alchemyalice (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alchemyalice) wrote2010-07-14 09:20 am
alchemyalice) wrote2010-07-14 09:20 am
Entry tags:
Extracurriculars
Title: Extracurriculars
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Gabriel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: AU as of 5.19
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: I own not a whit.
Summary: In which there is painstaking research, boredom-induced shenanigans, and Sam is blinded for life. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kissbingo , prompt 'while talking', which has been stretched somewhat absurdly, but hopefully still counts.
Holy shit, it is geek-squared up in this motel room, and Dean is about twenty kinds of not okay with it.
Sam and Cas are strategizing. Apparently today that means doing painstaking calculations of various angles on a map while discussing the grammatical particulars of an 800-year-old demonic legend that’s written in nearly illegible Greek.
“I swear this guy was drunk when he was writing this down,” Sam mutters, erasing madly while Castiel makes a considering noise over a photocopy. “Unless I’m totally screwing up this cosine value, the tangent here is all wrong. And if that’s an alpha and not sigma, or omicron iota—“
“Then that would change the meaning of this conjuration rather drastically, I’m aware,” Cas replies, setting aside the photocopy to scrutinize the map. “We may have to be prepared for either scenario.”
Sam adjusts a protractor. “That gives us two degrees of difference here, which creates…dammit. A 4.862 mile-wide margin of error. We’re not going to be able to cover that much ground. Is there a way we can—“
“Narrow it back down? Possibly. There’s a somewhat obscure reference to this same passage in an Armenian text, if I recall.”
“You speak Armenian?”
“I speak all languages, Sam.”
Dean rolls his eyes to avoid watching Sammy go all wide-eyed and awed over Castiel’s ridiculous font of knowledge. He’s sort of mildly surprised his little brother didn’t have an illicit affair with one of his Stanford professors with a intellect kink like that.
“He nearly did. Miss Gerard, sophomore year. Before he started seeing Jess, obviously.”
Dean blinks and glares at Gabriel, who is lying outstretched on his stomach at the foot of the bed. “Dude, were you seriously that much of a creeper?” he demands. “Even before the whole Apocalypse started?”
“You’ve been marked from birth,” Gabriel says, like it was obvious. “Of course I was gonna keep an eye on you both.”
“Stalker.”
Gabriel had shown up not long after Famine, with help and advice and strategically offered pie. Sam still hates him with the fire of a thousand suns, but Dean has pretty much equilibrated himself with the situation. Gabriel is a pain in the ass, but he's the most powerful ally they have, and he even lent a bit of his grace to Cas, so that now they have two fully functional angels fighting the good fight. So Dean is mostly okay with him.
The pie had helped a lot.
“I’m booored,” Gabriel drawls, lolling his head to one side to propel his whole body into a languid roll.
“You could help them,” Dean suggests. “At least you have the know-how to do that kind of shit.”
“Never had a real inclination for math,” Gabriel shakes his head. “All too technical for me. I prefer the more…concrete sciences.”
“Oh?” Dean raises an eyebrow. He realizes somewhat belatedly that the both of them are speaking in hushed tones, as if carrying a conversation on in normal volume will interrupt the crucial goings-on amongst the more intellectual half of their merry band. Which might be true, honestly—Dean’s been subject to Sam’s bitchface from making smart comments during research on more than one occasion.
They do seem particularly into it this time around. Castiel is pointing out something technical to Sam, who seems to be absorbing it like it’s a life and death situation.
Hell, it might be. Dean’s just gonna go with it when they actually formulate a proper game plan and give him instructions. Until then, though, he will remain in blissful ignorance of their various geometry-based shenanigans.
Gabriel huffs and shifts, like there are many things that Dean isn’t picking up on. “How long does this stage usually last?” he asks, flopping around on the upholstery like a beached whale.
“The research stage? A couple days. Maybe only until this evening if we’re lucky and I talk Sammy into accepting diner food into his life,” Dean answers.
“The human experience of time is ridiculously limiting. I don’t like it.”
“Sorry,” Dean says, unapologetically. He would join in the complaints, except he’s still not sure how much he can bitch about humanity before Gabriel decides that saving them isn’t worth it anymore. There is always that danger, and it’s not a good danger at all. Also, since Sam seems to insist on questioning Gabriel at every turn, Dean’s taken the whole humanity’s-worth-it campaign on himself, so he can’t really afford to slip up.
“Well, then. Amuse me,” Gabriel orders. He doesn’t look like he should be in any position to give orders, sprawled at Dean's feet like a cat in a pool of sunlight. Dean snorts.
“How, precisely?”
The drone of Sam and Cas’s academic vernacular is a long buzz of multisyllabic words and pedantic bickering. Dean hears it like a static feedback.
In a monumental effort, Gabriel rolls again, arches his back and pushes himself onto his hands and knees on the bedspread. He crawls over to Dean in a sort of saunter that reminds Dean of panthers and lethargic male lions. The archangel’s eyes are tawny even in the uneven halogen glow of the motel room.
“I have a few ideas,” Gabriel says, like the whole thing is scripted, like this isn’t new and different and totally out of Dean’s comfort zone.
Dean shifts, and realizes that Gabriel’s limbs are splayed out over him, muscled arches of arms, legs and torso in provocative lines around his body, and yet completely unattached, no points of contact, just the suggestion of them.
“If we can apply this ritual two days before the significant date…” Sam begins, utterly absorbed.
Castiel murmurs something encouraging while shuffling papers. Sam clicks the touchpad on the laptop a few times, and makes a satisfied sound. Everything else gets lost to the ether of Dean’s fogged out brain.
He looks at Gabriel, whose face is now inches from his own, all suggestive amusement and tentative interest. His eyes are almost golden now, startlingly attractive in the way they seemed to drink the sight of Dean in with a note of anticipation and impatient appreciation. It’s the same look Dean has seen in a long line of interested females, but it’s not often that he sees it in someone who’s watched him since the beginnings of his life, who can read all the sordid and horrific terrors of his mind in the day and, worse, at night.
He’s never expected that kind of acceptance. That kind of unconditional desire.
Gabriel’s arm lifts and reaches as Sam shifts in his chair to make room for Castiel’s interested hovering. Castiel murmurs something about taking a less trigonometric approach, which Sam seems to absorb first with disbelief, and then interest verging on amazement.
Castiel recites the equations as he writes them out on a scrap of paper beside Sam’s laptop.
In the midst of their buzz of conversation, Dean tips his head back against cheap cushions, letting his lips part, and Gabriel leans forward with a smirk.
The kiss is slow, unhurried. Dean tastes chocolate on Gabriel’s mouth, and licks at it to draw the flavor out, but Gabriel is intent on pressing forwards, opening farther to chase the essence of Dean across the roof of his mouth and along the ridges of his teeth. He issues a small noise in his throat, like this is exactly what he wants, and Dean responds instinctively, bringing one hand up to grasp at the archangel’s nape and grip it with no intention of letting go.
Gabriel makes a sound of approval, and presses closer, utterly superceding the sounds of angle calculation and Greek-semantics discussion. Dean feels the bedspread go from cool to practically infernal under Gabriel. He grips at the archangel’s shoulders, licks further into the taste of ozone and sugar, and feels more than hears a guttural groan of appreciation from his own throat.
“Well, then with that in place I think we can cover a two mile radius in under the hour needed, so long as all of us split up and take a half a mile each. Does that sound reasonable to you, De—oh my god.”
Gabriel pulls back just enough that Dean can breathe, but not enough to lose the heat of him radiating like an electric blanket. Dean realizes that he has one hand tangled in Gabriel’s hair, but doesn’t make any effort to amend that. He races to comprehend the conversation he hasn’t been following. “Half a mile each? Sounds like a plan,” he says, and only then does he realize how swollen his lips are, soft with pressure and desire, and an archangel’s stubble.
“Consider it done,” Gabriel confirms, and if Dean was feeling any doubt about the continuance of this liaison, the firm grip of the hand on his hip demolishes it pretty effectively. His palm is burning hot, and Dean wants it elsewhere as soon as possible. He tilts his head to give Sam a significant look, as if Gabriel straddling him like a rodeo rider wasn’t clue enough.
“I’m…I’m gonna go. Cas, we should go,” Sam says carefully, as if he hasn’t walked in on Dean with various floozies far less dressed and decent than Gabriel is at the moment. Sam’s clearly just a pussy.
Castiel makes a sort of vague questioning noise that Sam violently shakes his head at.
As they leave in favor of less debaucherous environs, Gabriel leans down and breathes deeply into the hollow of Dean’s throat. “You’re very effective entertainment, friend,” he says, a whisper against Dean’s jugular.
Dean pulls upwards to get at the archangel’s collarbone. “Yeah well, I’ve always been the one for practical application,” he says.
Gabriel growls, and kisses him again, harder.
Dean’s not about to argue with him, not when something like this could interrupt a Sam Winchester geek-out. Sure, that kind of shit keeps him alive, but maybe this could keep him feeling alive, at the end of the day.
Gabriel sets luminescent eyes on his jawline. He too apparently has better things to do then keep abreast of Sam and Castiel’s various mathematical revelations.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam dragging Castiel out the door with the pained expression of the deeply, deeply discomfited. He says something about 'eyes' and 'trauma' that gets lost behind the slammed motel door.
Dean huffs a laugh of amusement.
Gabriel snarls, like Dean isn’t paying him enough attention. Dean tips his head back again, amenably exposing his throat.
The research stage has just been significantly improved.
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Gabriel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: AU as of 5.19
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: I own not a whit.
Summary: In which there is painstaking research, boredom-induced shenanigans, and Sam is blinded for life. Written for
kissbingo , prompt 'while talking', which has been stretched somewhat absurdly, but hopefully still counts.Holy shit, it is geek-squared up in this motel room, and Dean is about twenty kinds of not okay with it.
Sam and Cas are strategizing. Apparently today that means doing painstaking calculations of various angles on a map while discussing the grammatical particulars of an 800-year-old demonic legend that’s written in nearly illegible Greek.
“I swear this guy was drunk when he was writing this down,” Sam mutters, erasing madly while Castiel makes a considering noise over a photocopy. “Unless I’m totally screwing up this cosine value, the tangent here is all wrong. And if that’s an alpha and not sigma, or omicron iota—“
“Then that would change the meaning of this conjuration rather drastically, I’m aware,” Cas replies, setting aside the photocopy to scrutinize the map. “We may have to be prepared for either scenario.”
Sam adjusts a protractor. “That gives us two degrees of difference here, which creates…dammit. A 4.862 mile-wide margin of error. We’re not going to be able to cover that much ground. Is there a way we can—“
“Narrow it back down? Possibly. There’s a somewhat obscure reference to this same passage in an Armenian text, if I recall.”
“You speak Armenian?”
“I speak all languages, Sam.”
Dean rolls his eyes to avoid watching Sammy go all wide-eyed and awed over Castiel’s ridiculous font of knowledge. He’s sort of mildly surprised his little brother didn’t have an illicit affair with one of his Stanford professors with a intellect kink like that.
“He nearly did. Miss Gerard, sophomore year. Before he started seeing Jess, obviously.”
Dean blinks and glares at Gabriel, who is lying outstretched on his stomach at the foot of the bed. “Dude, were you seriously that much of a creeper?” he demands. “Even before the whole Apocalypse started?”
“You’ve been marked from birth,” Gabriel says, like it was obvious. “Of course I was gonna keep an eye on you both.”
“Stalker.”
Gabriel had shown up not long after Famine, with help and advice and strategically offered pie. Sam still hates him with the fire of a thousand suns, but Dean has pretty much equilibrated himself with the situation. Gabriel is a pain in the ass, but he's the most powerful ally they have, and he even lent a bit of his grace to Cas, so that now they have two fully functional angels fighting the good fight. So Dean is mostly okay with him.
The pie had helped a lot.
“I’m booored,” Gabriel drawls, lolling his head to one side to propel his whole body into a languid roll.
“You could help them,” Dean suggests. “At least you have the know-how to do that kind of shit.”
“Never had a real inclination for math,” Gabriel shakes his head. “All too technical for me. I prefer the more…concrete sciences.”
“Oh?” Dean raises an eyebrow. He realizes somewhat belatedly that the both of them are speaking in hushed tones, as if carrying a conversation on in normal volume will interrupt the crucial goings-on amongst the more intellectual half of their merry band. Which might be true, honestly—Dean’s been subject to Sam’s bitchface from making smart comments during research on more than one occasion.
They do seem particularly into it this time around. Castiel is pointing out something technical to Sam, who seems to be absorbing it like it’s a life and death situation.
Hell, it might be. Dean’s just gonna go with it when they actually formulate a proper game plan and give him instructions. Until then, though, he will remain in blissful ignorance of their various geometry-based shenanigans.
Gabriel huffs and shifts, like there are many things that Dean isn’t picking up on. “How long does this stage usually last?” he asks, flopping around on the upholstery like a beached whale.
“The research stage? A couple days. Maybe only until this evening if we’re lucky and I talk Sammy into accepting diner food into his life,” Dean answers.
“The human experience of time is ridiculously limiting. I don’t like it.”
“Sorry,” Dean says, unapologetically. He would join in the complaints, except he’s still not sure how much he can bitch about humanity before Gabriel decides that saving them isn’t worth it anymore. There is always that danger, and it’s not a good danger at all. Also, since Sam seems to insist on questioning Gabriel at every turn, Dean’s taken the whole humanity’s-worth-it campaign on himself, so he can’t really afford to slip up.
“Well, then. Amuse me,” Gabriel orders. He doesn’t look like he should be in any position to give orders, sprawled at Dean's feet like a cat in a pool of sunlight. Dean snorts.
“How, precisely?”
The drone of Sam and Cas’s academic vernacular is a long buzz of multisyllabic words and pedantic bickering. Dean hears it like a static feedback.
In a monumental effort, Gabriel rolls again, arches his back and pushes himself onto his hands and knees on the bedspread. He crawls over to Dean in a sort of saunter that reminds Dean of panthers and lethargic male lions. The archangel’s eyes are tawny even in the uneven halogen glow of the motel room.
“I have a few ideas,” Gabriel says, like the whole thing is scripted, like this isn’t new and different and totally out of Dean’s comfort zone.
Dean shifts, and realizes that Gabriel’s limbs are splayed out over him, muscled arches of arms, legs and torso in provocative lines around his body, and yet completely unattached, no points of contact, just the suggestion of them.
“If we can apply this ritual two days before the significant date…” Sam begins, utterly absorbed.
Castiel murmurs something encouraging while shuffling papers. Sam clicks the touchpad on the laptop a few times, and makes a satisfied sound. Everything else gets lost to the ether of Dean’s fogged out brain.
He looks at Gabriel, whose face is now inches from his own, all suggestive amusement and tentative interest. His eyes are almost golden now, startlingly attractive in the way they seemed to drink the sight of Dean in with a note of anticipation and impatient appreciation. It’s the same look Dean has seen in a long line of interested females, but it’s not often that he sees it in someone who’s watched him since the beginnings of his life, who can read all the sordid and horrific terrors of his mind in the day and, worse, at night.
He’s never expected that kind of acceptance. That kind of unconditional desire.
Gabriel’s arm lifts and reaches as Sam shifts in his chair to make room for Castiel’s interested hovering. Castiel murmurs something about taking a less trigonometric approach, which Sam seems to absorb first with disbelief, and then interest verging on amazement.
Castiel recites the equations as he writes them out on a scrap of paper beside Sam’s laptop.
In the midst of their buzz of conversation, Dean tips his head back against cheap cushions, letting his lips part, and Gabriel leans forward with a smirk.
The kiss is slow, unhurried. Dean tastes chocolate on Gabriel’s mouth, and licks at it to draw the flavor out, but Gabriel is intent on pressing forwards, opening farther to chase the essence of Dean across the roof of his mouth and along the ridges of his teeth. He issues a small noise in his throat, like this is exactly what he wants, and Dean responds instinctively, bringing one hand up to grasp at the archangel’s nape and grip it with no intention of letting go.
Gabriel makes a sound of approval, and presses closer, utterly superceding the sounds of angle calculation and Greek-semantics discussion. Dean feels the bedspread go from cool to practically infernal under Gabriel. He grips at the archangel’s shoulders, licks further into the taste of ozone and sugar, and feels more than hears a guttural groan of appreciation from his own throat.
“Well, then with that in place I think we can cover a two mile radius in under the hour needed, so long as all of us split up and take a half a mile each. Does that sound reasonable to you, De—oh my god.”
Gabriel pulls back just enough that Dean can breathe, but not enough to lose the heat of him radiating like an electric blanket. Dean realizes that he has one hand tangled in Gabriel’s hair, but doesn’t make any effort to amend that. He races to comprehend the conversation he hasn’t been following. “Half a mile each? Sounds like a plan,” he says, and only then does he realize how swollen his lips are, soft with pressure and desire, and an archangel’s stubble.
“Consider it done,” Gabriel confirms, and if Dean was feeling any doubt about the continuance of this liaison, the firm grip of the hand on his hip demolishes it pretty effectively. His palm is burning hot, and Dean wants it elsewhere as soon as possible. He tilts his head to give Sam a significant look, as if Gabriel straddling him like a rodeo rider wasn’t clue enough.
“I’m…I’m gonna go. Cas, we should go,” Sam says carefully, as if he hasn’t walked in on Dean with various floozies far less dressed and decent than Gabriel is at the moment. Sam’s clearly just a pussy.
Castiel makes a sort of vague questioning noise that Sam violently shakes his head at.
As they leave in favor of less debaucherous environs, Gabriel leans down and breathes deeply into the hollow of Dean’s throat. “You’re very effective entertainment, friend,” he says, a whisper against Dean’s jugular.
Dean pulls upwards to get at the archangel’s collarbone. “Yeah well, I’ve always been the one for practical application,” he says.
Gabriel growls, and kisses him again, harder.
Dean’s not about to argue with him, not when something like this could interrupt a Sam Winchester geek-out. Sure, that kind of shit keeps him alive, but maybe this could keep him feeling alive, at the end of the day.
Gabriel sets luminescent eyes on his jawline. He too apparently has better things to do then keep abreast of Sam and Castiel’s various mathematical revelations.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam dragging Castiel out the door with the pained expression of the deeply, deeply discomfited. He says something about 'eyes' and 'trauma' that gets lost behind the slammed motel door.
Dean huffs a laugh of amusement.
Gabriel snarls, like Dean isn’t paying him enough attention. Dean tips his head back again, amenably exposing his throat.
The research stage has just been significantly improved.