A/N: Short and sweet this time, guys, just like Gabriel. (And me! - no actually, I look disturbingly like the female version of Richard Speight Jr.) Encouragement/discouragement is needed for continuation with the storyline hinted at near the end of the chapter, so don't forget to review. Enjoy! =)

...

He wishes he could. He really fucking wishes he could, but he can't bring himself to forget how great it felt. How hot; how tight Gabriel was.

"Battling with wrong and right again?" an amused voice asks him, and Sam looks up, eyes fixating on the figure seen in the grimy, gas stop bathroom mirror. Hazel eyes connect, and Gabriel's mouth twitches slightly, and he crosses his arms, leaning back against the door so Sam cannot escape without forcing his way past first.

"What are you doing here?" Does he even have to ask?

"Taking a piss," Gabriel barks in his direction, with a slight giggle of glee. "You?" Sam frowns at him, loitering awkwardly by the sink and wishing that he'd brought some holy oil into the bathroom. Mind, Dean would have asked questions if he had, and last night wasn't something he ever wants to mention.

"Seriously, Gabriel, what do you want from me?"

"First of all, Sammy-boy, you should know by now that I?" Gabriel shrugs, "I don't really do 'serious', and to answer, amusement and grievous bodily harm." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And that's just the foreplay." Trying to ignore how fucked up it all is, Sam moves towards Gabriel, stopping only when he is inches away. He can't decide whether to kiss him or to try – and most likely fail – to push him out of the way. Gabriel ends up deciding for him, knowing that it only takes a moment for him to mould this human underneath his fingertips.

Sam pushes him away, fighting beneath the onslaught of tongue in his mouth with a sharp yelp and strength born of indignation. Gabriel pouts, because clearly, he doesn't know this kid half as well as he claims he does. "What?"

"You can't do that," says Sam, incredulous that Gabriel has the nerve. "I need to go. Dean's waiting."

"Ah yes, how is he doing?" Sam ignores the angel's flippancy, pointedly. "I do hope he's recovered from my little game the other day."

"Bite me," snaps Sam, making a displeased face at the archangel. "I need to go." Time seems to freeze the instant their eyes connect, and Sam wouldn't be surprised if time literally did freeze, because Gabriel is more than capable. Suddenly, the angel seems a lot more imposing than he was before, but that might just be because he's not underneath him, pliant and submissive. The thought shoots a deep warm jet through his body of pleasant memory, and Sam struggles to control his actions.

Two hands place themselves on either side of Sam's face, warm fingers caressing his cheeks, and tilting his head down for a more direct line of sight into Gabriel's shockingly golden eyes. The heat is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time, because there is something different about Gabriel today, as if he has just realised that he is dominant. He is powerful, and he needs to set the record straight; he won't have a human thinking that he's superior to an archangel.

Because that would be wrong, Sam thinks derisively.

The hands on his neck smooth down to his shoulders, the movement relaxed and soothing, but then they harden, pushing down on him with such strength that his knees give way beneath the pressure. Falling down, he pushes out his hands to steady himself on Gabriel's thighs, staring up at the angel with something akin to offence and incredulity. Pointedly, a hand presses down on his head, forcing him forwards, so he is mere millimetres from Gabriel's crotch. The material of his pants is so full, and so stretched, fleshy, that Sam can't help the needy groan which escapes him.

As softly as he can, he traces his hands up to Gabriel's belt buckle, lifting up his shirt and working on the buckle while pressing his nose against the bare flesh of his abdomen. Above him, the angel shudders with unadulterated glee, a grotesquely pornographic moan slipping out past his lips. Reaching into the pants, he shimmies them down Gabriel's thighs, and works his hand along the hard swollen length, spit gathering in his mouth at the mere thought of taking him and swallowing him whole.

"You've done this before, Sammy," Gabriel chides, with amusement, from above, his fingers carding through Sam's hair harder than any lover typically does. "Lemme guess... you were sixteen and curious with your best friend." Sam smirks, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, and licks up Gabriel's cock, loving the feel of something so hot under his touch. This time, it isn't about power, like the night before. It is about pleasure, and while this should freak him out, it doesn't. It just... it feels remarkably right.

Swirling his tongue, Sam thanks an unknown entity – he thinks praying while giving an angel head is a little too much of a weird thing – that he doesn't have a gag reflex. In an uncontrolled thrust, galvanised by Sam's rough tongue, Gabriel yelps, pleasure spiking through his body and soaking him in bliss. The moment fades, but soon is replaced by another yelp, and a groan is added into his soundtrack only to fade into sharp, short gasps which rounded into soft and needy moans. Clearly, being held down and screwed isn't the only thing that turned the Pagan on.

"Sammy..." he breathes, eyes half closed as he tilts his head to the ceiling and takes in a strong, deep breath. His whole body is shaking, out of control. It feels so real; so unstoppable that he does not pause to question much of anything, merely allows Sam's pretty human mouth to take him places that he knows he shouldn't be allowed to go.

Control was lost a long time ago. In fact, the exact moment when Sam glared him down on a balcony in Paris, and started the fantasy which they now both existed, blissfully, in.

Now, it's happening all over again, as Gabriel jerks and shudders, spilling liberally into the human's willing mouth. A scream, alight with the bright golden white of his Grace, rips through his body before he can help himself, and he sags against the door, spent and limp as Sam crawls back up him, pressing his face into Gabriel's neck as he pulls down his own pants, inviting the angel's magical fingers.

It takes less than a minute to jerk Sam off, although he suspects that Gabriel may have used a little supernatural advantage to do so; never before has he felt so sensitive as he does now, as if he hasn't been touched in months.

They lean against the door for a while, exchanging wet, salty kisses and spent moans of post coital bliss, and it feels so good that Gabriel does not even consider stopping Sam taking such liberties.

Gabriel chooses not to divulge that he doesn't allow his other lovers to kiss him.

...

When Sam arrives out back to Dean, he is clean again, and is thankful that his brother is asleep with his face pressed unattractively against the window. He doesn't know how long he spent in the restroom, but he doesn't want an awkward moment when Dean would think him to be jerking off in the middle of a car journey. Times like those are always brought up in future arguments, even though it's ammunition each man has used against the other in the past.

Swallowing, the taste of Gabriel's cum still coating his mouth, Sam smirks slightly, angling into the car and pulling out of the gas station.

He is halfway down a desolate, country road, when a figure appears in the back of the car, and for a split second, he wishes it to be Gabriel, but then he catches a brief glimpse of tan and is slightly disappointed, although relieved that it is not a demon. In fact, he is extremely glad to see Castiel - the last they had seen of him is outside the warehouse where they had left the archangel in question.

"Dean. Sam." Castiel greets them as usual, and clearly his voice triggers some sort of reflex in Dean's brain, because he awakes with a blasphemous shout, making Sam swerve the car again. "We need to go to Ohio, to the place where you laid your father to rest." Sam hits the brakes, grinding the Impala to a stop before turning in his seat and looking at the angel behind them. Dean is similarly confused, and equally suspicious.

"Why?" Dean barks, not willing to return to the place where he had to let go of yet another parent who had been stolen from him. "What's happening there?" Castiel shifts uncomfortably, his blue eyes darting between the Winchester brothers warily, as if he is about to drop and entirely inappropriate and devastating bombshell on their heads. "...Cas?"

"There has been talk..." Suddenly, the usually emotionless angel appears to wear a lot of himself on his sleeve. "From Zachariah and his followers." Dean raises his eyebrows, shaking his head in a frustrated fashion, eyes wide.

"Dude, you can't just stop in the middle of explanations like that. It drives me crazy." With an audible swallowing noise, Castiel continues, albeit reluctantly.

"I have heard rumors that they are plotting to revive your father." The blue eyes flit downwards, as if he is ashamed of bringing the bad news.

"Why?" Dean's voice is small, almost broken, and for a moment, he sounds just like he is fresh out of Hell again, entering a world which feels crueller than the one he burned in for forty years. Castiel sighs, touching his forehead in an awkward, stressed motion.

"To use him as the vessel of Michael." In an instant, the engine revs, and Sam does a u-turn, around to the direction he had come from. Dean does not object, merely sets his jaw angrily. It is one thing for the angels to screw them over – they are almost used to the fuckery by now. But this is a step too far, even for the Heavenly asshats.

So to Ohio they go.