#samazar

   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.

Sam and his brother were taught by their father and their tough childhood to survive in any situation. Now that Sam is older and married to a very wealthy man, the concept of survival has new meaning. When Sam feels stressed, he calls in his big brother for a bit of normalcy.

(2,356 words, Samazar + Big Brother Dean)

    In the span of forty-five minutes, Sam had glanced up from his computer to see Dean scowling at his phone, hunched over at the end of one of two beds in the room.  He pursed his lips and kept quiet but by the hour mark, he’d had enough.  Either Dean was stewing or he’d died and Sam was going to have to deal with a corpse; one way or another.

    “What’s up, Dean,” he drawled, tapping away.

    Silence.

    He lifted his eyes to the ceiling.  “Uh, heard from Cas?”

    “No,” Dean grunted.  He wagged his phone at Sam.  “Little shit won’t answer.”

    “Don’t you have a direct line to him?” Sam prodded, peering at his brother over his laptop.  “Profound bond, and all that,” he grinned.  The first time he’d heard the term, he’d been jealous of course.  Here his brother had a link to an ethereal creature, ageless and powerful.  Something Sam would likely never have or even experience.  And then the more he got to know Castiel, the more amusing it seemed. They had a profound bond, all right, and they certainly shared more than one characteristic.  Namely complete and utter ignorant obstinacy when it came to matters of the heart.  Considering he’d had a hard enough time with Dean when the guy was a teenager, he wasn’t even going to try with an ageless creature like Castiel.

    Dean abruptly bolted to his feet and started pacing, still staring at his phone.  “I told him this was a bad idea.  Didn’t I?” He didn’t wait for Sam to respond, just continued his tight, jerking movements.  “But no; little bastard thinks he can go do shit on his own. Not like we’re dealing with Crowley here.”  

    Sam cleared his throat, struggling to keep the smile off his lips.  “You do remember he’s an angel, right?”  He held his hands out.  “Ageless being capable of smiting?”

    Dean glared at Sam and gestured with his phone.  “He’s a little bastard who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”

    Sam nodded, rolling his lips to keep from snickering. “So.  You’re worried about him?”

    That got him.  Dean immediately froze, head snapping up.  “No.  No.” He snorted and resumed pacing.  “Fuck, no.  Don’t want to clean up his mess, is all.”  He shoved his phone in his back pocket.  “Like, he barely knows what he’s doing!  Could be a vampire nest.  Witches.” Dean swung his arms, slapping his thighs.  “He’s totally unprepared.  Idiot.”

    “Smiting?” Sam reminded him.

    His older brother glared at him.  “He can’t keep relying on that; he’s been on the receiving end of some nasty shit, too.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “He should have waited for me,” he muttered.

    Sam snapped his laptop shut and rolled his eyes.  So it’d be one of those nights.  Dean would spend the entire time swearing at the absent Castiel, all while waiting desperately for a sign the angel was okay. And Castiel, would show up at the last minute, scare the shit out of both of them, and then Dean would yell at the angel for real.

    Which mean Sam would get zero research done and even less sleep thanks to his brother’s inability to find his way out of the closet in regards to his angelic best friend.

    Maybe if I put them both in a closet, he’d figure it out. He snickered at the mental image of locking his brother and a multi-dimensional being in a tiny broom closet. Good times.

    When Dean gave him a quizzical look, Sam stood up and grabbed his coat.  “I’m going to get a beer.  You interested?”  He faced the door and mouthed “no” in the sulking way Dean did as his brother echoed the word.  “Cool. I’ll be back in a bit.”

[unf oh god yes i adore this sam! dslkj;af yes, all the shipping!]

Sabrizar AU

     “The darlings and the flirty whatever,” he mumbled.  Christ, his skin was still far too warm.  But when Sam met men, they were usually other lawyers or legal types.  While he worked a great deal with police, he’d never really been attracted to one or had one be so . . . blunt.  And it was thrilling and worrying all in one breath.

Boys Don’t Talk About Their Feelings (Or: Part Seven - Fanboy Sam Talks to Everybody About His Feelings)

Summary: Sam tries to do the mature, responsible thing and completely ignore the tangled mess that is his love life, a new friend steps in and tells him to suck it up, and Castiel and Jo discuss the merits of Sam's ass in jeans.

Word count: ~5,500