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“Loosen up, Feathers. It’s only the end of the world.” Crowley smiles, slow and syrupy. He swirls the scotch in his glass before taking a sip.
Bobby Singer might be junk-dealing hunter scum, but the man has decent taste in alcohol. Laphroaig 18. It’s the sort of bottle Crowley might pick up himself.
Whiskey is about the only thing that Old Ironsides has good taste in, unfortunately. Crowley is sitting on a dumpy couch, in a messy living room, in middle of nowhere South Dakota. Not exactly the sort of place he'd like to spend his remaining few days. But at least nobody would ever think to look for him in a place like this. Fraternizing with the Hardy Boys and their useless pet bird.
Castiel has been standing in the doorway, staring at him in silence, for at least the last ten minutes. It's difficult to relax under that sort of scrutiny. He's not afraid. Castiel is all out of juice. Broken and battered. Even with Ruby’s knife in his pocket, he's not a threat. Crowley could easily dispatch the wretched little thing with a wave of his hand.
But Crowley hates to waste a pretty face. Castiel chose quite the handsome vessel. Crowley has a greater interest in trying to get it naked than he does in pursuing any more violent delights.
At least, for tonight.
“So… what’s it like?” Crowley cocks his head. “Suddenly becoming a meat monkey?”
“I am still not a human,” Cas blusters. It's the first thing he’s said since the gruesome twosome retired for the evening. Angels and their pride. It's ridiculous.
“Could’ve fooled me, love. You even smell like them. Blood, sweat, and misery. They’re quite the maudlin bunch—humanity. It rather suits you.”
“I do not wish to discuss this.”
“Fair enough.” Crowley shrugs. “I was only trying to make conversation. It’s a bit awkward, with you just standing there and staring me down.”
“You’re a demon. I don’t trust you. Therefore, I am watching you.”
Crowley places a hand on his own chest, mock-affronted. “Don’t trust me? Why, ducky. I’m the most reliable man in this outfit. Say what you want about demons. But when I make a deal, I hold up my end of the bargain. I’m honest about the terms and conditions. And I’m never going to do something stupid that goes against my own self-interest. That makes me more predictable than the whole bloody lot of you.”
“Predictability and morality have little to do with each other.”
“And somehow, we’re both in the cavalry of idiots, trying to send Mr. Lucifer back to the lockup. By that logic, we’re old pals. Enemy of my enemy and all.”
Cas narrows his eyes. Of course, seagulls aren’t particularly prone to reason or friendly debate. It's all about faith and The Word Of Father. Crowley wondered if Cas might be different. He did, after all, rebel against Heaven. But perhaps he's still taking baby steps when it comes to rational thought.
“You know, Cassie, we are in rather similar positions.” Crowley traces his tongue across his lower lip. Cas tracks the motion. Perhaps unconsciously. “Me on the run from all Hell’s henchmen. You at the bottom of the pecking order, graceless, cast out of Heaven. We're a regular island of misfit toys.”
Cas shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet, gaze never leaving Crowley. More fun than a barrel of hornets, this one.
“How about you at least have a seat? Perhaps a drink?” Crowley jerks his head at the armchair adjacent to the couch. “I won't bite unless you want me to. Scout’s honor.”
Castiel hesitates for a moment. But then he walks further into the room. Perches on the edge of the armchair. Still at full attention. Wary.
Crowley pours some of the Laphroaig into an empty glass and slides it across the coffee table. He's vaguely surprised when Cas picks it up. Sniffs it.
“Have you poisoned this?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, you would be. Besides. Ruining a good glass of scotch is the sort of sin even I wouldn't stoop to.”
Cas seems satisfied. He takes a sip. Wrinkles his nose.
“You enjoy this flavor?”
“Quite,” Crowley smiles. “A fine, peaty, slap in the face as they say. Of course, it could just be the highlander in me. I’ve got a soft spot for drinks from the old country.”
“I think I prefer vodka.”
“Utter heresy. If we survive this mess, the first thing I’m going to do is give you a proper education in liquor.”
“Is that so?” He says it in a perfect deadpan, but the sass is palpable.
Oh, Crowley likes it when they’ve got a little fight in them.
They drink in silence for a while. It's less tense, now that they're both seated. And alcohol is the ultimate social lubricant, after all. It takes a lot to get Crowley drunk. But Castiel’s cheeks are already a bit pink.
Perhaps without the grace, he no longer has a celestial alcohol tolerance. Does he realize?
When Castiel finishes his drink, Crowley pours him another.
“Feeling better, ducky?” He smiles. Indulgent.
“I feel… warm.” Castiel frowns a little.
“That is rather the idea, pet.”
“Why are you calling me all those names.” Cas waves his hand abstractly.
“Quirk of speech. Does it bother you?”
“I don't know. It's strange. You do not call Dean animal names.”
“Out loud,” Crowley chuckles.
“What?”
“Squirrel. Dean is Squirrel and Sammy is Moose. Moose and Squirrel. It's a reference to a television show from the 1960’s. Makes me smile.”
“Oh.”
“Do they not have jokes up in Heaven?”
“Not really.”
“Explains a lot.”
“If we succeed… and Lucifer is stopped. What are you going to do? Will the other demons really let you back into Hell?”
“Oh, I suspect they won't be happy about it. But with Lucy gone, I’m the toughest act in town. I’ll be fine. Though your concern is very touching.”
“I’m not concerned. I'm suspicious of your endgame.”
“Smart lad. Pays to keep on your toes. But I’m not interested in discussing business tonight.”
“What else would we talk about? You seem very intent on talking.”
“I dunno… we could chat about how to enjoy our flesh suits in the guaranteed time we have left. The chances of Shaggy and Scooby Doo screwing us all royally and bringing down the fire and brimstone seem relatively high.”
Cas takes a minute to parse that. “Enjoy our flesh suits?”
“Yes, love. I hear you're a virgin. Haven't you ever wondered what the fuss is all about?”
“I am not having sex with you.” Cas says it so resolutely. Pity.
“Fine.” Crowley crosses his legs. “It's completely your decision, darling. I just wanted to offer.”
“You're a demon.”
“Quite an astute observation.”
“Why would you even want to lie with me? I’m an angel.”
“Curiosity. Boredom. Hedonistic tendencies. General lust. Specific lust. You're a lovely package. Also it would be a novelty. I don't get to experience new things very often. In fact, as far as I know we’d be the only angel and demon to ever bump uglies. That's an enticing prospect all on its own. Sex with historical significance.”
Cas just stares at him. A little glassy eyed. He's not running away. Which might be a fatal mistake. Crowley is a salesman, after all. A veteran of the business. He makes his living in the art of persuasion.
He’s above forcing himself on someone. He has no issue whatsoever with nudging them in the right direction. Pouring on the honeyed flattery until he has his way.
“Have you ever even played around with that pretty piece of meat you're living in?”
“How do you mean?”
“You know…” Crowley makes a rather crass tossing off motion by his crotch.
“No.” Cas looks even pinker than he did a minute ago.
“Really? My, my. I almost admire your restraint.”
“It would be a sin.” Cas shifts. Obviously uncomfortable.
“Birdy. You were kicked out of Heaven for treason. I doubt anyone up there is concerned with whether or not you're choking one out.”
Cas doesn't seem to have an argument against that. He takes another sip of scotch. His gaze drops to the floor. Crowley takes the opportunity to move towards the end of the couch. Closer, but still a safe distance away.
“Is it that you don't know how? I could give you a few pointers, if you like.”
“I doubt it's complicated,” Cas snaps. “Every human seems to figure it out at a fairly early age.”
“Well, sure. You can get the job done with a few sloppy tugs. But experience brings finesse. Enhanced pleasure.”
Cas huffs. Shifts in his chair some more. His vessel isn't unaffected by this conversation. Those slacks do nothing to hide it's growing excitement.
“I could leave.” Crowley offers. Careful. Calculated. “Give you some privacy. But it's often better when accompanied by visual and auditory stimulation.”
“Is it?” Cas sounds a little breathy.
“Well. Humans tend to watch pornography if there's no partner available to help them along. Since I’m here, however, I would not be opposed to… talking you through it.”
Cas finishes the alcohol in his glass and leans back in his chair. Crowley smiles warmly at him. Resists the urge to drag a palm over his own hardening cock. There will be time for that soon enough.
“What do you say, pet?”
“You… you’ll stay over there?”
“I won't lay a finger on you without explicit permission.”
Cas nods his assent. Another nail in the proverbial coffin.
“Excellent. Why don't you pop off those trousers? Let me have a look.”
Cas doesn't hesitate. He unbuckles his belt and lifts his hips, sliding out of his slacks. He's delicious in boxers and that stupid trench coat. But Crowley wants the whole view.
“You should just take everything off. It’ll feel better.” Crowley prompts.
The bird obeys. Strips out of his clothes with no sense of showmanship. Crowley can forgive him. Seeing as his nudity is so beautiful.
Crowley is going to eat him .
“Such an exquisite creature,” Crowley murmurs. “You're just perfect. Now, lick your hand. Get it nice and sloppy.”
Cas pulls a face. But he follows instructions like a good little soldier. And that tongue. Crowley can't wait to taste it.
“Good boy. Now, slow and easy, gab that lovely cock of yours by the base.”
Crowley leans forward a bit more. Watches intently. Castiel is very erect. Tip of his dick shiny with excitement. His vessel is fairly well endowed. He’s got nothing on Crowley, of course. But it's all proportional and aesthetically pleasing.
Cas grabs the base of his cock and his lips part in a small gasp. They haven't even got to the fun yet. This is going to be fantastic.
“That's the ticket. Give yourself a stroke. Be very gentle. I want you to feel everything.”
Cas moves his hand. His breath hitches when he rubs right underneath the head, where he's most sensitive. He spreads his legs a little wider. Repeats the motion. Lets out a soft moan.
Crowley can only imagine what it's like. Feeling pleasure for the first time. He’s been around for so long, he has no recollection of losing his virginity. He was the son of whore. Spent his life having a lot of wild sex. He knows that much. The details of his humanity, and even his early days as a demon, are foggy at best.
“How is it, birdy?”
“Good,” Cas groans. Eyes closed. Lost in sensation.
“Daddy wants details, sweetheart.”
He’s not expecting Cas to shiver like that. And oh, that's interesting. It makes sense. He's never met an angel who didn't have a massive complex about their father. He just never thought about the practical applications of such information.
“Use your words, darling. What are you feeling?”
“It um… tingles? It's really nice…”
“Do you think it might be even nicer if you were sitting on Daddy’s lap?”
Once Crowley’s found a weak spot, he will exploit it without mercy. Castiel opens his eyes. Looks half broken. Like he knows how terrible this all is. Knows he's having his buttons pressed good and thorough. But he’s too far gone to throw the breaks.
Crowley pats his thigh. “Come here, baby.”
Cas stands on unsteady legs. Flushed. Helpless. A little ridiculous, waddling towards the couch, erection swaying back and forth. He pauses, right in front of Crowley. Hesitant to take the final plunge. So Crowley holds out a hand. Cas takes it. Lets Crowley pull him forward.
Then Crowley has a lap full of drunk, naked, fallen angel and he can barely contain a gleeful victory crow.
True to his word, Crowley doesn't touch. Yet. He just watches as Castiel takes himself in hand again. Fumbling and uncertain. Breathing much too fast. Crowley can hear the poor boy’s heart pumping overtime.
“Have you ever been kissed before, pet?”
“N-no.”
“Would you like to try it?”
Cas blinks a few times. Dizzy? Trying to steady himself? He drags his teeth across his lower lip. Then he nods. Squirms a little closer.
Crowley cups Castiel’s jaw with both hands. Leans in slow. Plenty of time for the bird to panic and pull away.
First, he plants a soft kiss on the Castiel’s cheek. Then the side of his mouth. Their lips brush together, ever so light and gentle. Crowley keeps it there for a minute. Soft touches. Barely-there kisses. Cas whimpers. Crowley licks into his mouth. Controlled. Careful.
The inexperience of his partner shows through. Cas opens his mouth too wide. His tongue is clumsy. Crowley trains him through example. Pulling back whenever Cas gets too eager.
They break apart. Crowley grins. Cas got so distracted, he stopped touching himself. Instead his hands are on Crowley’s chest. So confused and off balance. Perfect.
“Oh, ducky,” Crowley sighs. “I want to do dreadful things to you.”
Crowley strokes his thumb across the soft skin of Castiel’s cheek. He wants to bury himself in the heat of Castiel’s body. Wreck him completely. Pin him down, and fuck him so hard he screams. Bite him. Scratch him. Lap up the blood any time he breaks skin. Castiel would look so beautiful. Wrecked. Bruised. Crying from the brutality of it all.
But that’s not what the poor dove needs.
“Is it all right if Daddy touches you? I’ll be nice tonight. I promise.”
“Yes.” It’s barely a whisper. But it’s more than enough.
Crowley traces his hands down Castiel’s back. Appreciating the musculature. Maybe he lingers around the shoulder blades. Where the wings used to be. But then he moves on. Lower. Can’t resist grabbing two handfuls of that delightful arse and squeezing. Cas gasps.
It’s a bit unexpected, when Cas leans in for another kiss without any prompting. But Crowley is happy to oblige. It makes for a nice distraction as he reaches between them to unbutton his trousers. He gets his cock out. Wraps a hand around both him and Cas without too much trouble. He starts off slow. Teasing.
Cas moans into his mouth. Starts to roll his hips, grinding against Crowley’s cock. It's such a beautiful disaster. Crowley just tightens his grip. Fists a hand in Castiel’s messy hair and tugs just hard enough for it to sting.
“Next time,” Crowley growls. There will undoubtedly be a next time if they survive through the end of the week. “Next time, Daddy’s going to fuck your pretty mouth until your lips bleed. I'm going to make you choke on my cock, and you’re going to love it.”
Cas whines. Hands scrabbling for anything to hold onto. He ends up grabbing the lapels of Crowley’s jacket.
“And then, perhaps if you're a very, very good boy, I’ll fuck you. Somewhere the Hardy Boys might walk in on us, nice and public. I bet a little tart like you would get off on it.”
Crowley can smell the desperation. The intense, almost feral arousal. Cas has no idea how to cope with it--that much is obvious. He’s a goner.
“Maybe I’ll bend you over this couch,” Crowley licks a stripe up Castiel’s neck. “Make you cry out so loud the boys come running to help you… what do you think they'd do if they saw you like this, hmm?”
It looks like Cas might actually take exception to that one. A slight frown flits across his face. Perhaps it was too far, brought too much reality to the situation. A hint of the consequence for deplorable actions. It's a delicate business leading someone so self-righteous into temptation.
But Crowley is the best of the best.
He lets go of Castiel’s hair in favor of wrapping a hand around that oh so elegant throat. Crowley has to remind himself he's dealing with a, for all intents and purposes, mortal being. Cas can't take it half as rough as Crowley could give. So it's just a light squeeze. Just enough to cut off the airflow and leave a pretty mark.
Cas doesn't struggle. No. His eyes flutter shut. He sags against the pressure. Willingly putting his life in Crowley’s hand.
The rush is intoxicating. Crowley loves power. Being in control. He’s used to standing at the conductor’s podium during the so-called symphony of life. He is accustomed to fearful subordinates. He's accustomed to respect. Lately things have gone tits-up. The demonic food chain is ruined. It's reassuring to find he still has this much. That he can still make someone as cocksure and haughty as Castiel as submit with a few careful words and well placed touches.
Crowley lets up on his grip when it seems Cassie is in danger of fainting. One, two, three shuddering breaths. The the pressure is right back on.
If he wanted to, of course, Crowley could just snap the bird’s neck. But that would mean an end to the fun.
A man who has nearly everything only pines for what's incredibly difficult to acquire. An angelic fucktoy is pretty damned high up on that list. If circumstances hadn't teased out in this exact fashion, it would have been a pipe dream.
So Crowley presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. Strokes both of their cocks a little faster.
Murmurs, “ come for Daddy.”
And what a kill shot it is. Cas shakes apart so perfectly. Cock twitching. Splattering hot stickiness between them. The sight of it alone is almost enough to send Crowley over the edge.
Crowley releases Castiel’s throat. Jerks himself off quick and firm. Just a hair too much pressure for it to be comfortable. He likes it that way.
He comes when Cas kisses him. Sloppy in the afterglow.
They both sit there for a minute. Panting. Sweaty. Crowley is ready to call the whole thing a pleasant evening. In fact, he's feeling so warm-fuzzy about it, he’d even let Cas cuddle with him for a while--which isn't usually something he tolerates.
But once Cas has regained some semblance of composure, he pulls back. It's an odd shift in demeanor. He doesn't look half as fucked out and incoherent as he should, despite his messy hair and kiss-swollen lips.
“Virgin,” Cas snorts. “I can't believe everyone keeps falling for that.”
Crowley blinks. What now?
Castiel smiles. It's unnatural. More than a bit unsettling. “Two thousand years on earth. So many different vessels… but I suppose that was the first time without my grace. It wasn't bad.”
The little bastard.
“Thanks, Daddy .” Cas has the gall to wink.
Castiel gets up. He gathers his clothes and swans off towards the bathroom. Crowley is clean and put-together again with a snap of his fingers. He reaches for his scotch. Takes a pensive sip.
He should be at least a little angry. Instead, he's grudgingly impressed. Charmed. Perhaps even infatuated.
It's not often that someone can lie to him convincingly. It's even less often that someone has the nerve to tease him.
Crowley has a soft spot for the spunky ones. He’ll stick his dick in crazy at every possible opportunity. Because what's the point of existence beyond finding new and exciting ways to get your kicks?
“Fancy that,” he chuckles to himself. “I suppose birds can have a sense of humor after all.”