(no subject)
Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: NC-17 (with a het warning on this one)
Summary: On the tenth day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a hot cup of coffee...
Notes: The tenth part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Part six, Part seven, Part eight, Part nine.
He really didn't mean for it to happen again.
After all, it would be stupid, what with the archangel Michael having broken into his flat last night just to smack him around a little, right? It would hardly be apropos - would almost certainly be dangerous - to seek out another angel, after that.
But surely, Crowley had thought, surely, if the Universe or Someone in it was trying to get a message across to him, the Messenger would know about it.
"I'm sorry, Mister Crowley, but Gabriel's out."
"Out?"
Dobiel nodded. Crowley found it interesting that of all the angels posing as professionals he'd come across so far, Gabriel was the only one who had another angel standing in as his secretary. He wondered if it was pride on the archangel's part, or just plain laziness; either way, he'd have to remember to rib the angel about it next time he saw him.
"I'm afraid so," she said. "I'd be glad to take a message for you, though."
"No," Crowley said, a frown creasing his brow. "It's a... matter than can only be addressed in person, I'm afraid." He paused a beat, then his expression melted into a grin. "But maybe you can help me."
For every once of wile poured into his smile, the look Dobiel gave him as equally as sweet. "How's that, Mister Crowley?"
"Do you know if Gabriel has any... ongoing business in the area?"
She tilted her head, a few wisps of blond hair that had fallen out of her businesslike bun curling around her face. "You know, no one's ever tried to use me to find out Gabriel's business before. I'm just not sure what to do." Behind her silver-rimmed glasses, her eyes were dancing.
Damn angels. The snarkiest ones always came with the most unlikely demeanors.
"I'm not sure when he'll be back, Mister Crowley," she continued, "but you can wait if you wish. Do have a seat. Can I get you some tea?"
"Coffee," the demon responded automatically, taking a seat on the dull beige couch that faced her desk. "Black."
The hem of her skirt swished around shapely calves as she wandered into the next room. She returned, and handed him a styrofoam cup.
"Be careful," she said. "It's hot." Crowley couldn't decide if the comment was fussy or lewd, but she returned to her place behind her desk without giving any hint either way.
Because, really, it would be stupid to continue on with this game after Michael's explicit warning. But then, Crowley never could resist a challenge.
Dobiel didn't look up from her monitor when he went about straightening his cuff in just such a way that it exposed a pale, perfect stretch of his wrist; nor did she notice his furtive glances over the top of his sunglasses. She didn't even react when he stretched alluringly. Clearly, Gabriel's second-in-command had far too much in common with her stuffy superior.
"It must be awfully distracting," he said when he'd failed to be.
The rapid ticks of her typing stopped abruptly, and she finally looked up. "Pardon?"
"For the mortals, I mean," he said, indicating the other offices in the firm outside their glass door, which proclaimed 'G. Engel, CPA' in gold lettering. "Having you about the place. Angels have a habit of being attractive, of course, but you... I can't imagine even Gabriel gets any work done with you sitting out here."
She gave him a coy little smile. "Mister Crowley, is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"
Crowley had gotten to his feet and, sauntering over to her desk, shrugged casually. "Because you should be flattered." He leaned over the desk, looking at her thoughtfully; without warning, he reached out to slide the glasses from her face. "Lovely eyes..."
Her smile remained, and Crowley thought that it looked to be a very promising smile. Dobiel rose, coming around the desk. Her high heeled shoes clicked methodically. She returned the favor, taking off his sunglasses; normally Crowley would have been anxious about the removal of the shield of his glasses, but he liked what he saw when their eyes met, and didn't complain. In their proximity, he let one hand stray to her hip.
"One could say the same about you, Mister Crowley," she all but purred.
"Is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"
"You started it," she said, and he grinned once, snakelike, before kissing her.
With his free hand, he found the hem of her skirt, following it up her leg until her stocking ended about mid-thigh and his fingers brushed bare skin. Dobiel reacted agreeably, hooking her leg around his. He shifted until they were leaning against the desk, pressing against her with obvious interest. Her breasts pressed into him - an asset none of the other angels had had, come to think of it.
"Do you have some kind of protection?" Crowley muttered against her mouth. She pulled back, giving him a bit of an odd look. He grinned. "You know, in case Gabriel comes back."
Dobiel smiled, breaking away from him to lead him over to the couch; and he'd thought the furniture had looked so lackluster earlier. She settled back, catching his tie to pull him down against her. "He won't come back," she said, and kissed him again. Crowley let his hands wander up her thighs again, finding that the bare skin above her stockings continued up.
Now that was something she hadn't learned from Gabriel. "Why you minx," he muttered playfully against her cleavage, grinning.
She gave him a pointed look and undid his trousers, revealing the clear lack of black silk boxers beneath. He grinned.
"You caught me. I'm a minx, too."
He simply pressed against her at first, the delicate material of her skirt exquisite against his erect cock.
It was stupid, yes, but his reptilian instincts were all for it.
When he entered her, it was inch by inch into wet, welcoming warmth, and Crowley groaned at the aching pleasure of his erection being so engulfed in her. He was loathe to pull away again, but the desire pounding through his veins forced his movement, his hips thrusting, as he sought to bury himself even deeper in that soft sensation. His pace quickly became frantic, though she seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.
He wondered vaguely what Gabriel would do if he walked in on the Serpent shagging his second-in-command. He knew the visions he was having of a threesome were very likely unrealistic, but the image of a Crowley sandwich was enough to push him over the edge, and he came with the angel tight around him, grasping her hips.
"Dear Someone," he breathed, resting his head against the arm of the couch.
Dobiel smiled sweetly. "I'll just give Gabriel your regards, shall I?"
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: NC-17 (with a het warning on this one)
Summary: On the tenth day of Christmas, an angel gave to me, a hot cup of coffee...
Notes: The tenth part of our twelve part holiday ficlet. Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Part six, Part seven, Part eight, Part nine.
He really didn't mean for it to happen again.
After all, it would be stupid, what with the archangel Michael having broken into his flat last night just to smack him around a little, right? It would hardly be apropos - would almost certainly be dangerous - to seek out another angel, after that.
But surely, Crowley had thought, surely, if the Universe or Someone in it was trying to get a message across to him, the Messenger would know about it.
"I'm sorry, Mister Crowley, but Gabriel's out."
"Out?"
Dobiel nodded. Crowley found it interesting that of all the angels posing as professionals he'd come across so far, Gabriel was the only one who had another angel standing in as his secretary. He wondered if it was pride on the archangel's part, or just plain laziness; either way, he'd have to remember to rib the angel about it next time he saw him.
"I'm afraid so," she said. "I'd be glad to take a message for you, though."
"No," Crowley said, a frown creasing his brow. "It's a... matter than can only be addressed in person, I'm afraid." He paused a beat, then his expression melted into a grin. "But maybe you can help me."
For every once of wile poured into his smile, the look Dobiel gave him as equally as sweet. "How's that, Mister Crowley?"
"Do you know if Gabriel has any... ongoing business in the area?"
She tilted her head, a few wisps of blond hair that had fallen out of her businesslike bun curling around her face. "You know, no one's ever tried to use me to find out Gabriel's business before. I'm just not sure what to do." Behind her silver-rimmed glasses, her eyes were dancing.
Damn angels. The snarkiest ones always came with the most unlikely demeanors.
"I'm not sure when he'll be back, Mister Crowley," she continued, "but you can wait if you wish. Do have a seat. Can I get you some tea?"
"Coffee," the demon responded automatically, taking a seat on the dull beige couch that faced her desk. "Black."
The hem of her skirt swished around shapely calves as she wandered into the next room. She returned, and handed him a styrofoam cup.
"Be careful," she said. "It's hot." Crowley couldn't decide if the comment was fussy or lewd, but she returned to her place behind her desk without giving any hint either way.
Because, really, it would be stupid to continue on with this game after Michael's explicit warning. But then, Crowley never could resist a challenge.
Dobiel didn't look up from her monitor when he went about straightening his cuff in just such a way that it exposed a pale, perfect stretch of his wrist; nor did she notice his furtive glances over the top of his sunglasses. She didn't even react when he stretched alluringly. Clearly, Gabriel's second-in-command had far too much in common with her stuffy superior.
"It must be awfully distracting," he said when he'd failed to be.
The rapid ticks of her typing stopped abruptly, and she finally looked up. "Pardon?"
"For the mortals, I mean," he said, indicating the other offices in the firm outside their glass door, which proclaimed 'G. Engel, CPA' in gold lettering. "Having you about the place. Angels have a habit of being attractive, of course, but you... I can't imagine even Gabriel gets any work done with you sitting out here."
She gave him a coy little smile. "Mister Crowley, is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"
Crowley had gotten to his feet and, sauntering over to her desk, shrugged casually. "Because you should be flattered." He leaned over the desk, looking at her thoughtfully; without warning, he reached out to slide the glasses from her face. "Lovely eyes..."
Her smile remained, and Crowley thought that it looked to be a very promising smile. Dobiel rose, coming around the desk. Her high heeled shoes clicked methodically. She returned the favor, taking off his sunglasses; normally Crowley would have been anxious about the removal of the shield of his glasses, but he liked what he saw when their eyes met, and didn't complain. In their proximity, he let one hand stray to her hip.
"One could say the same about you, Mister Crowley," she all but purred.
"Is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"
"You started it," she said, and he grinned once, snakelike, before kissing her.
With his free hand, he found the hem of her skirt, following it up her leg until her stocking ended about mid-thigh and his fingers brushed bare skin. Dobiel reacted agreeably, hooking her leg around his. He shifted until they were leaning against the desk, pressing against her with obvious interest. Her breasts pressed into him - an asset none of the other angels had had, come to think of it.
"Do you have some kind of protection?" Crowley muttered against her mouth. She pulled back, giving him a bit of an odd look. He grinned. "You know, in case Gabriel comes back."
Dobiel smiled, breaking away from him to lead him over to the couch; and he'd thought the furniture had looked so lackluster earlier. She settled back, catching his tie to pull him down against her. "He won't come back," she said, and kissed him again. Crowley let his hands wander up her thighs again, finding that the bare skin above her stockings continued up.
Now that was something she hadn't learned from Gabriel. "Why you minx," he muttered playfully against her cleavage, grinning.
She gave him a pointed look and undid his trousers, revealing the clear lack of black silk boxers beneath. He grinned.
"You caught me. I'm a minx, too."
He simply pressed against her at first, the delicate material of her skirt exquisite against his erect cock.
It was stupid, yes, but his reptilian instincts were all for it.
When he entered her, it was inch by inch into wet, welcoming warmth, and Crowley groaned at the aching pleasure of his erection being so engulfed in her. He was loathe to pull away again, but the desire pounding through his veins forced his movement, his hips thrusting, as he sought to bury himself even deeper in that soft sensation. His pace quickly became frantic, though she seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.
He wondered vaguely what Gabriel would do if he walked in on the Serpent shagging his second-in-command. He knew the visions he was having of a threesome were very likely unrealistic, but the image of a Crowley sandwich was enough to push him over the edge, and he came with the angel tight around him, grasping her hips.
"Dear Someone," he breathed, resting his head against the arm of the couch.
Dobiel smiled sweetly. "I'll just give Gabriel your regards, shall I?"