evening_bat: Bat in flight, silhouetted against the moon. (Default)
[personal profile] evening_bat
Title: A Minute I Let My Guard Down
Author: [personal profile] evening_bat
Pairing: Gabriel/Dean
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: ~ 2200
Warnings: If you’re here, you’re probably already aware of the blasphemy thing.
Summary: Sam finds out about them by accident.
Notes: Part of the Crawl To Your Foothill series. Titles from The Tea Party’s The Messenger.


A Minute I Let My Guard Down


It wasn’t that Dean was hiding his thing with Gabe, really. It was more that they didn’t have a thing. Sometimes Gabe just showed up when Dean was alone and they ended up in bed, that was all. (Or sometimes in the car, or the shower, or up against a wall. Dean was still holding on to his veto of motel carpets unless the room was something Gabe had snapped into existence.) Kind of the angelic equivalent of a booty call. Not that Dean was complaining ― a thousand years of running with the pagans hadn’t been wasted on Gabe. Dean was having some of the best sex of his life.

Definitely the best method of angel acclimatization Dean had experienced yet.

Prolonged exposure had to be why Dean didn’t so much as flinch when the far side of his bed sank under a new weight, late one night. He and Sam had been lying on their respective beds, staring blankly at the sci-fi cheesefest playing on the room’s ancient tv as they wound down from a night of dodging ghosts in the local cemetery.

“Hey there, boys.”

Sam muttered something vaguely welcoming, shooting Gabe a narrow-eyed glance before returning his attention to the screen.

“Oooo! Fine choice for the evening’s entertainment!” Gabe commented approvingly, stretching out comfortably as he apparently settled down for the duration.

Dean rolled his eyes ― of course Gabe enjoyed bad sci-fi, why was he even surprised? ― and grunted a greeting before adding, “Price of admission is munchies.”

A snap of the fingers later and both Dean and Sam were holding bucket-sized bags of movie theatre popcorn, hot enough that it was practically steaming. Dean wasted no time in cramming a handful into his mouth, mumbling appreciative thanks. The stuff was dripping with butter and salt, just the way it should be.

“And beer?” he added hopefully, after swallowing the first perfect mouthful.

“No pleasing some people,” Gabe sighed dramatically but a six-pack of chilled bottles obligingly appeared on the nightstand between the beds.

Sam snagged a couple of bottles, twisting the top off of one before passing it to Dean. Dean grinned thanks and tapped the necks of their bottles together.

“Okay, you can stay,” Dean announced magnanimously.

“Oh, can I?” Gabe snarked, then stole some of Dean’s popcorn.

Dean was distracted enough by the fact that Gabe was pulling caramel corn out of a bag of otherwise buttered popcorn that it took him far too long to realize that the theft hadn’t stopped at a handful.

“Hey!” he complained, tilting the bag away from Gabe’s reaching hand. “Get your own! Hell, make your own! You made this bag!”

“Oh, come on,” Gabe wheedled, stretching an arm across Dean’s chest in search of popcorn. “Everyone knows food tastes better if it’s someone else’s!”

“But you made - oh, fuck it,” Dean surrendered with a sigh, propping the bag against his hip within easy reach. “Knock yourself out.”

He absolutely did not smile at the contented noise Gabe made as he crunched away at another handful of stolen sweetness.

“Doesn’t taste any better in your lungs,” he said absently as Sam choked on a swig of beer, erupting into a fit of violent coughing. “Might as well not waste it by trying.”

“Would’ve thought he was old enough to feed himself, these days,” Gabe commented, eyeing the shade of near-purple Sam was turning.

Dean shrugged. “Eh, you know. Some people don’t learn so fast. You know, mature more slowly than others.”

“Always been a special snowflake, then?”

Dean didn’t bother trying to hide his grin when Sam squeezed an indignant splutter between gasping coughs.

“Neither one of you have got any room to talk about maturity,” he finally wheezed.

“What do you mean? I’m the picture of a responsible adult,” Dean lied shamelessly, thumping Gabe on the shoulder when he snickered his opinion of that comment.

“Only if Dali’s the one who painted the picture,” Sam shot back.

Dean had to give Sam credit ― from incoherent choking to bitchy retorts in under a minute, pretty impressive.

“Though I gotta admit, I’m sort of wondering what other common ground you two are finding these days.” Sam added thoughtfully, eyes flickering between Dean and Gabe.

“He has good taste in beer?” Dean offered, lifting up his bottle in illustration.

Sam made a face at him, rolling his eyes in that way that condemned Dean’s intelligence even as it demanded he stop playing dumb.

Dean scowled at him, wondering what the hell had gotten Sam’s boxers into a twist this time.

Sam just gestured at him, raising his eyebrows in pointed inquiry.

...Which was about when Dean realized that Gabe had practically crawled all over him during their earlier popcorn squabble and hadn’t bothered to move away after claiming his spoils. And if the fact that Gabe was now treating Dean’s stomach as a pillow hadn’t earned Sam’s suspicion, the casual arm Dean had slung over Gabe’s shoulder sure as hell would.

Well, shit. This was going to be fun to explain. Dean considered lying for a moment ― it wasn’t like Sam had caught him with his pants down ― but no, that wasn’t a workable option. Even without considering Gabe and his deep, sincere love of fucking with people, there was no easy lie that would explain Dean’s automatic acceptance of Gabe’s invasion of his personal space.

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Whatever he and Gabe got up to, they weren’t doing anything wrong, exactly. Problem was, there was a mess of unresolved grudges between Sam and Gabe, and it kept them at nothing more comfortable than an uneasy truce. Right or wrong, Sam figuring out that Dean was fucking around with Gabe left Dean feeling like he should be apologizing to somebody.

The outraged expression on Sam’s face wasn’t helping with that. “Really, Dean? You and him?

“Okay, so maybe we ―” he started before a sharp jab to his abdomen cut his words off in a pained grunt. He shot a glare down at Gabe, who’d twisted around to watch their conversation. “Jesus, your chin is pointy and will you please get it the hell out of my spleen?”

Gabe did him the favour of shifting his head so that Dean was no longer in imminent danger of losing internal organs before he aimed a mocking smile at Sam. “You just figuring this out now? And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“Hey!” Dean protested reflexively.

“Don’t worry,” Gabe reassured him, absently patting his stomach. “You’re still the pretty one.”

That was even worse. “I am not pretty!

“Okay, fine. You can be the hot one.” This time, there was nothing absent about the way Gabe touched him.

“Better,” Dean judged, catching Gabe’s wandering hand and deciding to ignore the almost indulgent shade to his answering smirk.

On the upside, it looked like Sam was having trouble deciding exactly how to react. Dean smothered a grin at the way Sam’s expression contorted back and forth between how could you do this? and I am about to laugh my ass off. To Dean’s relief, he eventually went with the latter, indignation finally collapsing into resigned amusement.

“So I suppose this explains the improvement in your mood, the last couple of months?” Sam asked dryly, eyes on their linked hands. “Should have guessed you had something going on.”

“Probably should have,” Dean agreed unrepentantly. Sam was the one who’d been giving Dean funny looks for not being depressed enough, and growing up in cramped motel rooms meant that Sam was all too familiar with Dean’s preferred method of cheering himself up.

“Surprised at you, though,” Sam continued, directing the comment at Gabe, who raised a curious eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?”

Okay, and that? That mild little inquiry? Was a red fucking alert. Dean couldn’t help but tense up as he looked between Sam’s edged smile and the hard brightness of Gabe’s eyes.

“Come on, you guys,” he tried, not wanting to get caught in the middle if Gabe decided to take offense. “Can’t we just ―”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, speaking over Dean’s vain attempt at peacemaking. “I mean, you show up for a visit with your boyfriend and this is the best you can do?”

There was a beat of startled silence, punctuated by tinny roaring from the tv speakers.

“Wait, wait, wait! Who said anything about boyfriends?” Dean demanded even as Gabe sat up and announced, “You know, you’re absolutely right!”

Ah, shit, Dean thought as he took in Gabe’s raised hand and gleeful grin. Sam just had to open his big mouth.

Gabe snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were in a movie theatre. One of the classic ones instead of some soulless multiplex, Dean was pleased to note, all red velvet drapery and gold moulding, and it looked like they had it to themselves. Dean was the centre of their little row of three, with Sam on his left and Gabe to his right. The crappy movie they’d been watching on tv was now playing on the big screen and looking all the worse for it. At this size, you could practically see the zippers on the rubber monster costume, and Dean couldn’t contain a snort of amusement. There was even a fresh bag of popcorn in his lap and a cold beer in the cupholder at his left hand.

All things considered, nowhere near the worst place Gabe had ever sent him.

“This’s more like it,” Sam commented approvingly, and Dean flipped him off with his near hand.

He and Gabe weren’t dating, for fuck’s sake. And even if they were, Dean could vet his own boyfriends, thank you very fucking much.

“Shut up,” he commanded, punching Sam in the shoulder. “Just be quiet and watch the damn movie.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam returned sharply, already gathering himself to stand.

All of this and Sam was still pitching a hissy fit? Jesus, and here Dean had been hoping that he’d avoided a temper tantrum of offended feelings. Frustrated, he frowned over at Sam in the flickering light. “The hell is the problem now?

“The problem is that I’m not going to hang around while you two trade hickeys and handjobs,” Sam told him as he hauled himself out of his seat.

Funny, how that had sounded less like a complaint and more like a suggestion. Dean narrowed his eyes and spotted a furtive grin tugging at the corners of Sam’s mouth as he scowled down at them.

“I can’t stop you from acting like horny teenagers, but I’m not going to sit here and watch,” he declared in apparent disgust.

But they’d never been good at communicating in straight lines and Dean caught the underlying message loud and clear. Translated from Winchester-speak: Go for it. You’ve got my blessing. Have fun.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t you are just full of good ideas today, Sam?” Gabe laughed, warm and wicked, far too close to Dean’s ear for comfort. Dean tamped down a shiver and refused to look over at him, not yet. Gabe laughed at them all the time but Dean had a conditioned reaction to hearing Gabe laugh like that. At least the uncertain light ought to hide the flush prickling over his skin.

There was genuine confusion in the shake of Sam’s head as he turned away ― fair enough, since it didn’t make all that much sense to Dean, some days ― but no anger driving his steps as he sidled out of the row.

“Just try to change the room back sometime tonight, would you?” he called over his shoulder, loping down the aisle towards the brightly-lit exit sign at the front of the room.

“No promises, Sammy!” Dean couldn’t resist shouting back. “This looks like it might turn out to be one hell of a show!”

“Ugh! Dean!” Sam yelled at him, hitting the door with a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Why do you always have to ―” he managed before the slam of the door cut off the stream of his aggrieved muttering.

Dean snickered and turned to Gabe, always ready to share a smirk at Sam’s expense. Gabe ambushed him with a kiss instead, not that Dean was complaining.

No, Dean thought as he let Gabe pull him in, angling his head obligingly as Gabe licked his way into his mouth. Not complaining at all.

“Guess your brother’s not the only one with good ideas today,” Gabe said as he let Dean up for air.

“Shut up about Sam, already,” Dean groaned as Gabe bit lightly at his throat. “Get to the part where we live down to all of those expectations of his.”

Gabe hummed enthusiastic agreement and tugged at Dean, tightening the grip he had on the back of Dean’s head. Dean slouched obediently in his seat, tipping his chin up and letting Gabe’s other hand tug his knees wider apart.

“Definitely the hot one,” Gabe murmured appreciatively as clever fingers worked open Dean’s jeans.

Dean was pretty sure that tonight was going to leave him with a new set of inappropriate reactions to cheesy monster movies. He was equally sure, hips rocking up into the hot clasp of Gabe’s hand wrapped around his dick, that it’d be entirely worth it.

Fin


The Masterpost for the Crawl To Your Foothill series.

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