Work Text:
There were two ways of coming to awareness in the morning: the first was the slow, languid kind, when the warmth of the sun on your ankle was the first thing you really noticed; followed by the soft weight of the sheets covering you from knees to shoulders and the realization that it was Sunday, and you needed to be nowhere else but here. The other kind of waking was, of course, the instant snap to awareness: those times when the day’s To-Do-List or yesterday’s ‘unfinished’s rushed in at once, mercilessly, and you found that somehow, your thoughts had already leaped out of bed before you and were waiting impatiently in the kitchen for their first, hastily brewed coffee. One kind was more pleasant, the other, sadly, vastly more common.
This morning, however, was shaping up to be one of the good days.
You were sprawled, face down, over a bed that smelled faintly of woodsmoke. Half the blanket was tangled between your legs and your cheek was mashed into the pillow. Breathing was a little difficult, probably because breasts were, inherently, far more likely to press uncomfortably against one’s ribcage rather than to flatten themselves out of the way. The heavy arm draped over your back could also be a reason. Either way, your lungs were having none of it, and you suspected this was what had woken you.
You wriggled a little, trying to shift onto your side to get some more airflow.
The arm slid down to the small of your back and a broad, big hand curled over your hip. “You’re awake.”
The voice was low, slurred, and completely unexpected. Because the last time you had heard it, he was promising you that he wouldn’t look for you again. You froze.
He made a humming sound that ended in a soft hiss. “Did I startle you?”
Carefully, you turned your head, but ended up seeing nothing but pillow and strands of your own morning-wild hair. With a quick gesture, you brushed both aside, and found his face literally inches from your own. Flinching on instinct, you brought some distance between the two of you before you could stop yourself.
His yellow eyes widened. Slowly, he retracted his hand. “Uh. Sorry. I… didn’t mean to… uh.”
He looked away, off to the side and a little bit downwards. You got the feeling he would have blushed, on his cheeks and down his neck, but in all the time you had known him he had never blushed, and you had done far more blush-worthy things together than waking up naked in the same bed.
Speaking of which. “What the hell happened last night?”
This time, it was his turn to flinch. “Don’t say that word.”
Ah, his little oddities. You’d never admit it to yourself, but you had missed them. A grin tugged at your cheeks. “Hell,” you repeated.
He rolled his eyes, but seemed to relax a little.
You waited for a moment, but when it became evident that no further answer would be coming forth, you pushed yourself onto your elbows. “How did I get here, Crowley?”
He, not to be outdone, mirrored your motion. He was broader than you, and taller, and even half-lying side by side, he towered over you. Instead of a reply, he cupped your cheek, leaned in and pressed your lips together.
You allowed it. Allowed his warm, dry lips to rub against yours. Allowed his weird, forked tongue to probe at the slit between your lips and to coax them open, and you would have allowed more, if it hadn’t been such an obvious attempt at distraction.
You put your hand on his chest, over his sharp collarbone, and pushed him back. He eased up immediately – for all the bad-boy attitude and, when he got in the mood, roughhousing, he wasn’t a careless lover.
Searching his face for a hint, you tried to figure out what was going on. What had happened last night? You’d left work late, your laptop bag slung over your shoulder, and decided to go for dinner. Were you alone during dinner?
You squinted up at Crowley. “Did you hypnotize me?”
He blinked. “No?”
“Did you drug me?”
“No!”
More vehement this time. You took a deep breath. Fair enough, so what happened last night would remain a mystery for now. Well, considering your state of dress – not a stitch on you, and you suspected that under the blanket, he was just as naked – you had a pretty good idea. Pity you missed it.
Your eyes dropped to your hand that was still resting against his chest. His chest hair tickled your palm.
He followed your gaze, then caught your eye, and his lip curled into a familiar smirk. “Like what you see?”
“Always,” you said, and tilted your head.
He met you for the next kiss, slid his tongue into your mouth and swallowed your sharp exhale. Heat gathered in your belly, squirming under your skin. He grabbed your hips and tugged you closer, right against the solid line of his body, and used his knee to force your legs apart. Once he got high enough, you clamped your thighs around him, which seemed to have been the moment he was waiting for, because he rolled his hips, and something hot and slightly moist poked your belly.
Your eyes widened. Wow, he was into this.
He broke the kiss and shifted to lay his lips against your neck, drawing the skin between his teeth. He nipped it gently, before soothing the bite with his tongue. When he drew back, his hot breath puffed against the wet spot and you gasped.
Wanting to touch him back, you surged up to wrap both arms around his neck.
He rewarded you by moving his grip to your ass and squeezing. Kneading.
His touch sizzled like electricity: pleasure traveled up your spine, leaving you shuddering, and the melting warmth between your legs gathered into something sharper, needier. You couldn’t suppress the strangled, aroused sound that spilled from your lips. “Fuck, Crowley. Do that again.”
He chuckled – or at least that was how you interpreted the rumbling he muffled between your breasts. Then he seemed to realize where exactly he was and grew quiet, turning his face against the softness of your left boob to nuzzle it.
You pushed a hand into his short, russet curls, a touch you knew he enjoyed, and let him have his moment. It was still morning, after all. You had time.
He kissed his way up to your nipple and took it into his mouth. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, before he gave the nub a hard suck.
You shuddered, moaning.
With a smirk, he lifted his head, but didn’t stop sucking. Your nipple popped out of his mouth with an obscene sound. Your hips twitched. You were wet enough to be able to feel it now: a faint ache spreading between your legs. Not quite desperate enough yet to search frantically for a way to orgasm, but definitely getting there, and having something inside you when it happened seemed more desirable by the second.
Crowley leered like he’d heard every thought, and licked your other nipple. “Want me to refresh your memories on what went down last night?”
He was lisping the ‘s’ again. Sometimes he did that against your clit while quoting Shakespeare. The memory was enough to spark a delicious shiver. You nodded. “Go for it.”
His smirk widened and he came up to kiss you again. “Turn over. On your side.”
Kinky, you thought. “Kinky.”
“I’m a demon in bed,” he informed you.
You snorted. “You’re a demon everywhere.”
“Especially down here.” He canted his hips against your belly again, leaving no doubt about his eagerness. “I’m a beast.”
He was all but dripping on you, and still cracking those godawful jokes. “Oh, fuck you,” you groaned and, for your own sanity, did as he asked already and wriggled onto your side.
He rose onto his knees to give you room to move, before dropping to lie behind you. His arms wound around you, and a curious feeling settled in your guts. His sudden urge for closeness wasn’t actually new, but, seeing as most of your trysts happened in suspiciously empty club backrooms, or pressed against those parts of house fronts the streetlights didn’t quite touch, or, like one memorable time, on stage during a strip show in Soho no one seemed to be able to remember the next morning, it was rare.
He pressed himself to your back, covering you in his blazing heat, and his hard cock slid along the cleft of your ass.
You pulled your knee to your chest to make it a little easier for him, feeling the head of his cock rub softly against your folds. When he found your entrance, his breath caught, then rasped out between his teeth. He pressed into you without hesitation.
It didn’t hurt – Crowley was familiar enough with your body by now to know how far he could push you, and how fast. And, unless you were playing extra rough, he respected your limits. Once inside, he stilled, allowing you to get used to the stretch.
His cock was had girth to it, was slightly curved and solid, and it seemed to snugly fill up every space inside you. It felt heavy in a way that suggested any kind of movement would burn in the best possible way.
Crowley’s hand found your breast again, thumb toying with the nipple. As hard as he had worked the nub earlier, it responded, and you were probably tightening up around him – at least going by the strangled noise he made.
You exhaled, consciously relaxed your lower body, and craned your neck to look at him. “Alright. Go wild.”
His mouth curled, white eyeteeth glinting like fangs. His grip on you tightened, and he drew back a little, pulling himself out of you – you were right, it burned, but it was so good, oh! – before thrusting in again.
“Harder.”
Crowley bit your shoulder. “I’m getting to that.”
His next thrust was more forceful, rocking your body on the bed. You moved with him, and soon you found a rhythm – out, in, out, fuck–
“Better?”, Crowley grunted.
You flung a hand back, desperate to touch him. It landed somewhere around his hip, on warm, sweat-slick skin. Coordination had left you since he’d picked up speed, started fucking you good, so you left it there. The other you shoved down between your own legs, but he caught you before you could get there.
“Allow me.”
He was good with his cock, knew how to make it good for a woman, how to find that spot inside you and hammer against it relentlessly, until you shuddered and moaned and writhed and didn’t remember which way was up. He was better with his tongue; the forks could do a number on your clit that left you gasping for breath for a solid five minutes. But his fingers, oh, they were divine.
He used two, circling your clit before squeezing it, much gentler than his cock was currently pounding into you.
You groaned, throwing your head back. “C-Crowley.”
The force of his thrusts drove your clit against his fingers. Pleasure blazed through your body. Everything inside you was tight, hot heat. It prickled under your skin, coiling tighter and tighter, ready to be released.
Crowley’s breath a tickled against your ear. He was breathless, his voice hoarse, and his cock seemed to pulse inside of you. “This how you like it, babe?”
A strangled whimpering noise came from your throat. Your hand flew down to grasp his wrist in a death grip, pressing it down and yes, fuck, there it was, yes–
White washed over your field of vision as orgasm rushed through you. You clamped your thighs together, grinding yourself onto him to ride the high for all it was worth.
Crowley yelped behind you, and you thought you heard an expletive, but the white noise in your ears was too loud. Suddenly, he was just clutching at you, frozen still and panting harshly as the rhythmic clenching of your inner walls milked his climax out of him.
Like waves after a storm, the tide of pleasure ebbed gradually, leaving behind limbs that felt like rubber, a floating sensation in your head and the urge to fall asleep again. Preferably in his arms.
He murmured into your shoulder, echoing the sentiment. Even though his cock was softening inside you, making everything feel incredibly wet, he didn’t seem inclined to move. “You’re warm.”
Since it wasn’t your bed, you decided clean-up could wait. Instead, you snuggled against him, which earned you a happy noise.
But the gnawing feeling in your gut hadn’t abated. “What happened, Crowley?”
“We, uh, had sex?”
He sounded a little slurry.
You elbowed him – gently, of course. “Not that.”
It seemed to wake him. Or, at least his voice was a little more awake when he spoke next. And wary. “Uh? Nothing happened. What should have happened? Nothing at all.”
Frowning, you turned in his arms. His cock slipped out of you, making you almost wince. Not because it hurt, but because the loss of your connection felt like… an end. Like this truly could have been the last time.
Crowley’s face was carefully blank, and there was something in his eyes that looked like – fear?
You took his face in both hands. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”
“I…,” he looked away. “I can’t talk about it.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I’m not allowed to,” he whispered, drawing away. He moved out of your grasp and hopped off the bed.
Cold rushed in, raising goosebumps all over your skin. His sudden absence left you reeling.
“Crowley, wait!”
You grab the sheets and wind them around you. When you looked up again, he was fully dressed. Like he’d just magicked all his clothes onto himself again, or something.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.”
You stumbled to your feet, trying to get to him before he could vanish out the front door, never to be seen again.
“Crowley!”
He didn’t even slow down. “I’ll have to go to America for a while, I think. On business. The neighbor will take care of the plants, so just close the door when you leave.”
“For fuck’s sake, Crowley, what the hell?”
That garnered a reaction. He stopped, his hand on the door handle, and from your position you could just see the edge of his small, sad smile. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
It took all your courage to ask the question that burned on your heart. “Will you be back?”
His yellow eyes blazed in the dark of the hallway. “I don’t know.”