Twisted Paths - It's Good to be the King - Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
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Your shower with Crowley is less than innocent and you swear the only reason you can move is because of your ability to borrow the red heat of his power, using it to keep you upright as needed. The hot water, and Crowley’s firm hands wash away some of the fatigue, but his appetite is insatiable. You both shudder and moan through several more climaxes before you finally towel off, and Crowley watches as you stretch out on the chaise lounge wrapped in a soft lavender robe. As you stare into the night sky, you realize this view is familiar. This is your original room. You’re pretty sure they didn’t need all this time to clean up the lunch mess, its just that Crowley had all your stuff moved so he could set up this room the way he wanted. You look around at the countless candles scattered across every flat surface available, including the floor, and you can’t help but smile. It’s oddly comforting to be surrounded by their soft dancing warmth and you’re secretly pleased that your monster is overly dramatic. Because of that character flaw this has become one of the most amazing and surreal weekends of your life. So yeah, you definitely like that about him more than you probably should, and you’re not ashamed of it either.
You yawn and stretch, your body still pleasantly numb after your shower with the King, and now that you have a little time to relax, it dawns on you that you never finished dinner. “I was wondering when you’d remember dinner, love.” Absorbed in the view, you didn’t pay attention to what Crowley was doing and when you realize he’s right behind you, your muscles tense for a moment as his hands sneak under your robe to run down between your breasts. You relax immediately, reveling in the feel of it as he slides them back up so that both hands are around your neck. Crowley’s thumbs begin massaging gently, causing your head to lull forward because he feels like a comfortably hot towel and his thumbs are rubbing just the right spot. Dinner does sound very enticing, but the idea of wandering all the way down to the dinning room for what is certainly a cold meal at this point is kind of disheartening. Crowley chuckles, “Lost a bit of your pluck I see, perhaps this will help.” His right hand disappears from your neck, his fingers snap, and then he’s back to massaging that magical spot on your nape with his skilled digits.
You’re reluctant to raise your head, because a comforting sleepy stupor is settling in, but curiosity wins out and you lift your gaze to find the domed plate sitting on the little table by the window. Crowley gives your neck a pleasant squeeze, “Sit with me.” One of his hands disappears while the other ghosts down along your shoulder, and arm, until it finds your hand. His grip is firm, almost demanding as he tugs at you, silently asking… no… telling you, to get up. His hand feels so amazingly good in yours and as your fingers thread through his, tingles run along your skin; you give in, grudgingly uprooting yourself from the lounger. Your mind is vaguely wondering how he found room on the table with all the candles, but that thought is quickly scattered when Crowley pulls you into his arms and the red haze of his power encompasses you, making you float as it rubs pleasure along every inch of your body. He’s back to wearing pants, but he’s barefoot and shirtless, and his skin presses against yours with a sultry promising heat. Suspended in his embrace, Crowley’s soft lips and course stubble warm your collarbone as he nibbles and kisses. You’re shamelessly engulfed by your monster as your fingers run through his hair while whispering his name with reverence, and you wonder exactly when you became so comfortable in the presence of a demon king.
You started out so shy with Crowley, almost star-struck like a damn fangirl because you had dreamed of him so many times before, night after night. Then he showed up in the flesh, sultry, commanding, bathed in lust, and it literally became so much more than you could ever dream. You drowned in his attention, shocked and dumbstruck, unsure of how you could capture the attention of such a creature, despite the tether you knew was there all along. Crowley was and still is overwhelming, and when you saw that tiny glimmer of a soft side, it blew your mind; but it finally put you on equal footing, giving you something to cling to. He was no longer this unattainable, unexplainable creature; he was Crowley, and he became yours at the same time you became his. Tonight has been a little different though, you touched Crowley’s very essence and it was breathtaking. It almost consumed you, swallowing you up like the big bad wolf did to dear sweet grandma, and you’d be lying to say you didn’t want to feel it ever again. The crimson heat of his mind, the sensations, the emotions; Crowley’s tainted presence feasted upon you, an overflowing massacre of fierce power, and the only thing that saved you from it was Crowley himself. You remember the concern in his voice, the anchoring pain from his deliberate bite of your lip, the relief you felt from him when you came back yourself. Oh how kind and generous your king is; because he could have overtaken you, shattered you with his formidable intensity, leaving you nothing but carrion to be mourned over.
As terrifying as that should be, knowing that without control he could easily end your life, you enjoyed the depth of it more than you will ever admit out loud. On the other hand, you will also never admit how good it felt to push back; to control someone so powerful, even if only for a short time. Mmmmm the way it felt to have him at your mercy, asking to be released; a shiver of heat courses through your body at the memory. Your thoughts fracture when Crowley’s hand slides up your leg and his fingers brush your sex. You feel another beautifully purple mark forming on your shoulder where he’s been working and you shudder against him when his fingers slide deep into your heat. Fucking hell, Crowley is wonderfully relentless. As you sigh quietly against his neck, you can’t help but wonder if he’s corrupted you. Demons used to be the things of nightmares, silent screams in the dark unforgiving corners of terror, but not anymore. You can’t help but need this particular demon; he’s your beautiful terrible monster. Does that mean you’re corrupt or is it merely a change in your view on life? You don’t feel any different at your core. There are no sudden urges to torture, maim or kill anyone, so does it matter if he’s stained you just a bit? Crowley’s lips ghost up your neck, shaking you from your thoughts once more, and by the time his lips capture yours; his tongue stroking yours with tender caresses, you kinda really don’t care if you’ve got a little demon in you.
Crowley’s fingers are still dipping into your quivering heat when he tugs on your hair, holding your head in place while he sucks gently on your bottom lip. Another wanton shudder runs through you and then he chuckles against your lips, “You had that in you long before I ever touched you darling.” What!? “With a coy smile he pulls away, his fingers sliding from your sex, the very last thing to leave your body and you can’t help but lean into it, wanting the pleasure to continue despite what he just said. Crowley heads to the little table, wipes his hand on one of several available napkins, and then with a smile, he pulls a chair out for you. “Sit down peach, I know you’re hungry.” He beckons you with a nod of his head as his hands rest on the back of the chair; he looks like he didn’t just turn your world upside down with that little statement and you kinda hate him for that right now.
As you comply, tucking your robe along your legs as you sit, you’re torn between lust and a demand for more information, which causes your features to pull into an expression of noticeable displeasure. “Oh come now, don’t shoot the messenger.” Crowley’s red power wraps around you again, like a comforting hug, and as he stands behind you, he brushes your hair back so that he can press a kiss against your cheek. He doesn’t understand that you’re not mad; you’re just terrified of what he just said, and you really aren’t sure if you want to know what he means by it. Are you legitimately tainted by a demon you met long before you ever touched the one who’s gently suckling your neck? Starkly painful images play across your mind; the demon in the alley with crimson eyes laced with murderous intent, and the black eyed demon outside of Bigerson’s who would have happily ended your life had he not been looking for information.
Crowley’s power encompasses you with soothing heat, his breath leaving a warm patch against your cheek as his arms wrap around you like a shield against the shivering darkness. The terror melts away, leaving only Crowley and you’re ok; but you’re positive that you don’t want to ask the question, so you turn your head and your lips tease distractingly against his. Your hand slides up his cheek as you press him closer and Crowley leans in so that he can pull a deep kiss from you; it’s lingering and lustful, and when he pulls away, his hands remain a moment longer before he finally moves to his seat.
Crowley doesn’t say a word as he sits down across from you; he just leans over and plucks the lid from the plate on the table with a smile. Steam rises, alluring and impossible, and the fear from one minute ago is forgotten completely because you’re wondering how in the hell the meal set before you can look so fresh, hot, and delicious. Crowley made a dish of chicken and vegetable manicotti with a savory looking alfredo sauce. So that’s what was in all those pots. Remembering the kitchen brings with it the feel of riding Crowley hard and loud as he stood there holding you, and you can feel the flush of heat creeping up your face as it replays in your mind. You hear a contented hum from Crowley and you know he’s reading your thoughts. You blush a little harder and stare at the plate, trying not to get him worked up again, because you really do need a little bit of a break. Parsley accents one corner of the delicately decorated china and a thick slice of Italian bread is perched perfectly on the other.
Everything looks so mouthwatering. But how? It’s been long enough that it should be cold and clammy. Crowley catches your eye by tapping the domed lid, and you look up to see him pointing to a set of runes etched inside. “One of the perks of being a son of a witch.” He winks at you. Son of a witch? Is he being serious? You raise your eyebrows at that. The look on his face says that, yes, he is one hundred percent serious despite his nonchalance. Wow. The crafty bastard knows magic; will he ever stop impressing you? Why wouldn’t the King of Hell know magic and have a witch for a mother… it’s only fitting. You already know the answer, but you ask him if he’s serious anyways, hoping that Crowley will elaborate, and that single question turns into hours of talking.
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He starts out vague and almost evasive, but after your dinner is long past eaten, Crowley has opened up and its’ enjoyable to hear his stories despite the violence and morbidity spread throughout them. Laying with your back against the heat of his chest, both of you are stretched out on the lounger so that you can see the moon hanging low and brilliant through the picture window. Crowley brought you Mr. Cuddles and he’s wrapped tightly in your arms while your monster’s fingers absently play with your hair, and you dare not tell him that this is dangerously close to actual cuddling. The mood has been light, both of you freely trading stories from your past even though you figured he wouldn’t be interested in your boring human life; but he surprised you by asking questions and prodding you to tell him more. You also didn’t expect him to share, and after a while he even admits that it’s strange for him to do so. He chalks it up to the fact that you put him at ease, which is such a rarity, or so he keeps claiming. When you both finally fall into silence, his fingers still drifting along the edge of your face and into your hair, you realize how frighteningly personal that long and tangled conversation was; Crowley’s hand stops mid stroke and you wonder if he was reading your mind and just realized the same thing.
A moment later, Crowley’s fingers pick back up where they left off, sliding along the same path as before with a calming rhythm. Your body remains wrapped in the ever-present attention of Crowley’s power, but since dinner it’s merely been a comforting cloak of warmth against your skin instead of the stimulating play of carnal pleasure, and the thought of sleep begins to sound really good. You begin to wonder if you should stay here or go to the other room to sleep when the memory of jealous Betty floats to the surface of your mind. You smile to yourself, hugging Mr. Cuddles a little closer, because she probably has good reason to be jealous. You know that Crowley gets whatever he wants, which includes whatever sexual gratification he’s in the mood for, but you also somehow know for certain that they are just fucks, an enjoyable means to an end to pass the time and nothing more. It sounds eerily similar to Dean; you remember when he felt obligated to tell you how, um… ‘experienced’ he was, and how he thought you’d be upset. It broke your heart, but not because you felt slighted, betrayed or jealous, it just sounded so frickin’ lonely; and your only response was to make long slow love to him that night.
Crowley seems exactly the same…. but… do demons have the same kind of feelings as humans? Part of you is convinced that this is all in your mind and demons have no real capacity for the emotions you think you’re receiving; you don’t really want to confirm that they don’t feel, but the other part of you is so tempted to ask in the hopes that Crowley will prove you wrong, so you remain torn. As you lay in a sleepy daze against his chest, your mind chugs through different trains of thought until they’re all tangled up and you quietly mumble out a question before you realize what you’re doing. You ask him why he disappeared on you at lunch. Your monster shifts, rocking your entire body and stirring you back to wakefulness. Your mind slowly sputters back to life, making you realize exactly what question you’ve left hanging in the air. Crowley’s arms slide around you, low and comfortable… holy shit that feels like a cuddle… no... it can’t be. You can sense his thoughts as they sift through his head, roiling and uncertain but you can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking. After a very long pause he answers. “I’m not accustomed to….” He stops, it’s obvious he’s searching for the right word, and you know that he really doesn’t want to answer this question. You remain still and quiet, absently playing with one wing of your dragon until he finally finds the right one, and then he chokes it out, “Feelings.” He forces out the syllables like they’re vial and unsavory. Well that answers your question, but you don’t care because something about that sentence has struck your funny bone and a huge smile spreads across your face, making you grateful that Crowley is behind you.
Maybe it’s because you’re still tired and there are sleepy cobwebs in your brain, or maybe it’s the way Crowley seemed so abnormally violated by that word; either way, it’s funny and you can’t seem to hold down the ludicrous urge to laugh. You know that you’re taking this all wrong, but it’s ridiculous! You wept long and hard when he disappeared, and apparently it’s because the King of Hell was cowering in a corner somewhere, afraid to feel the feels? You try not to laugh but the imagery of that sentence is making it difficult, and you really should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve both been sharing some pretty heavy shit over the last couple of hours and you never once thought less of him, and you still don’t; but for some reason this is hysterical. You can physically sense the deep frown on his face from behind you while you breath out low and quiet so that you don’t laugh out loud. “You find my discomfort amusing?” Damn it, you failed at keeping that a secret for more than two seconds and the haughty tone of his voice ramps up your mirth instead of chiding you into the proper response of pity and understanding. You break, snorting out the tiniest little laugh, and you feel him tense behind you. “I tell you something like that, and all you can do is laugh?” Oh man he sounds upset. “And you dare call me the monster?” Yup, he’s upset; his chest has puffed out and his whole body is tense, so you choke back your laughter in hopes that you can respond, sitting up and turning to face him before you do.
Yup, definitely pissed off, and when you see the haughty anger in his eyes, it strikes you wrong. Your urge to laugh is immediately replaced by your own pent up anger. He has no right to be mad; he wasn’t the one left naked and crying on this very floor, and that thought goads you into saying something stupid. You look him straight in the eye and tell him that demons used to be so terrifying; things of nightmares made of blood death and horror, but you laughed because they’re not scary anymore, they seem a tad bit comical when they’re scared of something so mundane as feelings. His frown deepens as you continue, and you put a touch of arrogant spice in your voice, shoving Mr. Cuddles down onto the cushion with contempt when you tell him that humans deal with feelings every damn minute of every damn day and if a demon can’t take something so simple as a couple of emotions, then they’re nothing to be afraid of at all. As you finish the sentence, you realize just how personal you made that statement without meaning too. You thought you were over it, over him leaving you in a crying heap of devastation on the floor, that you’d chalked it up to him just being him, unable to help it because he’s a demon; apparently not. You instantly regret everything you just said and the hellfire burning behind Crowley’s autumn colored pupils makes you shrink in on yourself a little bit, instantly re-igniting your fear of demons because, really truly, they still are pretty damn scary.
With absolutely no preamble, the warm wrap that’s been undulating against your skin hardens into something uncomfortable and you’re snapped off the lounger and pressed against the cold unforgiving glass of the window. The air is knocked out of you as Crowley’s power presses on you heavily, like a giant’s hand with its palm firmly on your chest and its fingers firmly planted on every limb, rendering you immobile and leaving your back exposed to the chill of the window pane. You focus on breathing, trying to suck in the air that was so brutally shoved from your lungs and when you can focus again, Crowley is standing only inches away. Your eyes widen when they look into his, a crimson blaze that promises torment, and you wonder if he is capable of feeling emotional pain. “Oh yes peach, I very much can, and do.” You’re feet are barely off the floor, making it easy for Crowley to press into your personal space and you stifle a whimper as he runs his hand along your cheek and up into your hair so that he can grip it tight. “I need you to understand something darling…” You’re so fucking stupid; why did you say those things? Why? Why did you pick a fight with the King of Hell?
“Demons don’t fear emotions, peach. Rage, lust, jealousy, gluttony, vanity, greed, and pride… the seven deadliest are what we feel…” His lips ghost along your jawline, his breath warming your skin when he continues in a seething whisper, “And they FEEL…” he presses his body against yours for emphasis, “Really fucking good.” You quietly gasp at that unexpected level of contact. Crowley’s free hand slides your robe off one shoulder and his mouth clamps down hard and hot. Your mind is reeling, your fight or flight instinct is stuck, and you have no idea how to react or what to do; your body doesn’t seem to care about your brain because your core is set alight by Crowley’s aggressive attention and proximity. Through the confusion, you do understand one thing, you hurt his pride; Jesus, you hurt his fucking pride and it was a stupid thing to do. Crowley chuckles against your flesh; that terrifies part of you, while the other part is relieved. “Yes it was very stupid, and perhaps you did hurt it just a little bit my dear,” Fuck his ability to read your mind! Crowley pulls the knot of your robe free and he presses in against your naked front. You bite back a moan when the warmth of his body adds to the power that’s holding you captive. “But that’s not the point.” Your heart is hammering with a mixture of terror and arousal, and now he can feel it as the smooth planes of his chest grind against your bare breasts. Your nipples harden and shivers erupt as he rubs against them, and you gasp silently when Crowley’s pulsing erection grinds against your crotch.
Your monster is surprisingly eager, and you’re terror slowly melts away to be replaced by a growing lust. “Did you know that demons are built on the foundation of the seven sins?” It’s rhetorical, so you don’t answer as the hand Crowley has kept tucked in your hair forces your head into a deeper tilt. He pauses his little lecture to clamp down on your collarbone, sending ripples of disjointed pleasure and pain throughout your body. “They’re what make demons, demons.” The red power begins to shift, loosening just the tiniest bit, and it begins to pulse with a pleasurable heat. Your body is shuddering from his attention and you no longer want to escape, you just want to be set free so that you can touch him like he’s touching you, because he’s getting off on this; Crowley is enjoying every moment of this despite the fact that you pissed him off… or maybe he’s enjoying that part too, you can’t tell, and right now you’re starting to get off on it too.
“All demons have one that’s more prominent than the others,” Crowley’s words run a hot trail down to your left breast, shifting from sharp and threatening to liquid and arousing as he goes. “One that defines who we once were and what we sinned to become.” His mouth aggressively engulfing your breast drowns out that last word, and you buck against the window as his tongue plays, shooting pleasure straight to your core. His teeth graze your nipple as he slides his lips off, eliciting your first pleasurable moan since being trapped by his rage. “But that’s all we ever feel.” His words vibrate against your skin as he moves to the other one and you gasp when he repeats, his mouth taking as much of you in as he possibly can while his tongue teases your aching nipple. “Just those seven.”
Holy shit it feels so good and you flex against his power, hoping he will set you free as he licks, nibbles, and devours both of your breasts with solicitous hunger. He’s channeling his anger, turning it to lust and now that you know he’s enjoying this, mmmm how he’s getting off on this, everything feels different. Goddamn it feels so fucking good, and your adrenaline is adding a heightened flavor to everything, which is driving you dangerously close to a climax. You still aren’t submissive, your muscles still straining, but they begin to loosen up because the feel of Crowley grinding against you is a wonderful tease and the feel of his mouth on your skin is a wickedly delightful torment. “Mmmmm.” Crowley senses your pleasure and he grinds his cloth-covered shaft harder against you before he continues. “Do you understand me peach?”
You don’t answer, your mind desperately trying to remember what he just said while he ravaged your breasts with blissful strokes of his tongue. Crowley doesn’t like that you weren’t paying attention, and he makes his displeasure evident by releasing the pressure on your body for a moment and then pressing you against the glass even harder than before, his hot body adding additional strength to the gesture. “Do you…” He licks up your neck and bites your chin, “Understand?” Your body quivers at his angry strength and his words come back to you loud and clear, allowing you to gasp out a quiet yes. Crowley hums approvingly against your cheek and then he tilts your head towards him so that his tongue can slide between your lips. He nips at your upper lip. “Good.” Then he attacks your mouth with aggression and hunger. His fingers slide out of your hair, trailing downward until they’re on your hips where his other hand has been resting; he kneads your flesh with unnatural strength, almost bruising, while he continues to delve deeper between gasping ragged breathes. Crowley captures your lower lip and you whimper when he bites down hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but for some goddamned reason it’s turning you on so fucking hard, so you lean your head forward, trying to recapture his mouth. He rewards you with a deep fervent kiss; the iron tang of blood washed away by the delicious cinnamon of your monster. The mind-blowing feel of his tongue against yours distracts you from the feel of his power as it slowly pulls your legs apart. When you realize what he’s doing, your body flushes hot, and the anticipation of him driving into you hard and heavy manifests as a wanton sigh against his lips.
“Then you understand that all other emotions are foreign…” The red heat ripples and as Crowley presses you against the glass with strong hands, he steps back so that you can feel his power sliding down along your skin so it can pool at your crotch. Jesus! What is he doing? “And invasive.” To emphasize his words, Crowley makes the invisible heat slide along the lips of your sex and you feel it push up inside you. Holy fuck! You gasp, your body trembling at the decadent feel of it stroking up inside you. The power is still all over you, pressing you, holding you, rubbing you, but this is new; it’s inside you and it feels way to fucking good. Your eyes roll back as your back arches into the invasion, Crowley’s power and those strong hands keeping you pinned in place while it slides in and out of you. Your monster’s voice comes out low and sultry, lust dripping from every syllable as he fucks into you with nothing but his unnatural power. “My point is,” Oh god you feel it, invisible silken heat splitting you open while your demon merely stands there watching you come apart. “You need to appreciate what I feel.”
What you feel is Crowley’s power nudging at your other entrance, gently rubbing and relaxing the muscle there while his hands distract you by sliding up to your breasts. “Do you appreciate it peach?” You don’t answer because his fingers tug on your nipples, his tongue dives deeply between your gasping lips, his power continues to slide heavily into your sex, and now you feel it slowly pushing into another hole as it start to invade your ass. What is he doing? Crowley? The King growls against your lips, “You better appreciate it.” He’s being aggressively gently, which you didn’t think was possible, but you moan into his mouth when his power coalesces into what feels like a hot slick finger as it slowly enters you. Holy fuck! You shudder and convulse at the over stimulation of Crowley’s attention because every part of you is filled now. His tongue continues to steal your breath above, while his power slowly glides in and out of both entrances below in slow undulating pulses. Your climax hits like a freight train and you cry out his name as he leans against you, the window is still cold and unforgiving at your back while his heat encompasses everything else and you tense through the euphoric bliss. You feel Crowley smile against your skin as he moves so that he can hum against your ear, and with a quiet whisper he continues talking while your climax rakes over your body, “Appreciate it because it’s something I should not be capable of.” You suck in a labored breath only to have it stolen by your monsters mouth as he quickly moves back to invading yours. Crowley’s words hit home, piercing your heart. You get it now, you understand, and all it does it fuel your orgasm as it continues to throb through your body.
You barely take another breath before you feel Crowley’s cock sliding deep into your sex. Jesus fucking Christ! You gasp and claw at Crowley, suddenly freed from his hold on you as he pierces hot, substantial, and deep. His power is still fingering your ass, like a sex toy you never knew you needed until this moment. That same power is now teasing your clit as his throbbing dick thrusts up into you, and it’s maddening and mind blowing. All of him in you, on you, around you, all those sensations combine and cause another shuddering orgasm before your last one has even finished. Your arms wrap around him, your nails digging into his back as you bite down on his neck so that you don’t yell any louder than you already have. Your eyes are squeezed shut as each thrust shoves you against the window. You moan heavily at each upstroke of his cock, and you groan at each gentle slide of the power in your ass as it sends bursts of resplendence through every nerve. Holy Christ he’s filling you up, stroking your insides in all the right places and you get lost in the feel of it as Crowley’s stubble scrapes against your swollen lips, his tongue running wild trails along any part of you within reach.
“Bloody hell…” Crowley bites your jaw and his next thrust is harder and deeper than the one before. Your nails scrape down his back and you vaguely register that his pants aren’t in the way as you grab his ass and pull him in deeper. “The fucking things…” He pants against your neck, his cock hollowing you out, his power filling you up as he keeps you trapped against the window. Crowley pulls your arms off of him so that he can press them against the window, and his hands run smoothly up their length until his fingers thread into yours. “You do to me.” Crowley’s grip is firm but controlled as he holds your hands, and his eyes are sparks of red as he stares into yours while still shoving heavily into you. “Mmmmm peach.” His voice is labored, he’s close to orgasm, and you love how it feels when he becomes so intense; focused and all consuming. You can’t help but find his lips, dipping your tongue deep between them as his grip tightens and his muscles pull taut.
Your climax has never really waned and as he starts to pick up the pace, you feel it building into another wave. Mmmm the things he does to you are far more intense than the things you do to him, and you quiver against him as his rhythm picks up speed. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Crowley’s breathing has turned ragged and you know he’s on the cusp, and you want nothing more than to help throw him over the ledge into blissful release. Your climax breaks over you in another wave, magnificent and overwhelming as he shoves you into the window time and time again. You drown in the euphoria of his cock stabbing deep, his power still teasing your clit and ass, and his hands are painfully tight in yours as you ride through the rapture of it. You bite his jaw and nuzzle close to his ear so you can whisper in an almost silent breath that you want him to cum for you. Crowley moans deep, his hands releasing yours so that he pulls you away from the window, his arms wrapping around you with crushing force. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and then he stills; muscles pulled tight and straining as you feel him pulse hot and deep inside you while you gasp out his name in shuddering reverence.
You go limp in his arms, satisfied and exhausted and Crowley leans forward, pressing you against the window again while he catches his breath. He nuzzles your neck and his fingers slowly slide out of your loosened grip and he runs his hands down your arms and body until they rest on your hips. The hot feel of his power slowly disintegrates and he slowly slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty. You’re knees go weak and you can barely stand, but you still have your wit, and you comment that making him angry wasn’t so bad after all. Crowley chuckles against your skin. “It’s generally not recommended love.” You smile as he pushes your robe the rest of the way off your body while capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. “Bed?” His thumb is rubbing your cheek as he cups your face, looking for an answer. You nod pathetically and Crowley’s lips curl into a cocky smirk before helping you over to the bed. You really want to knock him down a peg, you know, keep that ego of his under control, but you have to concentrate on standing while he peels the covers back.
Crowley goes to help you into bed but you brush him off, trying to play it tough as you clumsily flop into bed. Once you’re down, you don’t even try and move; the bed feels to fucking fantastic. You can tell Crowley is still smirking, the bastard, but you don’t protest when he uses his power to scoot you over and position you so he can slide in behind you. It feels nice to have him against you like that, his body a nice line of heat against your back, and you let out a little moan of contentment as he brushes your hair out of your face. His arm wraps around your waist and he plants a gentle kiss on your shoulder and you don’t dare tell him that this is dangerously close to cuddling too. Your mind wanders, a haze of mashed up thoughts, all focused on Crowley as you lay there, and before you realize that you’re speaking, you ask Crowley another question. This one is much less controversial than the last when you ask him what was in South Dakota?
“What?” His confusion is evident and you why wonder on earth your asking this random-ass question as you stir your brain enough to explain that it was the deal he made with Sam and Dean in the warehouse to stop the spell that was affecting you; they had to stay out of South Dakota for awhile. There is a pause, then Crowley laughs; full-bellied, hearty, genuine mirth filled laugh. You might be insulted by that if you were awake enough or had enough energy to care, but all you can do is wonder what’s so funny. It takes him a minute to settle down and then with a lingering chuckle his voice comes out soft, almost a purr, “Oh peach, you are full of surprises.” He plants another kiss on your shoulder, “Between you and me darling… there was absolutely nothing in South Dakota.” It takes effort, but you roll so you can read his face, and Crowley smiles down at you while you blink up at him with bleary tired eyes full of confusion. He shrugs before explaining, “Meh. I just wanted them to agree to something. Couldn’t have ‘em thinking I’m running a charity now can I?” You stare blankly for a moment, processing that, and then you smile back because that’s pretty damn funny. You roll back into your original position while quietly agreeing that hell should certainly never be run as a charity. You have no idea what happens after that because you drift off to sleep in a matter of seconds, the heat of Crowley’s presence pressed firmly against you while his hand ghosts from your shoulder down to your elbow and back again, in gentle sweeping strokes.
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Your shower with Crowley is less than innocent and you swear the only reason you can move is because of your ability to borrow the red heat of his power, using it to keep you upright as needed. The hot water, and Crowley’s firm hands wash away some of the fatigue, but his appetite is insatiable. You both shudder and moan through several more climaxes before you finally towel off, and Crowley watches as you stretch out on the chaise lounge wrapped in a soft lavender robe. As you stare into the night sky, you realize this view is familiar. This is your original room. You’re pretty sure they didn’t need all this time to clean up the lunch mess, its just that Crowley had all your stuff moved so he could set up this room the way he wanted. You look around at the countless candles scattered across every flat surface available, including the floor, and you can’t help but smile. It’s oddly comforting to be surrounded by their soft dancing warmth and you’re secretly pleased that your monster is overly dramatic. Because of that character flaw this has become one of the most amazing and surreal weekends of your life. So yeah, you definitely like that about him more than you probably should, and you’re not ashamed of it either.
You yawn and stretch, your body still pleasantly numb after your shower with the King, and now that you have a little time to relax, it dawns on you that you never finished dinner. “I was wondering when you’d remember dinner, love.” Absorbed in the view, you didn’t pay attention to what Crowley was doing and when you realize he’s right behind you, your muscles tense for a moment as his hands sneak under your robe to run down between your breasts. You relax immediately, reveling in the feel of it as he slides them back up so that both hands are around your neck. Crowley’s thumbs begin massaging gently, causing your head to lull forward because he feels like a comfortably hot towel and his thumbs are rubbing just the right spot. Dinner does sound very enticing, but the idea of wandering all the way down to the dinning room for what is certainly a cold meal at this point is kind of disheartening. Crowley chuckles, “Lost a bit of your pluck I see, perhaps this will help.” His right hand disappears from your neck, his fingers snap, and then he’s back to massaging that magical spot on your nape with his skilled digits.
You’re reluctant to raise your head, because a comforting sleepy stupor is settling in, but curiosity wins out and you lift your gaze to find the domed plate sitting on the little table by the window. Crowley gives your neck a pleasant squeeze, “Sit with me.” One of his hands disappears while the other ghosts down along your shoulder, and arm, until it finds your hand. His grip is firm, almost demanding as he tugs at you, silently asking… no… telling you, to get up. His hand feels so amazingly good in yours and as your fingers thread through his, tingles run along your skin; you give in, grudgingly uprooting yourself from the lounger. Your mind is vaguely wondering how he found room on the table with all the candles, but that thought is quickly scattered when Crowley pulls you into his arms and the red haze of his power encompasses you, making you float as it rubs pleasure along every inch of your body. He’s back to wearing pants, but he’s barefoot and shirtless, and his skin presses against yours with a sultry promising heat. Suspended in his embrace, Crowley’s soft lips and course stubble warm your collarbone as he nibbles and kisses. You’re shamelessly engulfed by your monster as your fingers run through his hair while whispering his name with reverence, and you wonder exactly when you became so comfortable in the presence of a demon king.
You started out so shy with Crowley, almost star-struck like a damn fangirl because you had dreamed of him so many times before, night after night. Then he showed up in the flesh, sultry, commanding, bathed in lust, and it literally became so much more than you could ever dream. You drowned in his attention, shocked and dumbstruck, unsure of how you could capture the attention of such a creature, despite the tether you knew was there all along. Crowley was and still is overwhelming, and when you saw that tiny glimmer of a soft side, it blew your mind; but it finally put you on equal footing, giving you something to cling to. He was no longer this unattainable, unexplainable creature; he was Crowley, and he became yours at the same time you became his. Tonight has been a little different though, you touched Crowley’s very essence and it was breathtaking. It almost consumed you, swallowing you up like the big bad wolf did to dear sweet grandma, and you’d be lying to say you didn’t want to feel it ever again. The crimson heat of his mind, the sensations, the emotions; Crowley’s tainted presence feasted upon you, an overflowing massacre of fierce power, and the only thing that saved you from it was Crowley himself. You remember the concern in his voice, the anchoring pain from his deliberate bite of your lip, the relief you felt from him when you came back yourself. Oh how kind and generous your king is; because he could have overtaken you, shattered you with his formidable intensity, leaving you nothing but carrion to be mourned over.
As terrifying as that should be, knowing that without control he could easily end your life, you enjoyed the depth of it more than you will ever admit out loud. On the other hand, you will also never admit how good it felt to push back; to control someone so powerful, even if only for a short time. Mmmmm the way it felt to have him at your mercy, asking to be released; a shiver of heat courses through your body at the memory. Your thoughts fracture when Crowley’s hand slides up your leg and his fingers brush your sex. You feel another beautifully purple mark forming on your shoulder where he’s been working and you shudder against him when his fingers slide deep into your heat. Fucking hell, Crowley is wonderfully relentless. As you sigh quietly against his neck, you can’t help but wonder if he’s corrupted you. Demons used to be the things of nightmares, silent screams in the dark unforgiving corners of terror, but not anymore. You can’t help but need this particular demon; he’s your beautiful terrible monster. Does that mean you’re corrupt or is it merely a change in your view on life? You don’t feel any different at your core. There are no sudden urges to torture, maim or kill anyone, so does it matter if he’s stained you just a bit? Crowley’s lips ghost up your neck, shaking you from your thoughts once more, and by the time his lips capture yours; his tongue stroking yours with tender caresses, you kinda really don’t care if you’ve got a little demon in you.
Crowley’s fingers are still dipping into your quivering heat when he tugs on your hair, holding your head in place while he sucks gently on your bottom lip. Another wanton shudder runs through you and then he chuckles against your lips, “You had that in you long before I ever touched you darling.” What!? “With a coy smile he pulls away, his fingers sliding from your sex, the very last thing to leave your body and you can’t help but lean into it, wanting the pleasure to continue despite what he just said. Crowley heads to the little table, wipes his hand on one of several available napkins, and then with a smile, he pulls a chair out for you. “Sit down peach, I know you’re hungry.” He beckons you with a nod of his head as his hands rest on the back of the chair; he looks like he didn’t just turn your world upside down with that little statement and you kinda hate him for that right now.
As you comply, tucking your robe along your legs as you sit, you’re torn between lust and a demand for more information, which causes your features to pull into an expression of noticeable displeasure. “Oh come now, don’t shoot the messenger.” Crowley’s red power wraps around you again, like a comforting hug, and as he stands behind you, he brushes your hair back so that he can press a kiss against your cheek. He doesn’t understand that you’re not mad; you’re just terrified of what he just said, and you really aren’t sure if you want to know what he means by it. Are you legitimately tainted by a demon you met long before you ever touched the one who’s gently suckling your neck? Starkly painful images play across your mind; the demon in the alley with crimson eyes laced with murderous intent, and the black eyed demon outside of Bigerson’s who would have happily ended your life had he not been looking for information.
Crowley’s power encompasses you with soothing heat, his breath leaving a warm patch against your cheek as his arms wrap around you like a shield against the shivering darkness. The terror melts away, leaving only Crowley and you’re ok; but you’re positive that you don’t want to ask the question, so you turn your head and your lips tease distractingly against his. Your hand slides up his cheek as you press him closer and Crowley leans in so that he can pull a deep kiss from you; it’s lingering and lustful, and when he pulls away, his hands remain a moment longer before he finally moves to his seat.
Crowley doesn’t say a word as he sits down across from you; he just leans over and plucks the lid from the plate on the table with a smile. Steam rises, alluring and impossible, and the fear from one minute ago is forgotten completely because you’re wondering how in the hell the meal set before you can look so fresh, hot, and delicious. Crowley made a dish of chicken and vegetable manicotti with a savory looking alfredo sauce. So that’s what was in all those pots. Remembering the kitchen brings with it the feel of riding Crowley hard and loud as he stood there holding you, and you can feel the flush of heat creeping up your face as it replays in your mind. You hear a contented hum from Crowley and you know he’s reading your thoughts. You blush a little harder and stare at the plate, trying not to get him worked up again, because you really do need a little bit of a break. Parsley accents one corner of the delicately decorated china and a thick slice of Italian bread is perched perfectly on the other.
Everything looks so mouthwatering. But how? It’s been long enough that it should be cold and clammy. Crowley catches your eye by tapping the domed lid, and you look up to see him pointing to a set of runes etched inside. “One of the perks of being a son of a witch.” He winks at you. Son of a witch? Is he being serious? You raise your eyebrows at that. The look on his face says that, yes, he is one hundred percent serious despite his nonchalance. Wow. The crafty bastard knows magic; will he ever stop impressing you? Why wouldn’t the King of Hell know magic and have a witch for a mother… it’s only fitting. You already know the answer, but you ask him if he’s serious anyways, hoping that Crowley will elaborate, and that single question turns into hours of talking.
<<< >>>
He starts out vague and almost evasive, but after your dinner is long past eaten, Crowley has opened up and its’ enjoyable to hear his stories despite the violence and morbidity spread throughout them. Laying with your back against the heat of his chest, both of you are stretched out on the lounger so that you can see the moon hanging low and brilliant through the picture window. Crowley brought you Mr. Cuddles and he’s wrapped tightly in your arms while your monster’s fingers absently play with your hair, and you dare not tell him that this is dangerously close to actual cuddling. The mood has been light, both of you freely trading stories from your past even though you figured he wouldn’t be interested in your boring human life; but he surprised you by asking questions and prodding you to tell him more. You also didn’t expect him to share, and after a while he even admits that it’s strange for him to do so. He chalks it up to the fact that you put him at ease, which is such a rarity, or so he keeps claiming. When you both finally fall into silence, his fingers still drifting along the edge of your face and into your hair, you realize how frighteningly personal that long and tangled conversation was; Crowley’s hand stops mid stroke and you wonder if he was reading your mind and just realized the same thing.
A moment later, Crowley’s fingers pick back up where they left off, sliding along the same path as before with a calming rhythm. Your body remains wrapped in the ever-present attention of Crowley’s power, but since dinner it’s merely been a comforting cloak of warmth against your skin instead of the stimulating play of carnal pleasure, and the thought of sleep begins to sound really good. You begin to wonder if you should stay here or go to the other room to sleep when the memory of jealous Betty floats to the surface of your mind. You smile to yourself, hugging Mr. Cuddles a little closer, because she probably has good reason to be jealous. You know that Crowley gets whatever he wants, which includes whatever sexual gratification he’s in the mood for, but you also somehow know for certain that they are just fucks, an enjoyable means to an end to pass the time and nothing more. It sounds eerily similar to Dean; you remember when he felt obligated to tell you how, um… ‘experienced’ he was, and how he thought you’d be upset. It broke your heart, but not because you felt slighted, betrayed or jealous, it just sounded so frickin’ lonely; and your only response was to make long slow love to him that night.
Crowley seems exactly the same…. but… do demons have the same kind of feelings as humans? Part of you is convinced that this is all in your mind and demons have no real capacity for the emotions you think you’re receiving; you don’t really want to confirm that they don’t feel, but the other part of you is so tempted to ask in the hopes that Crowley will prove you wrong, so you remain torn. As you lay in a sleepy daze against his chest, your mind chugs through different trains of thought until they’re all tangled up and you quietly mumble out a question before you realize what you’re doing. You ask him why he disappeared on you at lunch. Your monster shifts, rocking your entire body and stirring you back to wakefulness. Your mind slowly sputters back to life, making you realize exactly what question you’ve left hanging in the air. Crowley’s arms slide around you, low and comfortable… holy shit that feels like a cuddle… no... it can’t be. You can sense his thoughts as they sift through his head, roiling and uncertain but you can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking. After a very long pause he answers. “I’m not accustomed to….” He stops, it’s obvious he’s searching for the right word, and you know that he really doesn’t want to answer this question. You remain still and quiet, absently playing with one wing of your dragon until he finally finds the right one, and then he chokes it out, “Feelings.” He forces out the syllables like they’re vial and unsavory. Well that answers your question, but you don’t care because something about that sentence has struck your funny bone and a huge smile spreads across your face, making you grateful that Crowley is behind you.
Maybe it’s because you’re still tired and there are sleepy cobwebs in your brain, or maybe it’s the way Crowley seemed so abnormally violated by that word; either way, it’s funny and you can’t seem to hold down the ludicrous urge to laugh. You know that you’re taking this all wrong, but it’s ridiculous! You wept long and hard when he disappeared, and apparently it’s because the King of Hell was cowering in a corner somewhere, afraid to feel the feels? You try not to laugh but the imagery of that sentence is making it difficult, and you really should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve both been sharing some pretty heavy shit over the last couple of hours and you never once thought less of him, and you still don’t; but for some reason this is hysterical. You can physically sense the deep frown on his face from behind you while you breath out low and quiet so that you don’t laugh out loud. “You find my discomfort amusing?” Damn it, you failed at keeping that a secret for more than two seconds and the haughty tone of his voice ramps up your mirth instead of chiding you into the proper response of pity and understanding. You break, snorting out the tiniest little laugh, and you feel him tense behind you. “I tell you something like that, and all you can do is laugh?” Oh man he sounds upset. “And you dare call me the monster?” Yup, he’s upset; his chest has puffed out and his whole body is tense, so you choke back your laughter in hopes that you can respond, sitting up and turning to face him before you do.
Yup, definitely pissed off, and when you see the haughty anger in his eyes, it strikes you wrong. Your urge to laugh is immediately replaced by your own pent up anger. He has no right to be mad; he wasn’t the one left naked and crying on this very floor, and that thought goads you into saying something stupid. You look him straight in the eye and tell him that demons used to be so terrifying; things of nightmares made of blood death and horror, but you laughed because they’re not scary anymore, they seem a tad bit comical when they’re scared of something so mundane as feelings. His frown deepens as you continue, and you put a touch of arrogant spice in your voice, shoving Mr. Cuddles down onto the cushion with contempt when you tell him that humans deal with feelings every damn minute of every damn day and if a demon can’t take something so simple as a couple of emotions, then they’re nothing to be afraid of at all. As you finish the sentence, you realize just how personal you made that statement without meaning too. You thought you were over it, over him leaving you in a crying heap of devastation on the floor, that you’d chalked it up to him just being him, unable to help it because he’s a demon; apparently not. You instantly regret everything you just said and the hellfire burning behind Crowley’s autumn colored pupils makes you shrink in on yourself a little bit, instantly re-igniting your fear of demons because, really truly, they still are pretty damn scary.
With absolutely no preamble, the warm wrap that’s been undulating against your skin hardens into something uncomfortable and you’re snapped off the lounger and pressed against the cold unforgiving glass of the window. The air is knocked out of you as Crowley’s power presses on you heavily, like a giant’s hand with its palm firmly on your chest and its fingers firmly planted on every limb, rendering you immobile and leaving your back exposed to the chill of the window pane. You focus on breathing, trying to suck in the air that was so brutally shoved from your lungs and when you can focus again, Crowley is standing only inches away. Your eyes widen when they look into his, a crimson blaze that promises torment, and you wonder if he is capable of feeling emotional pain. “Oh yes peach, I very much can, and do.” You’re feet are barely off the floor, making it easy for Crowley to press into your personal space and you stifle a whimper as he runs his hand along your cheek and up into your hair so that he can grip it tight. “I need you to understand something darling…” You’re so fucking stupid; why did you say those things? Why? Why did you pick a fight with the King of Hell?
“Demons don’t fear emotions, peach. Rage, lust, jealousy, gluttony, vanity, greed, and pride… the seven deadliest are what we feel…” His lips ghost along your jawline, his breath warming your skin when he continues in a seething whisper, “And they FEEL…” he presses his body against yours for emphasis, “Really fucking good.” You quietly gasp at that unexpected level of contact. Crowley’s free hand slides your robe off one shoulder and his mouth clamps down hard and hot. Your mind is reeling, your fight or flight instinct is stuck, and you have no idea how to react or what to do; your body doesn’t seem to care about your brain because your core is set alight by Crowley’s aggressive attention and proximity. Through the confusion, you do understand one thing, you hurt his pride; Jesus, you hurt his fucking pride and it was a stupid thing to do. Crowley chuckles against your flesh; that terrifies part of you, while the other part is relieved. “Yes it was very stupid, and perhaps you did hurt it just a little bit my dear,” Fuck his ability to read your mind! Crowley pulls the knot of your robe free and he presses in against your naked front. You bite back a moan when the warmth of his body adds to the power that’s holding you captive. “But that’s not the point.” Your heart is hammering with a mixture of terror and arousal, and now he can feel it as the smooth planes of his chest grind against your bare breasts. Your nipples harden and shivers erupt as he rubs against them, and you gasp silently when Crowley’s pulsing erection grinds against your crotch.
Your monster is surprisingly eager, and you’re terror slowly melts away to be replaced by a growing lust. “Did you know that demons are built on the foundation of the seven sins?” It’s rhetorical, so you don’t answer as the hand Crowley has kept tucked in your hair forces your head into a deeper tilt. He pauses his little lecture to clamp down on your collarbone, sending ripples of disjointed pleasure and pain throughout your body. “They’re what make demons, demons.” The red power begins to shift, loosening just the tiniest bit, and it begins to pulse with a pleasurable heat. Your body is shuddering from his attention and you no longer want to escape, you just want to be set free so that you can touch him like he’s touching you, because he’s getting off on this; Crowley is enjoying every moment of this despite the fact that you pissed him off… or maybe he’s enjoying that part too, you can’t tell, and right now you’re starting to get off on it too.
“All demons have one that’s more prominent than the others,” Crowley’s words run a hot trail down to your left breast, shifting from sharp and threatening to liquid and arousing as he goes. “One that defines who we once were and what we sinned to become.” His mouth aggressively engulfing your breast drowns out that last word, and you buck against the window as his tongue plays, shooting pleasure straight to your core. His teeth graze your nipple as he slides his lips off, eliciting your first pleasurable moan since being trapped by his rage. “But that’s all we ever feel.” His words vibrate against your skin as he moves to the other one and you gasp when he repeats, his mouth taking as much of you in as he possibly can while his tongue teases your aching nipple. “Just those seven.”
Holy shit it feels so good and you flex against his power, hoping he will set you free as he licks, nibbles, and devours both of your breasts with solicitous hunger. He’s channeling his anger, turning it to lust and now that you know he’s enjoying this, mmmm how he’s getting off on this, everything feels different. Goddamn it feels so fucking good, and your adrenaline is adding a heightened flavor to everything, which is driving you dangerously close to a climax. You still aren’t submissive, your muscles still straining, but they begin to loosen up because the feel of Crowley grinding against you is a wonderful tease and the feel of his mouth on your skin is a wickedly delightful torment. “Mmmmm.” Crowley senses your pleasure and he grinds his cloth-covered shaft harder against you before he continues. “Do you understand me peach?”
You don’t answer, your mind desperately trying to remember what he just said while he ravaged your breasts with blissful strokes of his tongue. Crowley doesn’t like that you weren’t paying attention, and he makes his displeasure evident by releasing the pressure on your body for a moment and then pressing you against the glass even harder than before, his hot body adding additional strength to the gesture. “Do you…” He licks up your neck and bites your chin, “Understand?” Your body quivers at his angry strength and his words come back to you loud and clear, allowing you to gasp out a quiet yes. Crowley hums approvingly against your cheek and then he tilts your head towards him so that his tongue can slide between your lips. He nips at your upper lip. “Good.” Then he attacks your mouth with aggression and hunger. His fingers slide out of your hair, trailing downward until they’re on your hips where his other hand has been resting; he kneads your flesh with unnatural strength, almost bruising, while he continues to delve deeper between gasping ragged breathes. Crowley captures your lower lip and you whimper when he bites down hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but for some goddamned reason it’s turning you on so fucking hard, so you lean your head forward, trying to recapture his mouth. He rewards you with a deep fervent kiss; the iron tang of blood washed away by the delicious cinnamon of your monster. The mind-blowing feel of his tongue against yours distracts you from the feel of his power as it slowly pulls your legs apart. When you realize what he’s doing, your body flushes hot, and the anticipation of him driving into you hard and heavy manifests as a wanton sigh against his lips.
“Then you understand that all other emotions are foreign…” The red heat ripples and as Crowley presses you against the glass with strong hands, he steps back so that you can feel his power sliding down along your skin so it can pool at your crotch. Jesus! What is he doing? “And invasive.” To emphasize his words, Crowley makes the invisible heat slide along the lips of your sex and you feel it push up inside you. Holy fuck! You gasp, your body trembling at the decadent feel of it stroking up inside you. The power is still all over you, pressing you, holding you, rubbing you, but this is new; it’s inside you and it feels way to fucking good. Your eyes roll back as your back arches into the invasion, Crowley’s power and those strong hands keeping you pinned in place while it slides in and out of you. Your monster’s voice comes out low and sultry, lust dripping from every syllable as he fucks into you with nothing but his unnatural power. “My point is,” Oh god you feel it, invisible silken heat splitting you open while your demon merely stands there watching you come apart. “You need to appreciate what I feel.”
What you feel is Crowley’s power nudging at your other entrance, gently rubbing and relaxing the muscle there while his hands distract you by sliding up to your breasts. “Do you appreciate it peach?” You don’t answer because his fingers tug on your nipples, his tongue dives deeply between your gasping lips, his power continues to slide heavily into your sex, and now you feel it slowly pushing into another hole as it start to invade your ass. What is he doing? Crowley? The King growls against your lips, “You better appreciate it.” He’s being aggressively gently, which you didn’t think was possible, but you moan into his mouth when his power coalesces into what feels like a hot slick finger as it slowly enters you. Holy fuck! You shudder and convulse at the over stimulation of Crowley’s attention because every part of you is filled now. His tongue continues to steal your breath above, while his power slowly glides in and out of both entrances below in slow undulating pulses. Your climax hits like a freight train and you cry out his name as he leans against you, the window is still cold and unforgiving at your back while his heat encompasses everything else and you tense through the euphoric bliss. You feel Crowley smile against your skin as he moves so that he can hum against your ear, and with a quiet whisper he continues talking while your climax rakes over your body, “Appreciate it because it’s something I should not be capable of.” You suck in a labored breath only to have it stolen by your monsters mouth as he quickly moves back to invading yours. Crowley’s words hit home, piercing your heart. You get it now, you understand, and all it does it fuel your orgasm as it continues to throb through your body.
You barely take another breath before you feel Crowley’s cock sliding deep into your sex. Jesus fucking Christ! You gasp and claw at Crowley, suddenly freed from his hold on you as he pierces hot, substantial, and deep. His power is still fingering your ass, like a sex toy you never knew you needed until this moment. That same power is now teasing your clit as his throbbing dick thrusts up into you, and it’s maddening and mind blowing. All of him in you, on you, around you, all those sensations combine and cause another shuddering orgasm before your last one has even finished. Your arms wrap around him, your nails digging into his back as you bite down on his neck so that you don’t yell any louder than you already have. Your eyes are squeezed shut as each thrust shoves you against the window. You moan heavily at each upstroke of his cock, and you groan at each gentle slide of the power in your ass as it sends bursts of resplendence through every nerve. Holy Christ he’s filling you up, stroking your insides in all the right places and you get lost in the feel of it as Crowley’s stubble scrapes against your swollen lips, his tongue running wild trails along any part of you within reach.
“Bloody hell…” Crowley bites your jaw and his next thrust is harder and deeper than the one before. Your nails scrape down his back and you vaguely register that his pants aren’t in the way as you grab his ass and pull him in deeper. “The fucking things…” He pants against your neck, his cock hollowing you out, his power filling you up as he keeps you trapped against the window. Crowley pulls your arms off of him so that he can press them against the window, and his hands run smoothly up their length until his fingers thread into yours. “You do to me.” Crowley’s grip is firm but controlled as he holds your hands, and his eyes are sparks of red as he stares into yours while still shoving heavily into you. “Mmmmm peach.” His voice is labored, he’s close to orgasm, and you love how it feels when he becomes so intense; focused and all consuming. You can’t help but find his lips, dipping your tongue deep between them as his grip tightens and his muscles pull taut.
Your climax has never really waned and as he starts to pick up the pace, you feel it building into another wave. Mmmm the things he does to you are far more intense than the things you do to him, and you quiver against him as his rhythm picks up speed. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Crowley’s breathing has turned ragged and you know he’s on the cusp, and you want nothing more than to help throw him over the ledge into blissful release. Your climax breaks over you in another wave, magnificent and overwhelming as he shoves you into the window time and time again. You drown in the euphoria of his cock stabbing deep, his power still teasing your clit and ass, and his hands are painfully tight in yours as you ride through the rapture of it. You bite his jaw and nuzzle close to his ear so you can whisper in an almost silent breath that you want him to cum for you. Crowley moans deep, his hands releasing yours so that he pulls you away from the window, his arms wrapping around you with crushing force. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and then he stills; muscles pulled tight and straining as you feel him pulse hot and deep inside you while you gasp out his name in shuddering reverence.
You go limp in his arms, satisfied and exhausted and Crowley leans forward, pressing you against the window again while he catches his breath. He nuzzles your neck and his fingers slowly slide out of your loosened grip and he runs his hands down your arms and body until they rest on your hips. The hot feel of his power slowly disintegrates and he slowly slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty. You’re knees go weak and you can barely stand, but you still have your wit, and you comment that making him angry wasn’t so bad after all. Crowley chuckles against your skin. “It’s generally not recommended love.” You smile as he pushes your robe the rest of the way off your body while capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. “Bed?” His thumb is rubbing your cheek as he cups your face, looking for an answer. You nod pathetically and Crowley’s lips curl into a cocky smirk before helping you over to the bed. You really want to knock him down a peg, you know, keep that ego of his under control, but you have to concentrate on standing while he peels the covers back.
Crowley goes to help you into bed but you brush him off, trying to play it tough as you clumsily flop into bed. Once you’re down, you don’t even try and move; the bed feels to fucking fantastic. You can tell Crowley is still smirking, the bastard, but you don’t protest when he uses his power to scoot you over and position you so he can slide in behind you. It feels nice to have him against you like that, his body a nice line of heat against your back, and you let out a little moan of contentment as he brushes your hair out of your face. His arm wraps around your waist and he plants a gentle kiss on your shoulder and you don’t dare tell him that this is dangerously close to cuddling too. Your mind wanders, a haze of mashed up thoughts, all focused on Crowley as you lay there, and before you realize that you’re speaking, you ask Crowley another question. This one is much less controversial than the last when you ask him what was in South Dakota?
“What?” His confusion is evident and you why wonder on earth your asking this random-ass question as you stir your brain enough to explain that it was the deal he made with Sam and Dean in the warehouse to stop the spell that was affecting you; they had to stay out of South Dakota for awhile. There is a pause, then Crowley laughs; full-bellied, hearty, genuine mirth filled laugh. You might be insulted by that if you were awake enough or had enough energy to care, but all you can do is wonder what’s so funny. It takes him a minute to settle down and then with a lingering chuckle his voice comes out soft, almost a purr, “Oh peach, you are full of surprises.” He plants another kiss on your shoulder, “Between you and me darling… there was absolutely nothing in South Dakota.” It takes effort, but you roll so you can read his face, and Crowley smiles down at you while you blink up at him with bleary tired eyes full of confusion. He shrugs before explaining, “Meh. I just wanted them to agree to something. Couldn’t have ‘em thinking I’m running a charity now can I?” You stare blankly for a moment, processing that, and then you smile back because that’s pretty damn funny. You roll back into your original position while quietly agreeing that hell should certainly never be run as a charity. You have no idea what happens after that because you drift off to sleep in a matter of seconds, the heat of Crowley’s presence pressed firmly against you while his hand ghosts from your shoulder down to your elbow and back again, in gentle sweeping strokes.