Chapter Text
“You bloody what?”
Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I’m asking—”
“No, don’t,” Crowley says, holding his hand up. “I heard you the first time.”
Castiel watches him for a moment, then prods him with, “Well? Will you—”
“Chrissakes, don’t say it. Someone’ll hear you.”
Castiel frowns and looks down the length of the Grand Canyon, then up at the sheer walls. There’s a yellow-backed spiny lizard near a ledge, but Castiel doubts it’s listening. “I thought we could talk freely here.”
Crowley scoffs. “Not that freely.” He squints up at the sky, as if expecting a line of onlookers to be crouched along the canyon’s edge. “I can’t be having this conversation out here.”
Castiel gives a helpless shrug. “Where, then?”
“Look, there’s a stunted juniper in the city of Canaan, Oregon. Meet me there.”
In a blink, he’s gone, leaving Castiel at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment until he finds the tree, then disappears with the sound of wings.
“Oi!”
Castiel turns from the tree and finds Crowley standing in front of a farmhouse, hands in his pockets, collar turned up against the damp of the fog. Without another word, Crowley turns and disappears into the house. Once again, Castiel sighs, gives the stunted tree an encouraging pat, and covers the distance on his wings.
He appears in front of Crowley in the foyer.
Crowley’s mouth sets in a hard line when he sees him. “Right. I won’t bother with the door, then.” He shuts it solidly behind him. Apparently it is still not far enough away from prying eyes, though, because it is not until they are in the living room – a cramped square of a room with a fireplace, overstuffed bookshelf, and dusty armchairs – that Crowley lets him speak again.
“Now. Say it again, like I’m losing my bloody mind. Or maybe I have done, who knows.”
“Would you,” Castiel says again, “teach me how to have sex. With a man.”
Crowley sits down heavily on the nearest armrest. He studies Castiel. “Again. More bluntly. Just to make sure I’ve got this right.”
Castiel picks his words carefully. “Could we…fuck?”
Crowley stares at him. “Right.” He keeps staring at Castiel. The angel shifts uneasily. Abruptly, Crowley stands. “Whiskey?” He moves to the far corner of the room and pours himself a large glass from a decanter that is far too fancy for the room.
“Uh, no. Thank you.” Castiel edges further into the room.
Crowley empties the glass in one gulp and pours himself another before returning to the armchair. This time he sits in it properly, gesturing for Castiel to do the same in the other one. “Walk me through this…monumentally stupid proposition, angel.”
Castiel sits down carefully, wincing at the squeak of the leather as it gives way beneath him. He sets his hands on his lap just as carefully. He’s not quite sure how well Crowley is taking this.
“I wish to engage in congress with a human—”
“Winchester,” Crowley provides. “The so-called righteous boy.”
“The Righteous Man,” Castiel corrects.
“Don’t care.” Crowley takes a sip of his drink. “Continue.”
“I understand this is the…expected progression of our relationship.”
“Is it, now?”
Castiel presses his lips together and gives Crowley a hard look.
“Expected by whom?” the demon continues, twisting the blade he knows has found its mark.
“I,” Castiel tries again, “would like to try…”
Crowley gives a loud, slow slip of his whiskey. At Castiel’s glare, he raises an eyebrow.
“If I were a human, you would not be asking me for an explanation.” The angel sounds frustrated.
“If you were human, love,” Crowley says, “you most certainly would not be asking me for tips.” He leans forward and sets his glass in Castiel’s hands. “Drink that, and for God’s sake let it into your bloodstream.” He waits until the angel has done so, then says, “I don’t care why you’re trying to get into Dean’s knickers. The only thing that concerns me is why you need me to do it.”
Castiel looks down at the glass in his hands. “I want to do it right.” Before Crowley can make a quip about that, he soldiers on. “I have been with human women, and they did not seem displeased—”
“Like you’d be a good judge of that,” Crowley mutters under his breath.
“But,” Castiel says, ignoring him, “from what research I have done, doing the same with a human male is…different.”
Crowley mulls this over for a moment. “Wait—research? Have you been watching bloody gay porn, angel?” The look on Castiel’s face is answer enough, and he sinks back in his armchair with a laugh. “Oh, you absolute idiot.”
Castiel’s lips press together again and he leans forward to set the glass down on the table. It’ll leave a mark on the wood, but Crowley doesn’t care. Not enough to say anything, at least.
“So you want to seduce Dean,” Crowley summarizes, “and you want me to teach you all the right moves, is that right?”
“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes are on the glass.
“Why me?” When Castiel doesn’t look up, Crowley adds, “Aside from the obvious reason, of course.” That gets the angel’s attention.
“What reason?”
“That you’re off your bloody rocker,” Crowley practically shouts. “God damn it, Castiel, this is America, and she’s just dripping with capitalism. Just find some bloke to blow for a few quid at the nearest gas station. Hell, make a few quid, if you have any entrepreneurial sense.”
“I don’t want that.”
Castiel holds Crowley’s gaze for so long, and so steadily, that the demon’s entire arsenal of quips and protests dies on his lips.
“What I want,” Castiel finally says, “is to know how it’s done well. As for why I am asking you…” The angel’s head tilts a little to one side. There’s something of a bird of prey in the gesture. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care what you think, or what you feel.” Unlike, it is left unsaid, the hypothetical blowjob recipient at the nearest – or in fact any – gas station.
Crowley swallows past the insult. “Likewise, you twat.”
“Besides,” and here Castiel finally looks down, “I suspect you would know how.” The granite is gone from his expression, and Crowley thinks he can finally spot some of that initial hesitation once more.
“How to fuck.”
“Yes.”
“A man.”
“Yes.”
“Properly.”
Castiel gives him a look, tired of this game.
Crowley rolls his eyes. “That’s a hell of a leap, Castiel,” Crowley tells him. He’s pretty sure the automaton-looking slice of heaven in front of him actually has feelings for the Winchester, and thinks Crowley can teach him how to marry those feelings with sex. It’s a bloody tall order, and Crowley tells him so.
“I know.”
Crowley rubs his face. “But you still think this is the plan for you.” He looks at Castiel. Who knows, it might be fun. Might also be a train wreck, but those have their charm, too. “What’s it worth to you?”
“A favour,” is Castiel’s prompt reply.
Crowley smiles. The angel came prepared.
“Alright.” Crowley stands. “I’ll do it for a favour. You have a deal.”
Castiel stands. “I won’t kiss you for it.”
“Oh, Feathers, you’ll be doing plenty more before we’re done. But for now”—Crowley holds out his hand—“we can shake on it.” The moment the angel’s hand is in his, Crowley grips it tight. “But we’re not doing it here.”
A blink, and they’re gone.