Sinner's Angel

[honeysweetsam]

“I would like a moment of your time please.”
“And moment’s all you got,” Dean said, shoving the plate in the microwave.
“It’s about your brother.”
“What about Sam? Is he ok? You said he was doing fine.”
Recognizing panic right beneath the man’s exterior, Gadreel hurried to reassure him.
“He is fine. He still needs rest and plenty of nutrition, but he is doing very well.”
“Then why are you here?”
The microwave beeped, stealing Dean’s focus, and faced with the back of the man’s head, Gadreel found an additional bit of courage he’d been lacking.
“I believe I am in love with your brother.”
Dean froze. His head tilted slightly and he turned, the expression on his face cool and composed.
“Come again?”
“I believe I am in love with your brother. My understanding of human traditions is somewhat limited due to my imprisonment, but I think-- as his closest relative and the only family figure that could be considered a guardian--“
“A guardian?”
“--you should be notified of my intentions.”
“Your intentions?”
“Yes. As far as Sam is concerned.”
Gadreel watched the man’s fists tighten.
“I know you didn’t just use the word ‘intentions’ in the same sentence with my brother.”
“Is that not the correct word? I have researched this, and the dictionary--“
“You do not have intentions towards my brother,” Dean roared.

“What’s going on? Dean why are you yelling?”
Gadreel had never been happier to see Castiel.
“I may have used the wrong words,” Gadreel said quickly, “there are so many that have double meanings and I--“
“I am going to kill you,” Dean said in an eerily calm tone of voice, very much at odds with every tense muscle in his body.
Castiel shifted to stand in between them,
“Dean, what is this about?”
“He says he is in love with Sam,” Dean said tightly and Gadreel suddenly understood.
It was not the wording Dean had objected to.
It was Gadreel himself.

Castiel scoffed, confirming it.
“I doubt that, you must’ve misunderstood. Gadreel?”
His stomach tightened painfully.
“I am in love with Sam Winchester.”
“Stop saying that,” Dean growled, taking a threatening step forward.
Castiel restrained him with one hand on his shoulder, but he’d turned to face Gadreel now, making it obvious whose side he was on.
A memory drifted up, unbidden, of his quick and painful trial, the eyes of his brothers and sisters judging him, the faint traces of disgust on their faces.
“I believe it may be time for you to move on,” Castiel said slowly, as if attempting to soften the blow.

And there it was. The words he had expected to hear so many times that they should not have come as a surprise. And yet somehow, they did.
“I mean him no harm,” he said.
“You let Lucifer into the world, you dipshit,” Dean said, “You’re humankind’s first fuck up. How fucking dare you?”
Castiel’s fingers were digging into Dean’s shoulder, the pressure turning them white.
“Have you told Sam how you feel?”
“No, the book, there’s a book about-- it says I should speak to his father first but Sam does not have one so I assumed I should speak with Dean--“
“You assumed wrong,” Dean roared again, stepping closer despite Castiel’s restraining grip.
Gadreel took a careful step backwards, feeling the kitchen counter at his back. He had expected this or some version of it, it would have been naive not to. But even though he had expected it, it hurt. The way his wings being marked had hurt. The way his exile, his imprisonment had hurt.
“Thank you,” Castiel said, “for keeping this to yourself. It will spare Sam discomfort, I’m sure. We are... grateful for your help. I am in your debt. But I do have to ask that you leave.”
“I don’t under--“
“I don’t want you anywhere near my brother.”
Castiel latched on to the man with two hands, and still, Dean managed to come uncomfortably close, his hand fisting Gadreel’s shirt,
“I don’t want you speaking to my brother, looking at my brother, I don’t want you breathing the same air as him, ever again. Get out of the damn Bunker or I’ll fucking throw you out.”

“Dean!”
Gadreel’s heart sunk. Sam was standing at the kitchen entrance, his eyes wide, his hand holding on to the frame as if the frame was the only thing keeping him up.
“Sammy, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Dean’s suddenly gentle tone was worse than any blow he could have delivered. Gadreel would have rather Dean hit him. He would have rather had man tear him from piece to piece, than have to hear the concern in his voice and know that Dean meant every word he said. Not because he hated Gadreel, but because he loved his brother.
“Don’t call me that,” Sam said, but his voice was soft and distracted.
Dean had let go of Gadreel’s shirt the moment Sam spoke up, yet Sam seemed focused on that spot, the small clump of wrinkles Dean’s grip had created.
“Sam,” Castiel said, “Dean is right. You shouldn’t have attempted the stairs by yourself. One of us--“
“I’m not a damn invalid,” Sam snapped.
He extended his hand towards Gadreel.
“Come.”
It was like a lifeline, yet Gadreel only gaped at him, suddenly unsure of everything.
“Gadreel was leaving,” Dean said tightly.
“No, he wasn’t,” Sam added in the same tone of voice. “Gadreel is not leaving. This is not a discussion. You were acting like a child, Castiel was overstepping and Gadreel is coming with me. Come on,” he said again, the hand still extended.
His entire body numb with something he could not name, Gadreel closed his fingers around Sam’s and let himself be pulled out of the kitchen.

The deathly silence they left in their wake followed him across the bunker and up the stairs, until he and Sam were in the safety of Sam’s bedroom. The click of the door cut it in half and he could now finally feel his own heart beat, alarmingly fast.
Sam seemed at a loss once the door was closed, leaning against it and crossing his arms. It was a posture Gadreel immediately recognized, but it had never been directed at him. The idea that Sam thought Gadreel would hurt him in any way was distressing.
“Did you mean it?” he said finally, his gaze directed somewhere past Gadreel’s shoulder. “What you said to Dean, did you mean it?”
“I spoke the truth,” Gadreel said.
Did Sam think he would lie?
Sam’s arms tightened. “I wanna hear it.”
There was a heavy lump of air in Gadreel’s throat and no amount of swallowing would dislodge it.
“I am in love with you, Sam Winchester.”
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. His expression shifted into something bordering on pain.
“Why?” Sam asked, “Why me?”
Why? Of all the things he imagined Sam saying at this moment, that was not one of them.
He struggled to come up with simple words that would best explain it, but none were forthcoming. He could write books on this question, each one devoted to a small part of the whole that is Sam Winchester. He could fill libraries with these books, spend centuries listing every smile, every gaze, every facet of Sam, and never even come close to answering that question fully.
Sam was still waiting, and with each moment Gadreel could almost feel him slipping further away.
“I knew you for Lucifer’s true vessel, the first time I saw you.”
Sam flinched as if Gadreel had struck him, but now that he had started speaking, he was afraid to stop.
“I knew the strength of you, the determination, the stubbornness. I could see it in your bones, the only man in the existence capable of-- containing something so powerful. I thought you were beautiful, from that first moment, but you-- you are so much more, so much I did not expect. Kindness and loyalty and courage, compassion and humility, everything-- everything good my Father had wanted to give to his children, I have found all of it in you. Lucifer himself, God’s favorite, most beautiful child could have never, ever been worthy of you. I am not worthy of you. I know this, I understand it. Your brother is right. I am, as he says, ‘humankind’s first fuck up,’ and you-- I had no expectations, you have to understand, I only wanted to find a way to-- show you. That you are very much loved.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath, the lump in his throat growing larger,
“I did not mean to upset you.”

In the short silence that followed he sensed more than saw Sam step closer, and was surprised to feel warm fingers wrap around his own again.

His hands were shaking. He was unfamiliar with his vessel’s reaction to all this, the increased heart rate, the perspiration, the enormous tightness in his chest that only seemed to grow heavier. There was so much he still did not understand, including Sam’s hand holding his, Sam’s thumb gently caressing his wrist.
“Tell me again,” Sam said quietly, so close now that Gadreel could feel their forearms brushing above their entwined fingers. “Tell me you love me.”
His eyes seemed enormous in the gloom, wide black pools in the middle of all the green.
“I love you,” Gadreel said, not sure why he was whispering.
Sam’s breath cut him off, brushing against his mouth only for a moment before his lips followed.

Gadreel stood frozen, feeling the soft press of Sam’s lips, the tightening of Sam’s fingers around his own. He was supposed to do something, he knew that, but suddenly everything was blank and still, the time had stopped and there was just Sam, the scent of Sam, the feel of Sam.
Then Sam was pulling back and the world rushed back in fast, too fast, harsh and overwhelming. He knew from some deep, dusty memory, a memory which didn’t even belong to him that he’d done something wrong here, or that he failed to do something, and if he let Sam pull away, he may never get him back. Panic jerked in his chest and he leaned forward slightly, following Sam’s mouth until it was pressed against his own again. It was awkward this time, he knew it was awkward, he may be inexperienced but he could tell their mouths didn’t line up right now and for a moment he despaired what a fragile thing this was, an instant of time in which he may have just lost everything. Sam tilted his head slightly, shaky exhale burning across Gadreel’s skin and just like that, they fit perfectly again.
Stupid, unexplainable gratitude clogged Gadreel’s throat. He wanted ask Sam to be patient with him, to tell him how little he actually knew about this, any of this. All those memories of someone else’s life could have never prepared him for this, for the heat of Sam’s mouth moving against his own, the whisper of his breath so loud in the silence, how each and every one made it harder and harder for Gadreel to draw a breath of his own. Instead, he reached up carefully with his free hand, fingers trembling against Sam’s cheek, the curve of his jaw, the smooth line of his neck. He felt Sam grip his shirt and inch himself forward, one foot sliding in between Gadreel’s. So slowly and somehow all at once, most of Sam pressing against him, knee brushing, stomach muscles quivering, heart beating wildly against Gadreel’s chest. Suddenly, he seemed more exquisite than ever, so terrifyingly breakable, all that fine-spun balance of flesh and blood, so delicate and uncertain. He untangled their fingers before he knew he would do so, wrapping an arm around him to pull him even closer, to envelop him entirely. His fingers tangled in all that soft hair, into the crisp scent of green apples that he would forever associate with Sam and this moment. Sam’s lips parted and a new type of heat struck Gadreel somewhere at the base of his spinal cord, whip sharp and nearly as painful. Their tongues entwined much like their hands had earlier, except this was slick and wet and Gadreel felt it from the shiver in his legs all the way to his scalp, every inch in between burning, burning furiously and desperately needing something he didn’t understand, something he had no words for.
Sam made a sound, deep in his throat. His hands latched on to Gadreel’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and Gadreel let him, not caring what happened as long as Sam’s mouth stayed where it was. The jacket dropped on the floor and Sam immediately latched on to the sweatshirt, pushing it up, exposing skin Gadreel had come to think of as his own. This time the kiss was broken as they both struggled to pull the sweatshirt off and Gadreel finally saw Sam’s face again, cheeks flushed, mouth red, eyes so dark they were nearly black. It was incomprehensible that the man could have grown more beautiful in a matter of moments, yet he had. Gadreel wanted to tell him so, he struggled to find the right words for this feeling, this awe tangled with bone aching need. Sam smiled, his hand curving over Gadreel’s bare skin, burning across it as if he were the one with the grace powerful enough to mark Gadreel forever.
Maybe he was, maybe Gadreel would find Sam’s fingerprints all over his skin afterwards, seared into the flesh.
“Come on,” Sam said softly, steering him towards the bed.
Something was wrong with Gadreel’s depth perception because he nearly tripped twice over nothing but his own feet. Sam didn’t seem to notice or mind. He sat down and pulled Gadreel with him, their mouths meeting again, the pressure higher now, tongues moving faster, building up to that same terrifying thing Gadreel didn’t understand. Sam kept tugging gently until he was lying down and Gadreel found himself hovering over the man, knees digging into the mattress on either side of him, arms shaking, hands fisting the bedspread. He felt the calluses on Sam’s hands from long hours of gun practice, felt them scrape carefully over his stomach, his chest. Every tendon, every muscle in his body felt too tight, like he could snap at any moment. He felt powerful and afraid, both at once, and it was the fear that made him pause.
“Sam... I don’t-- I don’t know what to do.”
It was a shock to hear his own voice, torn and ragged. The words pulsed in his throat, threatening to choke him and he wondered if this is what humans felt like when tears clogged their vocal chords.
Sam reached up, fingertips skimming over Gadreel’s cheekbones, his mouth.
“This,” he said softly. “This is perfect... just, I wanna feel you, I want...”
He was pulling him down again and Gadreel was following because it was impossible not to, blanketing Sam’s body with his own. Sam’s hips pushed up and it was the first time Sam had touched him multiplied by a thousand, the fire in his spine suddenly ripping through his bones, roaring in his ears. He ground down against him to feel it again and Sam whimpered, fingers digging into Gadreel’s shoulder. His other hand cupped the back of Gadreel’s head, their foreheads meeting.
“Yes,” he gasped, hot breath washing over Gadreel’s face. “Just like that... it feels, oh God, it’s so...”
Gadreel ground against him and whatever Sam was going to say dissolved into a moan. His mouth caught Gadreel’s again with none of its earlier finesse, all frantic slip and slide of lips, scrape of teeth, hips rising to meet Gadreel’s again and again. Gadreel swallowed his moans, each one causing pleasure to rise and recede, a slow pulse of ocean waves. He was burning now, his skin threatening to slit open because it seemed impossible to contain all this heat and still stay whole. He wrapped his arms around Sam, curving around him, pressing him into the mattress. He wanted to feel him without the barrier of the clothes, all that soft skin and muscle. He wanted to stay exactly like this, till the end of time, pleasure cresting higher and higher, he wanted it to never end.
Sam’s lips slid over his cheek, teeth scraping over his jaw, sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. That small pinprick of pain tripled, vibrated across his body and he heard himself make a sound, something broken and helpless.
“Tell me again,” Sam panted, his hips rising up to meet him. “Tell me.”
If Sam had asked him anything else, Gadreel would have never found the words. His mind was fractured, unsteady, flooded in pleasure bordering on pain.
But the words came out on their own, wrecked like the rest of him.
“I love you, Sam-- I love you--”
Sam groaned, arching against him, his entire body shuddering in Gadreel’s arms. Gadreel felt him, felt the throbbing heat spill between them despite the layers in the way, and it was exhilarating, obliterating. Sam’s short nails dug into Gadreel’s back, hard enough to break skin. The pleasure crested again with the pain, high enough to make him cry out, white hot and sharp enough to shred. It did not recede. It went on and on until he thought it would destroy him, it would tear him into millions of pieces, moments lasting years, centuries of pleasure he never could have imagined, never knew existed.
When it stopped, it left him blank and lost and shivering. His eyes were wet. His nose clogged. Sam’s hand was brushing the back of his head gently. He could feel Sam’s heartbeat against his chest again.
“It’s okay,” Sam’s breath ghosted over his ear.
Only then he realized he was whimpering quietly, face buried in Sam’s neck.

--

Afterwards there was silence.
Sam waited until his breathing evened out, until Gadreel’s heart stopped threatening to beat its way out of his chest, calm settling over them both. They had shifted slightly, but most of Gadreel’s weight was still pressing him into the mattress, arms still wrapped tightly around Sam’s body. It should be suffocating but instead it was strangely soothing. Gadreel’s forehead was resting against Sam’s temple, his breath warming Sam’s neck. He was still fully dressed, his flannel uncomfortably twisted around him, jeans damp and messy, but somehow it still felt intimate, being wrapped up in Gadreel’s arms. More intimate than any of his recent encounters.
The last time he felt like this was too long ago for comparison, so long that the memory was fractured and faded. It had been years since he recalled Jess’s bright smile, her curls against his cheek and her breathless giggle against his skin. He thought that, maybe, it had been the last time he’d truly felt loved.
So he waited, putting off the moment he would have to move, untangle himself from Gadreel’s grip. Somewhere in the Bunker, Dean was probably fantasizing about breaking Gadreel’s jaw. Crowley was sitting in the dark basement, plotting his escape. Abaddon was still on the loose, all the more dangerous now that their secret weapon was no longer a secret. The Gates of Heaven were still sealed. Sam still felt dizzy from being knocked around and nearly bleeding out only hours before. And despite it all, he found himself smiling.
He brushed his fingers through Gadreel’s hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp. Gadreel sighed and nuzzled at Sam’s jaw, a tiny gesture filled with so much affection that Sam’s breath caught in his throat.
He thought he knew himself well enough, that he knew what his body wanted. Somewhere in the back of his head there was a list he never deviated from, borne from more unpleasant experiences than the pleasant ones. A clear set of rules for all his lovers, male or female. Ruby had broken some of them because she knew she could, that he needed her too badly to put up a fight. And later, in the Cage, Lucifer had broken them all. He swore to himself it would never happen again. Feeling vulnerable and powerless, knowing his partner could break him in an instant, it had never been a source of pleasure for Sam. His whole life, all those stronger than him had used that strength to hurt him. Only a few months ago, the thought of letting down his barriers for an angel, even one as kind as Gadreel, would have filled him with terror.

Everything he thought he knew was wrong.
It wasn’t just those three words, as much as they had affected Sam, or the desperate way Gadreel had repeated them and probably would over and over again, every time Sam asked to hear them. It was the way his hands had shook, the way he’d tripped over his feet, the sounds he’d made. The lost expression on his face when he realized that Sam wanted something he didn’t know how to give. A creature powerful enough to slaughter three demons in a blink of an eye, whimpering against Sam’s shoulder like a wounded animal. Giving himself over completely. Making Sam feel both vulnerable and powerful at once.
They would have to talk about this, or some aspect of it at least. There was hardly a precedent for a human and an angel, especially an angel occupying a vessel with its soul still intact. Would Gadreel be forced to return to Heaven once the Gates were open again? Did he want to return? Would he leave Sam behind?

No. He didn’t wanna think about that. Not here and now when everything was still fragile.
He twisted his head slightly, wanting to feel Gadreel’s cheek against his own, to be closer to him even though they were already as close as they could be. Gadreel’s breath ghosted over his ear, making him shiver. The arms around him tightened, Gadreel’s lips dragging over his cheek until they found his mouth, the press of them sweet and surprisingly chaste.
Something shattered below them and Sam jerked, eyes flying open. Dean was yelling. Gadreel pulled back, his grip loosening. Poor Castiel was probably getting the brunt of Dean’s fury and a small part of Sam, that part which had spent years diffusing Dean’s outbursts, wanted to rush downstairs and fix it. Except that he wouldn’t. This was one fury Dean would have to work through on his own.
Still, he untangled himself from Gadreel’s embrace. Another few minutes lying there and his boxers would be able to stand up on their own.
“Wait here,” he said softly, just on the off chance Gadreel decided it was time for him to leave.
If it was up to Sam, he would keep the angel in his room indefinitely. Preferably behind closed doors. Maybe tied to the bed too.
He blushed furiously while making his way to the bathroom, glad that his back was turned and Gadreel could not see it.
He cleaned himself up quickly, chucking the boxers in the hamper and hissing at the cold water. Tugging the jeans back on with no underwear reminded him of the old days, living on the road, always short on boxers or socks or clean shirts. Sniffing things in the various duffle bags and trying to decide if he would rather wear dirty socks or no socks at all. Wetting a clean washcloth under now warm water, he felt the zipper scraping against sensitive skin and smiled to himself. He’d gotten spoiled at the bunker. He’d never acknowledged it before but it was a nice thing, having a dresser full of clean undershirts and boxers. It was a happy thing.
Back in the bedroom, Gadreel was sitting up at the edge of the bed, still naked from the waist up, the soft lamplight revealing thousands of freckles scattered over his shoulders and arms. He looked lost and uncertain, as if Sam had abandoned him. Sam smiled and was relieved to see him smile back, even if he still looked unsure.
“Stand up,” Sam said and Gadreel obeyed without a question.
He said nothing as Sam sunk to his knees and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down. He let Sam clean him up, his breath stuttering, muscles twitching under Sam’s touch. He was beautiful. Sam wanted to lean in and taste all that skin, drag his tongue over the soft inner thigh, map all the freckles with his mouth, wanted it so badly that his mouth watered. Instead, he tugged Gadreel’s boxers off like he’d done his own and threw them into the corner of the room. There were now two pieces of laundry that would not be going into the joint pile. He could just imagine Dean’s face if he found them. He’d probably have a heart attack.
Gadreel lifted his feet obediently, let Sam pull his jeans back up and button them. The washcloth went flying into the corner too and Sam rubbed his hands on his jeans, suddenly at a loss now that the task was done.
“Thank you,” Gadreel said, sounding so ridiculously sincere over such a small thing that Sam felt his face heat up again.
“Do I have to leave now?” he asked.
“What? No,” Sam bit his tongue and tried again, “I mean, not unless you want to. Do you want to?”
“No,” Gadreel said quickly, “but is Dean-- is he going to be angry?”
“No more than he already is,” Sam said, “and it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s none of his business.”
Gadreel sat back down slowly, eyes still locked on Sam.
“I don’t blame him for wanting me to leave.”
“It’s not up to him. I don’t want you to go.”
Gadreel nodded, the gratitude obvious in every line of his face.
“I can still be useful to you. Against Abaddon. I can protect you. I know I did poorly today but I will not let myself be distracted again--“
“No, that’s not-- not because you’re useful. I want you to stay. For me.”
Suddenly tired and now more than a little dizzy, he sat down next to Gadreel.
“We’ll figure it out, Dean and Abaddon and-- everything else, ok? Just-- don’t leave.”
They sat in silence for a while, side by side, listening to Dean’s voice rising and falling below them. Whatever Dean was going on about, it definitely wasn’t one sided. Castiel was still there, probably trying to reason with him. It was a common occurrence; sometimes it seemed to be the only way they communicated for days on end. But for the first time, Sam felt no resentment for their peculiar relationship. Just a vague fondness laced with amusement.
“Can I see your wings again? Do you mind?”

--

For the second time, he found himself watching the patterns his grace made on the faded carpet. The mattress had dipped behind him where Sam had crawled up, but now the room was still and silent. If it were not for Sam’s soft breathing, he would think himself alone. Alone with his broken wings and his borrowed skin. It may have not belonged to him before, this contraption of flesh and bone, but it had become his under Sam’s hands. Sam had wanted it. Sam had touched it and pressed his mouth against it, marked it with his nails and teeth.

He shuddered when soft fingers brushed against the bottom of his spine.
He heard Sam’s sharp breath and spoke before the man could ask.
“You are not hurting me, Sam.”

“Good,” Sam said simply, his hand flattening, the palm hot.
It traveled over his spine, over the burning stretch where his shoulder blades arched. He felt his wings shiver in anticipation, the unfamiliar comfort of touch making the pain bearable. Fingertips brushed against feathers, smoothing them down carefully.
“When I was a baby,” Sam said, “my mom used to say the angels were watching over me.”

Mary Winchester had been mistaken.
Long before she sang her second son lullabies, long before he was a faint spark of life quickening in her body, Sam had been chosen to become a warrior and to die a warrior’s death at the hands of Heaven. No angels watched over him. None of Heaven’s protection had been given to him. The almighty Court of Heaven had decided his fate before his brother was out of swaddling clothes. They Marked him as an abomination and left him no path but that of pain and fear. They gave him no weapons except those they could not take away, the weapons given to all human beings by their Creator.
Kindness and empathy. Compassion. Loyalty and courage.
Free Will.

Sam Winchester took what he was given and defeated Heaven itself.

“I would watch out for you,” he said softly. “If you will have me, I would be yours.”

Warm breath slid in between Gadreel’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and felt Sam’s mouth mark him again, in the place that burned, where the roots of his tainted wings lay deep beneath the flesh.

It felt like a blessing.