Abrázame que el tiempo pasa y el nunca perdona,
ha hecho estragos en mi gente como en mi persona. Abrázame que el tiempo es malo y muy cruel amigo,
abrázame que el tiempo es oro si tú estás conmigo, abrázame fuerte, muy fuerte, más fuerte que nunca,
- Te confieso que no tengo un instante sin pensar en ti, que cuanto como y bebo tiene tu sabor, que la vida eres tú a toda hora y en todas partes. Que el gozo supremo de mi corazón sería morirme contigo. -¿Y ahora? -Ahora nada, me basta con que lo sepas.
I relied on Google translate so I apologize if the phrases
or words I used here aren’t the proper translations! Tagging @fangirl-unlimited-11. Thank you so, so much for this prompt, this was a great fic to write! I hope
you enjoy this!
Note: Be prepared to be slapped with a disgustingly high amount of fluff.
UPDATE: I really hope you don’t mind, but someone pointed out that proper wording for the phrase so I changed it accordingly to properly fit what Gabriel is saying to Sam. I hope you don’t mind!!
Sam adored it when Gabriel spoke different languages.
Before they got together but after Sam had accepted his not-so-platonic,
severely romantically-inclined feelings towards the archangel, Gabriel would
occasionally offer the Winchester brothers and Castiel little quips, terms, and
phrases in different tongues that he felt contributed to the situation at hand.
Blödmann is what
he called Dean during playful arguments with the older hunter. Sam was usually
within earshot when this happened, but he never became alert like he previous
would have before for fear of a possible fight breaking out. Dean would laugh
it off, having long since understood the meaning behind the German word, and
fling his own insult toward the archangel. Dean’s stiff bitterness toward
Gabriel had definitely eased up considerably, and now the two were amicable
Sam would just smile and shake his head at their antics,
ignoring the mad rush of heat in his abdomen that stemmed from the low,
murmured, almost growled deliverance of the word from Gabriel’s lips.
Fratellino is what
Gabriel usually referred to Castiel as whenever he spoke to Sam about him, his
eyes glowing with affection. Sam would watch this honest display dance in
Gabriel’s expression; whether Gabriel spoke the word seriously or with added
snark, his compassion and fraternal love toward Castiel was always present. Sam’s
heart warmed with the sight of it, and with the trill of his voice as he said
it, pride tinting the gentle Italian endearment.
Gabriel’s nickname for Sam was a bit more creative, the
archangel taking to calling him Montaña
Rusa. And God, Gabriel was seriously
trying to kill him with the way he
rolled his ‘r’ so perfectly, his tongue curling and flicking to execute the
smooth delivery of each word, the romantic language flowing easily from his
mouth with equal parts delicacy and firmness.
Despite this, Sam couldn’t help but throw back his head and
laugh merrily, humored tears stinging his eyes, his arms clutching his sides the
first time that Gabriel announced one of Sam’s nickname to him with all the
flair and enthusiasm as a Spanish broadcaster.
Whatever the language, Sam always found himself enthralled
with how it sounded in Gabriel’s voice. He was captivated with how rough, how
soft, how thick, how accented, how smooth, how flawless the words came, and how
perfect it all sounded coming from Gabriel.
Then came the day that Sam couldn’t take it anymore. Gabriel
had been ranting about… something. Sam couldn’t remember for the life of him
what it had been that sent the archangel into a tirade, but he did notice when
Gabriel suddenly alternated into speaking French rather than English.
Sam noticed the words, how Gabriel’s lips and tongue and
throat wrapped warmly around each and every one of them, how melodic and
soothing it was to hear Gabriel’s dictations of their pronunciation, and he
snapped. He only remembered lunging forward, his hands cupping Gabriel’s face
and abruptly cutting off that beautiful voice, sunset eyes widening in
surprise, and Sam’s name choking through Gabriel’s shock. And then he knew true
bliss as Sam’s mouth went in and captured Gabriel’s lips in a desperate kiss,
swallowing the empty air and the ghosts of beautiful languages spoken through Gabriel’s
Screw Heaven and all of its promises. This right here? This was Paradise.
Quite obviously, their change in relationship altered the
names Gabriel provided for Sam. For one, there were more. Not that Sam would
ever find a reason to complain about that.
Now, Gabriel would greet him in the mornings in the kitchen
for breakfast with a loving peck on the cheek and mon amour rumbling from his throat.
Gabriel would lean down and kiss Sam deep and hungry,
growling herrlich or schön into the air thick with Sam’s
pants and broken moans.
Gabriel would wrap his arms fiercely around Sam, hands clutching
desperately at the hunter’s hair and trembling in relief from yet another close
call, frantically muttering, “Don’t scare
me like that, bakayarou!”
remained Gabriel’s favorite pet name, of course, more reserved for when the
archangel was feeling particularly playful or mischievous. Sam merely rolled
his eyes and grinned whenever he did this, stamping a gentle kiss to Gabriel’s
Sam adored it when Gabriel spoke different languages to him,
his love shining through in every one.
But nothing, absolutely nothing,
compared to what Sam felt when Gabriel uttered his favorite phrase.
It was usually during quiet nights, when they could take
their time. It was slow, appreciative, and worshipful. Gabriel’s hands would
trail down Sam’s bare body, reverently feeling him as if repeatedly assuring
himself that Sam was here and that the hunter was real and safe beneath his
hand. Sam’s fingers would trail over Gabriel’s back, skin flaming where he
touched, and he’d gently dig them into the area beneath Gabriel’s shoulder
Gabriel’s breathy keen would rush out of his throat, and
slowly, he’d release his wings.
Nights off didn’t happen often, and it was even rarer when
they found the time for this. As a result, Sam didn’t get to see Gabriel’s
wings often. But on these special nights, the remaining oxygen would huff out
of Sam’s lungs in marveled awe and it was as though he didn’t need to breathe, that the sheer,
heart-dropping beauty of Gabriel’s form was his necessary lifeline.
Sam’s fingers would stroke through complaint feathers, soft
and hard and glorious and terrifying, and he’d bury his face into Gabriel’s
warm neck from the overwhelming honor he felt at such an open display of trust
from Gabriel. The archangel would twist his head down, coaxing Sam from his brief
hiding place, and Sam would reveal his shining, misty eyes to meet Gabriel’s,
whose own golden pools would reflect liquid amber and devastatingly true
emotion as he leaned down to kiss Sam.
“Samuel,” Gabriel would whisper tenderly against Sam’s mouth,
and Sam would shiver uncontrollably from the use of his elongated name, “tu es mundus meus. Tu es mundus meus.”
It was the language of hunters, the same one that was
powerful enough to expel demons from their host bodies and back to Hell, the
same one that Sam grew to learn and love despite his initial desire to leave
the hunting life. Spoken by Gabriel, the vibrations of unspoken promise and
fierce love echoing in every syllable, Sam’s chest would swell and his heart
would throb with how full it felt. So much warmth and power and devotion would flood
inside him, and it would come out in the form of tears, trickling down his
temples and into his hair as he took in quivering breaths against Gabriel’s
“Tu es mundus meus,
Sam,” Gabriel would murmur into the soft kiss, his thumbs catching the
And Sam would reply the only way his wrecked mind knew how
Holy shit,,, my mom just told me Juan Gabriel just died??? I’m??? Oh man,,, he was one of my absolute favorites,, he really helped me connect with my culture, and was one of the singers that made me fall in love with where I’m from and really learn to love my roots. May he rest in peace, and may his music continue to bring a smile to the people that adore him.
Qué descanses en paz ❁
Locamente enamorados al cabo de tantos años de complicidad estéril, gozaban con el milagro de quererse tanto en la mesa como en la cama, y llegaron a ser tan felices, que todavía cuando eran dos ancianos agotados seguían retozando como conejitos peleándose como perros.