library_j | "Covert Operation" (Reply)

Fic: Covert Operation

Title: Covert Operation

Author: jessebee

Rating: pretty darn tame

Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, pre-slash

Spoilers: 5x08, I suppose

Warnings: Uhm, feathers?

Word Count: ~900

Summary: Sam gets to touch.

Note: originally posted at the spn_gabriel kink meme, now cleaned up and expanded and posted here because I liked it and of course I have nothing else to do with my life but write this stuff. Okay, nothing important anyway. ETA: Now with bonus porny sequel! Frontal Assault

"Wow," Sam said. "You're kind of a mess."

"And right there, folks, is the infamous Winchester technique. The reason all the women, men, and goats are knocking at his door."

Sam squinched up his eyes as he settled on the edge of the hammock, next to Gabriel's hip and just behind one unfolded, enormous wing. Nobody did sarcasm quite like this particular archangel of the Lord. Of course, none of the others had a millennium or so as a Trickster under their divine belts, either. "All right, sorry. But I usually don't see them quite this … rumpled."

Gabriel snorted, although it lost some impact by being muffled in the fabric he was face-planted in. "I’m still not sure how you're seeing them at all; they're not even real in this plane."

And Gabriel had said that before, but they looked pretty damn real to Sam, and they had ever since he'd first seen them, the day he'd told Lucifer to take a long walk off a short pier. He saw other things now, too, stuff that wasn't quite there, but it wasn't like his old visions had been. Maybe it was a little thank you from God, or maybe … whatever. Sam wasn't inclined to check the gift horse's mouth – there might be big teeth involved somewhere.

Light danced fitfully through the leaves of the two big oak trees Gabriel had grown behind the house when Bobby'd consented to having a hammock back here. Sam watched it play over the glorious, coppery, faintly glowing mass of feathers. His fingers itched. "Not real, I know. Whatever. What happened?"

Gabriel shrugged, the movement nearly hidden beneath his right wing. "Nothing much. Caught some heavy winds, that's all. I'll take care of them in a little while."

Sam blinked. Translated out of Gabriel-speak, in which Sam had become reasonably proficient in the months before and after the world didn't end, that meant that Gabriel had been off on some task that he couldn't, or didn't want to talk about, and it had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. Because his wings were him in a way the rest of his human-looking body wasn't, their condition wasn't something Gabriel could just snap back into place.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to say … something. What came out was "I could … give you a hand. With them. If you want."

Gabriel stilled. And then, slowly, he shifted onto his elbows and looked up at Sam. "You want to groom me?" he asked, and okay, forget proficient; that expression was one Sam couldn't decipher at all.

Sam wanted to touch Gabriel anywhere he could, had for months now, but did he want to get his fingers into those feathers? Was the Pope Catholic? "Uhm, yes?"

Gabriel's lips parted, his face – softening, somehow – and then it was gone, buried under the cynic Sam knew. "What the heck," he said, and laid back down, face turned away. "Not that I think you can touch them."

Sam reached down and curved his fingers gently around the right wing's leading edge, and caught his breath. Gabriel caught his too, audibly, and his wing twitched against Sam's hand. "O-kay, then. I guess you can."

Warm, was Sam's first thought. Warm butter-softness over bone and muscle, vaguely unreal. His fingers trailed sparks as he smoothed them over and in, starting to order feathers back into their obvious patterns, feeling something like down beneath the big exterior ones. It was thick and electric, like being up to his wrists in static electricity that didn't bite, quite, just – tingled. And aroused, too – lighting up his spine, sparking across his skin and settling in his groin. Sam groaned silently. Thank God he'd worn looser jeans today.

It was a particularly sweet torture and Sam didn't want to stop. And by the noises Gabriel was making, soft, almost as if he couldn't help himself, maybe he didn't want Sam to stop either.

The wings, extended, were huge, much bigger than Sam's own armspan, long as that was. Coverts, his brain supplied, naming the sections as he worked carefully through the feathers he could reach, trying to ignore the way his pulse was pounding, the way his cock was now rock-hard against the zipper of his jeans.

Trying, and failing.

Lesser coverts, median coverts, greater coverts, secondaries – shining copper lightening into gold at the lower edge, red highlights winking in the dappled sunlight – everything shining softly with what had to be a faint hint of Gabriel's grace.

When he ran out of feathers and excuses to keep touching, Sam tried to speak. Couldn't. Cleared his throat. "Gabriel. You need to – I can't reach – "

The wing under his hands shivered, and so did the rest of Gabriel. "'s enough, Sam, it's good. Thank you," he said, voice thick.

Sam swallowed. "No, really, if we had more room, I could …." God, what I could do, he thought, longing washing through him, what I want to do to you, everything –

Gabriel froze.

Archangel. Superpowered, mind-reading archangel. Oh, shit, he was so, so dead –

Gabriel flipped over, wings passing through the fabric of the hammock and the ground beneath it as if they were much less real than the angel parts, and stared up at him. "Sam?" he breathed.

Sam stared back helplessly, seeing Gabriel's bright eyes and flushed skin and – oh. Oh. Wow. Really? "Really?"

The smile that broke over Gabriel's face was neither Trickster nor archangel, but something different, something just – Gabriel. "Really. And you're right – we're gonna need more room." He snapped his fingers.

Frontal Assault