Sabriel. Drabble. PWP.

Note: I wrote this in someone's ask box on tumblr and figured I'd share.

It's not the actual sex that makes fucking Gabriel amazing. That's not to say that the act itself isn't mind-blowing in its own way, because it is, even if Sam's sometimes too shy to say it out loud.

No, it's the foreplay.

Because it doesn't start right before Gabriel screws Sam into the couch or floor or mattress or wall; no, it starts hours before, sometimes days before. Coy smiles, suggestive touches, words laced in innuendo—Gabriel pulls all the stops, all while keeping Sam at arms length. Oh, he'll lick his lips in invitation, but if Sam accepts and leans in for a kiss, he flits away like a little sparrow. He'll pass his hand dangerously close to Sam's groin and then wander off, talking about exotic chocolates from Egypt that he really wanted to fly and get, and, oh, did Sam want any? Cause he could totally get some. They're to die for.

But then Sam manages to get a hold of his angel, grabs him in his arms and squeezes tight, and Gabriel finally calls off the game and gives Sam exactly what he wants.

Because, despite his millenia of fleeing from his family, of hiding, of taunting and disappearing, he really loves getting caught.

So long as Sam's doing the catching.