Dean and Castiel have been out for most of the day, which Sam thinks is a good sign. There’s no case and Castiel hasn’t mentioned any pressing, heavenly business, so it’s possible that they’re finally working through their feelings. It’s also possible that Dean said something horrible that made Castiel fly away with a wobbly lower lip and now Dean’s drowning his sorrows in alcohol at some crappy bar. Sam really hopes it’s the first one. He’d even be happy to hear that they had some angry, confused sex in the back of the Impala or something, provided all the upholstery can be burned and replaced.
It starts off like it always does, with Sam sitting on the bed and fiddling with a search engine while Gabriel tries his best to take the computer’s place in the human’s lap. Sam tries to be annoyed at first, but then Gabriel is pressing little kisses up his neck and over his jaw line, and Sam has to turn his head and give the angel something to kiss properly. He barely notices the hands sliding the laptop out of his fingers and setting it aside, but then Gabriel is perched over him, straddling Sam’s legs and shoving his fingers up into Sam’s hair. The hunter lets himself be pushed backwards against pillows that he’s sure Gabriel must have conjured out of thin air, as they’re far too soft for motel pillows. He relaxes under the angel’s touch, easily forgetting about all his work, and wonders if there isn’t a little bit of angel mojo in Gabriel’s questing fingers, running from his shoulders to his hips and melting the muscles beneath them. Gabriel doesn’t snap their clothes away. Instead, he lets Sam remove their clothing slowly, peeling it back and revealing new and exciting expanses of skin for Sam to lavish his attention on. Gabriel laughs when Sam struggles to pull the angel’s jeans off, and Sam has to pause in his descent to kiss him again, both of them smiling stupidly against each others’ mouths.
Sam is just truly and honestly happy. Gabriel has that effect on him.
The only time Gabriel’s smile leaves his face is when Sam first pushes into him, his mouth dropping open to breathe a soft ‘oh.’ But Sam quickly brings it back on his lips, sliding his hands down the angel’s sides and settling them just below his waist, and then Gabriel lifts his hips into Sam’s thrust and the corners of his lips curl up again. Gabriel feels so small under him and so much bigger at the same time. His vessel is petite, but Sam never forgets that he’s Gabriel the Archangel and he loves Sam and that’s everything. That’s bigger than the entire continent they’re standing on.
“Sam,” Gabriel murmurs, moving a hand down Sam’s neck and over the dark tattoo below his collarbone, hovering there like he’s trying to memorize it by feel. Sam slows them down a little more, touching softer and rocking a little less urgently, and they both groan, savoring the closeness. Sam huffs a soft laugh into Gabriel’s neck, making the angel twist to place another kiss on his cheek. They’re sweaty and smiling and the whole room feels warm, and Sam thinks there is nothing more divine.
“Gabe,” Sam says, breath warm on the shell of Gabriel’s ear. “I want to try something.”
Gabriel’s eyes sparkle at that and Sam can feel the shudder go through him. “Mmm,” he hums mischievously. “Like what?”
Sam feels a flutter of uncertainty, unsure of how this will go over. He’s thought about saying it every time they’ve been together for the past month, whether they’re making love or just watching television and sharing a bowl of Sweet Tarts. He knows Dean has seen Castiel’s wings, and they aren’t even properly over their denial yet.
“Can I see your wings?”
Gabriel jerks his head back slightly, his expression only partially amused. “My wings?”
Sam pushes into him again, harder this time, and he must have a pretty good angle because Gabriel keens, letting his head fall back. Sam grins and buries his face against Gabriel’s neck again.
“Why do you want to?” Gabriel asks, barely making it through the sentence as Sam continues to rock against that same spot.
“Because they’re part of you,” Sam tells him honestly.
Gabriel has the ability to look into Sam’s mind and probably into Sam’s very soul, to see every part of him, every thought he’s ever had, and every hope and fear. Sometimes they’ll be lying in the afterglow, tired and sweaty, but unwilling to move, and Gabriel will just look at him. Sam might be stretching or smiling or falling asleep, and he’ll catch Gabriel staring at him with this look in his eyes, like he’s completely awed by everything Sam is. Sam doesn’t know how that’s possible, especially considering how effortlessly Gabriel can see through him to everything that’s just so wrong with him, but he can see the adoration and the reverence on Gabriel’s face in those moments just as easily as if the angel spoke his feeling aloud.
Sam wants to return the favor. Gabriel’s vessel is lovely and all, but his wings belong to him and only him. Sam wants to worship them.
“They aren’t like Cas’, Sammy. I’ve got six,” Gabriel tells him cautiously. “And they aren’t white, fluffy things. They’re big, ugly – oh! – Sam, it’s kind of hard to talk about this with you doing that!”
“Then stop talking about it and just show me,” Sam teases. He reaches down and takes the angel’s length in his hand, covering the archangel’s mouth with his own and muffling the resulting moan. Gabriel twists his head away, but Sam is undeterred, moving his lips down Gabriel’s jaw and settling on his pulse point, worrying the skin there with his teeth.
“Okay, okay,” Gabriel groans. “Just don’t freak out on me.”
“I’m not going to-” Sam starts to say, but then the air around them shifts. The light surrounding Gabriel seems to refract and flicker, almost like a broken television set, and then three sets of positively enormous wings materialize before Sam’s eyes.
Gabriel was right. They aren’t white or fluffy. Instead, Sam’s fingers are sinking into the most brilliantly golden feathers he’s ever seen. They’re sleek and shiny, as if they were crafted from actual precious metal, but they’re soft under Sam’s hands. He strokes up and out from the place where the middle pair meets Gabriel’s shoulders, and the archangel shudders underneath him, his eyes fluttering shut. He is shocked by how huge they are. They reach past the bed and even past the walls of the motel room, passing through all solid objects like holograms. But they feel so concrete when Sam touches them.
“Why can I feel them?” Sam whispers, voice completely awed.
Gabriel looks uncomfortable with the attention and the question. “Love, or something. Probably some stupid rule a Cupid thought up,” he mumbles, and Sam is high on that idea, spreading out his fingers and combing them through the feathers.
“Does that feel good?” Sam asks, eyes flickering back in forth between the radiant expanses of feathers and the blissful look on his angel’s face.
“No one’s touched them in a while,” Gabriel admits. After a few more moments, he whines and shifts his hips. “Sam, please. Move.”
Sam complies, keeping his hands buried in those golden wings as he builds a faster rhythm. In the past, he has strayed away from any physical compliments. Gabriel’s form is only a vessel, after all, and any praise of it would have been hollow. But now he can speak on the subject with absolute confidence.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells the angel, smiling when Gabriel’s eyes – golden eyes that Sam realizes match his wings – fly open. Sam almost expects some smartass remark, but instead Gabriel buries a hand in his hair and pulls his head down to bring their lips crashing together. It’s not like their earlier kisses. It’s all teeth and tongue and groaning and Sam thinks it’s perfect.
Gabriel comes before he does, shaking harder than Sam ever remembers as he strokes the angel through it, Sam’s name falling from his lips melodiously like a hymn. The only thing stopping Sam from following him is his unwillingness to let the moment end, wishing the wings wouldn’t have to disappear again, but Gabriel whines eventually, over-stimulated and writhing against him. Sam stares for only a moment longer before his rhythm begins to fail him and he gasps against Gabriel’s neck, finally letting go. He’s still panting when he comes back down, the angel’s fingers trailing absentmindedly down his back in soothing, light strokes.
Sam expects Gabriel to fold his wings back in immediately, but then he feels feathers join the fingers on his back, opens his eyes to darkness, and realizes that the angel has encased them both, all six wings wrapped around them from head to toe. Sam reaches out to touch them again and they shiver as he strokes them.
“I feel so objectified,” Gabriel says, but Sam can hear the smile in his voice. Even so, he forgets the wings and wraps his arms around the angel. He thinks about professing his love for the millionth time, but, as Gabriel’s intangible wings brush against his shoulder and his calves, soft and solid and real, he figures it probably goes without saying.