castiel could tell him about angels, but at that moment he was too busy burying his face in his hands and swearing under his breath. Fuck. Gabriel had been reading his mind. Had been hearing Sam fantasise about fucking him for weeks, about making him helpless and desperate and – and shit. Why hadn’t Gabriel said anything? God knew he was the mouthiest little shit in all of creation, and tormenting Sam was practically his favourite pastime. Why would he pass up such a golden opportunity to rake Sam over the coals?

Unless… unless Sam had actually managed to make him uncomfortable. Under any other circumstances, being able to make Gabriel uncomfortable would have counted as a victory, but…


“Fuck,” Sam repeated aloud, groaning.

He wasn’t a prude, no matter what Dean might think. He didn’t care that Gabriel knew Sam wanted to fuck him, except that he’d probably never live it down, but there was a difference between someone knowing you wanted to have sex with them, and someone knowing exactly how you’d like to. And the things he’d thought – fuck. Some of them were things he didn’t even want to admit to himself; dark things he blamed on the demon blood and Ruby until he was being particularly honest with himself.

“You are distressed,” Castiel observed, blinking slowly at him. “Why?”

Sam laughed disbelievingly, lifting his face to stare incredulously at the angel still perched on the bed. “I know you’re new to the ‘human’ thing, Cas, but surely even you understand why I’m dis– Oh God, no wonder he’s been so weird and pissed lately.”

Castiel – Castiel smirked. It was just the barest hint of an expression, a vague tug at the corner of his mouth like a Mona Lisa smile, but on Cas it was the equivalent of Dean’s best shit-eating grin.

“I believe Gabriel has been ‘pissed’–” Sam could practically see the air quotes, “– because you haven’t ‘put out’.”

Sam stared. Some part of his brain was making a mental note to keep Cas as far away from Dean and Gabriel’s clearly corruptive influences as possible, but most of it had slammed to a halt trying to comprehend the meaning of Castiel’s words.

“He – what?”

“I believe he desires you,” Castiel said, pausing for a moment before adding helpfully, “Sexually.”

“He– but– then why hasn’t he said something?” Sam spluttered, spreading his hands in a what the hell, help me out here gesture. “Done something? Anything! Subtle isn’t Gabriel’s style.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied seriously, just as Sam heard the familiar crunch of the Impala’s tyres on the gravel outside. “I believe you’re asking the wrong person.”


It was three days before Sam managed to find the opportunity – and the nerve – to summon Gabriel. In the end, he used the money he’d hustled playing pool to rent a second motel room – Dean had given him a strange look until Sam made a pointed comment about how he could use his room with Castiel and Dean stomped off in a fit of heterosexual panic – and laid out an array of sweet foods on the bed. It was a half-joking gesture, a reference to Gabriel’s own sarcastic comment about wining and dining him, but also a peace offering. Sam was hoping something in the assortment would pacify the archangel enough that they could hash this whole thing out.

Taking one final, critical look at the variety of puddings and ice-cream buckets and pastries laid out on the bed, Sam sat gingerly on the edge of it, bowing his head and clasping his hands. He bit his lip, took a deep breath, and steeled himself.

“Gabriel,” he began hesitantly. “I, uh. Was kind of hoping we could talk.”

He waited a moment before looking up, glancing around the room to find it just as empty as before. Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.

“Gabriel, come on, man. Please.”

“As summons go, that was pretty underwhelming, kiddo.”

“Should I have broken out the goat’s blood?” Sam asked wryly, opening his eyes to see Gabriel leaning casually against the wall opposite, drenched in sunlight.

“Eugh,” Gabriel said, waving dismissively with one hand and padding closer to the bed to investigate Sam’s offering. “Goat’s blood? So last millennia – besides, I like mint.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam said, watching him pick up a tub of ice-cream and turn it to read the label.

Gabriel scoffed, relocating the ice-cream to the table pushed against one wall before opening the box of pastries. He raised an eyebrow, plucking an éclair out of the assortment with an approving sound. Flakes of pastry crumbled onto the bed as he took an enormous bite, smearing cream across the corner of his mouth.

Sam swallowed, vision swimming slightly as his mind flooded with the vivid image of licking it off and pressing Gabriel’s mouth open with his own. It occurred to him a split second too late that Gabriel could hear him.

Gabriel tensed immediately and Sam wondered how on earth he’d missed the connection between Gabriel’s mood shifts and his own thoughts.

“Sam,” Gabriel said warningly, voice low and controlled. “You need to stop that.”

His tongue darted out to swipe the cream away, pink and wet and obscene – and that was it. Sam reached without thinking, grabbing Gabriel’s wrist in one hand and his jacket in the other, and hauled him down into a kiss. The archangel was still for a single moment as Sam sucked his lower lip into his mouth – teasing over it with his teeth – and then he was moving all at once.

He kissed back, hard, hands fisting in Sam’s hair, pulling, tugging, angling Sam’s head as he pressed closer. Sam grabbed his hips, pressing his thumbs into the blunt angle of his hipbones and the soft flesh of his lower back. Gabriel surged forwards, crawling into Sam’s lap and swallowing Sam’s appreciative groan as the archangel’s groin pressed into his own. He was lightheaded from the sensation and the lack of oxygen by the time Gabriel broke away, mouth going immediately to the sensitive place just under Sam’s ear.

“Fucking finally,” he growled, shoving roughly at Sam’s jacket until Sam began to struggle out of it on his own. His hands shook as they dropped to the hunter’s belt, fumbling over the buckle in his haste. “You had no idea, the whole damn time. You were sitting there, thinking about me, about my hands, my mouth – fuck, the things you wanted, Sam – and you had no idea. I had to sit there,” he hisses, biting hard at Sam’s neck, “sit there listening– watching you think about fucking my mouth, and pretend I couldn’t hear you.”

Sam groaned, head falling back as Gabriel pressed his knuckles against the bulge in his jeans, thumbing the button open. The archangel was biting hard enough to bruise, leaving aching impressions of his sharp teeth behind. The wet glide of his tongue was a hot flash of sensation, too brief to really soothe the sting.

“Gabriel. If – if you knew, why didn’t you–”

“Plenty of people have rape fantasies, Sam – that doesn’t mean they want to be raped,” Gabriel panted back, finally dragging the zipper down. “Just because you were thinking about it doesn’t mean you- fuck – really wanted it. Explicit permission is sort of a thing for us, you know.”

“This really enough for you, yet?” Sam asked, rolling his hips up into Gabriel’s.

Gabriel’s breathing hitched and he laughed, breathless. “Not nearly enough.”

“You could’ve said something,” Sam said, by some miracle managing to get Gabriel’s jeans undone through the haze in his mind.

“Like what? Thanks for the free porn, wanna fuck?”

“Seems like your style. Subtle like an anvil.”

“You’re a princess, Winchester. You wanna be wooed. You would have gotten prissy if I said that – don’t deny it.”

“So your plan was to do nothing?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” Gabriel snarked, shoving Sam onto his back.

He expected to land in the pastries, but Gabriel had apparently banished them elsewhere at some point, because he hit the mattress with only a small bounce. Gabriel gave him barely a second to process the change of position before he was shoving Sam’s jeans and underwear down his hips enough to pull his cock out. Sam sucked in a breath, hips stuttering up instinctively as Gabriel palmed him, slicking his fingers with precome and stroking almost exactly the way Sam liked.

“Fuck,” Sam hissed, gripping Gabriel’s thighs as he rocked up into the slick, perfect ring of Gabriel’s fingers, eyes fixed on the archangel’s. “Gabriel.”

The archangel was watching him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes focused so intensely it was like a physical touch on Sam’s skin. His hair had come loose from whatever gel or mojo he usually used to hold it in place, and was falling across his face. Sam wanted to run his fingers through it, wanted to grip tight and drag Gabriel down to kiss him, but when he tried to move he found himself bound in place by the invisible force of Gabriel’s Grace. The thought made his vision blur, the familiar pressure of an oncoming orgasm building almost too-fast.

“You’re going to come so easily, aren’t you?” Gabriel taunted, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in a way that had Sam choking on a shout. “I’ve barely even had to touch you, and you’re going to come all over yourself for me, Sammy. You’ve been thinking about it too much. Bet you made yourself come thinking about it, didn’t you? Over and over. What did you think about when you were alone, Sam?”

Sam fought to hold back just a little longer, shutting his eyes and dragging up every imagined touch, every vivid thought he’d had about Gabriel: Gabriel’s fingers on him, in him, slick and opening him with quick, messy movements – Gabriel writhing and bucking and fucking himself back on Sam’s fingers – on his back on a table – bent over the Impala, cock sliding on the warm metal – Gabriel’s mouth stretched wide on his cock, swallowing until his throat was full – Gabriel with huge shadow-wings curved along all the walls, trailing not-feathers along Sam’s skin like a thousand fingers – Gabriel gasping, swearing above him, hands in Sam’s hair and the heavy, hot weight of his cock on Sam’s tongue – Gabriel with his ass spread open, begging to be fucked as Sam buried his tongue insi–

Gabriel swore, an expression of faint surprise on his face as his eyes flared wide, irises going from the colour of liquid toffee to bright rings of silver-blue as he shuddered inside his skin, light edging in at the back of his throat and under his ribs. His back curved like a crashing wave as he came, thrusting desperately against Sam’s thigh and shaking, mouth slack around the shape of Sam’s name.

The sight of Gabriel completely undone was enough to tip Sam over the edge, coming in hot pulses between Gabriel’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Gabriel mumbled after a moment, voice wrecked. “You cheeky brat.”

“Rich, coming from you,” Sam replied, dazed.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their uneven breathing and the bed creaking as Gabriel shifted off him to lie down.

Sam grinned suddenly. “I made you come in your pants.”

“Shut up.”

“Like a teenager.”


“I made an archangel–”

Gabriel growled low in his throat, hitching up on one elbow to kiss him soundly. Sam kissed him back, indulgently deciding to let it go – for now.