evening_bat: Bat in flight, silhouetted against the moon. (Default)
[personal profile] evening_bat
Title: Not Expecting To Collide
Author: [personal profile] evening_bat
Pairing: Dean/Gabriel
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 2800
Warnings: Slash? Check. Blasphemy? Check. Good sense? Uh...must have missed that one.
Summary: Dean has a problem. Gabriel’s willing to lend a hand. (Or two.)
Notes: First in the Crawl To Your Foothill series. Titles from The Tea Party’s The Messenger.


Not Expecting To Collide


“Early night tonight?”

There was no restraining a startled jump in response to the unexpected voice in his hotel room, but Dean counted it a victory that he managed to avoid tipping himself or his beer off the bed. Turning away from the television, he glared across the room at the smirking archangel lounging on the bed next to his.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he grumbled. So much for a quiet night.

Gabriel might have recently upgraded himself from pain in the ass enemy to pain in the ass ally but he wasn’t exactly comfortable company. They were starting to get used to his habit of appearing at random, not that they had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t as if they could actually do anything about him. Dean just counted it lucky that Gabriel’s change of heart extended to (mostly) reining in his tricks around them these days.

“Wondering the same thing about you, actually,” Gabriel answered blithely, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on one hand as he stared at Dean. “The night is young, the beer is cheap, the women are hot, and Dean Winchester’s sulking in his motel room. What’s up with that?”

“I am not sulking.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gabriel apologized with exaggerated sincerity. “Dean Winchester’s holed up in his motel room watching unspeakably awful late night television. That better?”

Dean held the glare for a moment longer before allowing himself to flop backwards onto the pillow. “Okay, I think I’d rather be sulking,” he admitted to the ceiling.

There was a snort to his left, then Gabriel’s face leaned into view.

“So?” he prompted. “What are you doing in here when there’s fun to be had out there?”

“Not in the mood.” Dean took a half-hearted swipe at the archangel looming over him, unsurprised when his hand sailed through abruptly empty air as the foot of his bed sank under a new weight.

“Not in the mood?” Gabriel repeated. “You? Since when? Even Sam managed to get himself picked up tonight!”

“I know!” Dean lifted his head to share a disbelieving look with Gabriel, animosity momentarily forgotten in a moment of incredulous accord. Occasionally, Dean thought maybe he should worry about the fact that the only person he knew that seemed to share his sense of humour was a trickster archangel. (Mostly, he just appreciated the company.) “Any other circumstances and I’d be making jokes about the end of the world.”

“But that’d be in bad taste, even for me,” Gabriel agreed, almost regretfully. “And to be fair, she was smoking.”

“True, that.”

“So how’s it come to pass that your nearly monastic little brother’s out getting his rocks off while you’re sitting in here stewing in your own juices?” Gabriel persisted.

Dude! That’s gross!” Dean protested with a grimace. “And hey, not even I can get lucky all the time. We all have off nights.”

Gabriel hummed skeptically. “If your idea of an off night is a hot blonde practically opening your fly with her teeth right there at the bar, Dean, I really want to see what you consider hitting the jackpot. I should probably take notes.”

It took a couple of seconds for the implication of that statement to sink in. “Fucking creeper angels!” Dean cursed, sitting up to level another glare at Gabriel. “We’re in the middle of the goddamn Apocalypse and you can’t find anything better to do than spy on me and Sam?”

Gabriel shrugged, unconcerned. Dean scowled down at the foot of his bed, where Gabriel had resumed his careless sprawl. He allowed himself a self-indulgent moment of imagining booting Gabriel’s smug ass right off the mattress before giving it up as a catastrophically bad idea. Even discounting what Gabriel might do to him in retribution, they couldn’t afford to piss off their most powerful ally. No matter how much he deserved a good, swift kick.

“Yeah, well,” Dean finally said, leaning up against the headboard. Figured that Gabriel would drop in for a conversation Dean didn’t want to have and actually have the attention span to stick around to see it through. “She wasn’t my type.”

“So you’ve raised your standards, then?” Gabriel scoffed. “Gorgeous and willing doesn’t do it for you anymore?”

Dean forced himself to shrug off the question. “Maybe I’m just not that into blondes these days.”

“To each their own, I guess,” Gabriel said dubiously, giving Dean a look of mingled pity and disbelief.

Dean just grunted, and let Gabriel read what he liked into the non-reply.

“Too bad my baby brother hasn’t figured out what his cock is for, yet,” Gabriel continued idly. “I’m sure he could help you out with that.”

Hard as he tried, Dean couldn’t -- could not -- completely suppress his reaction to that not-so-casual comment. And by Gabriel’s suddenly intent expression, he hadn’t missed it, either. Hell, he’d probably set Dean up for that one.

Goddamn it, he swore mentally as Gabriel sat up and pinned Dean with a bright-eyed stare.

“So,” Gabriel drawled, a sharp smirk curving his lips. “You prefer brunettes these days? Or maybe you’ve developed a taste for blue eyes? Or trenchcoats?”

“You shut the fuck up,” Dean muttered. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, no, Dean,” Gabriel laughed and Jesus Christ Dean wanted to punch him. “You’re the one that doesn’t get what’s going on here. I understand just fine.”

“Understand what?” Dean bluffed. “Just because I didn’t let some chick blow me in the bathroom doesn’t mean --”

“Doesn’t mean that you aren’t ass over teakettle for your guardian angel?” Gabriel cut in, and the sure knowledge in his eyes strangled Dean’s half-assed denials in his throat.

Well, shit. There went any hope of lying his way out of the fact that he’d somehow been stupid enough to go and fall for Cas, of all people. At least Gabriel didn’t look angry about it. Dean didn’t think he’d survive Gabriel’s version of the overprotective older brother routine.

“Doesn’t matter if I am,” Dean finally answered. “There’s nothing he can do about it and nothing I’d ask him to do about it.”

“Huh,” Gabriel said thoughtfully, leaning back as he considered Dean’s response. “Okay, you get points for having the balls to admit it. More or less. And the brains not to push the issue.”

Dean shrugged. “Like you said, my standards are gorgeous and willing.”

And Cas, as much as Dean wished otherwise, was only one of the two. Sure, Dean could probably talk him into giving that vessel of his a trial run. Cas had already proven that he’d do some truly ridiculous shit if Dean asked. But there were some lines Dean wasn’t willing to cross, and sometimes acquiescence wasn’t the same thing as consent.

“Blonde in the bar was both,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Yeah, well.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Like I said, I wasn’t in the mood.”

And hadn’t that been a kick in the ass when Dean realized it. If he’d known that developing feelings for Cas would interfere with the casual sex Dean had been enjoying most of his life, he’d have worked harder at avoiding that little epiphany.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and whistled, low and surprised. “Man, you do have it bad.”

“Shut up,” Dean ordered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You two are absolutely disgusting, you know that?”

“I know,” Dean grumbled, aiming for annoyed instead of embarrassed. “Wait -- ‘you two’?”

“Well, yeah. Castiel’s every bit as gone on you as you are on him. He adores you. It’s honestly kind of sickening,” Gabriel complained.

“Uh, sorry about that?” Dean managed, trying to hide the warmth that Gabriel’s declaration had kindled in his chest.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “If you were really sorry, you would stop that. Keep this up and you’ll put me into sugar shock.”

“If it’s so revolting, you could always just go away,” Dean suggested hopefully.

“Nice try,” Gabriel said. “But we’re not talking about my feelings here.”

“Oh hell, no. My dick hasn’t actually fallen off in the last twelve hours or so, thanks,” Dean announced briskly. “So if you just came here to hang out and play Dr. Phil, you can consider it done and please fuck off now.”

Gabriel’s smug little smile widened into something sharper. “Glad to hear everything’s still in working order, ‘cause I wasn’t thinking of playing that kind of doctor.”

This time, Dean did drop his beer, but he was too busy gaping at Gabriel to pay attention as the bottle emptied its contents onto the cheap carpet.

“Hope you didn’t pay a deposit for this rat hole,” Gabriel remarked as he peered over the edge of the bed.

“What?” Dean asked faintly.

“I’m pretty sure questionable puddles or stains mean you lose your --”

“Not that!” Dean snapped. “What you said before!”

“Oh, that.” Gabriel returned his attention to Dean, smile quirking at what had to be an utterly gobsmacked expression. “I thought I was being clear enough. What part did you need explained?”

“The part where you’re coming on to me!”

Gabriel shrugged. “You’ve lost your taste for one night stands with strangers and sometimes I get tired of making my own fun. Seems like we could help each other out.”

“Help each other out,” Dean repeated flatly.

Gabriel nodded and fuck but he’d not-quite-moved somehow and the minute shift of his position had left him on display. Dean swallowed hard and tried to muster a glare at the manipulative little shit, but Gabriel just grinned unrepentantly at him. Dean had always had a weakness for wicked smiles like that, all heated appreciation and open invitation.

Gabriel wasn’t human, Dean reminded himself a bit desperately, and the poor bastard he was wearing wasn’t the kind of guy Dean would normally give a second look. And he was an asshole, with a vicious sense of humour, too -- important not to forget that part.

“What the hell game are you playing now, Gabriel?” Dean demanded, voice coming out rougher than he would have liked.

“Honest offer,” Gabriel told him, straightening slightly out of his calculated slouch to catch Dean’s eyes with his own and hold the look in apparent sincerity. “No tricks, no traps, no strings.”

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So -- what? You just want to help me take care of this case of blue balls out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Nothing altruistic about this,” Gabriel assured him, smile spreading slow and satisfied across his face when Dean failed to protest the light grip of the hand that reached out and wrapped around his ankle.

“Oh yeah?” Not Dean’s best comeback ever but he was busy not-reacting to the ticklish brush of fingers stroking beneath the cuff of his jeans.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Fishing for compliments?”

“Fishing for an explanation. You still haven’t said anything about why the sudden interest.”

“Stubbornness is not always a virtue, you know,” Gabriel complained, flinging his free hand up in exasperation. “It makes it annoyingly hard to do anything nice for you.”

“I don’t trust nice things,” Dean answered without thinking. Nice had never been Gabriel’s style, anyway.

“You wouldn’t,” Gabriel sighed dramatically.

When Gabriel’s hand slipped away from his leg and the bed dipped sharply under his movement, Dean was relieved. Really. Hopefully, Gabriel had finally satisfied whatever impulse had driven him to come pester Dean in the first place. Dean returned his attention to the tv, not bothering to watch him leave.

He supposed that meant he had no one to blame but himself when he was caught off guard by the shove that flattened him against the headboard as a warm, heavy weight settled across his thighs.

“Look, Dean,” Gabriel said as he straddled his lap. “I’m not sure what your problem is here. Castiel loves you right down to the tiniest bits of your admittedly interesting soul but he’s got no understanding of fleshly matters and he knows it. He could care less if you bang every perky bartender from here to Canada -- they make you smile, and they don’t touch that torch you’re carrying for him.”

“Fine. I can go ahead and fuck my way across the country guilt-free. But are you sure he won’t have an issue with you taking a number? You’re not exactly a perky bartender,” Dean pointed out, squeezing the angular hips on which his hands had reflexively settled.

“Who do you think told me where to find you? Besides, I could be,” Gabriel told him, tipping a sly smile his way before reality shivered around him and Dean found his lap full of curvy, smiling brunette.

Dean remembered her. She’d been a bartender, all right, in a town with a poltergeist problem. Sam and Dean had ostensibly stopped in for a drink, though they were actually more interested in the gossip and the pool tables in the back. Her name was Alex, he thought, and she’d been well worth looking at. (Even if it was the blueness of her eyes that had kept him glancing back at her.) He’d still put her off when her flirting took on a too-interested edge. Damn, but Gabriel did know how to pick them.

And yeah, Gabriel had great taste but Dean wasn’t going there.

Dean slid a hand up her back and gripped a handful of her long, sleek hair. “Cut that out,” he said firmly. “You want to make a case for us getting it on? Fine. Convince me yourself.”

“You sure?” she asked, looking at him through her eyelashes as she traced her fingers across his chest.

“Absolutely,” he told her, catching her hand in a tight grip. “Change back.”

She pursed her lips in an unfairly attractive pout before her shoulders lifted in a resigned shrug.

“Gotta say, I’m kind of surprised at you, Dean,” Gabriel said as her face rippled and resumed its more familiar lines. “Would have figured you for more adventurous than this.”

“I get plenty of adventure already, thanks,” Dean retorted dryly. “Show me that the reality’s worth it before you try and sell me on the fantasy.”

“You want the reality, huh?” Gabriel checked with a grimace. “Never been my favourite game to play.”

“You were the one who said you were tired of making your own fun,” Dean reminded him.

“And whose fault is that?” Gabriel demanded, poking a finger into Dean’s chest. “I was doing just fine until you chuckleheads came along.”

Dean snorted. “Sorry for making you give a shit,” he apologized insincerely.

“You should be,” Gabriel insisted sullenly. “I was a whole lot happier when I didn’t care any more.”

“Yeah? And how was that working out for you?” Dean snapped.

Gabriel might have been living the high life as a Trickster, but Dean knew a few things about wringing every last bit of cheap enjoyment out of life because you knew it wasn’t going to last much longer and that the end wasn’t going to be pretty.

Oh. Oh. Well, shit. He’d always known he and Gabriel had too much in common to be good for either of them.

...Which, Dean suddenly realized, didn’t mean that they couldn’t be good together.

“Huh,” he said, tightening the grip of his hand which had somehow settled on the back of Gabriel’s neck when he’d ditched the long hair.

Gabriel arched shamelessly into the contact, and Dean’s mouth went dry.

As far as angel-related epiphanies went, Dean had had worse. At least this one promised some pretty spectacular sex.

Dean licked his lips and had to admit that it was kind of gratifying to see Gabriel’s eyes follow the movement with interest. “So I’m starting to rethink your suggestion of a helping hand,” he admitted.

“Oh yeah?” Gabriel asked, sliding impossibly closer to breathe the question against Dean’s lips.

Dean answered by catching Gabriel’s mouth with his.

“Finally!” Gabriel muttered between kisses, and Dean could practically taste the smugness of his smile. “He gets it!”

And okay, no. Good idea or not, Dean wasn’t just going to lay back and let Gabriel get his gloat on.

Clamping one hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and the other at his hip, Dean surged forward and twisted, reversing their positions and pinning Gabriel to the mattress beneath him. Gabriel allowed himself to be manhandled, grinning up at Dean in open delight.

“Oh, I’ll show you who’s going to get it,” Dean promised, lowering his head to trail his lips across the sharp line of Gabriel’s jaw.

Gabriel laughed (breathless appreciation sounded good on him, Dean noted absently) and tilted his head back encouragingly.

“Bring it on,” he challenged, spread out under Dean like an invitation. “I can take anything you can dish out.”

After that, there was nothing left but to make Gabriel prove it. Which he did. At great length. To their mutual satisfaction.

The next day, Sam was so baffled by Dean’s excessive cheer that he forgot to be cranky about tromping through the beer spilled all over the motel carpet.

Fin


The Masterpost for the Crawl To Your Foothill series.
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