vlbuehle

Title: The Trouble With Rituals

Author:

vlbuehle

Fandom: SPN

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Gabriel/girl!Sam

Word Count: ~3,300

Disclaimer: So completely, totally not mine.

Summary: From the Gabriel Kink Meme: Gabriel/girl!Sam, ritual impregnation.

A/N: Anon, this probably isn't what you had in mind, but I hope you like it!

There are days Sam wonders how the fuck she gets into these situations. Then there are days like today, when she wonders—with no little despair—exactly Who she pissed off in a previous life to deserve this shit. It’s apparently not enough that she’s descended from Cain and Abel, or that her big brother is Michael’s One True Vessel. It’s not enough that she let herself get seduced into sucking down demon blood, using freaky powers that are better left alone, or then using aforementioned powers to inadvertently release the Final Seal, thereby unleashing the Apocalypse. It’s not even enough that she might well be Lucifer’s One True Vessel—there’s apparently some confusion on that front, because she’s lacking balls and a dick, and angels tend to be pretty literal bastards when it comes to these things. Apparently Zachariah’s prophecies suggest the Vessels are the bloodline of Cain and Abel, but they also strongly imply male Vessels.

No, it’s not enough to make up for whatever Godawful thing she must’ve done, because instead of sitting in a crummy but cheap motel trying to find a way to halt the Apocalypse and ignoring Dean and Cas next door, she’s tied down to what definitely looks like an alter.

Sam swallows down the fear, wondering if Dean’s even realized she’s gone yet and wishing she hadn’t decided to make that coffee run. But she didn’t want to sleep, not with the nightmares, or the memories. And she really, really didn’t feel up to one of those dreams, the one where she wakes moaning, body shivering with the aftershocks of orgasm and a familiar, lazy smirk hazing her vision. Listening to Cas and Dean get it on through the thin motel walls wasn’t helping matters either, especially with the flare of ugly jealousy because Dean got his angel and, please God, will have the happy ending he deserves. She won’t be that lucky and Sam knows it; she doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve anything but Lucifer crooning in her nightmares and the dreams that leave her physically sated and emotionally shattered. So making a coffee run to stock up seemed like a better idea and besides, she’d planned to take her time, figuring Dean would be done by the time she got back.

She’s really, really regretting that now.

They took her by surprise, at least five of them swarming at her from the side of the café, just out of the bright pool of light spilling from the windows. She fought back, of course, and she’s pretty damn sure she at least did major damage to a couple of them judging from the noises they made when she connected, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She was outnumbered, and it didn’t take them long to take her out; the last thing she remembers is the burst of pain at the side of her head and the vague sensation of falling.

Panicking won’t help and she knows it, so she lifts her head and wishes she hadn’t as her skull throbs in complaint. Concussion, then, but it’s not enough to kill her or she’d never have woken at all. She feels strangely disconnected and disoriented, but that’s probably the concussion talking. She can still function, so she rolls her head to the side, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. Definitely an alter, and she’s as naked as she feared. A lot of aches from the fight, but there’s a definite lack of pain between her thighs, so either they’re not planning on rape or they’re still working up to it. She’s been chained down spread-eagled, arms above her head and she twists against the shackles for a moment before she gives it up and twists her head enough to follow the nearest chain down to the metal stake someone put into the floor. There’s no way she’s getting out of this without help; whoever did this knows what they’re doing, and that’s not a good sign either.

All right, she’s not getting loose on her own. Sam leans her head back and tries to think. The next question is who’s behind this? Probably not demons; even if they take “consent” as loosely as angels do, they still need to her to say yes and this? This is not the way to do it. Besides, there’s a definite feel of ritual going on here, and demons as a whole aren’t very into ritual unless it suits their purpose. She frowns, hazy memories stirring sluggishly to life—the men who’d grabbed her had known her. They called her Winchester, they called her demon whore and bloodsucking freak, and they’d snarled about how unfit she was to call herself a hunter. There was personal offense there, which suggests they’re hunters themselves. Her frown deepens, because it’s definitely not out of the question, not after what happened during her brief separation from Dean. And it’d take hunters to take her down in a fight, even though she was outnumbered.

But…she bits her lip, using the pain to clear her head a bit more. Something’s still off. This setup screams of ritual, and established ritual at that. Hunters don’t tend to be this…organized. Not to say they’re sloppy because a sloppy hunter is a dead hunter in short order, but still, elaborate setups aren’t the usual style and this is definitely elaborate. She studies the room this time, noting the sigils etched into the smooth stone floor and walls. The lines drawn on the floor tease at her subconscious, but she can’t see the whole pattern. Looks like the alter is at the precise center of the room and therefore the pattern.

Witches.

Hunters teaming up with witches? The hell? She hears voices and slams her eyes shut, hoping to get something, anything she can use to get the fuck out of this mess.

“—agreed then.” It’s a male voice, deep and decidedly unhappy. “You do your ritual, I fuck the bitch, and her get is ours.”

“Yes, yes.” There’s a hint of exotic accent and Sam’s half-tempted to crack her eyes and take a peek, even as her mind races to slot everything into place. “You get the boy-child, demon, Lucifer’s Vessel. The Daughter of Abel is ours do with as we please.”

Oh, fuck. Okay, their logic is convoluted as all hell, but if she’s right, the basic plan is to rape her as part of a fertility ritual, impregnating her with a son, and then hand over the kid to serve as Lucifer’s Vessel, thereby getting around the sticky issue of Sam being a woman. From the sound of it, the leader of the gang who took her down is being possessed, and yeah, it’d fit with a demon’s twisted sense of humor to use hunters to take her down for a ritual meant to give Lucifer a male Vessel of his very own. Demons can probably do the same time-twisting angels can—and if they can’t, Zachariah might be willing to do it for them—so they wouldn’t even have to wait for their new Vessel to grow up. And boom, the Apocalypse is back on track. Dean’ll say yes, particularly if he doesn’t have to worry about killing his baby sister—he’ll say yes as soon as he finds out a demon raped her and she knows it—and goodbye world.

No. Nonononono. They’re not doing this. She’s not going to let them do this. There’s a way out, there’s always a way out, there has to be. Because this is not going to happen.

“She’s awake.”

Her eyes snap open to glare at the demon standing over her, wearing the body of a burly male in his forties, just starting to go to fat. The witch comes up beside him, dark eyes dispassionate as she studies Sam for a moment before she nods shortly.

“Good. I’ll summon the coven and we’ll begin.”

After that it turns into a blur of fear and pain and grim determination, because she’s already damned but she’s a Winchester and she’s not going to let them win this one. She fights, even though she knows it won’t help. She twists desperately against the chains, battles the shackles until the blood oozes down her wrists and still it doesn’t work. Power grows and builds, the air crackling with it as Sam finally sags, exhausted and despairing. Her gaze locks on the smirking demon, cock jutting out proudly as he looks her up and down, eyes pure black. She’s lost and they both know it; it’s a matter of moments before it’s his time to rape her. The ritual can’t be stopped now.

She’s Samantha Winchester and she doesn’t give up, but she’s also exhausted, at the end of her rope, and she doesn’t have anything left to fight with. She closes her eyes, shutting out the sight of him as if it’ll change what’s about to happen to her, and lets her mind go elsewhere, to chestnut hair, that lazily infuriating smirk as he watched them.

Gabriel, her mind whispers in mingled despair and longing. Gabriel!

And for once, she’s answered. There’s a rush of wings, a reassuring sound after over a year of Cas showing up to haul their asses out of trouble at the last minute and Gabriel’s standing there in worn jeans and a sweater. His smirk vanishes as his gaze locks on her, and for a long moment he simply stares at her, taking in the bruises, the blood streaking down her arms and the blatant position they’ve put her in. His eyes change, hazel turning to gold as white-hot light blossoms in the pinprick of his pupil. Her breath catches as he lifts his gaze slowly to the sneering demon, then to the now-silent coven behind it.

“It’s all right, kiddo.” His voice is quieter and deadlier than she’s ever heard him, even in Willington when Dean pricked his temper and the barest hint of his power rode his voice. But there’s gentleness too, and she feels safe for the first time in hours. “I won’t let them touch you again.”

The demon laughs, stance shifting as he plants one hand on his hip, arrogant and triumphant. “You think one measly guardian can stop me, angel? I’ll burn you out and have my fill of her in your ashes.”

Sam shudders, and Gabriel glances down at her, burning gaze softening again. “It’s all right,” he repeats too quietly. “Close your eyes, Sammy. Don’t look until I say you can.” He looks up again, smile cold and hard and vengeful. “I’m no guardian. I’m Gabriel.”

She slams her eyes shut just in time. The world explodes into white energy, power and glory and so pure tears seep from under closed lids. The coven’s screams are cut short, but the demon howls in agony that goes on for long moments before it too is gone, and the light fades.

“Good girl,” Gabriel praises softly. “Open your eyes, Sammy.”

She does as she’s bidden. His power is gone again, grace tucked neatly back inside his unobtrusive form. Only a lingering smell of ozone and the scorch marks where the demon and witches stood mere seconds ago attest to the fact that he’s more than he seems.

But the power of the ritual doesn’t fade. It’s still hanging there, waiting for its terms to be met, and the grim set to Gabriel’s mouth tells her she’s not the only one picking it up. The words spill out in the flood of relief swamping her, a babble of explanation and apology blended together as she explains what happened, and why they’d taken her. If anything Gabriel looks even angrier as his fingers brush the shackles and they obediently fall to the floor.

“We have a problem, Sammy,” he says when the rush of her words fades. “This ritual’s come too far—I can’t stop it without taking out a good chunk of Detroit.”

“Figured,” she admits. His mouth thins as he runs light fingers over the side of her head, and the dull throb fades away at his touch. Part of her’s tempted to leave it at a fuck-or-let-thousands-die scenario, but… “Would now be a good time to tell you I’ve been wanting to fuck you for months?”

His eyes go hot and hungry, his smile slow and lazy, and she feels utterly justified in the sweet burn of lust twisting in her gut, the wet heat gathering between her legs.

“Now,” he purrs as their eyes lock, “would be a very good time.” A snap of his fingers and suddenly he’s stretched out atop her, skin inhumanly hot against hers and God does it feel good. The touch of his skin to hers is all the ritual’s waiting for, and the magic crashes over them both. Her world narrows to him, to the long fingers sliding into her, the soft, wet noises her body makes as he opens her. She cries out, arching under him as his tongue finds her breasts as his finger rubs lightly over her clit, sending pleasure rocketing through her as her body tightens and tenses. He laughs, nipping his way down her torso, pausing to lave her bellybutton before he moves lower, arms hooking under her thighs to spread her wider. She groans, eyes squeezing shut and fingers scrabbling against the unyielding alter when his mouth finds her, agile tongue dancing over her clit as his fingers twist, widening her soaked entrance. She comes under his mouth, clenching on his fingers, and he just keeps going, pushing her into a second orgasm before the aftershocks of the first have entirely died.

He doesn’t relent until she’s writhing and begging incoherently under him, and God, how had the benefits of a lover who doesn’t breathe escaped her fantasies before now? But finally he takes pity on her. There’s one moment of utterly inhuman heat pressing against her and then he’s pressing in, one long, slow thrust that makes her scream as her body stretches to accommodate him. He’s huge, Sam thinks dazedly when he’s finally buried to the hilt inside her. Her dreams had nothing on the reality of him. Her cunt ripples around him, tight muscles gradually relaxing to accommodate the reality of him and her breath catches. Gabriel groans, head dropping slightly before he locks her gaze into his and starts to thrust, a slow and steady rhythm that’s going to drive her insane very quickly. Just the way she likes it, actually. In fact, he’s hitting just about every button she has, and quite a few she didn’t know she had, and a vague idea floats at the corner of her mind, something about tricky angels and dreams that aren’t dreams. And then he starts to talk and it vanishes again.

“Sweet girl,” he pants. “Mine, now, Sammy, all mine. Wanted you the second I saw you, knew you’d be mine someday.” He shoves deep and rotates, and she howls as he hits something that makes her vision black out with the sheer pleasure of it. “Can’t wait to see you swollen with my child. That’s it. That’s my sweet girl. You’re going to come on just my cock, aren’t you? C’mon, baby. Come.”

There’s a hint of power threading through his voice and it shoves her straight over the edge into the strongest orgasm yet. She thinks she hears herself screaming, high and wavering as she clenches on the thick shaft filling her over and over. Gabriel keeps thrusting, and it pushes her higher and farther, drawing her orgasm out longer than she’d thought possible. She’s dazed and breathless, still quivering with aftershocks as she drifts back to reality to find that he’s still hard inside her, still shoving deep and steady into her throbbing body.

She’ll never admit to the whimper that escapes her mouth then, but seriously, he’s worse than the goddamn Energizer bunny and she doesn’t think she can take much more of this. He might be an Archangel of the Lord but she’s a pitiful human who’s come more often in the last however-long-it’s-been than she has in the past friggin’ year. Gabriel laughs hoarsely, eyes a warm, bright gold. Sam huffs briefly, then whimpers again as he hits that sweet spot in response—sneaky, mind-reading angels.

“Damn right,” he mutters, and yes, he’s finally speeding up. Heat is building in her gut yet again and she digs her nails into his shoulders in mingled disbelief and hunger. “You’ve made me work for you, Sammy. Spent months seducing you and you didn’t even notice. Fuck, even Cas was starting to feel sorry for me.”

He—wait—what?

The questions are shoved to the back of her mind as he drops his head and sets his teeth in her neck, finding that perfect spot that lights her up every time. Sam screams something incoherent and garbled involving “Gabriel” and “oh, God,” and “PLEASE!”

“You’re mine,” he snarls and she nods.

“Yours. Always yours, Gabriel.”

That’s apparently what he’s been waiting for, because his hips stutter. One hand clamps across her eyes as the other snakes between them to press against her belly. She comes again on his barked command and this time he comes with her, a series of short, deep thrusts that end with a gush of wet heat deep inside her, his power flaring hot around her as heat scorches across her belly and for a moment she’s encased in glory with the faintest hint of feathers dancing along her skin. The magic of the ritual crashes down and into them both, and she’s lost.

Then the world reforms and she’s shuddering in the aftermath, body racked by aftershocks. Gabriel is laying atop her, weight caught on his elbows, just watching her.

Sam could fall asleep very easily right now. Her body is warm and languid, she knows Gabriel would never let anything happen to her, and she’s exhausted. But she finds a smile curving her lips as a blush rises.

“Hey,” she manages, voice a raw croak, and his smile deepens.

“Hey yourself.” He eases out of her, and she hisses—he’s gentle, but she’s so swollen and painfully sensitive right now. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his gaze riveted to her stomach with a look of utterly male possessiveness. Sam lifts her head to follow his gaze, and blinks at the handprint seared into her skin. She should perhaps be offended that he’s marked her his as surely as Castiel has Dean, but instead it soothes the small, nagging voice insisting she’s not good enough for this, for him. He’s claimed her and every scrap of research she’s found makes it clear that once an angel claims you, it’s permanent.

He wasn’t kidding when he said she was his now.

They’ll have to talk at some point, sooner than not. About marks, claims, his apparent tendency to take over her dreams, and the baby growing in her womb. But the important stuff, that’s already been taken care of. Because she wasn’t kidding either when she said she was his forever.

“Bed,” she decrees and he grins now, helpfully pulling her up and then simply tugging her into his arms as he stands. Sam buries her face in his shoulder, eyes already drifting shut as she inhales the familiar scent of him, and he snaps his fingers once. She’s lowered into the most sinfully luxurious mattress she’s ever felt and she promptly snuggles into the pillow with a wordless noise of approval. Gabriel snorts and snaps his fingers again before he slides in behind her. She rallies one last time—Dean’ll be frantic if he wakes to find her gone—“Dean?”

“Cas knows I’ve got you.”

He hauls her in against him, one hand settling over his mark again. Sam gives into to the exhaustion and tumbles gratefully into sleep, her archangel wrapped firmly around her.

One last thought, though, and she forces her eyes open briefly.

“Dude, you fuck me in my dreams tonight and I’ll castrate you.”

And she falls asleep to his laughter.

FINIS