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Don’t Blame It On the Whiskey

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Gabriel is quite drunk, is the first thing Castiel notices upon entering the motel room. The archangel-turned-pagan-god-turned-human…at least until Castiel can fully restore his grace…is sprawled across the bed, waving a bottle of whisky around as he sings – or warbles – a very off-key rendition of We Will Rock You.

His first thought is that Dean would be very proud of him knowing what song it is, even in spite of Gabriel’s butchering.

His second is that he really needs to get Gabriel sobered up and, probably, tucked into bed before he harms himself.

Gabriel looks over at him as he’s making his way to the bed, and amber eyes brighten happily. “Cas!” Gabriel cries, scrambling up. The whisky lands on the mattress with a thump, liquid spilling out over the sheets.

Castiel sighs, shaking his head with a fond sort of irritation. “Gabriel,” he says, blinking when the archangel crowds into his space, reaching up and staring at a fixed point just over Castiel’s shoulder.

The angel only has a second to wonder bemusedly what Gabriel is doing when he feels it: a touch, a jolt of pure energy shooting down his spine, and he gasps sharply, his eyes flaring wide as his knees threaten to buckle.

He’s grasping Gabriel’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, and Gabriel grins up at him drunkenly. “Can see your wings, baby bro,” he says, barely slurring the words. “Could always see your wings. Love your wings. So different from all the boring mooks upstairs…”

His hand again drags through ebony feathers, and Castiel moans at the feeling, the touch sparking in a way he’s never felt before and going straight to his groin. Castiel has never had a sexual encounter, has never really cared to, but he feels himself hardening almost instantly against Gabriel’s stomach, and can’t seem to do a thing to stop it. He gasps again when nimble fingers tug at his feathers. Doesn’t realize his brother is guiding him back to the bed until he’s toppling over, bracing himself over Gabriel as those mischievous eyes gaze up at him, dark and wanting.

Gabriel shouldn’t be able to see his wings, mortal as he is, let along touch them. No one has ever touched his wings before, and maybe that’s why Castiel had never known…

Gabriel’s hands get suddenly greedier, both of them now fisting in his wings. Castiel’s grace pulses, and he grinds down into Gabriel unthinkingly, his cock rubbing against Gabriel’s equally hard length.

This time, they moan together, but Gabriel’s hands never falter, and Castiel is helpless as he is overwhelmed with coils of sensation, as he ruts desperately against the fallen archangel, as, finally, he bends down and claims Gabriel’s mouth hard with his own. He shudders against him, and Gabriel’s hands rake through the mass of feathers, and just as suddenly as this whole encounter began, it’s over, Castiel giving one final, broken cry as he trembles through his release, and Gabriel quickly follows him over the edge.

Gabriel grunts when Castiel collapses on top of him moments later, and then laughs, a little breathlessly. “That was fun,” he declares, one hand moving to card through Castiel’s hair now. “Why have we never done that before?”

Castiel doesn’t think he’s capable of forming words right now, but he does manage to lift his head enough to glare. It’s at about that time he notices Gabriel’s eyes are glinting with humor, and that he looks far more sober than he ought to.

Gabriel, the sneaky bastard, planned this.

Later, Castiel is going to be annoyed about it. For now, he thinks he’ll just lie here, nestled against his brother, and plot his revenge.

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