“upsy daisy” stronk archangel bf
send “upsy daisy” to carry my muse bridal style. / @praeco.
SAM IS TIRED.
humphrey bogart and ingrid bergman share an intimate space on the little television screen, rick blaine’s eyes lidding with the tender affection of a man secretly enchanted. heres looking at you, kid. sam’s long legs are slung over gabriel’s lap, jutting into the other side of the sofa, the breadth of his weight braced against gabriel’s shoulder and side. though he had begun fully attentive of casablanca, his head has lolled into the archangel’s breast bone, lethargy claiming his impressive form. his eyes narrow, and gradually shut, as if weighed by more than sleep, tempting as a mistress it was.
the telltale press of close-to-deadweight–without the usual timid awareness of his own space that sam exhibited–finally betrays his attempt at remaining conscious, the crown of his hair spilling against gabriel’s shoulder, his breath fanning in soft oscillating rhythms against the angel’s neck. the film ticks to the end, and passes a fuzzy lane of credits, neatly centered and bolded.
gabriel hums something soft that falls watery on sams ears. sam dismissively attempts to wave his hand, though, half asleep, it paws lazily at gabriel’s chest, a finger hooking on a button. ‘ ‘m’awake. ‘ he slurs, not bothering to open his eyes to give credence to his case. gabriel snorts, almost derisively. and i’m the president of tanzania. he loops his supporting arm snugly around sam’s shoulders, the other lifting the long bridge of his legs and circling his knees.
alright, big guy. it surprises sam, even in this vulnerable state, how easily he goes. he knew how strong gabriel was, but he also knew he preferred the use of his abilities, his illusory tricks, his snapping fingers, over any avenue of physicality. it was easy to forget. he whines, burying his face into gabriel’s shoulder and looping a heavy arm around the other. ‘ don’t wanna sleep. ‘ sam protests, muffled by gabriel’s button up. sure about that? the skepticism practically drips. sam nods fervently, feeling the world sway underneath him, casablanca’s credit reel fading into the other room. ‘ you don’t sleep. don’t wanna be without you. ‘
gabriel stops, standing solid and still, proving how inconsequential sam’s fragile human body was to him. he exhales in what sam interprets as a sigh. i won’t leave.
