Some more of the Angel Sammich shenanigans of Spin of the Wheel. Man, their dialogue is fun. :D
Given he knew better than to expect an actual answer from an angel – let alone Gabriel – Sam merely sighed and shuffled his way back into the shared motel room. Strangely, Dean was nowhere to be seen. His gear was there and after, a peek out the door before shutting it, so was the Impala. So . . . huh. Admittedly, he’d been at the bar longer than he’d meant so maybe Dean went for a walk?
He pulled a face. No, walking was something Dean did out of desperation, not for stress relief. And if the Impala was still in the lot then that meant . . .
“Gabe, you didn’t already do something, did you?” he asked to the empty room. Sam groaned and covered his face. I shouldn’t make deals when I’m drunk, he groused. He dropped his hands and stared.
This wasn’t the grubby motel room he’d been in the last week. This was an opulent suite, decorated to the tens and hideous as a result. To his left, on an ornate stand that looked hardly strong enough to hold dust, sat two ice-filled buckets with very expensive champagne bottles nestled inside.
He groaned again. His life was so much simpler when he was just a demonic abomination. “Balthazar?” he hedged.
The blond angel came sweeping around the corner, two champagne glasses in hand. He thrust the mostly over-filled one into Sam’s startled hand. “Cheers, darling,” he purred, throwing back his own before brushing past Sam for the bottles that waited.
Sam’s glass was leaking steadily and he took a hurried sip before shifting it to his other hand to lick the excess from his fingers. He froze as Balthazar watched him, the pale blue predatory.
Sam took a swallow from his glass and shoved his empty hand into his back pocket, wishing like hell that Balthazar’s eyes would go elsewhere. “So. Uh. Hi?”
Balthazar smirked. “You’re usually not so shy, Samuel.” He reached out with his bare hand and pinched Sam’s chin between thumb and fingers. “It’s adorable. An improvement to the one without the manners.”
Remembering that Gabriel had mentioned Balthazar – and desperately shoving aside why – Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, nice . . . room?” he managed.
Balthazar glanced around and shrugged. “Garish, yes. Expensive?” He grinned. “Oh, darling; if you only knew.” He sipped more sedately at his glass this time, never letting his eyes stray far from Sam.
Now I know what ‘deer in headlights’ actually means, he bemoaned. Unsettled – but admittedly more than a bit turned on by the direct stare – Sam spun around and headed deeper into the suite. Anything to get Balthazar’s attention shifted, honestly. Though, there was a bit of an ego boost to it, he could admit that. Balthazar wasn’t unattractive.
He rolled his eyes at himself as he took a seat on the black velvet couch in the next room. You’re worse than Dean, idiot, he chided. To his relief, Balthazar took a seat opposite, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back, savoring his glass.
“I’m going to assume Gabe’s behind this?” he prodded, setting his glass on the crystal-topped table in front of him. Christ, I can’t imagine how Balthazar’s vessel is feeling right now. He’ll be lucky to have the clothes on his back by the time this is over. Though, if Balthazar’s vessel was anywhere near as hedonistic as Balthazar himself, the poor guy was likely having the time of his life.
“Correct,” Balthazar drawled. He waved his empty hand. “It appears that even he is rather . . . put out by our siblings and their . . . dramatic behavior.” He shrugged. “Bloody gits need a good shag, honestly.”
Sam snorted, not missing the curl of Balthazar’s mouth at the sound. “Yeah, I suppose.” He leaned forward, arms on his knees and hands clasped. “But Dean’s gone. From our room. But the car’s not.” He didn’t want to worry but his brother was damn near all he had anymore. And just because he wanted Dean to stop being obstinate, didn’t mean he wanted him hurt. “I just didn’t expect Gabe to do something so quickly.”
Balthazar chuckled. “When it comes to pranks, that’s the only time he’s quick.” The innuendo thick like fog in Sam’s ears. Again, that aggressive gleam in the pale eyes. “He mentioned a . . . wager or sorts?”
Sam’s face went hot and he fought the urge to squirm in his seat. “Maybe,” he muttered. Christ, Gabe. What’d you do, post it to a bulletin board? He rubbed the back of his neck and sat back, avoiding Balthazar’s eyes. “He, uh, might have . . . asked for something in return.”
“Indeed.” Balthazar shifted, his glass clinking against the table between them. “I’d suggest biting his earlobe; he likes that.”
Sam twisted in his seat, staring at Balthazar. He gaped for a moment at the placid look on the angel’s face. “You? I mean, you and him?”
Balthazar frowned, not unhappily. “Of course. He’s delightful, you know.” He smirked, dancing the fingers of one hand in the air between them. “Very vocal. You’ll enjoy it.”
Sam wasn’t certain if he was about to pass out or combust given the subject matter. He swallowed, horrified and obsessively imagining the honey-haired brunet bouncing in his lap. “But . . . that . . . aren’t you two . . .” he trailed off, unable to finish.
Balthazar’s laughter was gentle and warm this time, nowhere near as snide as in the past. “Darling, please. We’ve enjoyed each other for centuries. And if you think he and I haven’t partaken elsewhere, you’re as clueless as your kin.” His lips curled in heated amusement. “Besides, we often share; when the subject is willing.”
Sam snapped his mouth shut, blindly staring at the bubbles in his champagne. Share? As in . . . both? He swallowed, flicking his gaze to Balthazar who watched unconcerned and then back to his glass. That wouldn’t be terrible. Right? He had a quick vision of the three of them and yes, it wasn’t terrible.
He bolted the last of his champagne, coughing at the scrape of bubbles in his throat. “I can . . . um, that’s . . . that’s good.” He winced at the lame answer. “I mean, if you want . . . you can . . .” he stopped and covered his face with his hands, groaning. I hate angels, I hate angels, I hate angels. Especially sexy ones. “Yes, okay? I want to do both of you.”
“Aw, little Sammy’s all grown up,” crowed a familiar voice. Gabriel’s hands were warm and quick on Sam’s shoulder as he planted a kiss on the crown of his head. He plopped himself beside Sam on the couch and leaned into him, contented as a cat.
“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked, ignoring the pleasant way Gabriel’s hand snaked around the inside of his thigh.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” He snapped his fingers and a large flatscreen television descended from the ceiling, the screen popping to life as it did.
Dead center was his brother, knocked out cold on a bed alarmingly similar to the one in their motel.
Gabriel patted Sam’s thigh and winked at him. “Show time.”
