#there's like--the fluffiest powerplay

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @peromy-march donated $10 and requested Gabriel/Kevin, fluff & tickling. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After a 'dinner' that had consisted of half a Reese's cheesecake, a shared pint of coffee Haagen-Dazs, and three vodka-soaked mudslides, Kevin wonders if it's possible to be drunk on sugar. There are a lot of chemicals working on his body right now; it seems like it could be a thing. Or he's just drunk. Or he's just having a sugar high. It's all very hard to tell.

"Did you know you get very quiet when you're gestating a food baby?" Gabriel says.

"I don't think food babies gestate," Kevin says. He rolls his head to the side and Gabriel's watching him, clearly entertained. "They just, like… digest. You're not supposed to digest babies."

"Well, maybe you aren't," Gabriel says, and Kevin makes a face at him. He was probably supposed to make a face, judging by how much bigger Gabriel's grin gets. He walks into this stuff, all the time. It'd be more annoying if he hadn't just decided to give up. Gabriel's an archangel, and even if he seems to be an archangel of screwing around, he's just… always gonna win. Kevin's okay with it. Mostly. Except when his gut feels as sore as this.

"I think the ice cream was a bad idea," Kevin says.

"Now that is blasphemy," Gabriel says, sitting up. He executes a sloppy sign of the cross in the air above Kevin's prone body. "Say forty-two Hail Marys, get an exorcist. No, wait, don't get an exorcist, the ones you'd call are six foot twenty and absolutely no fun."

Kevin snorts, can't help it. Even that jostles his belly, though, and he groans, flopping over onto his side. "Seriously," he says, "I'm gonna pop."

Gabriel leans in, his chin on his hand. "Tell me before you do, sweetcheeks," he says, unrepentant and smiling. "I don't want any prophet goop in my hair."

Kevin sighs, cupping his sore tummy. Gabriel really ought to feel more guilty except that, according to Dean at least, archangels didn't understand the concept of guilt. That might be true—Sam hadn't rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean dropped an aphorism—but either way, Gabriel could at least fake it. All of this was his idea. It's not like it's Kevin's fault that he's lactose intolerant. When cheesecake came up, it wasn't Kevin's fault that he'd never had any. When Gabriel's eyes lit up and he said, strange harmonics in his voice, you haven't?, it wasn't Kevin's fault that he got whisked away on angel wings to some random grocery store, and saddled with a shopping basket, and ordered to follow an unimaginably powerful idiot around like a long-suffering servant. He'd been promised over and over that angel powers would somehow put the lactose intolerance at bay. It may have, but now he's got other problems.

A warm hand settles on his belly, above where he's protectively holding it. "Okay, kiddo, you gotta be straight with me," Gabriel says. Kevin squints at him with one eye. "Cheesecake. How did it measure up? In the scheme of things."

"It was good," Kevin admits. "But it's going to kill me. Then you guys are just going to have to find another prophet, okay. You can visit me in heaven but if I die because of dairy desserts, I quit."

Gabriel hums. "You know, that's fair," he says, and Kevin drops his eye closed again, and sinks into the bed.

He has no idea where they are. Sam and Dean are probably going nuts—well, mostly Dean. Kevin's meant to be working on the tablet, and Gabriel's supposed to be helping, and there are probably lives on the line. There are always lives on the line. Wherever Gabriel flew them to, it's cold outside, and the hotel they're in is kinda shabby but the bed's soft, and Kevin's warm, and tired, and… sore, but at least it's sore for this reason and not because he got the crap kicked out of him by demons, so. It could be worse.

The hand on his belly moves in a slow, soft circle. "Poor little guy," Gabriel says, quietly. "All tuckered out."

"I'm not a puppy," Kevin mumbles. The hand on his belly feels nice.

"Says the puppy," Gabriel says, and Kevin sighs but Gabriel's still petting his belly, and it's nice. Comforting. The bed shifts and then there's warmth at his back, and the hand starts a steady, oh-so-gentle massage. Soothing. He tips his head and there's a tiny tickle of breath at the back of his ear. A little laugh. The hand drags up to his chest, and down again, petting him practically through his t-shirt, and Kevin basically melts into the bed. All those mudslides, it feels easy to melt.

He's maneuvered, a little. He lets it happen. His head pillowed on a deceptively strong arm; his arms tucked up out of the way, in front of him. His shirt—disappeared?—but strange things happen around Gabriel and a disappearing shirt certainly wouldn't be the weirdest thing this week. Let alone today. Just means the warm, soothing tummy-rub he's getting feels all the more warm and soothing, and he tips his face into Gabriel's bicep, tangles his fingers into Gabriel's other hand. Soft squeeze, there, and then a squeeze low on his belly. He makes a little protesting sound and gets a tiny pinch, on his hip. "Be good," Gabriel says, and, duh, Kevin's always good.

He stays still, though. Doesn't object. Gabriel hums, some song Kevin doesn't know because he doesn't really know anything that's not in the Yo Yo Ma catalogue, and his hand slips from Kevin's belly to his back. Dexterous fingertips start tracing shapes over his bare skin and he shivers, at first, since it's so unexpected, but it feels—nice. A little ticklish, a little odd, but nice. Gabriel's voice is deeper than he would've thought, humming. The fingertips trace over his shoulderblades, his spine. His neck, bent forward, and that's sensitive, makes him shiver again. Gabriel's finger gets a little firmer—a poked dot, and another next to it, and then a dragged semi-circle below them—smiley face, traced into his back. He giggles.

"Hey, there he is," Gabriel says, and Kevin presses his smile into Gabriel's arm. Gabriel draws more shapes, featherlight, but Kevin can't tell what most of them are meant to be. One's a cat, he thinks, but for the rest, they could be enochian script or norse runes or penis drawings. Most likely the last, considering who he's with, but then every once in a while Gabriel shows depths. Well. One depth. At least a shallow ditch, sometimes.

"Hey, puppy," Gabriel whispers, against the back of his ear.

That's sensitive, too. Kevin huffs, sleepy. "What?"

"How's that tummy feeling?"

Oh. He kind of forgot, in how nice his back is feeling. He stretches out and sighs, feeling liquid. "Better," he says, and Gabriel says, "Good," and tangles his fingers around Kevin's, and then pinches his side, hard.

"Ah!" Kevin yelps. All those nerves jump and yelp with him. "Oh—you dick!"

"No idea what you're talking about," Gabriel says, and locks Kevin's hands in his unnaturally strong grip and then flutters the fingers of his other hand over the soft skin on Kevin's ribs, setting everything to twitching, making Kevin laugh helplessly.

"Stop it," he hiccups, but Gabriel hooks his leg over Kevin's too, trapping him completely on his side, and sets to work: tickling his ribs, his hip, goosing his butt, making Kevin jump and yelp and make just the dorkiest dumbest noises.

"You want me to stop?" Gabriel says, still pinching and tweaking and flickering his nails torturously light, and Kevin's shuddering but he chatters out, "If you d-don't I'm gonna pee the bed," and Gabriel says, completely delighted, "Oh, puppy," and in a quick flip Kevin's on his back, his hands pinned above his head and Gabriel straddling his hips, and Kevin's got tears in his eyes from laughing but he can still see the grin on Gabriel's face.

"You suck," Kevin manages, trying to catch his breath.

"Only my favorites," Gabriel says, and Kevin's probably flushed already but he knows he gets redder, because that's—jeez.

He's getting more of that steady amusement. He has no idea why Gabriel finds him—he doesn't even know if interesting is the word. He feels like a toy, a little bit. Something Gabriel like playing with. A puppy, he thinks, and he really is red, now, feels like his face is flaming from forehead to chest.

Fingers tap down the middle of his chest to his belly. He tenses, expecting more tickles, but Gabriel just flattens his hand there, where Kevin's still a little swollen from all the sugar but at least doesn't hurt. His eyes are so strange. Pretty, kind of. That strange color, like the bourbon Dean's always drinking, but in the lamplight in here they're basically gold. Kevin tugs his hands, asking, and Gabriel lets go, watching his face. Kevin licks his lips and touches Gabriel's thighs, carefully. He's still all dressed—jeans, and a t-shirt advertising something called Wally World, and a dark brown overshirt that Kevin wishes he'd take off. It's hard, though, to ask for that. Kevin doesn't even know what he wants, when it comes to that. But—Gabriel's weirdly entertained by him, and weirdly indulgent, and so he says, trying to sound confident, "Do that thing to my back again," and when Gabriel raises his eyebrows: "It—felt nice."

"Oh, he's demanding now, is he?" Gabriel says, and Kevin shrugs. He gets a sort of bow—hard to bow, when you're straddling someone, but Gabriel manages it—and a florid, goofy, "The prophet's wish is my command," and while he's still rolling his eyes Gabriel lifts higher, on his knees, and sets his hands on Kevin's waist. He gets flipped shockingly fast, right there so he's flat on his front, and his belly presses a little uncomfortably against the bed, but a pillow appears beneath him and he folds his arms around it, pressing his cheek down with a sigh. That's better. That's—perfect.

Gabriel resettles, his thighs on either side of Kevin's hips and his weight settled right on Kevin's ass. It feels… good. Kevin tries not think about it any more detail than that.

Light fingers settle on his shoulderblades, gently tickling, lighting the nerves under his skin. "Okay," Gabriel says, quietly, tracing unknown shapes across his back. "Operation cheesecake was a success, I'd say. Next time I kidnap you, we'll go cheese tasting."

Kevin's melting again, but he frowns at that, and turns his head to peek over his shoulder. "People go cheese-tasting?" he says, dubious. There's an affronted sound, and a mad light appears in Gabriel's eye. Kevin bites his tongue, too late. Well, shit. He's going to have to call Sam, somehow. Apparently work on the tablet won't be starting up again, right away.