Rating: NC-17 like whoa
Genre: Sexxin'. Seeeexin'. Utterly plot-less porn with no redeeming social value whatsoever
Spoilers: Let's say up to 5.08 to be safe
Warnings: Two male-shaped people enjoying each other. A lot.
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Sometimes things look different at night.
Note: Inspired by this prompt in comment_fic:
drabblewriter on February 16th, 2010 Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel or Dean/Castiel, sex under the stars. Written to cheer myself up because after the kidney-punch that was 5.16, I needed me some happy. Lightning-fast beta by the awesome morganoconner; any remaining hinkyness is mine alone.
One thing Gabriel rarely ever is, is quiet. Even now, with his mouth full, sex is in no way an exception to this. He's sucking Sam with relish, slurps and smacks and other carnal sounds drifting loud in the air around them. Sam pants, staring up at the stars so brilliant overhead, but the long splash of the Milky Way has got nothing on the lights flaring behind his eyes.
Gabriel's arms are wound around Sam's thighs and he uses them to leverage Sam's legs further apart and his hips up and Sam groans, because he's pretty sure he knows what this means. Gabriel pulls off of Sam's cock with a slow, lewd pop and a kiss to the head, then licks his way down to Sam's balls and sucks one delicately into his mouth. Sam groans again, quivering, one hand tightening on Gabriel's arm and the other digging into the blanket and the soft ground beneath it. "Please…."
Gabriel hums, the bastard, and Sam jerks and gasps, hips getting nowhere against the archangel's grip. "Please what?" Gabriel murmurs eventually. He's settled in, licking at Sam, tonguing his balls and just behind but no further, and really, Sam could murder him right now.
Except that then this would stop. "Ga-bri-el –"
"You taste so good, Sam; all earthy and human and you, just you. I could do this all night, just this, right here –"
He could, too. He has. Sam could barely form words for two days after that particular experience. He can barely form the words now, even though he knows what Gabriel wants – "Gabriel, please."
"Ask me, Sam. Just ask me." Gabriel's voice is a low throb against his skin, and it's only the knowledge of exactly how much this turns Gabriel on – how much Gabriel needs to hear the words – that keeps Sam from screaming in frustration.
Sam opens his eyes wide and the stars seem to wheel over him, the faintest sliver of moon at the edge of his vision. The air is sweet and heavy, fragrant with summer and thick with sex, and he can't hold out any longer. "Lick me."
"I am licking you, lover, kissing you –"
"Rim me, damn you," Sam grinds out.
Gabriel's breath hisses out long and hot against Sam's skin. "Since you asked me so nicely –"
Gabriel pushes, curving Sam's spine and really it's a good thing he's flexible and Gabriel's strong and – "Yes," and he'll deny 'till he dies that he's whimpering. "Yes, yes, Jesus, yes, there."
He loses everything then, everything but the sensation of Gabriel's tongue rasping over his hole. Broad flat licks become little flicks at the edges, and jabs and forays and back again and God it's so incredibly filthy, so unspeakably good. Sam could come just from this. He has come from this, just Gabriel's mouth against his ass, inhuman tongue finding every single one of a billion nerve endings and stroking, stroking.
It goes on and on and he's twitching, trembling in Gabriel's grip, and there's nothing at all in the world for long, endless minutes except this, Gabriel's touch, tongue and now, God, finger in him, slick and full and –
Sam writhes, helpless, as Gabriel finds and massages his prostate; he yells to the night sky and digs his head back against the ground. "That's it, beautiful, that's it, let me hear you," Gabriel growls against Sam's thigh. He works in a second finger and then a third in rapid succession and Sam barely notices the burn of the stretch because there's a tongue on his balls again and pleasure flooding him from every touch of those fingers inside. Sam's babbling now, he knows dimly; the dam's broken and he's begging but he doesn’t care, because it's Gabriel.
Sam looks down at the angel between his legs, the one who's fingering him and kissing the base of his cock and holding Sam across his thighs in a rather impossible position by eerie strength alone. He unclenches his fingers from the blanket to wind them into Gabriel's tangled hair, and pulls. "Now," he manages, barely. "Please, now."
Gabriel looks up at him, eyes glowing. And for once, he does exactly as Sam asks.
Sam cries out – softly, because that's all the air he can manage – as Gabriel's mouth comes down on him, perfect wet suction and Sam's helpless with it, his body's motions now beyond his control, dancing to Gabriel's pipe. Up and up he's dragged, sobbing with pleasure, caught between the fingers in him and the mouth on him until Gabriel shoves him right up to the cliff's edge and over and Sam's world comes apart.
Reality comes back to Sam in a slow wave, the feel of cloth beneath his back and cool breeze against his skin, the too-warm body against his chest, and kisses pressed across his face, his cheek, his throat, his collarbone. "Sam. Sam." Sam pries his eyes open. Gabriel is braced above him, fierce and wanting. "Sam."
"Yes," Sam says, still languid, and then his breath punches out as Gabriel shifts and thrusts himself home.
Sam's too well stretched and far too relaxed for anything to hurt, but he's full, and pleasure tingles lazily up his spine as Gabriel moves in him, hard and fast. He looks up at the archangel and then he sees them – the immense shadows, blocking out the stars.
Gabriel's wings shimmer into existence as a vast black canopy, outlined in faint gold and glimmering with starlight as if somehow lit from within. Sam stares, breath stopped in his chest with the unreal beauty of them, glowing faintly in the night. Gabriel is glowing, wings and hair and eyes against the velvet sky, and when he tosses his head back, slams into Sam a final time and freezes, teeth bared, he's the most amazing thing Sam's ever seen.
Light flares, unexpected and violent, for no more than a split-second, a camera-flash. Then Gabriel folds down onto Sam with a groan, heavier than somebody that size should be, burying his face against Sam's throat. Sam wraps arms around him, blinking against the afterimages.
Tremors run beneath Gabriel's skin and Sam just holds him, stroking, turning lips against damp chestnut hair. Wings and angelic glow have both faded, giving way to the fainter celestial one miles above them, but Sam's never been more aware that the entity lying in his arms is far from the man he appears to be.
"Sorry," Gabriel whispers, almost too low to hear, and Sam stills, because a lot has happened – to them and between them – but Gabriel's never said that to him before.
"Hey, you're providing the expensive sunglasses I'm gonna need," Sam murmurs, teasing.
Gabriel relaxes. "I suppose. Although really, you should be buying me stuff for the privilege for having sex with my very awesome self."
Sam smacks him on the ass, laughing, because really, that's the only thing to do.