Title: Aware That I’m Tearing You Asunder
Author: sin_stained_ink 
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Wing!kink.
Word Count:  1,300
Summary: He hadn’t expected Gabriel’s answer to turn into show-and-tell.
Masterlist is here.
Notes: I should be working on my Gabriel_bigbang, but this was just too tempting and I have no will. I think this is the fic I’ve felt is closest to what I usually write, style-wise, which makes me weirdly happy. Title is adapted from a line from Placebo’s ‘Running Up That Hill.’

For savorvrymoment . Happy early Christmas!

The motel’s even worse than most of the places they’ve stayed in before. The layout’s more like a maze- or a sewer- than somewhere people are supposed to live, the only decent sized window facing an alley. It manages to avoid thin walls between the rooms, but you can hear everything that’s happening outside.

Gabriel’s leaning across the table in front of the window, fingers hooked around the edges of the table, his shirt pushed up to expose the pale expanse of his back. He shifts uncertainly, as if not quite sure how he got himself into this. Sam can relate.

This is nuts, Sam knows. Dean and Cas are right next door and could burst in any second; a demon could come through the door or one of the windows or through a vent. Sam can hear a couple having sex in the alley who could move along and end up looking right in. Gabriel fidgets, glancing over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow.

“Are you going to stand there all night? Or maybe you’ve chickened out.” He starts to straighten up, but Sam leans forward until he can touch his shoulder.

“Stay still,” he says, brushing his fingers across his skin and trying to work out how to do this. Sam had been joking when he’d asked about Gabriel’s wings, mainly because Dean and Cas had been eye-fucking each other across the table. He hadn’t expected Gabriel’s answer to turn into show-and-tell.

Gabriel looks back again, hisses, “Hurry up,” like this is going to break him if he has to wait any longer. Maybe it will.

It takes a minute, but he manages to get into a position that doesn’t threaten to break his bones or Gabriel’s back, one foot on the ground, one knee on the only chair that doesn’t look like it’s going to collapse.

Sam presses his fingers against skin that’s too hot to be human and feels the twitch of muscles that don’t feel like they’re really there, that don’t belong and somehow do. Gabriel shivers, dropping his head until it’s pressed against the wood, his eyes closed, breathing stuttery and choked. The air around them changes, shifting around something Sam can’t see. He presses harder, moving closer until his breath the hair at the base of Gabriel’s neck.

“Sam,” Gabriel whispers, rolling his shoulders, gripping the table tighter.

The flash of light only lasts for a second, the same second Gabriel lets out a sound that could be a gasp or a sob, and Sam can’t tell the difference (maybe there isn’t a difference anymore.)

The wings unfurl soundlessly, forcing Sam’s hands away from Gabriel’s back as they appear from somewhere Sam can’t even imagine.
Maybe Gabriel keeps them tucked away inside his vessel, but Sam just can’t picture that- not when the wings extend until they press up against the walls on either side of the room. They’re look like they’re made of water, but they’re too solid, and they’re too fluidic to be anything else.

“Stop thinking about it,” Gabriel says, breathless and strained. You can’t handle it, is unspoken but there. It stings more than the strange energy radiating from Gabriel. “Humans aren’t supposed to see them.”

Then why are you showing me? is on the tip of his tongue, but Sam bites it back, tentatively reaching out to touch one of the wings and he’s almost touching it when Gabriel speaks again.

“You asked.” Barely audible, but it sounds like an admission that Gabriel doesn’t want to make. Sam stops with fingers less than an inch from the wing. Gabriel presses back until Sam’s fingers sink into the- they don’t feel like feathers.

They don’t feel like feathers, but they almost look like them. They don’t feel like anything Sam’s touched in his life. It’s like touching pure energy, like having his first vision, like the first time he ever exorcised someone. It’s more powerful than anything else he’s ever touched and he wants it to be his, wants to hold on to this- grace, maybe, maybe it’s pure grace and it’s terrifying and beautiful and he’s touching it.

“Stop thinking,” Gabriel grouses. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Sam curls his fingers into the wing, the energy thrumming across his skin, and smiles when Gabriel gasps. The wings lift a few inches, letting Sam’s fingers slide deeper, drawing a trembling breath from Gabriel, a moan that sounds like it could be his name. Sam pushes harder; Gabriel makes a guttural sound that can’t be mistaken for anything but a moan.

“Sam,” he hisses, letting go of the table to brace himself on its surface, leaving handprints on the wood. “Sam,” like a plea and a curse all rolled into one little word. Pressing back like he doesn’t want to lose the contact, Gabriel says, “You shouldn’t be doing that,” with the hint of a laugh and a threat under it. Not ‘stop’, not ‘you can’t do that’. He shouldn’t be doing that, but they all have a reputation for doing what they shouldn’t.

So he doesn’t stop. He brings his other hand up to stroke across the other wing, to push through the not-quite-real appendage until he can touch the hot skin on other side. Heat and skin and not-quite-there, not-quite-real and, oh, this is going to burn him up, Sam’s willing to bet. The spike of arousal that accompanies Gabriel’s groan goes straight to his cock and he curls himself against Gabriel’s back until he can get something more than the tight press of his jeans.

“This is a bad idea,” Sam whispers, because it is, but, honestly, he’s past caring. Gabriel says something in a language Sam doesn’t understand when Sam presses the hand that isn’t touching his bag deeper into the wing; there’s something under the words that almost makes him wince, something that he thinks could be part of Gabriel’s true voice. He rocks forward as Gabriel reaches down to unbutton and unzip his jeans, and they end up sprawled across the table.

The wings look like what they are: unearthly, too good for this rundown motel room. The neon sign across the alley paints them red or blue with every occasional flicker, but the wings have their own light and it makes Sam want to shrink back and press closer simultaneously.

“Stop. Thinking,” Gabriel grits out before his back arches in response to another press of his fingers against the more-than-liquid, less-than-solid ridge that Sam thinks is muscle.

Gabriel whines, the echo of his true voice lurking just beneath the sound, and the room flashes white for the second time. Everything feels a dozen times stronger in that instant and Sam gasps, eyes closed, pushing forward against Gabriel as he comes.




When the light fades, it goes slowly this time, as if it’s being drawn back into Gabriel.

“Well that was unexpected,” Gabriel laughs quietly, squirming beneath him until he manages to roll- well, wriggle- on to his back, nudging Sam off him and back towards the bed. Sam lets him, too stunned to refuse. He’s suddenly exhausted, sticky and sensitive from an orgasm he can hardly remember but definitely had and felt.

“What was...,” he begins before he gives up and slumps back onto the bed. He watches Gabriel pull his shirt down. They should talk about this, or Sam should at least say something. Thanks for the orgasm. That was weird. That was hot. And now he sounds like his brother.

Gabriel looks at him. “Can you stop thinking until tomorrow morning? Please?”

In lieu of a reply, Sam grabs him and pulls him down, kissing him.

It’s a little weird that he’s just had what’s probably the angel equivalent of sex with him and this is the first time they’re kissing.

Gabriel sighs.