Be Careful What You Wish For, Sam/Gabriel

[vlbuehle]

Title: Be Careful What You Wish For

Author: vlbuehle 

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, implied Dean/Castiel

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Most definitely not mine, despite my own wishes.

Summary: Loosely based off a prompt asking for Sam to accidentally wish Gabriel was his lover.

A/N:  Unbetaed, so concrit is appreciated.  And yes, the siren mythology is traditional rather than SPN canon; I could say this is because I didn't really like what they did with the sirens (which I didn't, so that's true enough.) That said, I completely forgot about "Sex and Violence."  Which goes to show how much I liked that episode, I suppose...

 

 

In retrospect, Sam feels completely comfortable blaming it entirely on Dean.

It should've been a simple enough hunt: people were vanishing, the occasional well-gnawed bone was turning up, and all of it focused around the small, nearly enclosed cove that leads directly into the Atlantic.  Simple enough to put it all together, really, especially once Sam starts hearing the rumors of eerie singing drifting out, luring people into the fog that were never seen again.  Mermaids, or maybe a siren--a good old-fashioned hunt that could be solved quickly enough with good old-fashioned consecrated iron bullets.  And it's a nice break from the damn demons and the Apocalypse, not to mention the gnawing need for blood Famine thoughtfully sparked back to life.

Still, this is them, so Sam doesn't take chances: he sends Dean off to get food, sends Cas after his brother to keep him away from aforementioned cove, and settles himself into the library with his laptop, maps, and a handful of properly musty tomes to confirm his theory.  Dean once compared Sam to a computer when it comes to research and even Bobby admits he's got a knack for piecing together bits of information scattered through a dozen sources into a coherent whole, so really it shouldn't be such a surprise when he realizes the problem a mermaid hunt presents from an old folk legend referenced in the mermaid Wikipedia entry.  Still, it's Wikipedia which isn't exactly renown for confirming entry accuracy--and he's hoping like hell it's wrong--so he cross-checks, curses, and calls Bobby to triple-check.  Bobby confirms, tells him and Dean to watch their idjit asses on this one, and to come by more often before he hangs up.

Fuck.  Sighing and muttering under his breath, Sam gathers his research up and stuffs the legal pad into his backpack, using it to cushion his laptop.  The books he sets on the cart to the pinch-mouthed librarian's glower at the reshelving now facing her, and he's done.  He ducks out the door, inhaling the cool air gratefully, although the hint of brine from the nearby sea sours his mood slightly.

Really, there's nothing to be done here, and while he's half-tempted to go check out the scene himself, Dean would find out and then kill him.  Wouldn't do any good anyway since none of the kids have gone missing during the day.  Besides, everything he's dug up only confirms that it's a siren or a mermaid--God, he hopes it's a damn siren--so he heads back to the motel.  The Impala's out front, her hood cool to the hand he brushes lightly over her, and Sam hesitates briefly before he sighs and trudges into the room.  Cas gives him a brief smile, and his hesitant smile back crumbles at the quick glance Dean slants up at him, and the hint of lingering distrust never far from his brother's eyes these days. 

"Hey, Sammy, what'd you find?" Dean asks, kicking the other chair so it rocks in mingled invitation and command.  Sam sinks into it, ignoring the bag sitting in front of it--Dean's not happy with him, so it'll be something greasy he really doesn't want to deal with right now.  He busies his hands by digging out his laptop and setting it aside, then drops his notes into the middle of the table for Dean to look over.

"Mermaid," he says tersely and rolls his eyes as Dean, predictably, lights up.

"As in hot chick with fish tail and big boobs barely covered by seashells?" 

Cas scowls and Sam rolls his eyes harder, briefly praying that his brother and his brother's angel get over it and do something before he loses it and gets himself smited by locking them into the nearest closet.  They're driving him nuts with the sexual tension dripping off every soulful stare and meaningful eye-fuck.  

"As in flesh-eating monster who lures her victims out by song," he clarifies, grimacing as Dean's eyes drop very pointedly to the bag sitting in front of him.  He peels it open and stares unhappily at the wrapped burger within, but he knows better than to argue when Dean's got that steady, unyielding look, so he unwraps it and begins to eat.  Trust issues aside, there are apparently some things too ingrained for Dean to ignore, and somehow feeding Sam comes under that list.

"Song, huh?"  Apparently Dean's satisfied because he's flipping through Sam's notes, green eyes narrowed and thoughtful as he reads the lore.  "Sirens?"

"God, I hope so," Sam mutters around a mouthful of cold beef, and an arched brow invites him to elaborate.  "Sirens lure their victims by song just like mermaids, but they don't have the ability to grant wishes.  Mermaids do, and they tend to use it."

Dean frowns briefly, gaze flickering to Cas and back so fast Sam would've missed it if he doesn't know his brother so very well.  "Wishes?"

He sounds leery, as well he might; wishes are never, ever good and they've learned that in a variety of painful ways over the years.  The wishing coin was only the latest in a long string of disasters, and it's not likely to be the last.

"As in the Staypuff marshmallow man," Sam clarifies glumly. Dean grimaces, but he hates mind-reading even more than he does wishes.  Unless it's Cas doing the mind-reading, in which case Sam maintains it's kinky foreplay that never fucking ends.

"A mermaid's wish magic should not be taken lightly," Cas admonishes from where he's parked on Dean's bed and Dean looks over at him even as he addresses Sam.

"Okay then.  When and where?"

"She's got a good feeding ground here," Sam says, wadding up the napkin and hoping against hope Dean's too distracted by eye-fucking his angel to notice over half his meal's still inside.  He shoves it quickly back into the bag and sets it under the table, covering the motion by leaning forward to ostentatiously reference his own notes.  "And so far she's been doing pretty good luring kids out."

"Nice juicy happy meals to go," Dean mutters grimly, and Sam agrees.  It fucking sucks when the vics are kids, and mermaids like their meals tender and stupid.  Teenagers are a pretty damn sure bet for her. So are the younger kids who’ve started to vanish.

"Yeah.  According to the locals, there's a decent cliff near this end of the cove.  Enough rocks for her perch, and probably where she’s nesting.  The cavern system around here tends to stay underwater even during low tide."

Dean nods shortly.  "So let's go waste the bitch."

Sam's hardly going to argue.  They check their guns over first, then load in the consecrated bullets.  His lips twitch as Cas murmurs over Dean's gun, then remembers to perform the same blessing over Sam's own.  Good, it can't hurt and an angel's blessing might well help.  They pile into the Impala for the short drive and the mermaid's damn easy to find, her voice already starting to drift out over the still water and the fog she's singing up, but the cotton they stuffed into their ears before leaving their room blocks out enough of her song that she doesn't affect them.  She's right where Sam figured she'd be, perched up on the rock the sea wore off the mainland millions of years ago.  She's as beautiful as Disney would have you believe, her tail shimmering blues and greens where it drapes languidly down to flick against the water, her body slim and her breasts lush, her face palely perfect as she sings in that gloriously unearthly voice. 

Sam hates the monsters that are so beautiful, because they kill innocence as surely as they do their prey.  Which makes this even more satisfying as he and Dean find good positions, close enough to cover each other, far enough that she'll have a bitch of a time nailing them both before they can take her out. She sees them just as they start to aim, and the inhuman beauty of her face splits into a snarl that reveals the pointed, bloodstained teeth as she realizes her song isn't affecting them.  But the magic swirls around her, her final defense aiming straight at them and Sam forces his mind blank--which is, of course, the precise moment Dean pipes in, voice loud enough to beat the earplugs.

"Don't think of anything, Sammy!"

God-fucking-dammit!

It's the goddamn Staypuff marshmallow man all over again--he was doing fine as long as Dean kept his mouth shut, but as soon as his brother opens his big mouth, Sam knows he's fucked and not in the good way.  Which, naturally, turns his mind down the all-too-predictable path, straight to chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and a mocking grin that really shouldn't be half as hot as it is.

Her song turns triumphant and Sam feels the magic take in the heartbeat before Dean's gun thunders and her croon turns into a wet, shredded gurgle as the iron burns through her.  Too little, too late; her magic has found its target and the spell's already wrapped firmly around Sam, so her death doesn't stop it.  At this point, nothing can stop it.

"Shit," Sam whispers in despair.  Still--maybe it didn't take, or maybe, just maybe, her magic's more like the djinn's.  Maybe the lore's wrong and it doesn't affect reality, it'll just fuck with his head.  He knows how to cope with that; Lucifer gives him plenty of practice these days.

"Not bad," Dean says with a wide grin as Sam pulls the cotton balls out and lets them fall.  His brother glances over and the grin vanishes, green eyes going hard in an instant.  Sam squeezes his eyes shut because Dean's looking right over his shoulder and there is absolutely no way this is going to end well.

"Heya, Sammy," a familiar voice drawls and he bites back the groan as he slowly turns to find Gabriel behind him, the archangel's hands shoved into the pockets of his brown leather jacket and wearing that lazy, infuriating smile Sam was envisioning moments ago--and his eyes are hot.  Very, very hot, and even as Sam stares at him, stricken dumb by the lean body displayed to devastating effect against the tree he's leaning against, his smile turns knowing.  Sam might've whimpered, but he's pretty sure he's drooling and who can blame him?

Then reality comes crashing in, courtesy of Dean's icy voice.  "What are you doing here?"  Sam gulps, lust momentarily quieted by the brief but intense panic that Gabriel's finally going to lose his temper and smite Dean into dust, but the archangel's smile doesn't waver and he doesn't even spare a brief glance at Dean.  Which, of course, is going to make this even worse because if there's anything Dean hates worse than being ignored, Sam doesn't know it.

He should move, he really should move.  And now would probably be a really good time to start groveling while he's at it, but he's frozen by the raw hunger in Gabriel's face, the kind of hunger he's only caught glimpses of when Cas' mask slips whenever Dean's doing something particularly provocative. 

"Gabriel," he manages, and it comes out somewhere between a squeak and a whimper.  

The smile warms as hazel eyes darken, and Gabriel pushes off the tree he's been leaning against to saunter over, gaze raking down Sam as he stops with inches separating them.  Sam is paralyzed between the lust and the horror pounding through him in equal measure as his brain alternately sputters to life and dies again.  This shouldn't be happening.  Gabriel is an archangel, there's no way a mermaid should have the power to ensnare him, but logic dies a quick and unmourned death when set against the hunger in those eyes.  There's no way Gabriel, who couldn't have made his contempt of Sam clearer than he did in Wellington, actually wants him.  No way at all, which means he's been affected by the mermaid's magic.  Maybe her death strengthened her spell?  Sam makes a mental note to ask Bobby, but his train of thought is derailed when long fingers wrap around his neck and pull him down into a devastatingly thorough kiss.  Dean squawks, and then there's the snap of fingers and sudden silence.

Another snap, and Sam's suddenly horizontal, sheets caressing his bare skin as the softest bed he's ever felt cradles him.  It's lost against the hot body pinning him down and the mouth ravaging his own until finally he's freed to suck in greedy gulps of air, his dazed eyes skating over the pale walls and widening at the glimpse of a very familiar tower out the window--Paris?  And are these sheets silk?  The hell? Nothing in the lore suggested a mermaid’s wish magic turning its victim into a raging romantic!

"Sammy," Gabriel growls and he forgets about the foreign country he's been popped into and the sheets that are probably worth more than all the legitimate money he's earned in his life.  Nothing matters but the being licking his way down Sam's throat and the hands holding his wrists down.

He should be stopping this, Sam remembers as Gabriel laves his throat possessively.  This is his fault, and there's no way the angel's going to be all that thrilled when the spell wears off, not to mention this is pretty much rape.  He really needs to say something, but the words vanish as he yelps when Gabriel catches a nipple between his teeth.

"Pay attention," he croons, power threading through his voice.  Sam's heard it once before, aimed at Dean in Wellington when his brother finally managed to dent the mask of amused indifference Gabriel wears so well, but this time it's gentler, softer, and Christ does it turn him on.  He contemplates fighting for a moment before common sense kicks in--he's pinned under a being that can turn him to dust with a snap of his fingers, there's no way he's going anywhere until Gabriel lets him.

Still, he has to try.  "Gabriel," he gasps.  "You have to stop."

Hazel eyes lift, power flashing in their depths.  "I don't have to do anything, kiddo.  Now hush."

He tries again.  "You don't understand.  It's a sp--mmph!"  Gabriel's mouth silences him very, very thoroughly, stealing away the words and his train of thought with them. 

"Don't make me gag you, Sammy," is the soft admonishment when he's released to suck in oxygen again because apparently, angels really don't need to breathe.  At all. 

His strangled whimper at the thought of a gag silencing him, leaving him entirely at Gabriel's mercy, probably doesn't help any more than the jerk of his cock against the other male's belly does.  Gabriel cocks a brow, lips curving in open speculation as he takes in Sam's reactions to the idea.

"You like that idea, huh?"  He smirks, and Sam wants to kiss it away.  "Later.  Promise."

Promises are good.  Promises are very good, Sam decides hazily  as a scorching mouth closes over the tip of his cock and slides down, enveloping him in wet heat.  He cries out as Gabriel sucks, shudders as the angel pulls back with a light graze of teeth over his most sensitive flesh, but his hands stay where Gabriel left them.  Deft fingers close over the base of his cock and he shudders again as his orgasm is stopped, but he doesn't try to fight, doesn't do anything but shiver and gasp.

"Good boy," Gabriel praises, sitting back on his heels between Sam's splayed legs.  His eyes rake over Sam's long, lean frame with open possession and his lips curve as he studies the whimpering mortal spread open before him.  There's nothing of the Trickster here; this is Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, vessel barely containing his glory.  And he wants Sam.  Hey, it might be thanks to a spell, but who says miracles don't happen?
 
Sam's eyes slam shut as he feels pressure at the small pucker of muscle between his legs, and he hisses as the finger glides in--Gabriel hasn't forbidden noises, just words.  It feels good, really, really good as Gabriel moves in and out slowly, mimicking what Sam damn well hopes his cock will be doing shortly.  Sam's done this before but not for a very long time, not since before he met Jess, and the second finger in burns enough to be noticed.  But the burn fades quickly and Gabriel's working him open with the surety of someone who knows precisely what he's doing, and really, Sam doesn't care at this point how long it's been.  It's going to hurt and he knows it--but that pain is going to add that sharp, sweet edge to his pleasure and he knows that too.  Gabriel reaches deeper, probing, and Sam screams, hips bucking wildly as his lover finds the right spot and pleasure bursts through him.

"That's it," Gabriel croons, and now there's three fingers stretching him wide, grazing his prostate just often enough to distract him from the worst of the achy burn that accompanies them.  Then the fingers are slowly, tantalizingly withdrawn and he yelps in protest at the emptiness, hips chasing after them until Gabriel laughs softly and hard, hot pressure snubs against his opened ass.  Sam's eyes snap open and he's caught in hazel, and the pinprick of light glowing in blown pupils.  He can't look away, even as he's split open until Gabriel's in him to the hilt.  It hurts, God does it hurt, but it's the good hurt and Gabriel doesn't move, doesn't relent even as Sam squirms under him until finally his body begins to adjust and the pain fades.  The burn lingers, but that's no surprise; Gabriel is huge inside him, and deeper than he'd thought possible.  Then Gabriel pulls back, slow and steady, only to drive back in, and Sam's eyes slam shut again as he loses himself in the pleasure.  The rhythm is hard, Gabriel's balls slapping against his ass with every thrust, and he hits Sam's prostate over and over until Sam's undulating back against him, breath torn from him in broken cries and not-quite-verbal pleas. 

The heat builds and builds, but it doesn't break and Sam twists and begs incoherently until finally Gabriel leans over him and breathes a single word against Sam's neck.

"Come."

That's all it takes, and he screams his throat raw as he comes over and over, ass clamping over the cock still shafting him, semen spilling hot and sticky over his belly.  Gabriel shoves deeper--how is that even possible?--hips nudging in short, deep thrusts Sam feels in his fucking throat until he stiffens, one hand clamping over Sam's eyes as his teeth sink deep into the spot where Sam's throat meets his shoulder, and impossibly Sam comes again on a low moan as a gush of wet heat bursts deep in his gut.  White light flashes, outlining the hand shielding him, and for a moment he feels the brush of wings and raw energy enveloping him as a voice chants his name in breathless triumph.

He should have questions, should have things to say, but he can't think, can't do more than lay in a limp, boneless puddle on the bed as Gabriel licks the throbbing bite he created before easing out, murmuring quietly as Sam makes a soft noise at the sudden emptiness and the sticky come sliding down his thighs.  A quiet snap and suddenly he's clean and on his side, a body tucking firmly around his back.  Gabriel's vessel is shorter than he is, but he feels incongruously small and content and very safe as arms wrap firmly around him and his head is tucked firmly under Gabriel's chin.

"Sleep," Gabriel whispers and a finger brushes across his forehead to enforce the command, tumbling Sam into quiet dreams for the first time in months.  One last word follows him down into the darkness, an utterly unyielding one that wipes the last trace of fear away.

"Mine."

****

Sam opens his eyes, squinting against the bright light streaming in the French doors—wait, what? His eyes slam shut in the futile hope that reality will magically reshape itself, but nothing’s changed when he gingerly cracks them open again. The sun is high in the sky, mid-morning if he’s any judge and yes, that is definitely the Eiffel Tower framed neatly against the blue sky. Shit. It wasn’t a dream.

To his own surprise, he’s not alone in the sinfully luxurious bed as he half-expected to be by now. Gabriel is still a raging furnace glued against his back, one arm still draping possessively over his chest and a leg tossed firmly over his. 

Sam freezes, not daring to move even as he does his best to huddle into himself, shame ripping through him. It’s been at least twelve hours; the mermaid’s power would’ve worn off long ago. Which means the Archangel is back to sanity and probably pretty damn pissed off too considering Sam essentially made him his personal fuck toy. The best he’d dared hope for was that Gabriel would be gone with the dawn, but it doesn’t really surprise him that he stuck around, not after what Sam did to him. God. He’s so going to get his ass smited and he knows it—he’ll even admit to earning it, really—but he forces the words out from his tight throat anyway because it’s the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely into the waiting quiet. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Gabriel stills behind him, warm breath gushing over his neck. “For what?” he asks levelly and with no sign of his typical levity. Sam flinches, because that can’t be good.

“I raped you,” he confesses painfully.

Gabriel snorts, the tension easing from his tense frame. “Kiddo, you really think one little mermaid can whammy me?”

Sam hadn’t, no, but then he’d found himself dealing with an Archangel who couldn’t get enough of him as his very sore ass attests. Of course the bitch affected Gabriel with her dying magic.

“Why else would you want me?”

He can’t help himself, can’t help the bitterness or the self-loathing that flavors his words. He knows what he is, what he made of himself with Ruby’s delighted assistance: he’s as much a monster as the creatures he hunts. He figures Dean knows it too; that’s why he called Sam back, to keep his brother under his watchful gaze.  Because nobody, Sam included, trusts him to keep saying no to Lucifer.

There’s a brief, deadly moment of silence before Gabriel moves, strong hands pressing Sam flat onto the bed as Gabriel settles comfortably atop him. He catches one look from intent hazel eyes before he squeezes his own shut against that too-knowing gaze, not daring to face whatever he’ll find in Gabriel’s timeless gaze. Unfortunately, Gabriel isn’t giving up so easily.

“Sam, look at me.”

He shakes his head firmly, eyes clamped very firmly shut, and Gabriel blows out a frustrated breath. A small part of Sam’s mind gibbers that pissing off an archangel is a really stupid idea, dammit, but the rest of him tells that sensible corner to shut the fuck up. Rationality has no place here. Besides, Gabriel isn’t giving up so easily.

“Samuel, open your eyes.”

It’s not quite the full glory of his Voice, which is just as well considering that would burst Sam’s ears and quite possibly rupture half the blood vessels in his brain. Still, it’s close enough that Sam reluctantly obeys. He braces himself for the disgust he expects—and finds himself lost. Gabriel’s eyes are the familiar warm hazel of the Trickster, but a spark of his grace glows in the pupils, and Sam’s breath catches at the sight as he’s reminded yet again who’s sharing this bed with him.

“Better,” Gabriel says levelly. “Why would I want you? For starters, you’re smart, compassionate, and even more stubborn than that brother of yours, but you’re not half as annoying. That why I’ve been helping, you know—because I’ve watched you face down impossible odds and not give up. Because you convinced me you’re not going to say yes to my brother. Because you convinced me we’ve actually got a chance at ending this without doing what Heaven and Hell both want.”

Sam squirms a little, wanting to look away from Gabriel’s eyes and not quite daring to. “Dean’s the Righteous Man, not me,” he protests quietly, and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, Dean’s not the one who actually managed to use demon blood to kill Famine. That was when I knew you’d never say yes; that little stunt pissed Luci off even more than your saying no to his face did in Carthage.” He smiles, a rueful twist of his lips as he shakes his head. “Haven’t seen a tantrum like that for eons.” He refocuses on Sam, somber again. 

“That’s not—I don’t—I did this!” It spills out of him, a rush of anguish and grief and rage, and Gabriel doesn’t flinch.

“You didn’t do it alone. Or have you forgotten that it was Dean who opened the First Seal?” He tips his head, eyes narrowing. “Sam, what you did was done for love.”

“You—I—how can you say that?” Sam sputters. “I went after Lilith and it wasn’t out of love, it was out of vengeance!”

“You had a lot of help getting to that point,” Gabriel notes wryly. “Hell, look at what I did to you in Broward County—I drove you half mad, I took away the center of your universe and you didn’t break. Cracked in very interesting ways, but you didn’t break. It took Lilith, Ruby, and more influence than you’ll ever know to break you like they did, Sammy. Trust me on that.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say, what to think. Gabriel isn’t yielding.

“Kid, if you can’t trust yourself on this, trust me. Angel of Judgment, remember? And I’m telling you, you fucked up, yeah, but you weren’t the only one by a damn long shot. This isn’t your fault, Sam. The sins you committed were done in love and grief—you’d be surprised how much that excuses.” He smiles slightly, eyes going distant for a moment as if he’s looking into Sam, through Sam. “And your soul is glorious, Samuel Winchester.” He refocuses abruptly. “So stop beating the shit out of yourself and snap out of it already.”

It’s not a quick fix, but for the first time Sam feels like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t entirely his fault. A lot of it, yeah, but maybe he can’t take the blame for all of it, not this time. 

“So, you thought I was under a mermaid’s whammy,” Gabriel muses aloud, mood shifting into a more playful one now that he’s gotten a start on handling Sam’s guilt complex. “False pretences and all that.” He grins. “Guess I’ll just have to prove to you that I want you even when I’m not under her spell.”

Sam’s eyes widen, but Gabriel’s already leaning in. A hot tongue thoroughly explores his mouth as a hand curls around his cock, working him with just the right amount of pressure, thumbing the head and his mind blanks on all the reasons this isn’t a good idea. 

This, he decides hazily, is a great idea. And then coherent thoughts are swept away in hands and mouth and cock, and the glory that is Gabriel.

So yeah, Sam thinks much, much later from the haze of sated exhaustion.  He's blaming this one entirely on Dean.  Maybe he'll see how Gabriel feels about closets and locking annoying obtuse brothers inside...

FINIS