Sabriel prompt.. Gabriel is ashamed of his wings (single pair) because they're broken and bloody and one day Him and Sam are just lazing around and Sam asks to see them... Fluffy wing kisses ensue
i’m incorporating touchstarved!gabe and you can’t stop me
“Hey, Gabe, can I see your wings?”
The question is completely out of the blue, but even so it turns Gabriel’s blood to shards of ice in his veins. He sneaks a sideways glance at Sam, trying to read his expression, but all that’s visible of the hunter is his legs: sprawled on the crappy motel bed, the upper half of Sam’s body is hidden from view by the wall partition.
Gabriel tries to still the sudden shaking in his hands as he grabs the soda from the mini-fridge and shuts the door again. He fixes his eyes on an unwashed coffee mug balanced precariously near the edge of the kitchenette’s counter.
“No can do, Sammo,” Gabriel replies, steeling himself and walking back to the bed. “Your senses are just this side of too weak to see ‘em,” he continues, tapping his temple with the tip of his index finger. “Sucks to be you, bucko."
Before Gabriel’s even finished speaking, it’s obvious Sam can see through the flimsy excuse. He props himself up on his elbows, a small frown etching a crease into the skin between his brows. “I’ve seen Castiel’s wings.”
"Well, that’s ‘cause Cas is a seraph. Archangels like yours truly have wings the size of—I dunno, airplane wings, if I’m gonna guesstimate. Can’t make wings visible without making them solid, and it ain’t good etiquette to take out walls and occasionally people wherever I go, now is it, Sammy?”
The lie bounces off Sam without any impact. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Sam accuses, a hint of confused hurt creeping into his tone. “Look, I get it if you don’t want to show me for whatever reason—just. Just don’t lie about it, okay?”
Gabriel pops open the tab of his can and takes a swig of soda. It’s sickeningly sweet, and makes Gabriel’s tongue hurt. He gulps down half the can in one go anyway.
“Okay?“ Sam prompts.
Once Gabriel’s finished the can, he tosses it in the vague direction of the trash, not really caring if it hits its target or not. He still doesn’t look at Sam as he quietly says, “Samster, look. My wings—they ain’t exactly up to scratch, if you know what I mean. I haven’t groomed them since I left Heaven because I was scared I’d get bust, and they’ve pretty much been in the wars ‘cause I couldn’t afford to maneuver around things in case people started asking questions.”
“So,” Gabriel grits out, turning a glare on Sam, “they look like shit. And I don’t want you seeing them ‘cause I don’t want you looking at me different after you do. That simple enough for you, or will me drawing it in bright colours captioned with simple words explain it better?” With a snap of his fingers, a flip chart appears in the center of the room.