A/N: So I was hunting through my googledocs this morning and found 2,000 words of porn sitting there that I'd never posted. And so I decided to post it and share its loveliness with the world. I can't remember whether I wrote this as a response to Orvaign's few sentences of smut she sent me, and then it spiralled out of control, or whether this was fulfilling my promise of writing pigtail-pulling fic, but hey. Enjoy it anyways.
"I don't suppose you've ever heard of scissors, have you, Sammy-boy?" asks Gabriel absently, trailing his fingers through Sam's hair in a thoughtful sort of way. He's found the most irritating place in the whole room to sit – Sam's sat on the couch, computer balanced on his lap and six tabs with information about wyverns open, and Gabriel's sat on the back of the couch, legs draped over Sam's shoulders and Sam's head resting against his stomach.
"Mmh," mumbles Sam distractedly, eyes skimming a page worth of eye-meltingly blue text on a pink background, wincing at the childish layout of the website. "You use them to cut things, don't you?"
"Like hair," agrees Gabriel, and Sam turns from his research to scowl at the archangel. "In this case, specifically yours. It doesn't look like it's ever even seen a pair of scissors, much less felt them." He winds a chunk of it around his index finger, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb curiously.
Sam growls, eyes sliding back to the computer screen and peering at a fresh page of text. Normal black text on a white background this time, thank god, but still no useful information. "Don't you dare, Gabriel," he warns the archangel, voice low and even. Not that he thinks Gabriel would actually go through with it – once, he'd actually cut Sam's hair (not half badly, actually) and Sam had refused to speak to him for the whole three days it took for Gabriel to crack and just snap it back to how it had been.
"Spoilsport," mutters the archangel sulkily, running fingers through the softest pieces of hair he can find, the strands right behind Sam's ears, twisting some of the longer bits into tiny little plaits. Sam hums contentedly; the roaming fingers across his scalp are almost like a massage, oddly soothing. Especially considering the fact that they're Gabriel's fingers doing the touching.
For a while, it's all peaceful – Sam researches, Gabriel plaits and unplaits and strokes, and Dean- well. Sam's not terribly sure what Dean's doing, but he hopes it's getting freaky with Cas somewhere. The tension between the two of them is, as Gabriel's pointed out often enough, thick enough to bounce bricks off of.
Half an hour goes by in quiet peace, and then Sam rolls his shoulders and yawns. "Fancy dinner?" he asks Gabriel absently, pushing at the archangel's knee where it's draped over his shoulder, near to his cheek.
"Sounds good to me, kiddo," says Gabriel, and grins, showing no signs of moving to allow Sam to get up. "Away we go!" He tightens his hold on Sam's hair – and, from his position behind Sam, is unable to see the way Sam digs his teeth into his lower lip at the motion.
"Gabe." Sam's voice holds infinite patience, and an awful lot of exasperation. "I am not carrying you on my shoulders to the nearest café. You're gonna have to move." He shoves at Gabiel's knee again, trying to push it off his shoulder, and mumbles something like, "Lazy archangel," under his breath.
Gabriel really wants to object to that, but it's technically true, so instead he just tugs on Sam's hair like he's holding reins and goes, "Gee up, horsey!" with almost malicious amusement, digging his heels into the upper part of Sam's ribs.
He is so not expecting the low groan that gets from Sam, and for a moment, he's frozen. It doesn't take long for his mouth to start working. "Got a bit of a cowboy kink, Sammy?" he teases lightly, raising an eyebrow despite knowing the hunter can't possibly hear him. "Thought that was your brother's thing."
Sam doesn't answer, unless making a quiet noise of pleasure, pressing his head back into Gabriel's hands. "Do that again," he demands quietly, tone leaving no room for disagreement, and Gabriel's eyebrow climbs higher. Not because this is unusual – they've fallen into bed (and against the wall, and on the floor, and in the bath) together a couple of times since Gabriel joined their ragtag ball of misfits, but it's always been Gabriel who initiated. Sam's usually mildly inebriated or having a bad day, or even just angry, and he takes whatever Gabriel gives him willingly.
But for Sam to be asking…
"As you wish," says Gabriel with a grin, burying his hands more tightly in Sam's hair andtugging, hard, and the moan that it pulls from Sam's throat makes Gabriel bite his lip. He keeps the pressure on, drawing his hands back slowly, slowly, as he leans forward to mouth at the top curve of Sam's ear. Sam lets out a long, slow breath, somehow both relaxing back into Gabriel and trembling at the continued pressure at his scalp.
Using the grip on Sam's hair, Gabriel tugs the hunter's head around, bringing their lips together. It starts off slow, gentle, a breath of pressure and slightly-parted softness… and devolves, very rapidly, into animal hunger. Sam kisses like it's a battle, a test of strength, like he's being judged on everything he does with his mouth, and Gabriel is so not complaining about that. The wonderful, unguarded ferocity is deliciously refreshing, after centuries of being an archangel, and then a pagan god, a figure of authority everyone was too scared to disrespect. Sam kisses like he couldn't care less what Gabriel is, and it makes a small part of the archangel want to fall in love with him.
The next second, he's the one sitting on the couch, and Sam's on the floor, still between his legs – they've both slid forward somehow, and he's trying to work out exactly what happened but then Sam's shaking free of his slackened grip and turning around to press his cheek against Gabriel's thigh and suddenly it's not really important.
"Clothes off. Now," growls Sam, because from this angle Gabriel couldn't hide the interest he's taken in the proceedings if he wanted to. When Gabriel justs sits there, slack-jawed, hands still twisted in Sam's hair, the hunter growls. Literally, growls, and it does strange things to the pit of Gabriel's stomach, and to his usual obedience issues; the next moment, he's scrambling out of his clothes, dragging his shirt off, and apparently he's not going fast enough, because Sam's working on his pants and underwear. They're pooling around his feet, stopping from opening his legs as wide as he wants to, because apparently Sam doesn't have the patience to remove them completely.
He kicks them off and to the side as Sam leans forward, still fully clothed, to nip and suck at the insides of Gabriel's thighs, leaving tiny white and red marks from his mouth and lips all the way from knee to crotch, kissing over every one of them as he makes them. It's a delicious, prickling ripple of sensation, sharp and then smooth, up to where his cock is taking an almost painful interest in the things Sam's doing to him.
There's barely enough time for Gabriel to hope to Dad that Sam's not going to use teeththere, and then the hunter's mouth is on him, the head of Gabriel's cock being sucked in between stretched-open lips. The suddenness of it, the warmth and wetness and tightness, makes Gabriel groan, entire body going limp against the couch.
Almost as soon as he does so, though, the warmth disappears. He whines his disapproval, staring down at Sam with a raised eyebrow, although it's hard to look unhappy when he's got Sam on his knees in front of him, hair mussed and lips reddened and a wild, hungry look in his eyes.
"You want my mouth, you keep pulling on my hair, understand?" says Sam, and his voice isn't quite a growl but it's low and rough and makes Gabriel's stomach tighten, his cock jerk and leak out another drop of precome.
"I reckon I can manage that, kiddo," Gabriel forces out, tightening the grip in Sam's hair and pulling just short of tearing chunks of hair out. It makes Sam groan, loud and filthy, eyes sliding shut; before Gabriel can appreciate the pretty picture he makes, though, those lips wrapped around the head of his cock again. This time, he remembers to tug, gentle little bursts of pressure for now, and is rewarded by the tip of Sam's tongue pressed against his slit.
As it turns out, every time Gabriel tugs hard, Sam slides a little further down his cock, takes a little more of it into his mouth. Gabriel's not big, but he's thick, and Sam's lips are stretched beautifully wide as Gabriel pushes in another quarter inch with a low gasp. "Fuck, that's some mouth you got on you, kiddo," he manages, and the hummed reply he gets sends ripples of pleasure along his backbone. "Fuckin' gorgeous." Because Sam is – he wears the debauched look well, puffy red lips stretched wide and spit-slick, dripping down his chin, a faint flush of red and sweat across his cheekbones, pupils blown with lust… in Gabriel's opinion, he looks damn well spectacular.
It only takes another few minutes of sucking and tugging, the motel room full of heavy breathing and gasping moans, before Sam's got enough of Gabriel's cock in his mouth that it's pressing against his throat. Gabriel's downright squirming on the couch, hips bucking up in helpless, tiny thrusts, the head grazing the back of Sam's mouth with every movement. "Fuck, Sam, fuck," he gasps out, a wave of fire tightening in his stomach and balls as Sam hollows his cheeks and sucks. The familiar, throbbing heat begins rising inside of him and he pulls on Sam's hair, trying to tug him back before he comes down the hunter's throat and chokes him.
Sam, though, takes it as encouragement to press forward, lips sealing tighter around the shaft of Gabriel's cock and tongue working against its underside. His throat flexes once, twice, when Gabriel's cockhead presses against it, and then relaxes, and Sam leans forward to take all of Gabriel in his mouth with one long greedy, slick shove.
It's too much, far too much, and Gabriel comes with a cry, hands curling in Sam's hair and digging into his scalp, strands of brown tugged loose with the force of it as he bucks frantically up against the hunter's face and releases down his throat. Sam doesn't move, doesn't try to pull away, just kneels there and takes it with a groan at the tightness on his scalp.
Only when Gabriel's completely done, limp and gasping on the couch, hands fallen from Sam's hair and to his sides, does Sam pull away. Gabriel's cock slides free from his mouth with a wet sucking sound that makes Gabriel groan half-heartedly. Sam just grins, eyes still lust-bright and hungry, and licks his swollen lips like the cat that got the cream.
"Worn out already?" he asks Gabriel, voice teasing, one hand slipping down the front of his pants to curl around the hot, hard length of his own erection, already slick with precome. "What a shame. Getting old, Gabriel?"
"Fuck you," slurs Gabriel, still too pleasure-dazed to want to open his eyes or even attempt moving.
"Well, I was hoping you would, but I think I might've broken you."
"You 'n your fuckin' mouth, kiddo," mumbles Gabriel in agreement, nodding a little, before groaning as Sam's mouth returns to his cock. The hunter mouths at the soft length of it gently, little kitten-licks at the base and down to Gabriel's balls, cleaning the skin of cooling saliva and any left-over come. He strokes his cock in rough, fast jerks as he does so, the delicious friction of it making him pant lightly against the archangel's skin as he works. Gabriel twitches at the touch, oversensitised and too soon, the pleasure almost painful.
Sam strokes himself to the memory of Gabriel's cock heavy on his tongue, the hands tight in his hair, and comes to the look of shock on the archangel's face when he sucks the tip of his limp cock into his mouth again. He groans around it, letting it slip out of his mouth as he comes, bent over and still fucking up desperately into his hand even as his boxers begin to soak through with come.