GBB: Birds of Passage: Part Two

[neotoma]

Title: Birds of Passage
Author: neotoma
Artist:cashay
Genre/Pairing: (slash & drama), Sam/Gabriel/Vessel
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~61,000
Warnings/Spoilers: gore/animal sacrifice, gore, implied past abuse, gore/torture, homophobia/transphobia, set post-S5 SPN/ S1 Jericho

Summary: Lucifer is back in his Cage, but one averted Apocalypse doesn't mean much in the face of another, more human one. Sam Winchester, the Archangel Gabriel, and a man millennia out of his own time have wandered into a small Kansas town, where they get to deal with tree thieves, suspicious sheriffs, shady characters, political in-fighting, looming starvation, and the occasional pagan deity passing through. It's just one damn thing on top of another after The End of the World. [Crossover with JERICHO (tv series)]




Part Two: Strange dances long undone

It was Jake's luck to stop after patrol at the Richmond place to warn about the continuing tree thefts when they're slaughtering another cow – this one for themselves, which is why they're doing it at home, instead of driving the animal to the locker plant. The weather was turning even harsher as winter deepened, and they had decided that butchering a pregnant cow or two would save grain for the rest that might be sorely needed before spring would bring back the grass.

Jake watched as Hrafn and Sam brought the unlucky cow out to the big cottonwood. The shorter man was whispering soothingly in the half-wild animal's ear even as Sam readied the tackle and pulley. Jake was a little surprised at the way Hrafn slit the cow's throat, neat and fast, and caught most of the erupting blood in a bucket. Jake wouldn't have managed such a clean kill with a knife – though not having to shoot the cow made the part of Jake that worried over every expended bullet happy.

Jake helped Sam wrap the ropes around the cow's hind legs and haul the carcass into the air while Hrafn held the head off the ground, away from the dirt.

He backed up a step when Hrafn stripped off his shirts and stepped forward slice the belly open.

"Jesus! Hrafn, you look like you lost a fight with an axe murderer!" Jake yelped.

Hrafn cocked his head, and then looked down at his own scarred torso. There were raised and running welts all over him, jagged remains of horrible wounds. The older man smirked at Jake's startlement, and tilted his head.

"I didn't lose the fight, and he was a Geat," Hrafn said, and flashed a grin, before he went back to skinning and butchering the cow.

Jake stared at Hrafn, and the horrible scars on his side, and the blurry blue dashes – tattoos? – on one side of his spine, and over his shoulder. They dotted into his scar tissue, giving Hrafn's back the appearance of a paper airplane – 'fold on the dotted line' – but for the twisting scars.

Jake was enlisted in carrying slices of meat on clean pans either into the house for Mimi to deal with or to the smokehouse with Sam to hang for curing. He stayed until even he couldn't stomach it anymore – when Hrafn opened the swollen uterus and a half-formed calf fell out, Jake decided the better part of valor was in the kitchen with Bonnie and Mimi.


A lifetime of hunting hadn't prepared Sam for how visceral and mess slaughtering an animal for meat was. Usually, when he killed something, he made sure it was dead and then set it on fire. Very few monsters required more than decapitation – organ removal and dismemberment were just not things had done Sam on a regular basis.

So Sam focused on hanging cuts of meat in the smokehouse when Hrafn started skinning the fetal calf. He just couldn't watch anymore. Yeah, it was cowardly, but he didn't have anything to prove to Hrafn – it wasn't like Hrafn was Dean, always pushing to prove himself more macho than thou.

Hrafn came around the door with another tray of meat – Sam didn't give it more than a glance for fear it was fetal calf.

'Squeamish, aren't you? For someone who used to gut black dogs –' Sam heard. Gabriel was deigning to talk to Sam again, after being quiet for most of the week. Sam would have been worried, but it hadn't felt like Gabriel was weak, just surly.

'Black dogs are monsters. This was just a cow. It's different,' Sam replied.

Gabriel contracted into a dense feeling, like he was shrugging, even as Hrafn looked up from the joint he was cutting up and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he's being a brat today, isn't he?"

Hrafn shrugged his shoulders, making the animal tattoo that wrapped around from his back over to his front dance. "He often is. He can do nothing, and so bites with his words."

"Sucks to be him," Sam laughed, and liked the way Hrafn laughed at that.



'What are you considering, Hrafn?'

'Sam. He is quite... virile.'

'No, Hrafn, just no. I let you have your prayers and your sacrificed cow. Anything more is just a bad idea,' his angel said.

'It is a season of disaster and hunger. What would you have me do? Pray to your Father? Even you do not believe he will answer.'

That shut his angel up, quite neatly.

Sam took the last of the meat from him, and stepped into the smokehouse to hang it. Hrafn followed him in, and tugged the door shut after himself. The firepit was barely smoldering, as the smoke seeped in the vent, and the high ceiling channeled it up where the cuts dangled. Hrafn thought they had done a good job, especially with the desperate shortage of wood to build with, or proper stone either.

He spent some time helping Sam adjust the meat, spacing everything to good advantage, as they had more than enough room. Hrafn had insisted on building it large enough for two cows at once, after all, and even closing the front half off to concentrate the smoke as they had just meant there was going to be a private enough place for what Hrafn planned.

Finally, they were done, and Sam was smiling at him, his teeth very white as weak sunlight crept through the smoke hole. "God, what a mess. I'm glad that's finished."

"I am too," Hrafn said, and patted Sam's back, a comrade's touch that Sam could take for more, if he wanted to. Hrafn ventured a sweet smile, trying to remember the lessons in flattery he had learned, after the troll and before the angel, when the gods had called him unwilling to service.

Sam seemed amenable, bumping against Hrafn as he wiped sweat from his brow and leaned against one of the support beams. "You sore too? I swear, weeks working cattle doesn't prepare anyone for actually butchering one."

Hrafn ran his hand up over Sam's strong back, pressing his thumb into the knotted muscle. "I am fine. You, however–"

"Oh," Sam said, his voice going throaty, "just keep doing that."

"All right," Hrafn said, a little surprised. He hadn't expected Sam to be quite that amenable. But when he pressed his fingers into Sam's back and the man only pushed back, he realized that Sam truly was sore and seeking relief, so he tried rubbing out the knots. He pushed at Sam's hard muscles, finding the tighter places and working them, until they came undone, like ropes unknotting. It took much time, and Hrafn's own hands were sore by the time Sam pulled away.

"I shouldn't have let you do that. You did as much work as me – more."

"I did not mind–"

"Hrafn," Sam said, grabbing his hands, and rubbing at the base of his thumbs, where they now ached, "I know you've got this macho tough guy thing going on, but you don't have to be like that with me. Not all the time."

Hrafn blinked, and looked up into Sam's serious face. He looked so very kind. So Hrafn raised his hands, putting them on Sam's face even as Sam huffed in surprise, and tugged him down, just far enough to kiss when he stretched up on his feet.

Sam snorted in surprise, jerking away for a moment, then surging forward and taking control. Surprised, Hrafn almost fell over, which lead to Sam giggling at him, and catching him before he fell on his ass. But as he was already halfway to the floor, Hrafn just smiled and crouched down, his hands flying to Sam's waist as he tried to work out how to open his trousers from this angle. The clothing of these days was so complicated – what was wrong with drawstrings, anyway?

"Oh... you don't … Hrafn..." Sam moaned as Hrafn fumbled at Sam's belt. He managed to unzip the trousers without catching anything, which considering their wicked little teeth, he felt was a great accomplishment. Sam wore more layers, of course, but they went down easily under their combined fingers, and then it was just Sam's prick, warm and exposed. When Hrafn gave the head – strange and naked without a foreskin – an exploratory lick, Sam made a gratifying sound, and moved his hands to Hrafn's shoulders, clenching and kneading like a cat.

Hrafn used his hands, rubbing at Sam's balls in their sac, and his mouth, pressing, kissing, flicking his tongue down the shaft as Sam hardened under his efforts. When Sam had a hard cock-stand, Hrafn pulled back to look up Sam, and smiled at the liquid heat in his eyes. Sam gasped, as Hrafn leaned forward, just enough for the head to rest against his lips, teasing with a flick of his tongue.

"Oh please," Sam groaned. "Oh please, can you... can I?" Sam whined, one of his hands coming up to brush Hrafn's cheek, warm as his thumb brushed Hrafn's mouth and pressed against his lips. Hrafn allowed Sam to do that, opened his mouth delicately and licked at Sam's thumb, making Sam whimper. He let Sam pull him forward, press him forward as Sam's other hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Sam might be smoky and sweaty, but it was from honest work, and otherwise he was clean, he was safe, he was making happy growls as he rocked into Hrafn's mouth shallowly.

This went on for a little while, with Sam clenching and kneading at Hrafn's nape with one hand as he held himself with the other, only allowing himself short, shallow thrusts. It occurred to him that Sam was being careful with him, which he might have found sweet, but it just annoyed him. Sam had a large prick, yes, but Hrafn knew what do to do with one of those – Sam didn't need to control himself so tightly. He grabbed at Sam's wrist, pulled down until his hand dropped off his own shaft and Hrafn could twist and breathe and push himself until he'd coated Sam all over with spit.

Then he drew back, and looked up at Sam again.

The other man looked confused, disappointed, and tried to bring his own hand up to finish himself off before Hrafn grabbed him again. Hrafn stood, forcing Sam's hands up, and went on tiptoe to kiss him again. When he drew away, Sam followed, nuzzling at the air as if he wanted another kiss. Hrafn obliged him, letting Sam's hands fall to caress his shoulders as he dropped his own hands to his belt and undid it.

"Hrafn?" Sam whispered as Hrafn shoved down the zipper and turned, peeling slaughter-smirched jeans off his thighs. He put a hand on one of the wooden support beam, and canted a knee up against a wooden shelf. He turned to look over his shoulder, and smiled at Sam's wide-eyed shock.

"Now, Sam," he said.

Sam stumbled forward after a long moment, and wrapped his arms around Hrafn. His huge hands were warm and comforting, and Hrafn leaned into them even as Sam rubbed against him inexpertly.

"This isn't going to– Here, over here," Sam muttered into Hrafn's ear and clutched him tight, moving him bodily until he was kneeling up on the shelf, and Sam was looming over him. "There, that's better," Sam said, and gave him a long look, his hands still wrapped around Hrafn's chest. "You're... amazing, you know that?" Sam muttered, and leaned down to kiss him again, before shifting behind and sliding his spit-slicked prick between Hrafn's thighs.

The pressure and movement felt good enough that it took Hrafn a moment to realize Sam was content just to fuck between his thighs, as if he was too delicate to be fucked in truth.

"Sam," he said, turning and frowning over his shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

Hrafn pushed Sam back with a hand, just enough to reach back blindly to grasp Sam's prick and position him where he wanted.

"You– you sure, Hrafn?"

"Yes, Sam."

"I should... I don't know, spit can't–"

"Sam Winchester, if you do not fuck me right now, I am kicking you to the floor and will ride you until you are so wet with sweat that Mimi will think you're an abused horse when she finds you later, sprawled and limp with exhaustion."

Sam laughed. "Well, when you put it like that..."

Hrafn rolled his eyes and then yelped and scrabbled at the wall as Sam pushed into him, slow and barely slick and quite huge. Hrafn felt like he was going to burst, like he was going to piss himself, and he was ever so grateful when Gabriel roused out of his sulk enough to say, 'Hush, hush, I have you, my pretty bird. I have you.'

His angel was in him again, soothing his asshole as it was stretched open with much enthusiasm and too little slick. Sam was in him, and Gabriel was making it good, bearable, enough that he could groan and gasp and mutter prayer to Thor the Thunderer, to Tyr, to Frigg and Freyja and all those who might help them in this season of want. It was enough, and maybe this was enough for the gods to consider trading the death of cows for life of people.

He could only pray.



Afterward, after they stumbled back to the barnyard pump and sluiced off every bit of gore and sweat and fluid under the icy water, Sam felt like he was walking through a dream.

Bonnie had come out with towels – warmed towels – to wrap themselves in then, and brought down their sleepwear – Sam's loose sweats, and Hrafn's borrowed pajamas – for them to change into in the living room.

The kitchen was toasty, and Mimi had panfried some of the beef over the fire along with a few slices of precious potato. Sam gobbled his dinner with enthusiasm, and then yawned badly. Jake had laughed, and told them they were lucky to be off patrol for a few days – Hrafn and Sam were only half time on the roster, anyway, being more valuable for working the farm, and not quite trusted because of their status as refugees for hire.

Sam nodded, and went upstairs, tugging Hrafn after him. He wanted his bed, and he wanted to curl up with Hrafn and kiss him again, wanted to feel the strangeness of it, of lips and beard and masculine sweat.

Which is why he was confused when Hrafn pushed him away, firmly but gently, and turned his face away from Sam. The Norseman made it obvious that he was not going to do anything else with Sam that night.

'Sorry, kiddo. I didn't know that he was going to do that...'

'Did I..?' Sam gulped. 'Did I do something wrong?'

Gabriel felt cool and blue, heavy like embarrassment and regret. 'No. You didn’t, Sam. You just expected more than Hrafn though you would...'

'I thought he had a good time,' Sam said. Hrafn had... he'd been moaning, long soft sounds, that had sounded like pleasure, not regret. And he'd orgasmed, shuddered in Sam's arms and in his hands.

'He did. But that's wasn't the point for him.'

'then what was?'

'Sacrifice...'

"WHAT?!" Sam hissed fiercely.

'Sacrifice. You give up what you value – a pregnant cow, you guys lost all the potential milk, plus the calf – that's a lot to give to a god.'

'And the sex...?'

'I'm sorry, Sam. That was another... it... the Norse looked at things different. A man having sex with a man, the guy getting done, he was considered unmanly, lost status and respect...'

Sam felt his face go cold and grey. 'Hrafn had sex with me to get Thor's attention, to give up his status as a man. He made it into a sacrifice.'

'Sorry, Sammy. Thor's a fertility god – sex gets his attention.'

'Does he like me at all? Or was I just convenient...'

'Hrafn wouldn't have trusted anyone else, Sam. He likes you, maybe not the way you want, as a lover, but he let you do something to him that he thinks you could ruin him with. It's trust, if not love.'

'Does he get that people already think we're a gay couple?'

'No, not really. It wasn't true, for one.'

'Except that now... crap, Gabriel, I don't care that everyone thinks we're fucking. I don't even care that we are fucking. But I don't want to be having sex with someone who doesn't want it.'

'It's not that he didn't want it, Sam. It's that he didn't want you.'

Sam had no answer for that, so he just pulled his blankets tight, and tried to burrow into the bed, ignoring Hrafn's warm presence as best he could.

'Sam,' Gabriel felt blue again, compressed small and almost timid with regret, 'just ask him what happened, before he said yes to me. I think you need to know...'

'Why can't you tell me?'

'Because it's Hrafn's story, not mine, and that matters to humans.'



It was the middle of the night, when Hrafn stirred again. Sam hadn't managed to sleep well, waking up too often and peering worriedly at Hrafn in the dim candlelight.

"Gabriel said I should ask you about your past, about what happened before you two met..."

Hrafn shrugged. "It's the past. Why should you care?"

"You're still carrying it with you, Hrafn. I care."

"There is not much to tell, Sam. I was born of Hrimhild Vagnisdottir and Friththof Oddsson, into the Fox Clan. We held all the land from the Walrus Tongue to the branching of the little river. I was a good child, and I grew to be a good man, I thought, respectful of the gods, honorable among men, and fair-dealing. I married a woman I grew to love, we had fine children, and my people prospered."

"The year after my oldest daughter married, a monster – a troll – attacked my hall. It slew my wife, my brother, everyone who was there, and carried off the children. I was away at a whale beaching, with half our people. We came back to disaster." Hrafn paused, looking away into some past that was filled with horror.

"I followed the monster into the hills, killed it, and thought it was over... but misfortune lingered, even into after the elf-feast, and we finally called for a wisewoman – a völva."

"She cast peeled bark and knucklebones for me, in front of my clan. The omens were the worst – I could have withstood death easier – no man escapes his hour or his day, but this was not as clean as death – she accused me of being draugr, saying that I had died out on that mountain, chasing that monster, and that I walked back to haunt my people all unaware."

"Seriously?" Sam said.

'Yeah, she did.'

"My younger brothers drew spears against me, and forced me out of my home. I only escaped because they didn't quite have the sinew to stab me as I looked at them." Hrafn hunched down, his shoulders braced against a betrayal two thousand years in the past. "The völva, she chanted against spirits while my kin burned all my possessions, and a bole of wood in place of my corpse."

Sam thought for a moment, "They buried you in effigy?"

Hrafn shrugged. "It was a nice funeral, as far as those things go. I just – the völva found me later, distraught in the field, and cut my hair off while she sang enchantments. I never figured out if she truly had thought I was a ghost she could leash, or just thought it was the easiest way to turn my people against me. But she had me, and she sent me far away to her teacher, a great witch in the north country..."

Hrafn hunched even more, and pulled the blanket tighter. "She was no fool; I – she said the monster's blood – I was drenched in it, when I finally killed it – had awakened me – "

'He was having visions.' Gabriel added. 'He'd been minorly psychic before – just enough to be lucky – but the troll's blood propped him wide open.'

"So she told me I wasn't dead, told me I wasn't leaving, and taught me seid..."

'That was women's magic. Strictly women's magic,' Gabriel added.

"You're a guy," Sam said.

Hrafn rubbed his nose.

"How'd she get away with teaching a man women's magic?"

"I wasn't a man when I came to her. I was draugr – a walking ghost. She made me live again, but... I wasn't a man."

Sam's eyebrows rose.

"If I had no beard, and wore no men's clothes, who was to say I was a man..? A völva can teach an apprentice, when she finds a woman with the sight."

"So you – I – uhm—" Sam shifted uncomfortably. "You know I know you're a man, right?"

That got Hrafn to snort with amusement, and grace him with a quick grin. Then his eyes sobered, and he looked away. "I wasn't, though, for years. I learned to weave, and spin, milked cows and made cheese... wore dresses, and carried no weapon."

This was, Sam was pretty sure, a horribly dangerous admission from Hrafn's perspective. The sex was one thing, and it wasn't like Sam had proof they'd done anything at all... but telling Sam that he'd been living a woman's life for a while, that was leaving himself wide open for accusations of... Sam didn't know what... perversion? Effeminacy? Black magic?

Sam carefully reached out, and rubbed his hand down Hrafn's spine. "It's not such a... well, it is a big deal here, and people would look at you strange if you wanted to wear a dress, but I don't hold it against you... you don't, do you?"

"I never wanted it," Hrafn snapped, then looked away. "But I did it. I let a witch break me to heel like a dog, and I took her place in the – she was very old, and sometimes she was asked to participate in rituals – Freyr's sacrifices, or Thor's – that would have been too hard on her old bones, so she sent me to take her place."

Sam rubbed soothing circles on Hrafn's back, though the layer of thick quilt. 'He's talking about sex magic, isn't he?' he asked Gabriel.

'Yeah. He is.'

'How do I convince him I don't think less of him because he did that–'

'Well, it would help if you didn't think less of him, for starters,' Gabriel snapped, feeling sharp and glassy to Sam all of a sudden.

'I don't!'

'You feel disgusted!'

'I'm disgusted that someone used Hrafn worse than a dog, and I'm disgusted that you didn't stop it!'

"I did stop it! As soon as I found him and took control, I stopped it, stopped her, and got back at everyone involved!'

Hrafn made a quiet sound of distress, and shifted away from Sam's hand, which Sam realized he'd clenched in Hrafn's blankets.

"It's not you," Sam said, trying to impress on Hrafn his sincerity. "It's – nobody should have done that to you. And... I... when you killed that cow, you dedicated it to Thor before you killed it, right?"

Hrafn nodded, cautiously

"And after, at the smokehouse, that was for Thor too?"

Hrafn nodded. "Yes. He's a friend to farmers – he can be beseeched during a famine – I thought it could only help, to show him that we do remember his gifts. And I knew you would not hurt me for sport."

Sam sighed. "You could have told me what you were planning."

"The White Christ is so popular here, and he is jealous of his people..."

"Hrafn, I'd much rather know I'm getting involved in sex magic, then find out after the fact. Especially when I though the other person liked me for myself."

Hrafn frowned. "I do like you..."

"Enough to have sex with me? Not for magic, or influence, but just because you like me?"

Hrafn obviously and totally didn't get what Sam was asking, because he repeated, "I do like you."

Sam sighed, and risked pulling Hrafn close for a heartfelt kiss, at least from Sam's side. Hrafn let him do it this time, and pulled back with a confused look on his face.

"You want to fuck me?" Hrafn let the quilt drop from his shoulders, and started on his pajamas, making to strip.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Do you want to? Not for magic, or because you think you should. Do you want to, simply for yourself?" At Hrafn's blank look. "Then no, not really."

"I don't understand what you want, Sam." Hrafn said, as he wrapped himself back in the blanket.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam sighed, and laid down. He let Hrafn snuggle close, resting a shy hand on his back, and draping the blankets over them both. "It's okay. I'll wait until you figure it out."

'That'll take forever, Sam. He hasn't changed much in two millennia.'

'Not asking for your opinion, Gabriel.'

"I will try, Sam," Hrafn said, and closed his eyes. He was asleep in minutes, and Sam followed him after some time in the dark, regretting.


The day after they butchered the cow, Mimi had steak for breakfast. Steak, and potatoes, and oddly enough a persimmon – apparently, Deputy Koehler had trees at his house, and the golden-orange fruit took forever to ripen. So instead of eating yet another apple to ward off scurvy, she had the custardy flesh of a fruit that had to get as squishy as a rotten tomato before it was good to eat.

It was wonderful.

She finished up her meal with a slice of rough bread, blotting up the beef grease from her plate – she won't let the fat go to waste, even if she wouldn't have bothered before. Keeping skinny was no longer a concern. In fact, losing weight was now what she worried about. People were starving in town, even though they were in Kansas, in the middle of the best farmland in the country.

"Hey, Mimi," Sam said as he ducked in the door. He looked tired, like he didn't get enough sleep last night.

"Sam," she nodded at him.

"The milking is done – but we're low of fuel for the machine," Sam said as he sliced off a piece of bread, and then scooped out a dab of the rendered beef fat from yesterday in lieu of butter. "Hrafn wants to take another barrel of milo for fuel – he thinks he can get the still working better."

Mimi considered it. She'd have to run the numbers. And talk to Bonnie – the teenager knew more about how much grain they would go through each week, and how much absolutely had to be saved for the spring planting, and how long they could expect winter to actually last.

The winter so far had been bitterly cold, and Mimi had borrowed clothes and taken clothes on charity, even though that grated, just so that she wouldn't freeze in the wind that was fierce and driving the cattle to the farm's limits on hay and pasture.

"Let me check the numbers. I think we can spare quite a bit, as long as it goes to fuel."

Sam barked a laugh. "It's not like I'd want to drink that rotgut we're brewing. It's strictly rocket fuel."

"That bad?" Mimi asked.

Sam shrugged. "It's coming out as high flammable paint stripper, so I guess that works."

Mimi made a face. "Have you seen Bonnie this morning?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Bonnie is... there's a reason I'm glad I'm not a kid anymore..."

"Drama?"

"She and Sean were on the outs over something or other," Sam shrugged, and looked out the window.

"Oh god," Mimi moaned, and rubbed her temples, "teenagers!"

"At least Kat is quiet," Sam offered, smiling cock-eyed as he sipped at the cup of hot tea Mimi shoved at him. Well, 'tea' was probably pushing it – weed based drink mix was more likely.

"I'm sure Kat will find someone to bother with," Mimi grumbled, and wished that she could go back to being a simple revenue agent. Teenagers were just too complicated. Give her a muffed 1040-A form with improper deductions and a small business owner who wanted to fight. It was a lot easier to audit someone's books, than it was to balance three teenagers and all the stupidities life could throw out.

"Hmmm," Sam said.

"I just wish I didn't have to worry about shit like our condom supply on top of the food shortage and all," Mimi groused. It really wasn't fair that she had to think about that. It wasn't like she was having sex, not with Stanley in New Bern helping to build the wind turbines.

Sam blanched. "Condoms last a long time..."

"Not if you're using them!" Mimi snapped.

"Oh... yeah..." Sam said sheepishly, and ran his hand through his hair.

"Sam," Mimi looked at the farmhand with narrowed eyes. He was blushing slightly, and avoiding her eyes. "You have been using–"

"It's not like I can get Hrafn pregnant!" Sam defended.

Mimi rolled her eyes, and hid her face in her hands. "Too much information, Sam."

"You asked, Mimi," Sam said, but he looked away, out through the kitchen windows.

"And I'm regretting it. So very much..."

"Sorry," Sam said, but he didn't look sorry, he looked defensive. He mumbled, "Won't happen again."

Mimi sighed, and gotten up to wash her plate. If there was trouble in paradise, she didn't want to hear it right now. Sam and Hrafn were adults, they could figure out their sex lives on their own, no matter how much fun the gossip around the two of them was.

"Will you be ready for the milk delivery this morning?" she asked. Deciding to ignore Sam's twitchy weirdness and oversharing was probably the way to go, to save her own sanity and to stop her being envious that Sam had his lover with him, even if it seemed they might be going through a rough patch




Six years ago, when Kim Gravagna's car broke down just outside of town, Jake was a ne'er-do-well in Jonah's militia, and he and Chris had spent more than a few nights mocking the way Deputy Bill Koehler was walking around in a daze and grinning foolishly even as he stopped them for traffic violations. Falling so fast for a woman who was pregnant before he'd even met her was just the sort of ridiculous thing that Bill deserved to be mocked for, in the collective opinion of the militia.

Today, though, Jake only purred at the soup that Bill's wife had brought over. The deputies and auxiliaries had pooled their rations for mid-shift meals, and thus Jake got to have beef tendon pho for dinner, instead of cold canned yams or something equally hideous.

Not that he was above teasing Bill about the way he accepted his wife's cooking – Vietnamese soup and northern Italian goulashes were completely 'American' as far as Bill was concerned, because his wife made them, even though Bill was the worst homebody Jake had ever met. Bill didn't like anything other than 'meat and potatoes' cooking, never had, but if Kim made it, it was all good. Even if the ingredients were things like galanga, or spicy basil, or tofu.

Even Jimmy would roll his eyes when Bill got going about how he didn't like things that weren't American, and then made exceptions for his wife. But for tonight, a soup of bean sprouts, Chinese-gifted rice noodles, and parts of a cow that usually didn't see the light of day, or at least the inside of a kitchen – it was perfectly fine with Jake.

So he was slurping down noodles and beef tendons when Jimmy walked in with a drawn look on his beefy face.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, dropping his feet off the chair where he'd perched to eat his dinner.

Jimmy looked like he had horrible news, like he'd been hit by a board.

"One of the Ellises' dairy cows is dead – I just got the news, so I'm going out to take a report."

"What?! That's our milk supply!" Jake said.

"I know, Jake," Jimmy said patiently.

And Jimmy had kids who were still in elementary school, and thus included in the milk ration, so he probably felt it more than Jake did. That didn't stop Jake from ducking into the men's room for a few minutes, just so he could not-cry in privacy. They couldn't lose any more food, not milk, not the rare deer or the more common rabbits, not the air-dropped rice, not even the horrible cornmeal and cracked sorghum.



"What's wrong?" Jake asked the minute he came up on the patrol, trailing the two farmhands from the Richmond place. That made everyone who was supposed to be on duty today, so Bill nodded at Jimmy to break the news.

"A cow over at the Ellis dairy was killed," Jimmy said as they all circled up, men and women holding horses or bicycles, or the very fortunate having fueled-up ATVs. Most of them had horses – even Jake was riding one of his mother's horses, and not driving his Roadrunner. The car was too much of a gas-guzzler for patrol, even though it was one of the few working vehicles in town – better to keep it for emergencies, so it was parked behind town hall.

"Are we sure someone slaughtered it – could it have died by accident?" Jake asked.

Bill barked out a bitter laugh. "If only. That would be an easy case."

Jimmy gave him a sideways look, but turned back to Jake and the rest of the Ranger patrol. "It looks like something big did it, not people. Something that could kill a cow, but not something big enough to hide it. We're thinking bear–"

"Bear?!" Jake said. "We're in Kansas."

Bill snapped, "Yeah, and there were idiots running canned hunts from here to Fort Hays, Jake. You'd think they'd just have exotics, like African antelope, but I've seen lions at those places – a bear isn't a stretch at all."

Most of the Rangers grimaced – even the ones Bill suspected would have liked to have had an opportunity to shoot something as big and as dangerous as a lion – or as big and dangerous as worn-out circus lion could be. No one wanted to face a bear.

Jimmy raised his hands in that way he had of calming people down easily. "We're not sure what it was yet – there weren't any clear tracks, but it was big and capable of killing a cow easily. Everybody needs to be careful on patrol, and we need a hunting party to look for it."

"You need hunters..?" the tall guy – Winchester – said. He looked better than he had a month ago, coming into town. Well, the opportunity to wash his clothes and stay in one of the guest rooms at the Richmond place would make any of the road refugees look better.

Jake looked sideways at Winchester and his partner, and Bill frowned. Jake was going to jump in and volunteer the two of them, Bill could tell. There was something about the pair, something that made Bill nervous and uneasy, and not just the fact that they seemed to be gay together, at least from all the gossip. It was the impression he got that Hrafn Friththjófsson was looking through him, that something was looking through Friththjófsson to look at Bill. It was a queasy making feeling, and Bill stroked Slipper's gray nose to reassure himself. The stallion bumped his hand, and then tried to nibble at Bill's hair, which he didn't allow.

"We need to take care of this, before we're down another dairy cow."

Jimmy chimed in with, "If you've got experience, Mr. Winchester...?"

"Jake, Jimmy..." Bill said.

Jake gave him a glare. Bill didn't like the implicit 'shut up' in that look.

Winchester nodded, "I've hunted a lot of things. I'd like to take a look, see if I can help. Hrafn, you game?"

Friththjófsson blinked, and twitched, like he hadn't actually been listening to them, and then said, "Yes, Sam, I'll help catch it. Someone has to make sure you don't die..."

Winchester rolled his eyes, Friththofson smiled at him in a really obvious way, and it was one of the more sickening sweet exchanges Bill had the misfortune to witness, the two farmhands making eyes at each other.

But it was settled, so Jimmy pulled out his map and unfolded it, showing Jake and Winchester and Friththjófsson where he thought the cow-killer – and Bill sincerely hoped it was a bear out of the mountains, instead of something that had escaped from one of the game ranches, because he had no idea what might be running amok with no electricity to keep them in their cages. He patted Slipper's velvet nose, and kept his horse from putting his head on the map as they went over with everyone the search pattern and what to do if they spotted the presumed bear.



Hrafn wouldn't have thought a troll could hide in this land of no trees, but hiding it was, and troll it was. The savaged cows were proof enough – it was a troll. Nothing else was big enough to smash cows like a vicious boy killing kittens. Except a draugr, and Hrafn did not want to take on dead men – plus, the local priests of the White Christ were very conscientious about burying people with all the proper rites. Sadly, they could burn no one, what with the lack of wood. Even Sam knew it was better to burn the dead, especially when it looked like they might get up again – and Hrafn wouldn't dismiss the possibility, in this season of disaster.

"For something as big as a bear, it's goddamned hard to find," Jake Green complained as he searched the ground for tracks.

"It's not a bear," Hrafn pointed out. "It's a troll."

"Sure, Hrafn, sure." Jake said, and turned away to peer through the cut stalks.

"Hrafn," Sam said, firm but quiet, "stop saying 'troll'. Civilians–"

"–don't believe," Hrafn finished. "Your people are fools, Sam."

"They're just ignorant. And you're drawing attention to yourself, Hrafn. They already think you're crazy. Stop adding to the impression."

Hrafn wrinkled his nose, but turned back to looking for troll tracks. They were in a field of stover – the cut maize stalks left in the field for cattle to consume in the cold of winter. Bonnie had told him that it wasn't normal to feed cattle stover – normally they had richer feed for the winter than that. But this winter all they had was what was in their fields, which had led to he and Sam haying and ensilaging right up to the first frost, and letting the cattle into the fields to eat the stalks and leaves left from the maize and grain harvests.

The dried husks and stalks rattled in the wind, and obscured Jake, who was only a few yards away. Hrafn could feel him, a warm bright buzz as he and Sam spread out and walked to pace Jake, searching for the troll that had slaughtered three milking cows on this farm.

'Yeah, that went well,' his angel said.

'Shut up, Asvald.'

'You are walking through a corn field with a guy who doesn't believe you when you say it's a troll. This is not a good idea.'

'Shut up, eagle-chieftain.'

'I'm just saying...'

'I have to live with these people. You merely have to watch them.'

'Watch them fuck up. There are some people who really deserve to get their just deserts.'

'I know, eagle-chieftain.'

'Adulterers, incompetents, gougers and oath-breakers...'

'I am not tricking anyone for you, even men who deserve it. I want to survive this winter.'

'You're ruining my fun.'

Hrafn rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore his angel. He was having no luck finding the troll tracks, which was ridiculously. It was a cattle-killer, and should be leaving more of a mess.

Sam yelped suddenly, and his shotgun boomed off to Hrafn's side. Hrafn turned, running towards Sam, holding his own weapon crosswise in front of him, the way Sam had drilled him to carry it. Firearms were fearsome weapons, and he didn't want to accidental hurt Sam in his urgency.

"Oh..." Hrafn said. "Sam, that is not a troll."

Sam looked up from where he was crouched over a large and ridiculous bird and glared most amusingly.

"Sam! What– hey, a turkey!" Jake yelped, as he crashed through the maize stalks.

"Yeah, a turkey," Sam said. "I don't think it's our cattle killer, though."

"Meat is meat, Sam," Jake said, and bent to help Sam field-dress the bird. Hrafn stood back – turkeys were larger than the pheasants he knew, and different from geese, so he'd let more expert knife-hands work.

Which of course, was why he was the only one with a gun in his hand when the troll crashed through the dried stalks, drawn by the scent of blood.

It was just typical.

The troll was horrible, tall and piggish and stinking foul. Sam and Jake yelped and dove for their guns, even as Hrafn brought his up to brace against his shoulder and fired directly at the monster's head.

His shot didn't have distance to scatter, but the troll had hide like scale armor and a skull like an iron pot. It bellowed and reared up on its legs, coming off the knuckles it had been dragging on, blotting out the dim winter sun.

"FUCK!" Sam roared, even as he ducked a wild swing of the troll's club-like arm. He couldn't get to his gun, so Hrafn put his cheek down on his gunstock again and pulled his trigger a second time.

The shotgun roared, and this time the shot tore into the beast's chest and throat, spraying blood everywhere as the pellets destroyed its flesh.

The troll fell over backward, stinking and flopping in its death throes.

Hrafn turned to Jake, who was coming off the ground, wide-eyed and startled as anything.

"I told you it was a troll!" Hrafn snapped, pointing to the dying monster.



"What the hell happened to you?" Mimi blurted, as Sam staggered through the door. He looked like he'd rolled in a pig sty, covered as he was with muck and straw.

"I got drenched. And then I had to ride home." Sam slid down to sit on the floor in front of the door, and began wrenching off his boots.

"You're filthy!" Mimi said.

"Monster, blood, cow trough. It was fun. Not," Sam snapped, and shed his coat in a wet and dirty clump. He began pulling off his layers of shirts and sweat-shirts, all tangled together from damp.

Mimi stared as Sam stripped off, shirts balled up in a mess before he unbuckled his belt and tried to peel damp jeans down his long legs. Sam, half-dressed and getting even less dressed, was spectacular – even Stanley, with his fresh farm looks and adorable smile, was not in Sam's league.

Of course, the guy with rock hard abs and the shoulders of Hercules and an ass that Mimi could probably have bounced coins off of was gay. Sam had muscles, and height, and brains too – he'd have been a triple threat to any marriage in town if he hadn't come in firmly attached to Hrafn.

Speaking of whom, the shorter farmhand walked in the door, as Sam kept up his impromptu strip act. His face twisted with amusement, and he grinned at Mimi when she looked up to realize he'd caught her ogling his boyfriend.

"What happened, Hrafn?"

"We killed the troll," Hrafn said, strolling in and around Sam to drop an entire turkey onto the table. The coloration and thinness of the bird told Mimi it was a wild one, and she'd wondered how they'd managed to pick up a gamebird during the search for whatever had been killing dairy cows.

"A troll?" Mimi glanced at Sam, who was frowning down at his own clothes resolutely as he tried to shimmy out of his jeans.

"A troll," Sam said. "Or, whatever, you know? It was killing the cows, we found it, we killed it–-"

"How did that lead to you being wet?" Mimi asked.

"I shoved him in a cattle trough," Hrafn said.

Mimi whipped her head around to stare at the other man. "What?!"

"Troll blood is dangerous," Hrafn said, like it was the most normal sentence in the world.

"You didn't have to dunk me!" Sam growled.

"Yes, I did," Hrafn replied. "You and Jake both."

"Jake what?" Mimi asked, thoroughly confused.

"He tossed Jake into the cattle trough, and then dunked me too," Sam frowned at Hrafn with an impressively put-upon expression. "You could have explained. You could have waited."

"Troll blood is dangerous, Sam.

"So is hypothermia!"

"You're fine."

"That's not the point!"

Mimi held up her hands. "Guys! Tell me what happened! Why is Sam soaked?"

Hrafn and Sam looked at each other, frowning.

"We found the troll on the farm, Mimi," Hrafn began.

"Hrafn shot it–"

"There was blood all over Sam and Jake. I washed it off, by force. How was I to know they neither of them pack an extra shirt?"

"You could have asked," Sam grumbled.

"You knew we were hunting troll, Sam," Hrafn said.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to Mimi. "Anyway, thanks to the job today, my clothes are kind of a mess, and I need to change." He looked down at the bundle he'd accumulated. "I guess I'll have to wash something later... or you will," he said, tossing the wet clothes at Hrafn, who caught them on reflex.

Mimi watched in tongue-tied amazement as Sam walked over to the stairs and up towards his own room. Clothed only in damp white and a few tattoos to boot. Damn, that was a spectacular ass.

Mimi was brought out of it by Hrafn's amused chuckle. He raised an eyebrow at her, knowing and hilariously entertained by what Mimi was sure were flaming cheeks and maybe she'd been much too obvious admiring Sam's ass.

"I can pluck the bird," Hrafn offered, after a moment.

"Oh, right," Mimi said, getting her brain back on track. Just because Sam was amazingly well-built and half naked was no reason to stand around like she'd just lost her entire train of thought. Especially since Sam was pretty much gay, as far as she could tell.

What was someone like Sam doing with a guy who had to be at least ten years older, and a couple of rungs down from him in the looks department? Not that Hrafn was bad-looking, but you had to admit a pointed chin, sharp nose, and expressive brows weren't quite in Sam's "body by Adonis" collection.

Well, there was no accounting for love, in the long run, Mimi thought.



Jake was in a firefight again, hot desert smell and guns and garbage and the noise. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

And suddenly he was, stumbling backwards and cold, so cold.

"Hey there, Ranger," laughed Bill, who he'd fallen on. But it wasn’t Bill, not quite, and Jake was dressed in his grandfather's old uniform (remembered from battered, faded photos) and he was sprawled in a hole while fireworks – shells? – went off above him.

"Where the hell did you come from?" yelled the third guy in the hole with them – Jake was stuck between not Bill and not-Bill – as they all ducked down at the artillery going off overhead.

"Off the beach – look at those Ranger patches, Pen–" not-Bill laughed before he dissolved into white-hot light.

"You're a menace," the white-hot light said, and banked itself.

Jake unfolded from his ball and said, "What?!"

The white-hot light hunkered down, into a more human shape, and glares at Jake. "When someone tells you to avoid the troll blood, avoid the troll blood, Jake."

"It was a gorilla!" Jake yelped. "Bigfoot?"

"It was a troll. And I have to ask myself, what the hell was it doing in Kansas?"

"Eating cows, eagle-chieftain," said a raven, suddenly on the white-hot light's shoulder. The white-hot light was a lot more human all of a sudden, with pale silvery hair and eyes like wells, and a shoulder for a bronze raven to perch on, and flap its mechanical wings.

"I know that, Raven! But you'd think a wendigo..." the light complained, and was gone.

Jake was left staring at the space where light and raven were, and being confronted by a lump of feathers. He looked at it in confusion, not quite sure what it was – a down pillow, maybe?

Until the snaky neck and narrow, furiously glaring head pulled out from under the wing, and the goose lurched to its feet, already hissing, already cackling. It shook out it wings and gabbled at Jake, furious and protective of the egg and the tiny glowing baby bird in its nest.

Jake screamed, and scrambled back, even as dark wings beat at his head and the hard rounded bill snapped out to bite and bite.

"Dude," Jake heard, trapped under a paw, where he was suddenly muffled away from the goose's furious cackling, "even I learned not to piss off the waterfowl. They bite."

"I didn't mean to upset him!"

"He's touchy, you know that," Jake's rescuer said.

Jake risked looking up, over the paw on his chest, and into kind brown eyes.

"Uhm... Sam?"

"Yeah, Jake?"

"Any reason you're a sphinx?"

Sam frowns at Jake, and asks, "I'm a sphinx?! Dude, it's your subconscious!"

"Lion body, eagle's head, wings... that's a sphinx, right?"

"No, that's a griffin." Sam looked over his long, solid body in astonishment. "Jake, wow. Those must be some good drugs you got..."

Jake frowned. He got knocked around some, killing the thing – it was not a troll, for god's sake, no matter what Hrafn claimed. Maybe it had been Bigfoot … and had been eating the Ellises' dairy cows. Kenchy hadn't had anything stronger than some prescription aspirin for him, though, and not much of those. He'd risked a little bit of Oliver Lehrer's pot, though, just to make himself mellow; it wasn't like Bill and Jimmy weren't turning a blind eye to the marijuana as long as most of it went to medicinal uses. Anyway, what could they do, arrest him? That was useless as long as Jericho didn't have a court to try him in.

Obviously, sore muscled, bad knocks, Kenchy's legal drugs and Oliver's illegal drugs were making for one weird dream for Jake tonight.

"Aren't you supposed to be telling riddles?" Jake asked.

Sam – Sphinx? Griffin? Jake always got his mythological monsters mixed up – frowned at Jake, and then began to wash his paw, just like a house cat.

"Otherwise I'm going to go down to that town," Jake could see a town, from the hill – when had he gotten on a hill? – that he stood on. It was a little place, mud brick and plaster.

"Do I need to tell riddles?" Sam asked.

"Hell no, you are one," Jake said..

"Am I?" Sam asked again.

Jake frowned. Sam was just repeating him – so he wasn't surprised when Sam turned into a parrot, a bright and gloriously blue macaw, squawked once, and flew off, against the backdrop of the aviary Jake is suddenly in.

He thought this was the aviary at the San Diego Zoo – the winding path and glass walls were familiar, but he had no idea why he dreamed of it. He'll never see it again. It was gone, like San Diego, like 3 million Americans, like his dreams of flight.



Sam woke in the middle of the night to the feel of fingers combing through his hair. He was still dreamy when he nuzzled into the warm body beside him, and threw his arm and leg over his bedmate.

Then he realized that he wasn't dreaming – he was awake, and he'd just pinned Hrafn.

He jerked away, pulling his hands up close to his chest and grimacing in apology.

Hrafn just looked at him, in the pale moonlight that illuminated their bedroom.

"Ah. Sorry...?" Sam said, and tried an apologetic smile.

Hrafn tilted his head, and then lay down, not half reclined the way he typically did, but down flat, with his head beside Sam's so that they could look at each other.

"Sam..." he said, and then frowned. He stroked a thumb over his beard, and smoothed down his mustache.

Sam waited for Hrafn to work out whatever he wanted to say. But he was surprised that instead of saying anything, Hrafn reached out his hand, and laid it against Sam's cheek. The simple warmth of that hand, Hrafn's small, square, callused farmer's hand, against his skin made Sam suck in his breath and close his eyes against the rush of it.

One inhalation, and then Sam could feel the soft warmth of Hrafn's breath against his cheek, and then the soft bristles as Hrafn placed a careful, soft kiss against his lips.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Hrafn questioningly.

The other man's tawny eyes were amused, and a little worried, in the pale moonlight. "You said, if I wanted for myself..?" Hrafn prompted.

"So I did..." Sam reached out carefully, putting his hand on Hrafn's shoulder, feeling the weight and breadth of his frame, the sturdy bones and solid muscle.

Hrafn made a pleased noise, and wriggled closer. "I want, Sam. I want for myself."

"Yeah, I get that," Sam laughed and slid his hand over Hrafn's shoulder, until he could wrap it around the other man's back, and pull him in for a kiss. One kiss, which quickly turned into another, and another, each small and shy and exquisite.

Sam broke from the kissing first, to sit up and shuck off his sweatshirt. Hrafn watched him with wide eyes, and ducked his head nervously when Sam tugged him up and encouraged him to take off his top. The flannel pajama shirt was very carefully folded and placed on the bedside table, and then Hrafn rescued Sam's sweatshirt and folded it as well.

Sam recognized an anxious delaying technique when he saw one, and contented himself with watching the flex of Hrafn's back as the other man went through his ritual of folding and neatening. He reached out, and ran his finger down Hrafn's spine, stroking the dots and dashes of blue that traced faintly over the bony knots of Hrafn's back.

Hrafn gasped, and stiffened.

Sam put his hand flat on Hrafn's back, trying for reassuring, trying for harmless. "Hrafn?"

The Norseman shook his head, then turned to Sam and gave him a shaky smile. He looked pale, and his skin felt, not warm and exciting, but cool and unpleasant. He'd gone clammy, Sam realized in alarm.

Sam slid his hands away from Hrafn's back, from the touch that probably felt like a cage, he realized, and down to cup Hrafn's hands. He was careful, just holding, just supporting, not trapping, never making it so Hrafn would feel like he had to fight to get away.

"Hi?" Sam said, and gave a little tug on Hrafn's wrists. 'I hope I'm doing this okay,' Sam thought.

'You're fine, kiddo,' came the response.

Sam twitched. He hadn't expected Gabriel to ... be aware. Not for this. From Hrafn's rueful expression and rolled eyes, the other man had heard that, too.

"Ah. We have an audience..." Sam said.

Hrafn frowned, not at Sam, and set his jaw. "Yes," Hrafn said, as he crawled up the bed, pushing Sam down against the piled pillows. "He'll probably give us points for style," the other man snorted, as he settled himself against Sam, going so far as to throw his leg over Sam's, trapping Sam in the bed.

Sam laughed, and then Hrafn was kissing him, and Sam was kissing back, and they were tangling their fingers together and chuckling. Hrafn's hands were hot against Sam's skin, and he touched Sam with more confidence, fingertips dragging rough and strong over Sam's flesh, instead of maddening tickles.

Sam tried to return the sentiment, if not the gesture; he'd figured out quickly that Hrafn liked soft, careful, open-handed caresses, and would lean trustingly into Sam's hands, as long as Sam didn't close his hands. Fingers spread open, that was what Hrafn liked, what made him lean and push and moan.

'You need to take his pants off,' Gabriel said eventually, when they'd been kissing for what felt like hours but hadn't moved beyond their heavy make-out.

Hrafn huffed, and rolled his eyes, but he pulled back enough to cock his head in question.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, and pulled his hands away, letting Hrafn reach out and tug his sweatpants down his thighs, letting his cock spring up against the other man's hands. Sam groaned quietly, and wriggled a little. Just the accidental careless brush of Hrafn's hands felt so good against him.

"Uhm," Sam said, when he opened his eyes and unbit his lip. Hrafn was staring at Sam's cock with something like confusion, and something like wonder.

"I hadn't realized..." Hrafn murmured, and passed the back of his hand over Sam's cock.

Sam grunted, and tried not to arch up too much, but it had been weeks, and Hrafn's hand was warm and callused and his skin pulled against Sam's in a way that was entirely too good.

"Get naked," Sam panted. "I want you naked. Now. Please."

'About time,' Gabriel commented. 'Slowpokes, the both of you.'

Hrafn frowned and rolled his eyes, and slipped out of bed. He untied the drawstring and stepped out of his pajama bottoms with a grace and artless confidence that Sam could only envy. The moonlight illuminated the hard muscles of his legs, his thighs, his ass and hip, and the welted scars that wrapped around from his chest.

"What caused this?" Sam asked, and reached out to a scar that seemed out of place, a heavy line – tattooed in yet more blue – that slashed across Hrafn's buttock. It matched none of the heavy, jagged battle scars, being entirely too straight and so oddly placed.

Hrafn stiffened, bolting almost onto his toes.

Sam yanked his hand back. "Hrafn?" he asked, leaning forward and trying to make himself look small.

Hrafn breathed once, twice, a firm deliberate cadence. He turned around, dropping his folded pajamas on the bedside table with the rest. His body looked silvery in the moonlight, and his torso was sprinkled with dark and light hairs, from his chest down to his groin. His cock was like Sam remembered, foreskin dark over a swollen, curved dick that was heavy and purple with veins.

"It was from a shame-stroke," Hrafn said, and swallowed loudly. "It's nothing. Now it's nothing," he said, and climbed back under the blankets, back against Sam.

Sam made a soft noise of agreement, and gripped Hrafn around his waist, lifting him gently, carefully, until he was straddling Sam's thighs and their cocks were brushing against each other.

"This good?" Sam asked, and tried to tuck the blanket closer around Hrafn, trapping heat between them.

Hrafn grunted in affirmation, and leaned his weight on Sam's chest, pushing Sam back against the pillows in another kiss. Sam laughed against his lips, and opened to Hrafn, inviting him into his mouth.

'About time. You two are idiots.'

Hrafn pulled back and ducked his face against Sam's neck. He muttered in irritation, and his beard prickled Sam's skin.

Sam patted Hrafn's shoulder, and tried running his fingers up through Hrafn's hair. It was still tied back in the heavy bristling plait the Norseman wore it in, and he wondered what it would look like unwound – with all the weight of it now, would it flatten from the crisp waves Gabriel had affected when he controlled the body?

"No comments from the peanut gallery, Gabriel," Sam said.

'You never let me have any fun.'

"Well, you're the one kicking back and watching like a voyeur."

Gabriel didn't respond, and after a few moments, Sam shifted, and nudged Hrafn to look up at him again. "Can you believe him? We do all the work and he–"

Hrafn jerked suddenly, and his hand pinched at Sam, hard as vices as he arched his back and moaned in an entirely unexpected – and unpleasant – way.

Sam hissed, and tried to shove Hrafn off him, to lay him down on the bed as he shuddered, but the other man was rigid and unyielding.

And then there was light, bright and so sharp that Sam's eyes watered.

He came back to himself to find Hrafn tucked up under his chin, with softly glowing limbs – wings – cascading down from the other man's back.

One wing half-unfurled itself, until the midway joint came forward to brush against Sam's cheek. The wing was feathered like a bird, and yet there were two ... fingers, and a thumb, scaly, clawed, and distinctly unhuman, there at the joint. Those alien digits lay themselves against Sam's skin, and petted gently.

'Hi...'

"Gabriel..?" Sam gasped.

Hrafn tilted his head up enough to catch Sam's eye, and nodded. "Such a brat..." the Norseman murmured, and tucked himself back against Sam. His tongue sneaked out, to lick Sam's throat, and that combined with Gabriel's... hand, for lack of a better term ... petting him, made Sam's whole body clench.

'This is going to be so much fun!' Gabriel chortled, the wings rippling like light under water, and Hrafn snorted again.

Sam was kind of afraid of that.

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