Blue Bliss, Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
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You hear the roaring motor of the Impala and the feel of the wheels on the road. “I’m bringing all three.” Who is that? You can’t see. “Because I didn’t know which one it was, ok?” The man sounds angry. You can’t move. “Just have everything ready, We’ll be …” You can’t focus, consciousness is slipping away from you and then, nothing.
Your head is swimming as you slowly come to, again, and you realize immediately that you’re somewhere unfamiliar, and that you aren’t alone. The first thing to truly register is what’s right in front of you, a metal spike protruding from the cold concrete floor with chains snaking from the forged loop at it’s top down to your feet where a heavy manacle hugs your left ankle. Then you see the strange markings scrawled across the surface where your head rests, markings that seem like they’re flowing from a central point, which is unsurprisingly the spike you’re currently chained to. The symbols are archaic and wickedly curved; you sit up and see them, spreading like angry scratches out into a wide perfectly drawn circle that is easily twelve feet in diameter. Surrounding this circle are candles, half melted and burning bright, no wind to disturb their presence as they light the area around you. Towards the direction of your feet is a huge… um… shrine is the only word you can find to describe it, and it’s large and looming, set tight up against the drawn circle. Candles, fabric, herbs, bones, blood, and a menagerie of strange and terrifying items you can’t identify are laid out or hanging or piled upon the ominous structure. Your eyes move from there and slowly scan to the right and you see what’s surrounding the rest of the circle. In perfectly spaced intervals, just beyond the candles are hooded figures sitting on their knees, all of them chanting in low guttural voices like a macabre monotone song and it’s really frickin’ creepy.
Your heart skips a beat as realization suddenly floods in past the haze of pain in your head; they have you, the bad guys have you! Adrenaline courses through your body, burning away any awareness of discomfort and you immediately try to get away, scrabbling to move, but you don’t even make it to the edge of the painted circle before you’re quickly stopped short by the manacle. You hear yourself crying as you crawl back to the spike and rip at it, followed by clawing at the chain, terrified and desperate to get away. There is only a tiny scrap of sanity in you at the moment, telling you that you’re surrounded and have little to no chance of escape and you should stop before you hurt yourself but the rest of you is a panicked mess. You grab onto that tiny morsel of logic, clinging to it in an attempt to calm down despite its horrible truth and you try to think, to observe, and you do quell the raging storm of thoughts a bit, taking deep steady breaths as you settle back down onto the floor, resigned to your fate. You don’t stand up because you feel safer, less exposed, while hugging the concrete and your eyes begin to take in the rest of the scenery.
It’s an abandoned warehouse; how cliché and it’s dark, very dark. There is no light coming from the few windows that you catch a glimpse of in the dim candlelight and most everything is lost in shadow. Large steel beams hold up the ceiling intermittently on either side and something grabs your attention but it takes a minute to process what you’re seeing. It’s something about the two closest steel beams. There’s something there. It finally clicks; each one has a crumpled Winchester tied up soundly at its base, their backs resting against the unforgiving metal with their arms circled behind them, laced up tight. Both of their heads are covered with burlap sacks, Dean is leaning at a painful angle with one leg tucked and the other out straight, and Sam looks like he’s resting comfortably, both legs spread out long in front of him. They look dead. Oh God they can’t be dead! You panic again, blasting open that connection between them, your fear rolling through the thread as you mentally grab for them. You feel them; you feel their minds. They’re alive! You breathe a sigh of relief at that revelation, wanting to weep for joy that Sam and Dean are still among the living and then you watch as they both begin to stir, probably shocked awake by your mental intrusion.
You cannot describe how happy you are to see them, taking solace in their presence despite their bound and blinded state, but then you’re immediately disheartened, because they are, in fact, bound and blinded and there is no way they can save you. Panic begins to boil back up again, this emotional roller coaster leaving you unable to act or move as you lay there helpless, chained inside this satanic circle with no one, not even a white knight or a guardian angel to help. Wait! You do know a guardian angel! You could kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner but you remember the angel; you remember Castiel! Your emotions coast back up, hope soaring inside you once again as you mentally grasp at the faint connection with him; noting that this is the first time you’ve ever used this thread. You cry out silently for Castiel to help you, to save you, to come quickly. You squeeze your eyes shut, sending every ounce of yourself through that tentative link and you pray that he hears you.
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A minute passes, then another, and still no Castiel. Your hope dims to a dull glimmer again, overtaken by helplessness as the unnerving chant never stops. The hooded figures are ominous, giving off a vibe that makes you wonder what’s under those folds of fabric. You’re mind is imagining what horrifying things lie beneath when movement catches your eye and you fix on a robed figure approaching out of the darkness, his sinister voice rising above the others with a different cadence. “Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos” Somehow you understand what he’s saying; you have no idea what language he’s speaking but you know what he keeps repeating, “Come to us.” What does that mean? It doesn’t matter because it fills your heart with fear and you cringe lower down on the floor as he mounts the stage, his chant never ceasing as it rhythmically raises and lowers in volume.
Then you hear it! It’s faint, but you’re listening for it, your ears trained to pick up the slightest hint of that iconic sound, and your heart races, hope swelling up once again. Wind through invisible wings. Castiel! Castiel the angel is here and he’s standing next to you. He’s so close you could reach out and touch him, and overwhelming joy barely begins to describe how you feel at the sight of him. His gaze locks on you as he looks down, his eyes filled with confusion, yours with both wonder and terror. His expression turns to determination as you feel him pulling information from the thread between you. It’s strange, you’re used to sending thoughts, not having them pulled from you and your eyes widen in awe. He stretches his arm, barely tilting his body and his fingers rest gingerly against your forehead. Electric tingles shoot through your nerves, a product of the connection with him, but there is also a soft glow. Your entire body becomes warm, suddenly refreshed, and the pain disappears while your mind becomes calm and sharp. You feel so alive, like you could run a marathon without breaking a sweat or swim the English Channel with no problem, and you are so grateful. You send all of your appreciation flowing through the thread to him; letting him know how much you are indebted to him for that simple gift. Castiel gives you the faintest hint of a smile and then he stops looking at you, instead he’s looking through you, his eyes focused on something other than the world in front of him and his face sets into a mask of veiled anger as he processes the knowledge that was pulled from you.
Castiel is pissed, angry at the demons that caused both you and the Winchesters pain. His eyes fix on the circle of demons and then he moves. With an unnatural swiftness, Cas closes the space between himself and the hooded figures with barely a whisper of noise. Not a sound; no footsteps, no growls of rage, nothing, and his anger is terrifying to behold as he shoves his hands beneath the hood of two of those eerie chanting beings. The fabric is blasted backward as their heads tilt to the sky, and you see that Castiel has a death grip on each of their faces and a blazing blue light suddenly bursts from their eyes and mouth in a rumbling scream of pain, their pain. You squeeze your eyes shut against the brightness. When you open them again the angel is releasing his victims, their faces smoldering with a sickening smoke as their bodies slump lifeless to the floor.
Castiel is beautiful and terrible and you see the fierce warrior within him as he moves to the next kneeling figure, his eyes burning a cold unnatural blue. You turn your gaze away, knowing what’s coming and you catch a glimpse of the rest of the room as you do. Sam is up, somehow free from his bonds and just before you close your eyes to another blast of blazing light you see him working on Dean’s bonds. When the scream dies away you know it’s safe to look again and both of the Winchester’s are up and rushing to help. Dean pulls the knife from his jacket and you watch the yellow electric shock flare beneath the hood of yet another robbed figure as he shoves the knife deep into the unresisting demon.
Sam is suddenly in your face. His hands brushing your hair back and he’s breathing heavy, full of concern and adrenaline. “You ok?” You don’t answer; you don’t know what to say. His eyes search you over and when he spots the manacle his eyes dart back up and lock with yours, “We’re gonna get you outta here.” You believe him. You always believe Sam and his hands disappear, moving down to your ankle so he can work on the bindings. You hear more screams and see a flash of both yellow electric light and the blazing blue white as Dean and Cas pick off two more. You watch the bodies hit the floor and then you stare at the final demon as he sits, complacent on his knees, still chanting. Why aren’t they resisting? It’s like they want to be killed. Oh shit!
You put the pieces together instantly. ~Within lies a great terror and only through the waive of maidens bountiful, decimation of the incidental patrimony, denigration of a devout, and sacrifice of the septenary may the gatekeeper petition the instrument of release, hence the sacrifices four shall be laid before the false throne and behold, the great key shall come unto you upon a broken frame and the consummation shall lay bare the gilded cage.~ They must have completed all the other sacrifices. The dais full of bones and bits and blood where the newest hooded figure chants is certainly the false throne and the demons aren’t resisting because they are the septenary, the seven loyal servants who sacrifice themselves to unleash the key. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Don’t do it! Don’t complete it! Please don’t! You hear yourself scream out a panicked no but it’s no use.
You watch in horror as Dean thrusts the knife into the last demon, his eyes cold and heartless as he twists for good measure with no recognition of your desperate cry. It’s too late. Damn it! Panicked, your eyes dart to the hooded man on the dais. He has a large ancient book open in his hands, his long thin fingers spreading the pages flat as he finishes his incantation, “Mortem timore et mahemium, ausaque offerimus key et doloris. Et sciendum nobis veniat.” What’s he saying? “From death, fear, and mayhem, we offer up suffering and pain to forge the key. Let it come unto us and be known.” You still don’t get how you know what he’s saying but it doesn’t matter because damn, damn, damn! It really is too late! As the last syllable is spoken you cringe, expecting some earth-shattering event but there is only a sickening pregnant silence and everything seems to freeze.
Sam has ceased his attempts to pick the lock of your manacle and is staring at the hooded man. Dean stands just outside the painted circle, ready to fight, spine tilted low, face etched with tight rage as blood drips from his wicked blade. Cas stands within reach of you like a statue, his shoulders squared, his jaw set as he too stares at the man, worried uncertainty playing across his features. You’re afraid to move and it’s so quiet that you can hear water dripping in the distance and the light patter of rain on the metal roof of the building. Dean is the first to crack; he always is the impatient one, and he plows forward, crossing the threshold of the circle. As soon as he steps across the painted line there is a searing blast of mind numbing light and your ears are assaulted by a horrible crackle, an ear splitting ring, and it’s all coupled with a single gut-wrenching bellow of excruciating pain. It feels like your body is being split apart by the light and by the sound, molecule by molecule you feel yourself separating, lost in numb nothingness. It doesn’t hurt. It feels almost pleasant as you feel yourself suspended, floating in an overwhelming emptiness.
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Then it all crashes down. Reality, feelings, noise, smells, pain, all of it comes flooding back and it suddenly hurts to be alive. You’re gasping, tasting the smell of sulfur, concrete dust, and the iron tang of blood in the air; even the musty moisture of rain flavors your ragged breaths. You feel your flesh scraping across the unforgiving floor and notice every thread of fabric in your clothing as it slides against your skin while you struggle to focus past the spots in your eyes. It hurts to much, so you close your eyes while everything continues to amplify; your lungs are loud in your own ears, the stippled groves of the concrete suddenly more prominent, and the feel of hot flesh resting against your cheek is hot, almost too hot. Wait… who? You feel yourself scooped up against someone, your body convulsing with pleasure at that level of tactile exposure and you swear the earth shifts with you. You feel the arm that’s circling you as it holds on tightly, its strength sending ripples of euphoria through you, the earth vibrating in unison with your reaction. Then there is a supple palm cupping your cheek with gentle care, gingerly holding you, and it feels wonderfully nice as his smooth flesh drags across yours. Then there are lips. Soft, reverent lips are pressing against yours and you’ve never felt a more perfect pair in all your life. You can feel every curve, every bit of stubble that scrapes your hypersensitive skin and his nose bumping against yours causes an unwarranted moan of bliss. You hear a sickening crack nearby, like the bones of the earth being shattered, but you don’t care. Those delicious tasting lips become eager, pressing in and then you shudder as his tongue slips in, exploring, gliding against yours and it tastes like sunlight.
You want to see him. You want to gaze upon this resplendent perfection that is claiming you. You concentrate on opening your eyes, on looking past the seared spots in your vision and he slowly comes into focus. His eyelids flutter open, feeling your gaze, and a bolt of desire convulses your body as piercing blue eyes lock onto you, all while that heavenly tongue continues to worship. Blue. Deep pools of azure. You know an angel with blue eyes. Blue eyes and soft lips, and…. Oh. Your mind finally clicks it into place. Castiel. Mmmmmm Castiel. You’re being kissed by an angel of the lord and it’s melting you away, leaving you nothing more than a slave to the feel of perfection as the earth continues to roar and shudder around you.
Sam and Dean are exceptional lovers, always making the world slide away while you revel in the pleasure of each other but this… THIS… well there is nothing else like THIS. Nothing else exists but you and the delicious angel who’s gently prying you open, laying claim to all of you with merely a simple kiss. You are almost gone, almost lost completely to the rapture of Castiel. The only thing holding you back is a little annoying tug; two threads that are tickling the back of your consciousness like an unfinished thought. You want to be left alone so you can disappear into the power and the beauty of Castiel, and even now you feel your soul reaching out for him, yearning to meld and become one but that tug is distracting, insistent. Sam. Sam is yelling, he’s frightened; and Dean, you feel his worry and you hear him killing, the last bit of life gargling from someone’s throat as the rumble of the earth accompanies that sickening sound. It hurts to open your eyes again, hurts to shift your focus from this resplendent being that is making love to your mouth while he gently holds you, but you look. You’re compelled to look, your connection with the Winchesters pulling at you like a child pulling on their mother’s skirt. They need you for something and you grudgingly give them a small portion of your attention.
Dean is trying to keep his balance against the bucking earth as he runs around the outside of the circle, headed toward Sam who is locked in combat with a demon you haven’t seen before. More demons? Yes, a lot more. At least a half dozen and they are zeroed in on the brothers. You should be more worried, deeply concerned actually, but you can’t, not when Castiel suddenly slides his fingers through your hair and presses you into a deeper kiss, oblivious to his surroundings, his attention focused on you alone. Your eyes fix on those blue depths again and they’re staring back; you let out a shivering purr, the earth quivering in unison, and you melt into him again, losing interest in the world around you just like Castiel. You want to please him, to show Castiel the same affection that he’s showing you and without ever letting your lips leave his, you move. You don’t know how and you don’t care, but with ease you find yourself straddling the angel’s legs and you spread his trench coat open and tilt him into you, pressing your breasts against Castiel’s crisp buttoned shirt. Another sickening crack of concrete nearby and again you don’t care.
Electric tingles are a thing of the past; this is so much more. Every part of you that touches Castiel is an explosion of blissful fireworks that rage through your entire body, pooling heavy and wanton in all the right places. You feel your fingers unbuttoning his shirt, untucking it from his pants and when your hands finally slide against bare skin you shudder and moan loudly into his worshiping lips. The earth shakes again. Cas likes your reaction; you can feel it, the connection between you an open highway to each other’s soul. He enjoys this feeling, he’s reveling in it because it’s not one he has often felt and his desire ignites bright and hot as he presses you against his chest and you hear him groan appreciatively. It’s gravely and rough, rattling deep in his throat and you find yourself shivering in time with its vibration, the sound of his voice alone almost enough to make you orgasm. It’s like the earth itself is agreeing as it shudders and bucks beneath you.
“Bloody hell! Break the fucking sigil you daft moose.” What was that? Grudgingly a small part of you is pulled from the heaven that is embracing you and once more you painfully open your eyes. Demons are fighting demons, the Winchesters are right in the thick of it and off to the side, right in your direct line of sight is a different kind of monster. There is something about him that keeps you distracted for a moment longer. He has power. Power and confidence, and his demeanor trumpets to anyone who looks at him that he’s the king whether you like it or not. The only question is, king of what? He’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and a tie that lesser men would kill for; his eyes are sharp and shrewd, gleaming with craven malice and his stance is one of feigned impatience, like he’s putting on a show for the fun of it. “You’ve got to get them separated or we’re all bollixed.” His voice is deep and scratchy, a British accent adding extra tone to his haughty arrogance. Who is this interesting creature?
“Well you could certainly pitch in a little Crowley.” Sam spits the words through grunting breaths as he holds a demon tight so that Dean can slide the knife between his ribs.
Separate? No. They can’t take you away from heaven. They can’t take this from you, they can’t. There is another groaning snap of the earth and hot tears begin to flow unwarranted down your face. Castiel pulls his lips away from yours and he stares at you intently. It hurts. It hurts so bad for him to be even that small distance away from you and the tears flow harder, “Please don’t cry.” He brushes the hair back from your face. “Your pain is my pain; your joy is my joy.” You suck in a breath at those words. His gravely voice is like a blast of healing ointment to the depths of your soul and it feels like love, genuine deep unadulterated love. You continue to weep but this time it’s from the joy, the feeling of this angels love flowing through the connection as he gazes into your eyes. You have never witnessed anything more beautiful and you sigh as Castiel holds you firmly, fervently worshiping you again with his reverent lips. The earth shudders again as the world truly drops away and you feel freed as your soul propels towards his, aching to entwine and be consumed by him, absorbed until there is nothing but his perfection. Radiant nirvana surrounds you, the glory of his being shattering your perception of reality. There is only Castiel.
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Happiness is taken away in an instant. Heaven is brutally torn from you. A sickening emptiness echoes in its place and Castiel is gone, ripped from you by some cruel unknown force. You feel sick, broken and aching as the world slowly comes back into focus. You want heaven back; you want Castiel back, you can’t breathe without him, the need crushing you heavily. Ravenous yearning swiftly turns to overflowing rage; rage at the loss of Castiel’s presence and his perfection. You remember that you have a body, a form that can find its way to the angel and you suddenly come alive, lashing out with unbridled wrath. You have no sense of what’s around you, all you know is that Castiel isn’t there and he is all you want, all you crave, and all you need. You feel firm muscled arms wrapped around you, pinning your own arms down by your side as you thrash, and words of hatred tumble from your mouth without permission while tears stream hot and salty down your face. “Woah girl. Woah. I’ve got you. Chill out.” You know the voice. It’s Dean, and you should be happy to feel him against you, but all you can think about is the angel, the heaven you’ve touched, the source of everything you must have to live.
You are cognizant enough now to realize that the earth has ceased it shuddering storm and you’re standing in the circle, still chained. Dean is behind you with his legs planted wide so he can sway and move into your movements and a dozen demons stand around the circle watching this spectacle. More uncontrollable rage bubbles up and you fight harder. Writhing violently, you feel the back of your head connect with Dean and you feel his jolt of pain, his arms reflexively tightening as he growls, “Fuck! Ow. Damn it woman, knock it off!”
You only settle a little bit, not because Dean said so, but because you want to get out of his grip and you look around for something or someone to help you. Directly in front of you is Castiel. Oh Castiel! So close, yet so far away as Sam holds his arms tight behind his back. Castiel isn’t fighting like you; he’s almost pliant in Sam’s grip as he barely tugs against Sam’s hold, his bare chest calmly rising and falling and his eyes are fixed on you. Those deep pools of blue are drilling into your soul, Castiel seeming to make love to you with just a gaze and when your eyes lock, the craving increases tenfold, your need for him unmatched by anything else you’ve ever felt. His desire is flowing heavily through the highway between you, feeding your fever for him as you start to struggle again. You send your impassioned frenzy barreling back across the link, begging him to come to you, begging him to claim you, to take all of you. You see Castiel’s thick erection pressing against his pants and you watch his pupils blow wide with lust as he experiences your salacious need in full force.
Cas’s chest begins to heave, his breathing becoming ragged, laced with wanton desire. You see Sam’s jaw tighten, anticipating the fight as the angel’s body begins to tense, but you and Cas are both suddenly distracted when you hear that dry arrogant voice again, his sexy accent dripping with sarcasm. “Well isn’t this just lovely. She’s got you all by the short and curlies. Makes a demon chuckle to see such a bawdy lot thinking with their small brains, especially you Castiel. I’m blushing.” It’s that monster again. He’s broken the moment, and with him pulling your attention away from the angel, it causes him to calm down and go pliant in Sam’s grip once more.
“Shut up Crowley, unless you have something useful to say.” Dean snarls, his hatred evident as he continues to squeeze you tight, constantly braced for another violent episode.
“Tsk. Tsk. Is that any way to treat the one who just saved your angst-flavored bacon Dean? Here I am, King of Hell, bringing the cavalry in to save the day and you’re so ungracious. That would hurt my feelings… if I had any.” Your eyes go wide. King? Of Hell!? Your full attention is now on Crowley and you can’t help but stare at him. The monster named Crowley is the King of Hell? He suddenly looks even more arrogant than before which you didn’t think was possible.
“Fuck you.” You can almost feel the bitchface Dean gives as he spits out the words. You continue to be distracted from your goal, never forgetting that you want heaven back, but curiosity is winning over that for the moment while these two men banter.
“You always were the flirt.” Crowley winks, his lips twisting into a wicked smirk; then he looks down and toes at the symbol on the floor. You notice that the paint is chipped, scraped away in a small spot; shallow gouges where the concrete is powdered and the line completely broken. Crowley steps over the painted barrier, looks around like he’s waiting for something to happen, and then he turns to the demons standing idly by, “Thank you boys and girls, head on back to the playpen, Daddy needs to take care of some business.” He nonchalantly snaps his fingers and in the blink of an eye they’re all gone, like they were never there. Crowley’s attention turns back within the circle, his shrewd gaze flicking from you to the angel and then to each brother, like he’s sizing everyone up or staring at something that you can’t see. Then he sighs dramatically, “Damn.”
Sam shifts his stance, concern causing him to fidget while he holds Cas. “What?”
“You two just couldn’t keep it in your pants could you? Not that I blame you, she is quite a lovely little peach; sweet and ripe… and very juicy.” The king’s voice is almost a purr as he focuses on you, undressing you with his gaze alone. “I wonder what people would say if they knew what you lot have been up to in that little love nest of yours. Have you seen their dungeon yet peach? It’s very posh.” His smirk spreads deeper as he revels in that statement for a moment and you don’t answer the question. “Well. Since I haven’t been tainted by this lovely little harlot, I suppose I’ll have to do it.” Crowley sounds like he is resigned to some burdensome fate. “Figures.” Castiel doesn’t seem to like what Crowley is saying because he suddenly jerks forward, pulling heavily at Sam, gaining one step closer to you, but he doesn’t break free. Your attention shifts back to the angel and that aching need surges back up again and you thrust yourself forward too, hoping you can close the gap. You gain a step and Dean cusses under his breath as he reposts his legs and holds steady.
“Hey dickbag…” Dean grunts as you strain against him again, “If you’re done being a self righteous drama queen you might wanna frickin’ do something!” Dean is so agitated and his faint thread is feeding you mountains of worry as he holds onto you for dear life.
Crowley’s smile fades to a scowl, like this game isn’t fun anymore because Dean is being a sore loser. “Fine, but for a price. You know I’m not a tart. I’m a proper businessman. I get paid for my services.”
“Really!? How about you’re keeping Lucifer in the damn box you greedy basta…” Dean gets cut off as you take his moment of distraction and inch closer, causing him to replant his feet once again, his breathing becoming labored at the strain of holding you back.
“Well. That is all well and good. Keeping Luci tucked away tight is the reason I came here in the first place, and to my great surprise, whom did I find in the thick of it all? The bloody Winchesters and their pet angel, that’s who! So let’s talk price. It doesn’t look like you can hold out much longer so I’ll be brief.” At those condescending words Castiel shifts again, pulling against Sam with more strength. “I know how to fix this. I can fix it in a snap and I’m willing to make the astronomical sacrifice on my part to make it happen… but in return, you have to stay out of South Dakota for exactly one month. After that you and moose stay clear for a long while and you don’t go digging around, got it Squirrel?” Crowley’s pithy British accent isn’t distracting you as much anymore because Castiel is closer and his gaze has never shifted from you, continually feeding your desire, and the thread is keeping you both connected and craven.
You pull against Dean’s grip again and he grunts before asking, “What the fuck’s in South Dakota?” Dean sounds incredulous.
“Heh. That’s for me to know and for you to never find out.” Crowley’s confidence is commendable and you hope he keeps blustering on because with every movement you are getting closer to your target. Sam stares past you, locking eyes with Dean in a silent discussion and then Sam frowns and you assume Dean does too.
“Fine. Deal.” Sam is the one who agrees to the terms with a rough crestfallen voice and you quickly become desperate, fearing that they will keep you forever from Castiel. In desperation you kick, scream, and flail, giving Dean a run for his money while you fight, hard. How could they? How could they make a deal with the devil to take away your heaven? Dean groans and strains, his muscles shaking as you try to tear yourself from him.
You watch as Crowley strides over to Castiel, grabbing the angel’s head with both hands and then swoops in, kissing him soundly on the lips. Castiel’s face is priceless, shocked and horrified and so is Sam’s; you can only imagine Dean’s expression. You immediately feel the fight knocked right out of you, the open highway between you and the angel shattered and that suffocating craving diminishing down to nothing more than a memory. You watch, stunned and lost, as the King of Hell pulls away from Castiel with a look of disgust on his face. Castiel slumps limply, Sam catching him as Crowley spits violently, wiping his mouth with a black kerchief he’s pulled from his suit pocket. “Crapping Christ you angels are sickening sweet! You’re like walking pixie sticks! Give a demon diabetes with that much sugar.” It takes a moment for Crowley to compose himself, obviously not used to that particular effect from a kiss and you’re pretty sure that demons don’t kiss angels very often, that being a perfect demonstration of why not.
That was all very surprising and you’re beginning to think more clearly, recounting the last chunk of time, but you’re mind is still thick and far from rational. Things are less hazy but you feel so utterly empty, empty and alone and all that’s left in you at the moment is confusion, loss and rage. The rage feels familiar and you latch hold of it desperately. Like gasoline on a fire it suddenly swells up, hot and unbridled into one final burst. Dean let’s out a yell as you break free of his grip and there is no hesitation as you head straight for Castiel. You feel like you’ve won and you don’t quite remember what the prize is anymore, but your compelled to reach the angel so you can touch him. Somehow it’s very important.
Suddenly Crowley is in front of you and there is the sound of a loud smack followed by the hot sting on your face where he just slapped you. It stops you dead in your tracks. That gives Dean the moment he needs to wrap himself around you again, hugging your arms against your sides once more. You don’t resist him, the fight smacked out of you, as you stand stunned in Dean’s arms. Suddenly Castiel isn’t very important anymore as electric tingles crawl across your cheek where it throbs and you feel something familiar, a connection. Your eyes grow wide as you focus on Crowley, confusion etched into your face as you stare. Crowley is staring back, his eyebrow raised. Then you watch a crooked smile tug at his mouth. “Hmmm. I see.” Crowley quietly purrs those words as he quickly moves forward and invades your space. “Very interesting.” His hands lock your head in place and then you feel his lips press warm against yours.
You are so confused, so many emotions swirling uncontrolled through your mind. There is still an empty hole and an ache for Castiel but it’s more of a memory now. You’re still connected to the angel, and with both brothers, but…. but now there’s something new. Now you’re connected to this demon, this King. This King of Hell who is prying your mouth open with dominant force and you find yourself complying, melting into it; enjoying it. He tastes like hot cinnamon and his stubble scratches at your skin with pleasurable pain while his tongue invades you with arrogant lust. You find yourself wanting to grab his tie, wanting to pull him in close so you can feel more of him, but you’re trapped in Dean’s embrace, unable to reciprocate your appreciation of his obvious skills; so you merely stand there, taking what he gives you with deep pliant pleasure.
“Crowley.” Dean’s voice is low and threatening behind you but Crowley doesn’t stop, his hands still holding your head, tilting it whichever direction he chooses. Dean’s voice seems to egg him on and you let out a muffled moan as Crowley grips you tighter and claims you harder, your body shuddering against Dean as he does. “Crowley!” Dean’s voice is sharp, murderous intent evident in his tone. The King apparently knows it’s a fight he won’t win because he eases off, biting your lower lip with a terse smile just before he pulls away. As he steps back you find yourself leaning towards him; yearning for the taste of cinnamon. Dean lets go but you don’t move, confusion, compliance, and revelry locking you in place.
Crowley takes a deep breath, straightens his tie and then gives Dean a sassy smile, “Beautiful little peach.” His voice is full of appreciative lust, his tone making you wonder what deliciously wicked things the King of Hell could do to you if given a chance. “Well boys.” He straightens his spine, assuming that arrogant semblance once more as he addresses the brothers, “My work here is done. Remember our deal and I’m sure the next time we meet will surely be too soon.” Crowley raises his hand and hesitates, locking eyes with you for a moment, “Meeting you again peach, would be a pleasure.” You swear there is a glint of regret, a hint of loss at what could have been, and then he snaps his fingers and is gone. No flutter of wings or flourish, just gone, leaving the four of you alone in a warehouse full of blood and death as the rain patters on the metal roof above.