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Title: The One With Wings
Author: [livejournal.com profile] mistalagan
Rating: NC-17
Characters and/or Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, implied pre-Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Through 5x08.
Warnings: Wings. Astral mites. Unabashed PWP.
Word Count: 3030
Notes/Prompts: Written for the Gabriel Kink meme: Gabriel's wings are in an awful state after years upon years of neglect. Sam offers to groom them. Sex happens. Bonus points for someone being opened up using Gabriel's wing oil.

I wanted to write something fluffy. And with wings, because I never quite saw how that worked. It's all rather cliche, but it was fun to write.

The One With Wings

Gabriel returns to the motel room with three dead birds that had never seen the light of day, six pounds of rectified tulip petals, a collection of blue lizard tongues, and four black opals. He lands with a flourish of wings, ready to accept the Winchesters' gratitude for obtaining their ingredients (they'll get around to thanking him someday, he's sure), and stops with a frown when he realizes no one's there.

Gone out, reads a note on the bedside table, be back in a few hours. Sam, Dean, Cas.

Well, isn't that just typical.

Gabriel sets the pile of things down by the TV and flops on the nearest bed with a huff. He could go track them down, of course, but Sam always gets bitchy when he appears in the middle of an interview - it's not like he can't wipe their memories! - or tries to make out with him in the library or does anything at all interesting. Especially if it involves passing judgement on a human.

Granted, the last time he'd done that in a town where they were working a case, the guy had turned out to be a key informer on the ghost's history. Who thereafter refused to talk to them. Or anyone else over five foot three.

So, instead, Gabriel gets to hang out in their latest crappy motel, just in case one of them gets into trouble (all too likely) and needs him in the general vicinity to pull their asses out of the fire. He lets out a put-upon sigh, and flicks on the television with a snap.

It's midday. Nothing's on, not even on the channels that shouldn't technically be accessible here. He flips through them at a rate of about five a second.

That's when the itch starts. It's mostly metaphysical, given that his wings aren't really on the material plane, but it's damn annoying either way. And nearly impossible to scratch.

He twists around for a while as it gets worse, and, glaring at the door and the imagined trio behind it (who probably caused this somehow), eventually gives up, strips off his shirt, and manifests his wings.

He knocks over the bedside lamp, curses, and snaps it back together again.

He hasn't really gotten a good look at his wings for - quite some time, and he makes a face when he sees them. They're all scruffy and disheveled, dusted here and there with bits of ethereal matter. It's no wonder they itch, either, because they're dry as a duck's worst nightmare and - hell - have astral mites crawling around the undersides.

He kills the mites with a thought, imagining them burning in tiny wisps of agony. Serves the little fuckers right. He shakes his wings irritably, swearing again when they bump into the wall. Since when was his wingspan too large to fit somewhere?

Since he started hanging out with the Winchesters in their tiny, tiny rooms, of course.

He reaches around to scratch his right wing until the itch begins to subside. Of course, it starts up again in a different place, and soon he's writhing around trying to reach the various spots that have spontaneously decided to start tormenting him. By the time he's relatively itch-free, the room is covered with feathers, and the smell of the dead birds and lizard tongues is overlaid with a heavy layer of ozone. Gabriel's sitting awkwardly between the two beds.

Well, he's got this far. He might as well attempt to groom them.

It doesn't work very well. Angels don't generally groom their own wings - for many, they're just too big and unwieldy. Gabriel is no exception. He gets about as far as the first few secondaries before his pathetic arm span reaches its limit, and gives up trying to curl his wings around closer when they cramp up terribly.

He snaps up a girl, then thinks better of it and sends her away again. The constructs never quite feel corporeal enough, anyway, and they tend to send cold shivers down his spine when they groom him.

Maybe Castiel can help. If he ever takes his large, pitiful eyes off of Dean, that is. Gabriel's not betting on it. Hell. He glares at his own wings. They're ugly is what they are, grubby and beat up and nowhere near the glory that they're supposed to be.

The doorknob turns with a small click, and Gabriel scrambles to stand, banging one wing painfully against a headboard and sending the lamp flying - again! - with the other.

It's Sam, coffee in one hand and computer bag in the other, who takes one step in and stops abruptly.

"Whoa," he says, staring. "Uh."

Gabriel, though he will deny it later, flushes red. He snaps the lamp back together. Again.

Sam sets his coffee down, drops his computer, and holds out a tentative hand. "Can I - can I - touch?"

He misinterprets Gabriel's look of surprise, drops his hand, and mutters, "Sorry. I mean - I didn't mean to - "

Gabriel snorts. "Have at it."

Sam looks up. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Don't really see why you'd want to - "

Sam's across the room in half a second. "Are you kidding?" He trails one hand down Gabriel's coverts, lightly pressing against the delicate bone beneath, and strokes further across. Gabriel shivers. "Dude, you have wings. This is awesome."

"…I'm an angel," Gabriel points out, "it's sort of part of the package."

"Well, yeah, but I've never actually seen angel wings. You guys all just look human with an extra side of dickishness." He's moved on down to the longer feathers, smoothing them out one by one. "They're so - pretty."

You're such a girl, Dean would say, but he's not here right now. Gabriel just looks at him with an eyebrow raised and his mouth half-open.

"They're covered in ectoplasmic debris and had mites all over them forty-five minutes ago," he says, "they're not exactly winning any beauty pageants here."

Sam shrugs. "Still pretty." He pauses. "Do you guys, like, groom them or something?"

"I'm not a bird, Winchester."

"Okay, okay - "

" - but yes. Technically. It helps."

"Oh. How do you reach the ends?"

"We don't. We get other people to do it for us."

"…Oh. So do you and Cas…?"

Gabriel snorts. "Not so much."

"…Can I?"

"What, really?"

Sam gives him a look. "Yeah!"

"It's kind of a chore…"

"Well, I don't need any, I dunno, angel powers, do I?"

"…You need fingers. That's about it."

Sam grins. "So, I mean - " his face falls. "This isn't - too much, is it? I mean. I don't want to push anything…"

You've spent the last month not pushing, Gabriel wants to say, when the worst thing I've done for twenty-nine days is a little kissing and groping in your brother's car I get sexually frustrated, you know? I mean, who does a guy have to blow around here to get to blow you?

He doesn't actually say it, of course. He just thinks it emphatically. "Sammy, I am not going to protest if you decide you want to spend your time cleaning my wings."

The look on Sam's face is considerably more ecstatic than, Gabriel thinks, it by all right should be. "So how do I do it? Properly?"

"Eh, just keep doing what you're doing for now. Works just as well."

Gabriel watches as Sam combs carefully through his feathers, weaving his warm, rough fingers gently down the length of his wings. It feels nice, calm, safe. If he were a cat he'd be purring, and as it is he's lost in a haze of warm fuzzy contentment. His breathing slows, in counterpoint with Sam's, and his eyes slip closed as Sam finishes one side and moves to the next. He'd forgotten how good it feels.

Sam reaches the end of his left wing, stroking his primaries reverently, and Gabriel peeks one eye open. Sam meets his gaze. "Should I do the back?" he asks.

"Mmm," Gabriel replies, and tries to shift around so Sam can reach behind. He lets out a puff of frustration when he turns and nearly hits the partition wall, and folds his wings in awkwardly. "Sit," he orders, and Sam obediently lowers himself onto the edge of the bed while Gabriel shuffles to face him. Once there, he promptly kneels, laying his cheek along Sam's thigh and hiking his wings up for access. "There ya go."

Sam hesitates briefly before sinking his fingers back down. He brushes a hand down Gabriel's back, exploring the little downy feathers close to where the wings connected, and as he reaches a particular spot Gabriel lets out a long slow hiss. Sam stops. "Gabriel? I'm not hurting you?"

Gabriel laughs lightly, the vibrations traveling down Sam's leg. "Keep going. Spread it around the feathers."

"Spread - oh." Sam peers down at his fingers, which are slightly slick. "Is this oil?" He reaches down and parts the feathers, pressing lightly down. More oil seeps out slowly, and Gabriel's heartbeat speeds up as he nuzzles Sam's hip.

"Yeah," he breathes, "it is."

"Like a - "

"If you say like a duck, Sammy, I swear I'll - "

"No! I mean, you don't really need waterproofing, do you?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. At least Sam hasn't stopped grooming him, rubbing the oil on in straight, firm strokes. "No. I don't need waterproofing. It keeps the feathers in place, and prevents me from picking up parasites. They like angel wings. Lots of energy to feed on."

"Oh." Sam says it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Nerd.

"Hey, Sammy?"


"When are our brothers coming back?"

"…Um. Couple hours? There's this hedgewitch forty-five minutes north of here, sells charms and stuff, we thought she might have what we need."

"Good." Gabriel presses his chin against the front of Sam's jeans, and notes with satisfaction the slight hitch in his breath. Gabriel noses down to his button, and starts undoing it with his teeth as he snakes his arms up to hold Sam's hips down.

"Gabriel?" Sam asks shakily, stopping his ministrations.

Gabriel growls. "You wanna keep going?"

"…Yeah. Yeah," and he returns to press against the nubs, which secrete more oil as Gabriel lets out a little moan. Sam laughs breathily. "These are like, what, erogenous zones?"

Gabriel rests his forehead against Sam's belly. "Sam?"


"You talk too much."

He pulls Sam's zipper down, and reaches into his waistband to inch jeans and boxers together down his thighs. He shifts slightly to accommodate, looks down at Gabriel with lust-heavy eyes, and continues to massage Gabriel's wings as the angel dips his tongue along the crease of his hip and down, teasingly, near but not quite touching his cock. "I love it when they're proportional," he purrs, then licks down the length of it, drawing patterns along it and curling his lips around the head. Sam's hips buck up, and Gabriel doesn't stop them, taking in more and sucking gently.

"Oh," Sam whimpers, "G - Gabriel," except his words dissolve into a moan and he digs his fingers tightly into Gabriel's wings. Gabriel chuckles, and takes him in deeper, laving his tongue up and down the hard line of heat. Sam's eyes glaze, and he struggles to keep in control, letting little gasps and wordless pleas escape his lips. Gabriel pulls off, turns his head and gives Sam little licks from the base of his cock up, finally dipping the tip of his tongue in Sam's slit and sucking up the precome from it.

He stops rather abruptly, and Sam looks down with wide, dilated eyes. "Uh?" he manages to get out.



"You wanna fuck me?" Sam whimpers, and Gabriel grins. "I'll take that as a yes." He stands, presses Sam down onto the bed, and curls his wings around them both. It takes about fifteen seconds of struggling with the buttons of Sam's shirt before he gives up and snaps it away, along with the rest of their clothing, and Gabriel crawls up Sam's body to press their mouths together. Sam reciprocates eagerly, slipping his mouth open and letting Gabriel push his tongue inside as they rub against each other.

Sam gets impatient, and curls one arm around Gabriel's back, flipping them over so Sam's on top. He starts to kiss his way down Gabriel's body, one hand still pressing against Gabriel's back and wings, and Gabriel writhes and moans. He searches around with his hand, and is rewarded when he finds the glands once again and Gabriel tenses and spreads his legs apart with a high, keening sound. Sam smiles against Gabriel's chest, where he's tonguing at his nipple, and continues down along his stomach with a brief detour at his bellybutton. Gabriel paws at his head, tangles his fingers in Sam's hair, incoherent with want.

Sam kisses down Gabriel's cock, goes past his balls and reaches his hole. Gabriel opens his legs further and tilts his hips as Sam hikes his knees up, then pauses. "Shit," he says, and rolls away to the edge of the bed.

"Sam!" Gabriel snaps, "what?"

"…We need, y'know…"

"…I have no STDs, Sam, I'm an angel. If you have any, which you don't, my magical healing ass will cure you. We do not need condoms." Gabriel's raised his head and shoulders and is glaring.

"…Okay, no condoms, but we still need lube…" Sam starts to get up.

"If you get off this bed, Samuel Winchester, you're not getting any for at least another week."

Sam gives him his best puppy-dog face, then scowls suddenly. "You wouldn't do that to yourself. And it's kinda necessary."

Gabriel makes a frustrated sound. "I am a being of infinite patience. I am also a being that manufactures oil by way of a part of my anatomy you've been poking for the last half hour. If you're so worried about hurting me, Sam, use that."

Sam considers that. "…Huh. Okay." He leans back down along Gabriel's body, who kisses him with a relieved moan, and brings both hands up around his back. Gabriel stiffens as he stimulates the glands, throws his head back, grips Sam's shoulders hard enough to bruise.

"Right there, yeah, that's good, oh, fuck, Sammy…" Sam's hands come away covered in the oil, and he reaches down to probe against the rim of Gabriel's hole. Gabriel clutches the bed sheets and whimpers at him.

He slips one finger easily inside, then two, exploring. Gabriel gives a full body shudder when Sam hits his prostate. His mouth is hanging slightly open, and he's breathing heavily through it, watching Sam through wide-open, reverent eyes.

"Take me already," he demands, "come on…"

Sam laughs. "Infinite patience?"

"Infinite patience. Hurry up."

Sam takes his sweet time, despite Gabriel's protests, opening him up wider and occasionally crooking his fingers just so to set off another wave of moans. When three fingers move in and out with little resistance, he slips one hand down to jack himself a few times, coating himself with the remainder of the oil. "Beautiful," he whispers, then stops with both hands on Gabriel's thighs. "Turn over."

"Wha - mmph," Sam cuts Gabriel off with another kiss, and the angel rolls his eyes and turns as Sam avoids being walloped by the wings. The lamp is not so lucky, and Gabriel stares at it for a moment. "Dammit," he mutters, "why does that keep happening?"

"Clean it up later," Sam tells him, and positions himself behind Gabriel's perfect behind. He takes a minute to admire the view - the angel's on his hands and knees, head dangling down, covered in sweat and oil. And the wings - spread as wide as possible in the room, gleaming hazelnut barred with rich dark chocolate, trembling slightly with arousal and exertion.

Gabriel twists his head around. "Sam."


"You have three seconds."

Sam smirks, places his hands back on Gabriel's thighs, and pushes in slowly. It's like heaven - hot and slick and tight, clenching around him in a perfect fit. He bottoms out and stops, panting warm breaths across Gabriel's neck, and Gabriel looks up and kisses him briefly. "Move," he demands, so Sam moves, incredibly slowly and deliberately at first until his instinct gets the better of him and he speeds up in time to Gabriel's cries.

His movements get jerkier, faster, and he digs his hands into Gabriel's oil glands. The archangel keens, tightens around him, and comes, Sam hard on his heels.

They collapse together onto the bed, and stay there until their breathing slows. "Wow," Sam says.

"Mmm," Gabriel agrees.

"You have a wing kink," Sam notes.

"Hey, I'm the one with an anatomical reason for it. You're the one with the kink." He props his head up on one elbow. "Wanna do it again?"

Sam groans. "Dunno if you've heard of it, but humans have this thing called a refractory period…"

"I can fix that for you."

Sam blinks and grins. "Really?"


Dean grabs one of the paper bags from Castiel's lap and swings out of the Impala, fumbling for the key to the motel room. Castiel follows closely behind, then furrows his brow and grabs Dean's hand.

"You may not want to do that."

Dean blinks. "What? Why not?"

Castiel swallows. "…Your brother is currently - engaged."

"Enga - oh. Oh. Oh." Dean stares at the door, then backs away. "Um." He shrugs and grins. "Hey, I guess I should be proud. Finally got a chick to - "

"Chick?" Castiel interrupts.

"Yeah. Like, a girl."

"…Ah." Castiel pauses. "It is not a girl."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "…Shoulda known. Okay. That's - "

"It is not technically male, either."


"Sam is currently with Gabriel."


Castiel frowns. "You did not know? They have been courting for some time now."

"Courting." Dean looks at Castiel, looks at the door, looks at Castiel, as if he's trying to decide whether to barge in and strangle the archangel or not.


"…Fuck this, I'm getting another room."
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March 2012

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