twentysomething

Title: Tall and Tan and Young and Lovely (The Girl from Ipanema Goes Walking)

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Gabriel

Summary: Electrical failure is a major issue.

Length: 4k

Warnings: Gabriel.

Notes: merelyn, leupagus, rageprufrock are always to blame. ALWAYS.


Sam makes this really unattractive face around the end of the first hour trapped in the elevator.

"You know, you could just teleport us out," he says, clearly irritated and waggling his hand like angelic powers of teleportation are Nationals winning Spirit Fingers. It's probably because all his gigantic Frankenstein-y limbs are cooped up and he gets claustrophobic when he can't let his freak flag fly, but Gabriel figures that if Sam really wanted out that badly, he could just use his roid-rage Hulk smash or something, so he's probably secretly enjoying this.

"I mean, I could. But building management already called the Fire Department. It'd be sort of rude," Gabriel replies, because seriously, he doesn't have anything better to do with his afternoon and he understands that Sam's 'mommy' is the tequila swilling slutbag sleeping with his brother, so it's pretty legitimate that he has to be reminded about manners every so often, and Gabriel is game for the job. The "I used to kill shit with my mind" vein in Sam's forehead is starting to bulge dangerously, and really it ruins Sam's precarious good looks for Gabriel, so he figures he can throw him a bone, at least.

"I mean, I could get you a sandwich?" Gabriel offers, and clearly that was unexpected, because Sam's face goes from BitchCon 5 down to endearingly, stupidly puzzled.

"You'll get me a sandwich, but you won't get both of us out of the elevator?" Sam asks flatly. Gabriel shrugs, because hey, he's gotta be him.

"It'll be a really good sandwich," Gabriel replies, because he knows Sam has been thinking about a ham sandwich all day, and Gabriel knows a guy in Virginia, and that shit? Amazing. Sam makes this face that clearly says 'what the fuck did I do to deserve this' and the answer is 'drink a lot of demon blood and let Lucifer out because I put hos before bros' but Gabriel isn't the type to rub people's mistakes in their faces.

Okay, that's totally a lie, but he'll let this one slide.

Sam stares at him for another moment, before he laughs, sudden, amused and happy and really, he’s a lot more bearable to be around when he's not making faces and instead just lets it all out- because, for a guy he strongly suspect likes to talk about his feelings, Sam just rolls everything up into a little ball of bitchfaced angst until he kills something and feels bad about it later, so Gabriel figures he should be earning points with someone for getting the retard Redwood to express himself.

"Yeah, fucking- sure. Sure, Gabriel, get me a sandwich." Sam says, clearly still way too amused about something, because sandwiches and candy are serious business. Gabriel snaps his fingers- because he can- and Sam is suddenly silent in the wake of a paper-wrapped ham biscuit sitting on his lap. He picks it up and there’s something in his face almost like awe, and really, the sandwich is good, but not that good. Sam realizes that Gabriel is staring at him and clears his throat awkwardly, making this stupid little abashed face like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh, it's still warm," Sam says, and this shit should not be endearing, because he's six foot twenty and murders ghosts and shit for a living, but the Father help him, it is. Gabriel resists the urge to peek at Sam's thoughts because the last time he'd done something like, oh, idly mention Dean was thinking about covering Castiel in pie filling and having sex with him, Castiel had given him that 'it hurts me in my chest region when you do that I'm just a sad baby bird' look, and he seemed perilously close to actually saying something, which, he's not the dick older brother- he isn't. So he's been making an effort to behave. And if he froze Dean's underwear in the motel fridge, well, it's a work in progress.

"Yeah, I know, I'm Lord King Awesome of Mystery Elevator Sandwiches, eat it before it's not warm," Gabriel instructs, because dealing with Winchesters is sort of like dealing with developmentally challenged puppies. They're slow and they pee on a lot of shit they're not supposed to and they stick their faces in embarrassing places, but you forgive them because they try so hard and they're just so damn precious. Which, actually, Gabriel figures that was the problem with Jesus, too. One minute, you're delivering tidings from God, the next thing you know, that fucking little savior is goddamn adorable. Raphael had given him shit about baby fever for a solid century.

Sam makes a noise unfit for human or angelic consumption when he bites into it and Gabriel cannot help but stare, because he has seen porn less enthusiastic than this man with a sandwich. Sam blushes- actually blushes- when he realizes he's making whore noises as he deepthroats his sandwich.

"'s good," Sam manages around a bite, and Gabriel knows he had way too many drunk virgins thrown his way, but Loki had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and he likes to think there was no reasonable way to foresee that all of that Nordic partying would result in making stupid-ass decisions like hanging out with his baby bro, the king of 'look at my fucking sad face' and his shortbus charges, but around ritual sacrifice number 4,000, he probably should have figured there would be side-effects to feeling groovy the entirety of the 15th century.

Sam is about halfway through before he seems to have an attack of something resembling conscience and moves his Hoover face back from the delicious sandwich reluctantly.

"Do you, uh," he tries, and at least he swallows this time- Gabriel did not just think that- "Do you want a bite?" Gabriel sits on his immediate reply- 'not of your sandwich', mostly because Sam makes elderly librarian noises and crosses his legs when Gabriel hits on him, and also because he's moderately certain there's an Aero bar in his pocket, and if there wasn't, there is one now. So instead he just pulls out the candy bar and takes a large, delicious, chocolate filled bite. Judging from Sam's face- two parts ladylike scandal, one part uncomfortable arousal- Gabriel made some noises of his own, there. Serves him right- Gabriel's never thought it was possible to withhold sex as a punishment for bad behavior with someone you weren't actually having sex with, but there's Sam Winchester in one needs-to-wash-his-hair-more-often nutshell. So, Gabriel focuses on the thing in the elevator that will actually put out, and so he finishes his candy bar, only to see Sam watching, slack-jawed, limply holding his halfwich.

"So, what's with the uh, candy fixation?" Sam asks, and it's super awkward, like, yeah, Samuel, your Psych 101 class totally did not cover abandonment-issues-angels, but this is what you choose to make conversation about? Nonetheless, it's not like Gabriel believes in giving people what they ask for- oh, wait- he does.

"Candy is straight forward. It's indulgent, it's bad for you, and it tastes really. fucking. good." Gabriel says, licking each one of his fingers as punctuation. Sam makes a squirmy face like he's saying no, but he means yes, like a French woman. "Especially chocolate. It's rich, it's creamy, it melts at human body temperature," Gabriel would like to push the issue further, because really, Sam looks super uncomfortable, and Gabriel pretty much lives for that, but you can only push Sam so far before he clams up and sulks because he thinks you're making fun of him, rather than trying to fuck him, which is- other than the tendency to believe anything that acts like it loves him- one of his major failings. So, instead of crawling on top of Sam and melting chocolate all over him- which, really, would be the preferable alternative, because he might be kind of dumb and sort of started the apocalypse, but seriously, Gabriel would like to eat him- he sits back and hums along with the terrible muzak as Sam numbly processes.

"How is it that we cannot go from floor to floor- the purpose of a elevator- and yet, they can still pipe in the most awful music in the history of humanity?" Sam mutters as he takes a vicious bite out of his sandwich- apparently out of his haze and into pissy. "Are you sure they even called the fire department?" Gabriel shrugs loosely, because not a lot else he could be doing compares to an afternoon irritating Sam, and he's riding the slow chocolate buzz of good feelings, so really, he's a-ok in this scenario.

"I mean, they probably did." Gabriel suggests, and really, this is a remarkably big elevator, because even with all of his limbs spread out like an octopus, he's still only managing to be obnoxiously, I'm-not-touching-you close to touching Sam, and there's a lot of Sam to touch. Sam gives him the hairy eyeball.

"My life would be a lot easier if I could tell when you're telling the truth," Sam finally says after a long moment- to which Gabriel has to stop himself from explaining for the thousandth time that angels don't lie, not really, because- hm. Not a bad idea.

"Well, there is one way," Gabriel offers, because yeah, he spends most of his time giving other people terrible ideas to act on, but this, this? Is too good to pass up. Sam raises his eyebrows sky-high, obviously already contemplating rituals and blood and candles and deals- which, sounds like a good Friday night for Gabriel, circa 1150, but it's a lot simpler than that, and Sam is just going to be so disappointed.

"What do I have to do?" Sam asks, grim-jawed and apocalypse nowish and so terribly depressing. Gabriel doesn't even have to use his mojo to know that Sam is thinking about serious strategic applications. God, he's like the kid who does his homework in study hall rather than flirting or something. Gabriel rolls on to his side, conveniently pressing their legs together, the arm not supporting his head resting delightfully near Sam's crotch.

"It's a certain- how did Dr. Lecter put it- quid pro quo, Clarice," Gabriel says with his best Hopkins creepy eyebrow raise. Sam looks resigned and horrified, which, freaking downer, man. He rolls his eyes. "Truth or Dare, Sam."

Gabriel takes the spasms as his due.

"Truth or dare. You- the archangel Gabriel, like, I'm going to blow my trumpet, bye, everything, Gabriel, Annunciation of Christ, Gabriel. You want to play truth or dare." Sam stares at him like the universe has fundamentally betrayed him some how.

"We could play suck and blow, instead, but it's sort of boring with two people," Gabriel offers, his best seraphic expression in place- which, you'd think, he's an angel, it'd be pretty good- but it's pretty shitty, actually. "Also, fuck Cole Porter, I don't have a damn trumpet." He pauses, but screw it, he's going to say it anyway.

"Although, I do have something you can blow."

Sam rolls his eyes so hard, Gabriel's amazed he doesn't sprain them.

"Fine. But, I mean, we're in a freaking elevator, there's not a lot to do for dares- I swear, Gabriel, if you say one more thing about 'blowing your horn', I will end you," Sam cuts him off and Gabriel just shuts his mouth with a smirk. Of course, he opens it again two seconds later, so maybe it's a moral victory for Sam, or whatever it is that losers tell themselves to make them feel better about getting their asses beat like piñatas.

"So, what, we're going to play Truth or Truth? Great options there, Sam. Game night must have sucked at the Winchester motel room of the week. Although that would explain why Dean doesn't get that Castiel is playing hard to get." Gabriel acknowledges. Sam frowns.

"Castiel is sleeping with Dean, how is that playing hard to get?" Sam asks, and now it's Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, Celestial Game Night was pretty shitty too. It was all Lucifer winning every time and Michael flipping the metaphorical Monopoly board. You think your dad was cryptic and omnipotent? It was always 'listen to your heart, Gabriel' and 'que sera sera, Gabriel' and seriously- he was cribbing advice from Roxette and Doris Day. It's a miracle Castiel didn't come out like Rainman." Gabriel argues, and ugh, maybe that's why he's so hideously attracted to Sam- because there's something about his particular brand of Daddy issues and terrible life choices that speaks to him on a deep, abiding level. Sam snorts- unattractively. Gabriel has to remind himself that Sam has flaws and lots of them, or he forgets, and that's a one way express to sometimes touching hands and looking deep into each others' eyes and being fucking Dean and Castiel, which is unacceptable.

Sam looks sort of indulgent and amused- not meanly, but like he's just sort of amused by Gabriel being Gabriel, which is... new.

"Okay, then what would you suggest?" Sam prompts. Gabriel grins, because he's got a pretty damn great idea.

"Truth or Strip." He waits for the predictable explosion, but surprisingly- none comes. Sam just rolls his eyes again but waves as if to say 'get on with it, I was prepared for your attempts to undress me'.

"Well, then," Gabriel says, momentarily derailed by this unexpected acquiescence, "Since you're being such a sport and all, you may even have the first question." Sam tucks his knees up to his chest, which is sort of like watching a huge bridge draw up.

"Did you like being a pagan god?" Sam finally asks, almost timid, which Gabriel supposes is a fair, because it's not something he wants to talk about, being selfish and taking the easy way out- it's not something he wants to feel guilty about when he thinks about Castiel finding this path on his own, struggling alone, while Gabriel had to have his own lessons flipped on its ear before he would listen. So instead, Gabriel shrugs out of his jacket calmly. Sam blinks, but nods, because he understands that a game is still a deal- and that includes following the prescribed rules- truth, or strip.

But Gabriel isn't really interested in making Sam confront his past- he's done a lot of that in general and since they both know he's knows the whys and the wherefores anyway, it's just sort of in poor taste to ask about it at all. So, instead Gabriel feels free to ask the questions he'd prefer to have answered.

"So have you ever done it with a guy?" he asks, and he imagines that even if he wasn't apparently a sixteen year old girl, he would still ask the same question. Gabriel is expecting a roll of the eyes, which makes Sam's fucking super nova blush and awkward flailing out of his coat all the more delicious. It's times like these that really make him regret scruples and shit, because he really wants to know, but that's not how it goes- well, at least not right now. Sam is obviously trying to think of something equally embarrassing to ask, but as far as Sam knows, Gabriel's been in orgies with every animal, vegetable and mineral on this planet and then some, so, it's a difficult task- which is why he's being patient.

"Was the Virgin Mary hot?" Sam finally asks, and Gabriel rolls his eyes. Figures.

"She was beautiful," Gabriel counters, because- truth be told- Mary was perhaps a little plain, but Gabriel has never seen a more beautiful woman than the Mother holding the Messiah, and that is the truth. So instead he just laughs at Sam's vaguely disappointed expression, and schemes.

"What sexual fantasy have you kept most secret?" Gabriel tries, because this ought to be good- but instead Sam just makes a face like he wants to protest the nature of Gabriel's questions, but he agreed, and so just sullenly takes off a boot. Gabriel pouts. "Sam, this is no fun." Sam raises an eyebrow.

"But you're one shoe closer to public nudity, isn't it a win-win for you?" Sam asks, and Gabriel just throws his head back and laughs, because yeah, touché. Sam makes a face like he's about to ask another one of those questions that he thinks is going to piss Gabriel off. "Do you have your wings, still?" Gabriel raises an eyebrow, but nods.

"Yes," he replies evenly, but bites back a filthy smirk at the expression on Sam's face, which is so not just reverent wonder. "Do you want to see them?" Sam blinks.

"Wouldn't that you know-" Sam makes an angry hand motion that looks like a bird pecking, which he can only assume means 'burn out your eyes in the merciless power of the Creation of God'. Gabriel makes a tsk noise.

"That was not an answer, that was a question. Either state your reply in the form of a question or show me some skin, Winchester." Gabriel argues, and Sam actually barks out a quick laugh.

"Provided I weren't-" Again, Sam makes the gesture that seems to represent being 'blinded by the light', ala Manfred Mann- "Then, yes, of course." Gabriel makes a loud 'bzzt' noise.

"I'm sorry, your answer was not in the form of a question, and yes, it would-" Lizard poisons Spock motion. "So, no, it's not on the agenda." Sam shrugs philosophically, but it looks like his little nerd heart is disappointed, so Gabriel finds himself sighing. "They're just raw power shoved into flight and speed and time, you're not missing a lot." Sam stares at him, and okay, yeah, it is awesome, even in the old school meaning of the word, but Dean would flip if Gabriel burned out his brother's eyes during a game of truth or strip, and well, Gabriel likes Sam's eyes. They're hazel.

"Now, where was I?" Gabriel faux muses, so Sam can at least pretend that this line of questioning is totally random. "Have you ever been in a threesome with your brother?" He dodges the shoe narrowly. Gabriel purses his lips. "Does that mean yes, or just that it wasn't a threesome?"

"Not your turn," Sam grits out. Gabriel grins and mouths the most insincere 'sorry' he can muster. "Have you ever had sex with another angel?" Gabriel raises his eyebrows, because it's not like Sam to get on track with things like 'ask inappropriate sexual questions' but he's not one to look the gift horse in the mouth. Well, at least when it's not full of Trojans.

"Are you kidding, totally no, gross," Gabriel says, wrinkling his nose. He omits that it's just because he and Sariel passed out before it got much more than handsy, because that's neither here nor there or ever talked about, ever. Now, it's his turn again and he's never been so glad to have balls in his court, all possible entendres meant. "Okay, so was it a more than threesome?" Gabriel makes a horrified face, because somehow, in all his ineffable glory he just hasn't thought about it- "... Sam, was it a twosome? This is a confessional elevator, you can tell me."

Sam is nearly purple with rage.

"Jesus Christ, no, I've never had sex with my brother, I just wanted to throw something at you earlier!" Sam shouts, and well, if rescue services were coming, they certainly aren't now. Gabriel feels sort of soothed, because even if he's letting Dean ‘Please, Anybody Touch My Dick' Winchester nail his little brother, at least Dean's not an incestuous douchebag- just a regular douchebag, which Gabriel already knew. He's just relieved not to have to add 'his own brother fucker' to the litany of Dean's faults he recites all the damn time when Castiel insists that he's sixteen years old and can go to the surface when ever he wants. Gabriel smiles cheerfully.

"Well, your turn, then." he says with a happy little shrug. Sam still looks one step short of murder, but he's always kept blind rage and sexual desire close together, in a really inadvisable way, which is probably why Gabriel should have but doesn't anticipate the next question.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Sam asks. Gabriel blinks, because really- he's only managed to get Sam's shoes off. He thought he would at least have needed to get his pants or something first.

"Yes," Gabriel says guileless and honest, because there's no sense in being coy when it's what he wants. Sam looks like he's about two seconds from hyperventilating, but he does his best to take a deep breath.

"Well, then. Your turn." Sam says, only a hint of a tremor in his voice, and Gabriel has to admit, he's playing this one pretty cool.

"Would you stop me if I tried?" Gabriel asks, sitting up and inching closer into Sam's personal space. "If I tried to fuck you?" Sam just stares back and then starts unbuttoning his shirt, which wait- is that an invitation or a concession- and Gabriel doesn't realize that he's asked it out loud until Sam shakes his head, dropping the shirt to the ground.

"My turn." Sam insists quietly. Gabriel is fairly inclined to let him get his way because he's busy imagining pouring honey in the well-defined cradle of Sam's hips. "Will you help us- me, Dean, Bobby, Cas- will you help us stop the apocalypse?" Gabriel sort of wants to bang his head against the wall. Of course, they could have a conversation about doing it, no strings attached, or Sam could try to buy his allegiance in cheap ass. It doesn't really help that Gabriel doesn't think they're going to win- don't get him wrong- he'd like it a lot more than any of the alternatives, but he doesn't want to seal the deal under the 'the world's about to end, you don't want to die a virgin' premise- he's got a reputation, after all. And honestly, about a week after Dean had turned on the sprinklers, spent sulking in Monte Carlo and unilaterally fucking over every one he met, Gabriel had chosen the side of Team Totally Fucked, anyway. But rather than bothering to explain himself, Gabriel just rolls his eyes.

"I wouldn't be here, in this stupid elevator, with you, if I wasn't, would I?" Gabriel finally says. "Also, you're a tease, I can't believe you took off your shirt before your socks." Sam's eyes automatically flick down to his toes, covered in shitty, worn out, gold-toed cotton, and he shrugs.

"You must kind of like it, or you wouldn't be in this stupid elevator, with me, would you?" Sam shoots back, comfortably, like he's regained his footing, and his hands aren't trembling any more. Gabriel's eyebrows shoot up, but Sam just smiles at him like he's got it all figured out, which is pretty fucking annoying, so Gabriel just grabs him by the wrist and kisses him hard.

Sam makes this surprised little noise, which is appreciated, even if Gabriel thought he'd been telegraphing his intentions pretty clearly on all fronts, for a while now. Then he just sort of gives it up like a slut, which is greatly appreciated, because now Gabriel can crawl up over Sam and, frankly, he thinks the phrase 'roving hands' was invented for him- no, really.

"You know," Gabriel mutters into Sam's neck before biting it sharply, working on the mother of all hickeys right above where the collar of Sam's shirt hits, just so Dean will have to stare at it, "You might want to play a little harder to get, people are going to think you're easy." Sam laughs, but his breath catches as his fingers convulsively clutch at Gabriel's hair, dragging him back up to kiss him, long, dirty and wet.

"I am easy," Sam replies sweetly, and Gabriel has to acknowledge, that's kind of true. He's sneaking a hand between them to undo Sam's button fly, and he spares a second to think, fondly, that Sam is really such a skank, when he hears the clang of an axe hitting a metal door.

"Fire Department, stand back from the doors, we're coming through!" comes a loud shout and there's a split second where Sam just narrows his eyes at him, before Gabriel pops out into the lobby. He knows he's going to be sleeping on the couch tonight, but it's totally worth it, so he just adjusts his grip on Sam's clothes.

The look Sam gives him as he's being escorted out in a fireman's jacket and not a lot else screams revenge, but Gabriel figures at least he let him keep his socks. That's got to count for something.

He hopes Sam gets to keep the jacket.