So, here's the thing. My uncle died and I just can't write anything good right now. I'm not giving up on this story. Heck, I'm not even giving up on Pride and Prejudice and Supernatural. These things will be written. Just not now. Not this week. Maybe even not this month.
My uncle was a good man. He was a father to not just my brother and myself, but to our other cousins as well. He was a better grandfather to my cousin's little girl than her own grandfather and father were. He was a better father to us all than our own fathers were. People keep asking me how I am and I keep saying, "I don't know" because I really don't know. I don't know. The only thing I'm really able to do right now is work, sit around in my jammies and stare at Diminuel's art, Destiel gifs on Tumblr, scratch my cat behind the ears, and sigh.
Everything I write right now becomes an angst fest. I tried to write Lucifer and Balthazar taking Beckett to the movies and it ended in Beckett sitting on Castiel's lap and crying. I tried to write Dean and Castiel having a new pup and Castiel got postpartum depression. I started on a Christmas story based on Han Christian Andersen's "The Snow Queen" and the only thing that made me happy or smile in the least was a three page detour where Dean took a bath. I sent it to my friend and she said, "Well, it's really good, the premise is great, Castiel is hot in skintight white pants and shiny black knee high boots, but I'm really concerned about this three page rabbit trail where Dean turns into Colin Firth and takes a bath then dresses in Mr. Darcy's exact outfit when he went to ask Elizabeth to marry him for the second time at the Lambton Inn. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but I have to ask what it does for the plot." I told her that it made me happy and true to the English major she is, she said, "Okay, then keep it in for now. We'll edit it out later. Write as much of Dean in a bath as you like." So I did because fuck you world, that's why. Dean's in a bathtub, suck it. Castiel's dressed like some Regency-era fop and he looks fab and his hair is shaggy and curly and it's making me happy, but that's all I can do because everythingelse in the world is making me sad.
So…just to recap: I'm not giving up, but I just can't write anything other than Dean in a bathtub or everyone crying right now.
I wrote this scene before…everything. It's Midam. I'm not sure how good it is. I hope you like it. I hope I'll be updating soon. Just please be patient.
-Artoo
Michael stood by Adam's window, watching the sky change color as the sun slowly ascended. In the bed, Adam stirred and reached his hand out to where Michael had been laying only a few hours previously. Michael was astounded at how quickly Adam was getting used to him. He wondered if it had been this intense with Castiel and Dean at first. Adam didn't seem to question his need to be near Michael, to hold him and touch him, and Michael wondered if Dean accepted his draw to Castiel as blindly.
Adam rolled over, his lithe body drawing Michael's eyes, making him lick his lips with anticipation. He already wanted the boy again, and a quick look between Adam's legs affirmed that he would be amenable.
He wondered briefly what he was still doing here, he could leave and Adam wouldn't know the difference, but when the boy stirred again and reached his arm out to the vacant spot where Michael had been earlier, Michael found that he didn't want to be anywhere but here.
"Mike?"
He smiled at the nickname. No one ever called him Mike except for Gabriel, and no one had seen him in over a thousand years. It was proof that Adam was his mate that Michael could stomach the moniker.
"I'm still here, beloved." He stalked slowly towards the bed.
Adam sat up sleepily, his eyes still heavy, then cocked his head to the side, rubbing one eye. "Shit, are those wings?"
Michael stopped and glanced over his shoulder at his magnificent purple wings. He had forgotten somehow that Adam had never seen them. "I suppose you could say you've seen me completely naked now," he mused with a rueful smile. Adam's look of awe, however, warmed him completely. "Do they please you?"
"Shit," Adam said again. Michael was becoming confused at the expletive. "They're fucking beautiful."
Michael sat down on the bed facing Adam and cupped his jaw, running his thumb over the boy's cheekbone. "I'm glad you like them," he murmured before leaning in for a kiss. To his surprise, Adam pushed him away.
"W-why are you with me?"
The question took him completely by surprise. "What do you mean?"
Adam shook his head. "I'm a twenty year old med school student, and I'm goofy looking even before you compare me to my brothers. You—you're perfect. You could be a model and…you're older than dirt. What could you possibly see in me?"
Michael was amazed at how Adam took his self-esteem issues and somehow managed to make them insulting towards Michael. That was quite a talent. But as Adam had pointed out, he was "older than dirt," and he knew how to see beyond the insecurities of fledglings. He put his other hand on the other side of Adam's face and smiled. "You are beautiful, Adam. You are kind and you love your brothers. You wish to heal people, and you don't answer my text messages for hours because you are so busy trying to not squander your brother's gift of tuition and boarding that you get completely lost in your research. I am older than you, and I am eternal, but I know a beautiful soul when I see one. Adam, you are so much more than perfect. You are flawed and it is wonderful."
Adam hmphed and lay back down, so Michael followed his movement and spread out over him, stretching his wings as far as they would go in the small room. When Adam reached out a hand, Michael steeled himself for the first touch of his lover's hand on his wings, but he still wasn't prepared for the current of electricity that shot through them both.
He had always told it would be this way, but he hadn't believed it. He had viewed the entire idea of mating for love as another plan of weakness from Father. He was right, but he found that he couldn't hate the weakness.
"Here," he said, laying down on his stomach. "Touch them. It's okay."
Sometime later, he was laid out over Adam's chest while Adam carded his fingers through his wings. They were both cooling in their sweat, spent and sated, still breathing heavy. Michael was tracing protective sigils over Adam's heart, loving the feel of his hands on him.
"So…the oil just comes?" Adam asked. "Is that too personal?"
Michael smiled against his chest. "Nothing is too personal, beloved. The oil is for keeping my feathers preened, and yes, I produce it naturally." He smiled up at Adam. "You found a much more interesting use for it, however."
Adam blushed and stroked his fingers through deep purple feathers. "I…I like you…" Adam gulped. "I like you there…like that."
Michael chuckled and kissed his lover. "It's okay, Adam. You like me inside you?"
Adam nodded. "It feels good," he said. "I'll be studying in the library and I…I get so hard just thinking about you and how much I want you."
"You can pray to me at times," Michael said. "I could always fly to wherever you are if you need me."
"What if I needed you for something…not sex?"
Michael smiled. "I would love to be of help to you in any capacity, though I'm not sure how much I could help you with your studies." He took Adam's hand from his wings and kissed it.
Adam smiled back and tugged Michael back up to him so he could lean up and kiss him. "What if I needed you for something else? Like Hunting."
"You don't hunt," Michael said a little more forcefully than he meant to. "Sorry," he dropped his fierce gaze. "I didn't…"
"I don't hunt," Adam agreed. "It's okay. Dean and Sam prefer that I don't. I know how, of course, because I have to be able to take care of myself if I need to, but I don't do it usually."
Michael wanted so badly to say that Adam would never have to worry about taking care of himself again, but he also was wise enough to know that Adam would not want to be coddled. Instead, he hummed a little and said, "Adam, I wish to help you with all parts of your life. All you have to do is ask and I will do what I can."
Adam blushed again. "Well, tonight, or last night. Whenever that was. Last night, my brothers…I guess I should start at the beginning."
Michael put his head back down on Adam's chest. "The beginning is usually a good place to start."
Adam started with the story of how Sam was born and how Azazel had come into his room and chosen him as a godchild, Sam's abilities because of that, and the threat against Jess and the baby. "So…I guess my dad's going to try and kill Azazel, either that or Sam has to do it." Adam paused, then whispered, "Michael, I don't want my brother or my dad to die."
Michael rolled them onto their sides and cocooned his wings around Adam. "Don't worry, little one. Your troubles are my troubles now, you'll see. I'll…I'll find out what I can about this." He had never spoken to a god other than his Father before, but perhaps he should seek out this Loki character, and if he wasn't willing to talk, then Michael would go to Odin.
