Sam picked at the damp label on his beer bottle, tearing a small bit of paper off with the grim determination of grave digger. The bartender, whatever his name was, went about his afternoon routine, cleaning glasses, wiping down the bar top, and keeping an eye on his only customer. It was a fair bet that anyone at O'Shea's just after opening had more on his mind than just quenching his thirst. Sam Winchester certainly did, at any rate.
It was bad TV on repeat . . . don't you ever come back . . . The bitterness in Dean's voice . . . the rejection. When it was worry, he got that. He understood. Dean always worried. But he always forgave, too. And there had been no forgiveness in his eyes. They were done with second chances, excuses. Dad had said the same thing once, with the same burning look, ready to give him a boot to the ass for good luck if he ever once tried to think for himself.
Forgiveness. Like he even needed forgiveness for saving the world, for chrissakes.
Sam pressed his lips into a fine line and scowled at the beer bottle in his hands. By the time the fire of his anger had died down, he and Ruby had found a new place to stay. She was running her hands over his chest, urging him on with the squeeze of her thighs and the press of her breasts when it struck him like a bell what he'd done. She'd whispered sweet congratulations at finally being free. Each word settled in his gut and festered until her ministrations made him ill with guilt. He hadn't wanted it this way. It was just . . . Dean could be so . . . everything. Stubborn. Judgmental.
He'd taken Ruby's car and was fairly sure he could find his way back when he was ready. Hadn't really been paying much attention to where he'd been going, though. Just drove.
Sam took a swig from the bottle and tasted with satisfaction the right bitterness of it. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool, but somehow the thorns in his chest were no more forgiving for the effort. For awhile, all he heard was the Top 40 radio, all he saw was his beer and its slowly disintegrating label--a small, satisfying destruction.
He didn't hear anyone else enter the bar, but he sure as hell felt it as the guy slipped easily onto the stool right next to him. Not even one seat away. Sam bristled at the intrusion, glowering down at the bar. The place was empty, empty, and this douchebag couldn't sit somewhere else? Like as far away as possible maybe? Like maybe not right next to the guy who came here specifically to be alone? Sam's irritation spun tighter at the thought that maybe the intruder was going to try making conversation. Or even worse. Oh God, two guys, alone in a bar . . . He tightened his grip on his beer and edged slightly away.
He kept his eyes trained on the lip of his beer bottle and concentrated on not acknowledging the stranger's presence. Still, he could feel him there. Breathing.
The bartender crossed through Sam's field of vision. "Afternoon, can I--" In the periphery, Sam saw the stranger's hand move--a slight sweep of fingers. The bartender stopped midstride, turned, and headed back to hanging glasses above the far end of the bar. Sam watched him, blinked, and tried to tell himself that he did not just see some dude pull a "these are not the droids you're looking for." But the bartender kept right on putting up glasses, and as he stared, Sam could feel unease creeping up his spine. High pitched screams of danger wailed in the back of his mind, and he was suddenly sure that turning his back on the stranger had been a monumental act of stupid.
He could feel himself being watched. Tension threaded down his arms, and he closed his hand tightly over the neck of the beer bottle. It was better than nothing. Then, he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and whipped around.
"Gabriel!" Sam nearly dropped the bottled and fell off the barstool at once. He recovered clumsily and set his rather pointless weapon down before he could manage to look more like a graceless oaf.
Not that the archangel seemed to be paying attention to that. In fact, Sam wasn't quite sure what Gabriel was paying attention to. His handsome features were pulled ever so slightly into a frown. And his eyes, eyes that went on forever, if Sam recalled, scanned back and forth. Sam felt himself raked by the slow scrutiny, unnerved by the fact that the angel hadn't once looked him in the eyes.
He felt strangely like meat. As Gabriel's gaze made its way back up his body, Sam squirmed, and his frown deepened. The angel's eyes settled on his chest and bored in.
Silence stretched.
"What are you looking at?" Sam asked at last, his voice edged with cautious anger. His pity party hadn't really needed an observer.
Gabriel lifted his eyes then, and Sam felt himself jolt with the dizzy sensation of staring up into the night sky and knowing himself infinitesimally small. He recoiled on instinct but didn't look away.
"You," the archangel replied. And then his gaze was drawn back down. "Your soul." He leaned forward slightly, as though trying to get a better look. Sam reflexively leaned back, and Gabriel's eyebrows knit into a distinct frown. The angel leaned further, and Sam shot out of his seat.
"Quit lookin' at me like that." He put space between them. His soul was the last thing anyone needed to be looking at.
Gabriel watched calmly, one hand on the bar, one resting on his leg. "Like what?"
Pff. Like he didn't know. Like Sam couldn't read what he thought plain as day. Sam tensed and turned away, hiding the pinched, hurt look on his face. "Like I'm such a disappointment. Like I'm a--" He cut himself off before the word could escape. He gnawed his lower lip and glanced toward the door. Maybe he could be alone someplace else.
"Sam," Gabriel said.
And Sam's lip curled slightly at his tone, like he was dealing with a petulant child. Well, screw that. He had shifted his balance to leave when Gabriel's hand touched his shoulder. With a small, explosive move, Sam batted it off and rounded so they faced one another. It felt good. The quick movement, the hit. Dangerous energy bubbled in his veins, and he stood poised and brimming, just waiting for the angel to give him a reason to get it all out.
For a second Gabriel looked ready to do it, too, answer violence with violence and get his war game on. But Sam could actually see the moment he decided to do otherwise. The archangel's eyes narrowed in thought, and he and took a step back instead of letting his fury rule. Gabriel's gaze flicked to Sam's chest for a moment and the back up.
"I've never seen a soul like yours," the angel said in a low voice.
Sam sneered, crossed his arms, and barked a humorless laugh. "I'm sure." It had been weeks since they'd seen him. Weeks and lots of demon blood. Really, Gabriel could be telling the truth and it wouldn't be that surprising.
The archangel's expression changed. Concern, maybe? And he lifted a hand slowly. As he reached out, he fixed Sam with a look, asking permission and offering assurances.
Sam let his arms drop and checked his skittishness as Gabriel pressed his palm over his heart. The angel concentrated there, studying something Sam was certain he could not see. His hand was hot, warmer than a human's would be, and Sam found himself wondering if all angels burned like a furnace.
"You're familiar with the red spot of Jupiter?" the angel asked, without looking up.
Sam watched Gabriel's serious expression and glanced at the hand over his heart. "Yeah, it's a storm in the atmosphere that always stays in the same place."
The archangel's golden head bobbed slightly as he contemplated. He tore his eyes away to meet Sam's questioning gaze, pinning him with a look of soul-deep worry. Sam swallowed, not quite sure he wanted to hear what he had to say. Gabriel tilted his head thoughtfully.
At length, he said, "Do you want to see what I see?"
Well that was unexpected. Sam's eyes widened at thought. What did an angel see?
"Do you?" Gabriel pressed, his fingers still light on Sam's chest, but searing. It was impossible not to be painfully aware of it.
Sam could only nod, not terribly sure what he was agreeing to, and the archangel's hand fell away.
"Come with me." Gabriel's voice was warm, even kind. He stepped around Sam and started for the men's bathroom, pausing to glance over his shoulder when it was clear Sam hadn't made a move.
Sam looked around the bar, opening his mouth like he might object. Two guys . . . still alone in a bar . . . but the bartender ignored them both, and with a resigned sigh, he followed.
Sam's body hummed with nervous energy. The bathroom was dim, though not dirty--turquoise tile floor, dull blue stalls. A large mirror spanned the length of the room above the row of sinks. Sam paused just inside the door and watched as Gabriel strode toward the mirror, like he'd known just what he would find in the random bathroom of some random bar that even Sam hadn't known he'd end up in. Maybe the angel had known . . . like it was destiny written in one of Chuck's damn books. Who could tell?
Sam felt himself drawn closer as the archangel studied the mirror with that intense gaze of his. It almost looked like he was studying himself, but he wasn't. Sam was fairly sure Gabriel didn't even know what narcissism was given how amused he seemed when people paid him anything beyond polite attention. No, it wasn't his reflection he was studying.
Sam watched with quiet interest as the angel laid a hand flat against the mirror's surface. The air stirred around them with a rawky chill, and the reflections in the mirror grew dark. No, the glass grew dark, Sam realized, grew tinted like the rear windows of an SUV. He peered at his reflection, barely able to make out the shape of his cheeks and nose. As he leaned in closer, he heard movement and the squelch of leather. And when he turned, he found Gabriel watching him, his arms crossed over his chest. Sam cleared his throat in slight embarrassment and straightened, moving quickly to stand opposite Gabriel. He rubbed his hands against his pants in a nervous gesture.
"Are you ready?" the archangel asked, dropping his arms open.
Ready for what, Sam didn't know. But he was feeling a little brave and more than a little reckless, so he nodded and was rewarded with a small grin.
"Close your eyes." Gabriel's voice was like water over round river stones. It somehow failed to echo in the enclosed space.
The angel stepped nearer, sidling up into Sam's personal space like he didn't know the concept. And as Sam complied, closing his eyes, he felt Gabriel's hands on his face, warm palms cupping his cheeks.
In a flash of fear, Sam jerked back slightly, but the angel's grip around his jaw was strong and held him in place.
"Shh," Gabriel whispered.
Sam could hear a smile of amusement in the sound, and he relaxed just enough to stop fighting.
The angel tugged a little, angling Sam's head down. A wash of breath against his face, and Sam's heart jumped. Then soft lips touched against one closed eye. Sam shivered at the touch and tingling chill that lingered when the warm lips were suddenly gone. Gabriel placed a kiss on Sam's other eyelid and then drew their foreheads together, resting. Goosebumps rose down Sam's arms as the angel did . . . something, something of magic and starlight that for a moment made the air smell like crisp leaves and ink.
Into the careful silence between them, the archangel whispered, "Amen."
And Sam gasped.
A bolt of cold power shot through his eyes. He squinted and jerked back, and Gabriel let him go.
On instinct, Sam blinked.
The second he opened his eyes, the angel's hands were on him again, turning his head toward the darkened glass. He struggled against the restraint, at having his nose nearly pressed against the glass, but Gabriel's grip only hardened, forcing him to turn toward the mirror. To see.
He stopped struggling as it dawned on him what he was really seeing. Himself. His soul. Gabriel's hands released as Sam moved back to get a better view. Where his face should be swarmed a mass of glowing light. It pulsed and roiled, flagged and swirled. Olive green light tumbled with inky darkness. Sam's gaze fell to his chest. And he saw now what Gabriel had seen. Despite how the rest of his soul may flutter, a black spot like a thundercloud swirled continuously over his heart.
He stared at it, wondered what it might mean. Was he heartless? Already a demon? He touched his chest experimentally. He still felt . . . things, emotions. Storm or no, there was still love there. Fierce, or it couldn't possibly hurt so much.
Sam watched the clouds of his soul rise and fall. Olive green seemed strange. "Has it always been that color?" he asked almost absently, nose near the glass again, searching for his face beneath the light.
"As long as I've known, yes," Gabriel replied.
What did that mean? Sam wondered. Did it mean anything?
Sam turned to ask, but Gabriel's hand shot out again and forced him back toward the glass, pressed his forehead against it with control.
"Don't look at me," he warned. "Not with your own eyes. Only in the mirror." The pressure on the back of Sam's head lessened.
His breath fogged the glass. "What happens if I--"
"I don't know. Your eyes might not be able to take it."
Sam's stomach dropped. "Like Pamela," he muttered. Even if Gabriel didn't know that particular story, the cold horror in Sam's voice must have been enough evidence that he understood.
The angel let go. And Sam stepped back, finally looking at Gabriel's reflection. His mind went blank.
Gabriel's light was white and rainbow. The painful sharp ripple of sunlight on a lake. His being danced with crystal fire.
Sam's breath caught, and his jaw dropped. He forgot everything and existed only to observe the interplay of light and glory that was in itself only a small portion of the archangel's true self. Something hurt, and Sam realized that his lungs screamed for air. He finally breathed and exhaled a small, "Oh."
His whole being urged him to turn and look for real. Instead, he edged closer, bringing the image of his soul nearer to the angel's reflection. By comparison, he looked like filth, like ooze.
"You look . . ." Sam's voice came out a breathy whisper. "Gabriel . . ." He flinched as he said it. Nothing so unclean as he should speak that name.
Sam couldn't take his eyes off it. Off him.
The ghostly shape of wings flared off of Gabriel's back. Sam had seen them once for real, those wings. He watched the ephemeral wisps move in the mirror and stepped closer still, until the souls in the mirror met. He felt Gabriel touch his arm, watched as brilliant, piercing whiteness blotted out some of the green and black. He was close enough that the edges of Gabriel's soul scorched in the periphery of his vision, and he had to twist away and shut his eyes to keep it out.
But still, the wings.
Barely breathing, Sam placed a hand where he thought the angel's chest should be. He felt leather. With a light touch, he skimmed his hand over the other's shoulder, dipping into the air where his eyes had told him glowing wings fluttered. He pawed, searchingly, skittered his hand over Gabriel's back just trying to feel. He wanted the air to be different there, to feel the hairs on his arm rise in response to the power he knew existed.
He felt nothing. Just Gabriel's jacket and the immovable muscle underneath.
It was a stupid and childish hope, but Sam suffered disappointment nonetheless.
"Sam?" Gabriel asked gently, speaking right into his ear. They were clasped in an awkward embrace.
Heat washed up Sam's neck and he drew back, opening his eyes to gaze longingly at the reflection. He overlaid the achingly beautiful image with the memory of reality. With a deep inhale, he closed his eyes again and turned to the archangel. The brilliance cut red through his eyelids, but at least it didn't burn. "Take it away? Please."
Gabriel's fingertips touched his cheek, making him flinch, and quickly the angel's whole hand settled over his eyes. The air stirred, and Sam's eyes started to burn. He heard the angel whisper, "Sancti Maria." And then as Gabriel slowly peeled his fingers up, he blew lightly over Sam's face, tickling his lips and washing away the stinging of the spell. When Sam blinked and looked, Gabriel was an arm's length away, regarding him with curiosity.
He looked just like he had a few minutes before, motorcycle jacket, white T-shirt, black jeans. Just like he had on their furious chase to North Carolina that ended with an explosion of light, a charred old mansion, and Gabriel spreading his feathered wings in the dawning sun.
He stared back at Gabriel and looked unsure. The angel arched an eyebrow.
And he couldn't actually look at him to say it. Sam averted his eyes somewhere in the direction of the floor. "Can I see them?" he heard himself ask, sounding so much like a child it was painful. "For real? Like before?" Sam fought it, but he blushed, anyway. Prolly a screaming shade of red, too. God, he'd be lucky if Gabriel didn't laugh outright. Who would agree to something like that? An angel didn't come down from Heaven to be his personal trick pony.
A smile played on Gabriel's sculpted lips. "You want to see my wings?"
Yes. Maybe. Yes. What he didn't want to do was face mocking, but he forced his eyes over and up, just in time to see the angel walking his way.
"Well," Gabriel said, crossing his arms over his chest. He paced around Sam and looked around the room. "We can't do it here."
Sam jerked around in surprise, trying to catch the angel's eyes. Gabriel grinned slightly back at him.
That couldn't possibly be a yes. You didn't ask one of Heaven's warriors to indulge stupid whims and have them say yes. But the archangel's deep eyes glittered with humor and warmth--a look no one gave him these days. And that had to be a yes. Hope and silly joy surged in Sam's chest, and he smiled like it was Christmas. It was Gabriel's turn to look away, but he glanced quickly back and reached for Sam's shoulder.
At the moment of contact, they were gone.
XXX
The sun still smiled orange over the horizon when they arrived, blinking into existence in the impossible way of angels. Gabriel glanced around, scanning for obvious danger.
"Wh--" Sam spun in a quick circle, taking in the strange grasslands all around them, the broad trees with flat tops scratching the sky, the fact that the sun was going to set soon.
Gabriel watched in satisfaction as shock and wonder flashed over the young man's face. He looked away as Sam angled toward him.
"Where are we?" Sam's voice was guarded.
Gabriel walked a few steps away, inspecting the rock beneath his feet. "A kopje somewhere in Tanzania," he replied mildly, sliding a glance Sam's way. The Serengeti, to be precise, though he could be no more precise than that. Sam looked at him in disbelief, then recognition, then awe. Gabriel smiled to himself and hurriedly checked around the base of the stone outcropping. There could be lions lounging in the shade, of hyenas. He reached his senses out to check for other, more poisonous forms of life that would house themselves in such a rock.
"That's . . . a little far, dontcha think?" Sam called after him.
Satisfied that there would be no deadly surprises sprung upon them, the archangel shrugged and turned. "It's private," he said. Not a human soul within his ken save Sam's.
Sam smirked and laughed a little, unable to argue the point. He took in the surrounding landscape with silent but obvious glee. Gabriel had meant this as a gift and smirked with pride to see he had chosen well. What he knew of Sam told him the young man was voraciously curious, worldly, but bound by duty to a different existence than he might have chosen for himself. One that did not include jaunts to foreign lands. He'd asked Gabriel about Rome as they'd cruised through Tennessee and drunken every detail like it was vintage wine. He had never been beyond the lower forty-eight, he had said. And while his voice may not have betrayed his regret, his soul had done so well enough.
The African air was still warm from the day's heat. Gabriel let himself dip into the world enough to feel its temperature and its warm breeze. He turned to the face the sun, casting a long shadow that cut across Sam's knees. Let himself bask for a moment in the simple joy of being. Then he turned back and found Sam squinting into the light in order to watch him. That wouldn't do.
He moved, seemingly as a compass, as Sam turned with him, until the sun cast both their faces half in glow and half in shadow. Gabriel looked down at himself in quick contemplation and then eased off his jacket, neither hasty nor slow. That left him with a white shirt that glowed in the gloaming light.
He hooked his thumbs under the hem of his shirt.
"Oh, uh . . ." Sam suddenly jumped and turned a slight shade of red. He whirled around, as though it were impolite to look.
The angel stared at him a moment and then chuckled. He stripped off his shirt in one easy motion, revealing a strong upper body, with heavily muscled arms and a well-defined chest. Even calm, he cut an imposing image. "It's ok for you to look," he said in good humor. "That is the point."
Abashed at his own foolish response, Sam jerked back around, and Gabriel met his eyes as he turned. The man was looking at him with such anticipation and intensity, gripping and ungripping his hands.
Rarely are an angel's wings made manifest. They are the crossroads between being and unbeing. They are impossible. Existing on and of a vessel though the vessel bears none. As God gave immaculate life to Creation, so does he give an earthly angel wings.
Gabriel let a bit of his true self unfurl within, feeling the ache of muscles long unused and the relief of finding freedom. Between blinks, his wings coalesced into being. They were large and finely shaped, white but mottled across the coverts with tan, almost like a snowy owl. The longest flight feather wavered at mid-calf.
Sam's eyes flashed, and he gasped a loud breath. As if magnetized, he started forward. Gabriel stretched his wings and watched with piqued interest as Sam's eyes followed the movement. On their own, his wings twitched at the touch of the breeze, and for some reason this made Sam smile. His eyes danced.
Gabriel drew himself up proudly under the scrutiny. He felt the man's gaze alight on his left wing. It was full of awe, appreciation. The archangel was rarely the focus of anything but fear, which was in its way, exhilarating. Not quite as energizing as this. Gabriel kept an eye on Sam as he approached and then lost him as he moved around the back of his left outstretched wing.
The angel stood stock still, listening to the sound of Sam's breathing as he rounded behind. He was letting out deep, heavy sighs, some with the sound of a smile. Sam's movements came to a halt at Gabriel's back. The angel's senses sharpened as he waited. He could feel the wind separate and caress his feathers, feel the heat of the day on his skin drawing sweat.
Suddenly, he gasped.
Sam had touched the joint where wing met back. Gabriel gasped at the first light contact and arched his spine as Sam slowly drew his fingers up sensitive flesh. His wing stretched full wide and trembling as Sam's finger moved higher. His skin lit incandescent.
Gabriel sucked for air, flinched, and let out a broken moan as Sam's finger swirled in the dip at the top of the joint, touching secret nerves that pulsed. Sparks of pleasure burned down his limbs, and he was trapped immobile with the icy burn until Sam broke contact.
Released, Gabriel snapped his wings in tight and staggered away. He spun and glared in quick flaring, defensive anger. Sam looked stunned.
"You asked to look," the angel growled, his eyes narrowed. "I never said you could touch." Angels never touched one another's wings. In Heaven, they were immaterial; on Earth there was no need. He shook with indignation at the violation. With something else.
"I . . ." Sam's hand was still outstretched, hanging in the air. He blushed furiously and looked away, letting his hand fall.
Gabriel frowned watching him. Colors of delight, delight bled from his soul. The archangel looked harder, and he softened his expression into one of curiosity as he read further into the way Sam's chest heaved and how he crossed his arms over his body. "But you . . . want to, don't you," he said, puzzling it through. And truth be given, a part of Gabriel wanted him to as well.
Sam looked up at him with wide, dark eyes. Fear warred with longing. His mouth worked to try to form words. Eventually, "Yes."
Gabriel tried to look him in the eye, but Sam's gaze was fixed just over his shoulder, at the upper arch of his wing. He thought it over. This boy had asked for so little from the world. And he tried to give so much. Surely . . . surely it would be charity . . .
The angel let his crossed arms drop and his wings swing open, relaxed. Surely it would be no harm in giving him what he wanted. And if there was pleasure for himself there, well, that was a gift, too.
He moved in close, invading Sam's space until the man had no choice but to look at him. Gabriel searched his face, held tight with caution. Then the angel's eyes crinkled with a grin, and hope surged in Sam's expression.
"Kneel," the archangel said.
Sam blinked. "What?"
He smirked. "Kneel." And motioned with a glance.
Sam gave the hard stone beneath his feet a dubious look. But as Gabriel stepped back to give him space, Sam lowered himself to his knees. After considering for a moment, he slipped off his jacket to use it for padding and glanced up, nervous. Unsure what to do with his hands, he clasped them in his lap.
For a moment Gabriel considered the open and uneasy look Sam gave him. Slowly, the archangel touched the top of the young man's head, feeling the silky strands of his hair. Sam froze at his touch, staring up at him. But he ran furrows through Sam's hair a few times regardless, pondering. The gesture was light, affectionate. And when he didn't demand anything objectionable, he felt Sam relax, even move into the stroke with so slight a motion that he might not have known he'd done it.
There was something Sam deserved to have, something he needed. Gabriel turned the thought over in his mind. Something he seemingly thought an angel might give. Gabriel looked down, as though he could read from the crown of Sam's head what that something might be. It was no matter, he decided, brushing the hair back from Sam's forehead and letting it fall from between his fingers. Whatever it was, he was content to offer the opportunity.
He turned, careful of his wings, and knelt on the warm stone, sitting on his heels. Gabriel rocked forward enough so his hands could rest easy on the ground. His wings whispered on the kopje as he opened them out and back, primaries encircling Sam's folded legs. Before him, he saw the teeming golden countryside, the land of man's first making. Behind, he heard Sam exhale.
Time passed in increments he could not name.
And then--
He flinched and gasped at the gentle touch of Sam's thumb in the lower curve of muscle where man and mystery met. With an explorer's slow attention, Sam let his fingers fall further up the ridge of skin in tentative, wandering strokes that nonetheless shot fire through Gabriel's body. The human body was not made for this. Each touch flashed outward and everywhere, sharp like knives and warm. He arched and sighed out a moan. Shocks jolted down his arms, into his fingers, fluttered in his stomach like a kicking storm, pooled heat in his groin.
He felt loose, lazy, alive, and he gaspgaspgasped a breath when Sam rolled a broad finger into the dip up top. The whole wing shivered, and Gabriel stretched in automatic response.
When Sam drew back his hand, the angel sagged at the loss. And he waited, hoping.
A wet sound.
The licking of lips?
Gabriel started to turn to look when he felt Sam's hand on him again, different this time. He froze as fingers skimmed his lower back and brushed upward. Again a touch to sensitive flesh.
Sam played one finger around the lower joint, toying with small feathers. At Gabriel's ragged inhale, he smiled, a wicked little twist of his mouth. And then curled his finger under, slipping it into the hot, damp crevice between underwing and back.
Gabriel sucked in a shocked breath and arched hard, unable to give voice to what he felt. Invaded, overcome. Sam's whole hand quickly followed into the downy fold, tickling short feathers, rubbing damp skin. The angel threw back his head with a sobbed moan of pleasure breaking. Sam touched nerves of fire and ice, and Gabriel burned. His thighs turned molten and arms, barely taking any weight, quaked and rippled with goose flesh. So filled he couldn't breathe.
Shookshookshook as Sam moved closer to the top. He felt himself spiral on pleasure, growing dizzy and unfocused, but needing more. Just a little harder, a little deeper. Sam grazed the softest inner spot, and Gabriel jerked, a helpless grunt escaping him along with his control.
Without warning, the archangel's aura blossomed.
Fear slammed against Sam's senses, tearing into his primal brain with tooth and claw. His heart took off, beating drum warnings of danger. His hands clenched.
Gabriel pitched forward with a startled, pained scream as Sam's big hand crushed into his underwing. Face twisted in pain, he fought to find the breath for words. "Sam . . ." he choked out over the swords through his chest. "Let go . . ." Agony pinned him, and moving made it worse.
Over the sound of his own panicked breathing, Sam barely heard him. But he felt the wing in his grasp shaking, heard his name sobbed a second time, and understood. Despite the blood pounding in his ears and his whole body telling him to run or lash out, he slowly opened his hand.
Gabriel made a strange sound of relief and sank his weight onto his arms, briefly luxuriating, before slowly pushing himself back upright. He heaved deep, unsteady breaths.
"I'm sorry," Sam muttered, fear in his voice and he shook his head, still fighting the sense that he should run. "I don't--"
"It's not your fault," Gabriel countered. His eyes drifted shut as he hung his head. "I don't . . . think I can control myself as I should when you do that," he admitted, ashamed that his abilities and discipline should be so easily compromised. He pulled at his power and started to gather it within, lifting his dread aura from Sam's human senses.
"I can deal." Sam voice came resolute and strangely fierce. Gabriel craned around to see him.
"Sam . . ." The angel said as their eyes met. A minute shake of the man's dark head. His brown eyes burned, perhaps from his struggle against his fear. Perhaps fear was not his only emotion. Gabriel stared at him, into him, transfixed by the swirl of his soul and the determination in his eyes. He held the gaze even as he felt Sam touch the slick skin of his back. Didn't blink as his heart quickened, the touch inching closer to slide under his wing.
Finally broke when his eyes fluttered shut at the caress of delicate down and his breath shuddered from his lips. If sunlight and spring rain touched his true self, it could not be so gossamer a joy. Gabriel leaned forward onto his arms and gave himself into Sam's hands. He had called the young man clever once. He had not been wrong.
Sam wrung out breathless sighs and throaty moans from. With one hand up under his wing and the other on the outside and down, Sam made to break him in twain. Such pleasure, such . . . Deus. Gabriel wrenched painfully, trying to arch and bend both ways at once. Pressed, twisted, and whimpered helplessly as Sam rubbed opposing curves on his back and wings. If he breathed it would stop, if he breathed, he couldn't--couldn't take--stars danced in his vision, arms shook until they buckled and finally, finally, Sam's hands moved.
Gabriel sucked a breath and panted. Swallowed and straightened his arms again, though they quivered. The liquid heat in his legs told him he could not have stood if he'd tried. Oh, but what glorious collapse. If taking pleasure was surrender, then he would be defeated.
Perhaps for a reprieve, Sam began examining for the first time the span of the angel's wing. Gabriel opened it for him, fanning out the flight feathers to their aching limit. It was a relief from the blistering intimacy.
Sam traced over the high arch at the top of Gabriel's wing, stroking white and brown feathers. He breathed in wonder as they slid through his fingers. Leaned in close to see if they had a scent and then pressed his face against the coverts to draw short feathers across his lips.
Gabriel closed his eyes and smiled, using the break in intensity to regain himself some, to fight down the throbbing in his groin and the full body ache that beat under his skin. His fingers curled against the stone as Sam gripped a flight feather and pulled it lightly through his fist. Gabriel sighed as pleasure blew through his chest and flicked at both painfully hard nipples.
He groaned with want but kept his hands flat on the ground, trying to be good, be controlled.
"Sam." Gabriel ground out his name and swallowed. "Other side."
He felt him stop and shift. Place a steadying hand at the nape of his neck. And then begin with explorations anew.
Sam was thorough, careful, tender. Gabriel shuddered half mad.
At last, he lurched away, crawling and stretching out his legs as he laid himself upon the rock and, trembling, rolled onto his back. Face flushed, sweat dripping from his blond hair, he look at Sam and panted through parted lips. Sam peered back, tottering unsteadily as he drew deep draughts like a bull.
Gabriel's chest glistened and heaved quickly in the lowering light. He forced himself to speak. "Is this what you want?" He breathed, sinking into Sam's eyes. "Am I?"
Sam's gaze broke from the angel's face and traveled the length of his body.
"You can have me," Gabriel said, more steadily.
Sam's eyes flicked up at that. The archangel balanced on the edge of hope and tried, tried not to push, to let this be Sam's choice. But he wanted, God, yes, he wanted . . .
Unconsciously, he flexed his wings, trying to ease the awkward way they bunched against the stone. Their movement caught Sam's attention, and he stared. One hand curled, and he glanced back at Gabriel's candid, hopeful expression, heard again the impassioned cries and soft sobs that made his blood boil with power and desire.
He ducked his head, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off.
Still panting, the archangel watched with flooding relief as the sun cast orange light over Sam's bulk, accentuating the valleys of his body with deep shadows. He had never truly doubted there was a God who answered his angels' prayers.
Sam disrobed in what must have been record time, laying his clothes out along Gabriel's side. He kicked off his shoes and socks and then grabbed Gabriel's knee to urge him over.
Realization dawned. The clothes were a makeshift bed. A small bit of care for them both. Gabriel suppressed the urge to laugh at the sweetness of it. Even as he moved, Sam's hands were at his waist undoing his jeans. Then tugging shoes and socks from his feet. The jeans vanished in a quick violent pull leaving only a pair of straining white briefs.
Sam saw them, paused, and chuckled.
The angel frowned up at him. "What?"
Something mischievous and foreign shone in Sam's eyes. His lips moved and then curled into a sly smile. An alluring expression, but a confusing one. Sam seemed to hesitate, his hands resting on his own naked thighs. And then no hesitation at all--just as quickly, it was gone. He slid big, calloused hands to Gabriel's waist, grabbed the elastic, and drew down the last thing between them. He added it to the pile beneath his knees.
Gabriel shivered as a cool breeze blew across the Serengeti. He watched Sam shiver, too. Something of fear ghosted behind those eyes, and Gabriel reached out a hand, beckoning, begging. We shall save each other from this cold.
Sam met his open palm with his cheek and let himself be drawn, skin to skin. Hard cocks ground one another as Sam settled his weight--a heady, impressive weight that screamed with the reality of its being. Gabriel wove his fingers up into Sam's hair to draw him further down. It was one fluid motion.
Heaven, he had forgotten this kind of want. It had been how long, centuries? Since taking a lover. Not so long that he had forgotten how, long enough that it felt precious and new.
Gabriel surged up, greedily. He captured Sam's mouth with an animal's groan. Sucked. Licked and tasted a strong upper lip, a pouty lower. Devoured his partner's trepidation. Crushed him closer and bit lightly until Sam opened his mouth to give him access. Sam mirrored Gabriel's grip on his neck, pulling him in, and it became a sparring of tongues.
The angel conceded first. Kissed the corner of Sam's mouth. Then his cheek. He snaked his arms under Sam's to feel the play of heavy muscle in his back and kissed a line down his neck, searching. Sam for once didn't fear that he was too big, too heavy. With one hand rubbing circles in the angel's hair, the other, circles in his wing, he let himself be.
Gabriel let himself be guided, swirling a hot tongue on his lover's salty skin. Sam's pulse quickened; he neared just the right spot, touched it, and Sam moaned for the first time--a throaty growl that lit red sparks down Gabriel's spine. He sought it again, laving at Sam's shoulder, hungry for any small sound--proof that this was a shared bliss.
He smiled into the human's skin when he made him gasp and then ground out a guttural sound of his own when Sam turned his full attention to his wings, stroking each as far as his fingertips would go. Gabriel stretched, head to toe, opening as his limbs responded to the caress on their own. It was all he could do to rub and stroke Sam's back. His hips flexed with a mind of their own, spreading sweat and precum between them, seeking heat and glorious touch. Sam's heavy body was perfect; Gabriel pressed him down harder, made the crush of flesh tighter.
He could have stayed like this, just like this.
Sam had other plans.
Breathless, Gabriel opened his eyes enough to look up in puzzlement as his partner lifted off his weight and braced himself up on one arm. His free hand moved from wing to chest. Gabriel squeezed out a huff when Sam brushed over the sensitive nub of one nipple. He would have had him stay there, pinch, twist, taste, but he moved on, sliding a heavy hand down over Gabriel's flat stomach. The muscles twitched.
Sam was watching him intently. Gabriel lifted his eyebrows in question and fluttered his wings in anticipation of whatever would be next.
"I want to see," Sam confessed softly. His roving hand curved around Gabriel's side, seeking the depth of his underwing.
The angel automatically lifted to let him in, but offered a half-grin, confused. "See what?"
Then he gasped sharply, and he understood. See ecstasy.
He twisted and writhed, tossed his head and loosed whimpers of pleasure as he bucked. Sam was too far, too far and he needed to feel him. Like he needed to fight for Heaven, like he needed to kill in battle.
Gabriel coiled his partner in an embrace and jerked him roughly down. His lips found Sam's ear. A harsh breath to control himself and think in words. Then, "Fuck me."
Sam stiffened in his arms and then nodded quickly.
He let him go.
Even undone with pleasure and shaking, Gabriel was a creation of grace. He rolled and moved his wings as though he had practiced just this. And ended up on hands and knees, reaching his wings out.
He ached and trembled to his bones. The volcano of fury he carried inside bubbled over, suffusing his flesh with heat enough to combust. Sweat beaded and rolled down. He anticipated in each second feeling Sam's touch and was left each second wanting. Though he could hear him moving, rustling fabric.
"Sam," in urgent breath.
"Juss 'a sec."
Then spitting, and he realized this was a small kindness, like the bed. Frustrating. Unnecessary, kindness.
Gabriel turned and spoke over his shoulder, his voice hoarse. "You can't hurt me." He swallowed down his pleading. "I promise."
"But--"
"Please." And he didn't care if it came out a wanton whine. He let his head drop and parted his knees a little more.
Finally, Sam gripped one hard ass cheek in his broad hand. He kneaded the muscle with strong fingers, and Gabriel pushed back, growling, his feathers rustling against one another like falling leaves. Sam caressed, rubbed his palm around, and then slid a thick finger carefully down toward the angel's opening. He intended to tease, play.
This, too, was a kindness, Gabriel knew. And he knew he didn't care. With one quick jerk, he impaled himself, winning a yelp of surprise from his partner and a rippling surge of pleasure. Sam laughed lightly, nervously, but got the message.
Gone; bereft.
Back; yearning.
Gabriel braced himself at the sensation of Sam's returning, his cock hot and hard right where he needed it to be. Barely breathed as his partner's fingers dug into his hips. Rocked with the breaching pressure, then pushed back and flapped his wings hard, scattering dust.
Hot, filled, waking--shattered Heaven's fire.
This.
His head lolled and rolled. Moans tumbled, hitched.
Sam pulled back, almost out, and Gabriel shook his head in defiance. Don't leave.
Don't--
He tensed with a small cry and spread his wings until his feathers hurt. Sam's hands, gentle, skilled, devilish hands swiped up under his wings and for a second, everything stopped.
The angel's heart beat rapid time in his chest, rattled his ribs. Trapped. And halfway up this mountain. So much pleasure to be had just beyond--what was he waiting for?
But Sam was good and kind and knew exactly what he was doing.
It was a single motion, thrusting forward into Gabriel's body and drawing down under his softest wings. Push. Pull.
Made and unmade in each stroke. Gabriel writhed. Bucked, shouted, and begged as sweat rolled down into his eyes like tears.
Good and tearing, far too much, but faster.
Quickquickgasps.
He mounted, broke apart, burned brighter. Threw his head back, sank forward, and could not find a way to turn that wasn't more bliss. Pounding, rocking, he heard Sam groan and hum a most ancient tune.
It started as tingling in his hands. Then numb prickling along the soles of his feet. Sam tickled small feathers. Deep heat, like burgeoning anger, built pressure inside until his balls ached. Then Sam picked up his pace, slamming harder against his ass with desperate cresting cries of his own.
Built.
Touched.
Connected. Gabriel grunted and tensed. With black stars in his eyes, he came like an earthquake, wings snapping. It left the tip of his tongue numb, his throat raw. A crack of thunder split the clear sky, and the rock beneath them vibrated.
He shook from the force and the aftershocks and found himself collapsed onto his elbows, arms quivering. Warm joy pulsed in his core, leaping as Sam's quick strokes touched deep inside. In a fury, Sam reached for completion of his own.
Gabriel rose up on unsteady hands and suddenly, Sam cursed. The man gripped him hard enough to bruise and sighed out brokenly as he came, thrusts slowing to a stop.
He hummed a pleased sound, rubbing small circles on the angel's lower back; and Gabriel smiled. He wasn't sure what he had expected to come next, but it wasn't Sam leaning over his back and then resting his damp cheek between his shoulder blades, splaying his arms out across his wings.
Rest. Yes. Gabriel thought.
He lowered them both down, content to lay up on the rock with Sam's body against his back for as long as it would last. Slowly, his breathing evened out. Sam's as well. Glowing with honeyed languidness, he kept his attention on his partner, trying to tell if or when the man might sleep.
For awhile, it was simply lowering light, cooling skin, and their breathing falling into synchronicity. A chill wind kicked up over the plains, and Sam shivered.
With slow effort, Sam pushed himself up, rocking back on his heels and then standing. He shivered again, naked and exposed in the increasing darkness. Ever so softly, "Can't believe I just did that. . ."
Gabriel waited for a moment to be sure Sam was clear and then recomposed himself. He wrapped his true being tightly inside his vessel, pulling in the aura that gave humans such primal fear. He heard Sam sigh at that. And then his wings, as easily as they had been loosed, he hid them away. For the briefest moment, he felt naked without them. Then he rolled onto his back and sat up, hooking his arms over his knees.
Sam stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He gave Gabriel a brief embarrassed look and then glanced elsewhere.
The angel studied him. Then he reached for the pile of clothes that had been their bed. As he lifted each piece, he passed a hand over it to clean off the evidence of their tryst.
Sam took back his clothes silently and moved off a few paces. Gabriel frowned at the tension evident in the set of his shoulders. He watched with narrowed eyes as the young man dressed quickly, efficiently.
"Sam . . ." Gabriel called in a somber voice.
Sam paused, his shirt in his hands. He didn't look over.
"Thank you," the angel offered, unsure if it was quite the right thing. He grabbed for his own clothes and put them on just as quickly, but his attention remained tuned to Sam's every move.
As Sam pulled his shirt on, he chanced a glance in Gabriel's direction. Smirked. "Guess it was good for you, too?"
Gabriel plucked his T-shirt from the ground and paced over to Sam's side as he put it on. The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. "Are you--" He cut himself off and smiled a dazzling smile toward Sam's uneasy grin. Sobering, he said, "I've never felt anything quite like that." His tone approached a conspiratorial whisper.
Again, Sam wouldn't meet his gaze. Instead, the young man reached for his jacket and exhaled heavily, muttering to himself.
"What?" Gabriel ducked and moved into Sam's line of sight, trying to see his face.
Sam slipped on his jacket and gave the angel a guilty look. "I said, I'm not all a monster." His voice was low and very controlled. His expression hardened, and he looked at Gabriel squarely. "I can do good things. I try to." His face fell. "You get that, right?" Puppy eyes pleaded.
Gabriel found himself stepping near. "I know," he said. He lifted a hand and rested it lightly on Sam's shoulder. Ran his gaze over the young man's face and then touched a palm to his cheek. Distress furrowed Gabriel's brow. His wisdom failed him, until he realized that it wasn't guidance Sam was after.
They were close enough that Gabriel could feel the heat of Sam's body and breath. He leaned in, testing. Sam leaned in reply. It was all the permission Gabriel needed.
The kiss he pressed to Sam's lips was unlike what they had shared before. It was sweet, almost chaste--a gentle touch that was filled to the brim with more care and despair than Gabriel knew how to say.
He pulled back to speak and kept his voice low. "I know you try. That you want to save us all. But I wish you wouldn't destroy yourself in the process."
He thought Sam might object to his characterization. But then, Sam had seen his own soul.
Sam's eyes fell shut, and he let out a held breath. Gabriel swiped a thumb over his high cheekbone and drew back. Sam blinked at him, looking like he might say something, but he didn't.
"Where would you like me to take you?" the angel asked as he slowly dipped to grab his jacket. He popped the collar as he put it on and glanced at Sam.
The man scratched at his forehead. "Kinda still owe the bartender for that beer."
Gabriel couldn't suppress his grin. Anywhere in the world, and Sam would first pay his debts. He nodded.
"You, uh, going back to stuff? I guess?" Sam looked down briefly at the ground, shifting his weight back and forth, and then met Gabriel's inquisitive gaze.
The angel shrugged. "I have nowhere I need to be." And then he watched with slight distraction as Sam bit the lower lip he had been kissing a moment before.
"You--I mean, you don't have to, but would you, maybe, wanna get something to drink?" He looked . . . hopeful. And Gabriel found it warmed a place in his chest to see him so.
He grinned, and it touched his eyes. "I haven't had a drink since the Dark Ages." It was truth, and it made Sam break out in unexpected laughter.
"I think we've improved things a bit since then," Sam told him.
"We'll see." He couldn't guarantee that he'd be impressed with whatever the modern era had to offer, but he couldn't deny Sam the chance to try.
Gabriel reached out as he had before and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. On a shiver of angel's wings, they vanished, leaving the sun to dip below the Serengeti alone.