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Their first kiss had been an accident, really. Michael had tripped and fallen. He held that it had been more like a mutual falling into one another’s space, but Adam liked to blame the archangel for it because it seemed more romantic when he wasn’t the one doing the tripping. The meeting of their lips had been accidental, but it threatened the carefully forged peace they’d brokered in their previous lifetimes together.
“Adam?” Michael asked, the quiver in his lip betraying some profound emotion Adam couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“Yes?” Adam replied, very much breathless from the brief meeting of their lips.
“What was that?”
“I believe most people would call it a ‘kiss,’” Adam said, realizing only in that moment that Michael was still holding him. He disentangled himself from the archangel’s arms. In future retellings of the story, he was known to insist it was like freeing himself from an octopus – the removal of one limb was quickly followed by the replacement of another. Michael was wont to agree with this assessment, if only to gain his mate’s favor.
“Hmm,” Michael said, eyes flashing blue. Adam felt a moment of existential dread. “I liked it,” he decided.
“Um,” Adam was still recovering from the momentary fear that he’d been about to be blown to smithereens and couldn’t think of anything more eloquent to say. “I… Um… I liked it too.”
“Well, then that’s that,” Michael said, and they went on with their day and their life very much the same until the day Adam found himself in the kitchen, measuring out pasta, his favorite apron snug about his waist.
Michael, who by that point had established himself to be firmly on the side of pets, cuddles, and all things tactile, dipped into Adam’s personal space and wrapped his arms around the human’s waist, warm lips pressed against the sensitive spot upon Adam’s neck that made him shiver every time.
They’d gone from being tentative housemates to being almost sort-of-kind-of-lovers. They hadn’t taken that final step yet, but they’d taken to sleeping in the same bed and kissing whenever they got the chance and helping one another do dastardly things to trees.
“Stop that,” Adam chided, trying to focus on the measurement he’d just made. He sighed, and twisted around in Michael’s embrace, a smile firmly on his face. “I hate you,” he said, slinging his arms around Michael’s neck.
“No you don’t,” Michael said, a similar smile gracing his features. “You love me.”
Adam’s heart stuttered in his chest. There were those words, so close at hand. It took Michael a moment to realize the gravity of what he’d said, and the smile slowly fell of his face. “I meant-” He tried to say something else, but just stuttered and began to shake like a tree in a storm.
“Shh,” Adam soothed, hating the sight of his angel looking so dejected. “You’re right. I love you.”
“Oh, Adam.” Michael’s voice was breathy as he leaned down to kiss Adam, once, twice; thrice. He leaned back and grinned. “I love you too.”
And that was that. For several weeks nothing significant changed between them. The rest of their family went on with their slightly ridiculous lives in the bunker, and Adam and Michael kept retiring to the same bedroom at night.
Then something miraculous happened. A letter arrived in the mailbox for the first time, something Adam had been waiting for since they’d moved to the place. Adam had a secret theory that the postal officer was secretly afraid of the imposing building, and delivered their mail to their neighbor across the street, a lovely elderly man who denied receiving any parcels or other mailings. Adam only half-believed him until the day a letter came.
It was addressed to a certain ‘Michael Milligan,’ and Adam held the letter to his chest for a moment before ripping it open, the sheer joy of getting mail overwhelming his sense of propriety and privacy.
“It’s a bill,” he mused. “For twelve thousand dollars,” he continued, wolf-whistling. He began to read from the paper. “Requesting immediate payment for the delivery of powdered sugar in a variety of colors and flavors to the side door of the address listed below.” The address matched that of the bunker, and Adam smiled for a moment at the sweetness – literally – of his wayward angel. Then, he shouted out, “Mika!”
“Yes?” The archangel appeared behind him in a flurry of wings.
“What is this?” Adam brandished the bill and put a hand on his hip to emphasize that he was Not Amused.
Michael shuffled his feet for a bit for answering. “I ordered takeout.”
“Twelve thousand dollars worth?”
“Well, if you look closely you’ll find that it’s for eleven thousand nine hundred ninety-nine dollars.” Michael paused to flush a brilliant shade of pink. “And ninety-nine cents,” he added bashfully.
Trying to find a name for the color on his angel’s cheeks momentarily distracted Adam. He decided it was a sort of flamingo pink before responding. “Do I even want to know what you did with twelve thousand dollars worth of powdered sugar?”
An awkward silence stretched before them. “I ate it,” he admitted.
“All of it?!” Adam couldn’t quite stop his mouth from falling open at this revelation.
“Well, Gabriel and Lucifer helped.”
“Of course they did,” Adam said. He sighed. “Well, if it makes you happy…”
Michael’s eyes misted over with the memory. “It was divine.”
Adam looked down at the bill. “Has any other mail come for us?”
Shrugging, Michael gestured across the street. “Pretty sure the mailman leaves it with Mr. Elstrom.”
“I knew it,” Adam said, pumping one fist in the air.
He stood glaring at the neighbor’s house for several moments until Michael summoned him back inside.
Needless to say, Adam spent the rest of the day feeding Michael a rainbow assortment of powdered sugar. Someone had told him that the best part of takeout was leftovers, and really, who was he to argue with such impeccable logic or dash his angel’s sweet hopes and sugary dreams?
It was only much later that evening, or perhaps during the early morning hours of the next day, that he and Sam and Dean and Castiel managed to scrape the archangels off the ceiling, hose them down (as they had built a mountain of powdered sugar on the living room floor large enough to reach the stars themselves) and get them to bed.
“Was that really worth it?” Dean hissed, quietly seething.
“Keep your voice down; you’ll wake them,” Castiel warned in a low whisper. “Again,” he added testily. He and Dean were still working through some unresolved issues and the angry, longing stare they shared was evidence enough that they were still a long way from a resolution to said issues.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Both of you, shh,” he chided.
“I’ll keep watch,” Adam offered.
Dean also rolled his eyes, but his way of doing so was huffier than Sam’s and mostly directed at Cas. “Fine.”
Castiel squinted in a way that was typical of when he was frustrated with something or another that Dean had done or said. “Keep watch?” He questioned softly.
“Three archangels, one bed,” Adam said, as if that explained everything. At the bemused looks of the others, it didn’t explain much of anything. “They might... I don’t know. Kill one another in their sleep?”
“Good idea,” Dean said, and began to walk away.
“Dean, wait,” Cas said, and hurried to catch up with Dean, who he mostly insisted was merely a friend, despite the accumulating pile of evidence to the contrary, including that one time Castiel came to breakfast wearing Dean’s shirt and little else.
Sam rocked back and forth on his feet. “So...”
“Yeah?” Adam asked.
Sam thought to say something, then thought better of it. “Good night,” he settled on instead.
Adam counted to three in his head. “Good night,” he whispered.
Silently, he walked into the room, being exceedingly careful not to bump into anything. He covered the angels with a blanket. He looked around for a chair before realizing there were none to be found in this particular bedroom.
He looked both ways, had a bit of an internal debate with himself, then decided that he should and would fulfill his guard duty.
And that duty was, of course, best done by climbing into bed between Lucifer and Michael and making himself comfortable and snug.
And that was that.