Save Me From These Perfect Clouds

[sitsherequietly]

It was like being woken from a dream.  That moment where he'd snap back to reality, and Sam and Dean would be talking, or he'd be sitting in the backseat of the Impala, watching the rural countryside pass by from the highway.  But always, there was that moment where he knew that something wasn't quite right, that he was missing something, something

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"Oh, I imagine Shaggy and Scooby are up to the usual... piling into the Mystery Machine, eating sandwiches, unmasking monsters..." he leans forward just a bit. He looks like he's enjoying this. And he is.

But there's more to it than that. This is the moment, the big reveal. Now is telling Cas what he's done for him, how much he's sacrificed to help him. How he wasn't successful in getting him out, but still how he'd tried. He'd leave out the lives he'd torn through, carelessly as if they were tissue paper. He'd silenced the heaven in his mind, the link that drew him, the big brother connection that was using him as if he was nothing more than the string in a tin-can telephone line to the Winchesters. He'd freed him

[sitsherequietly]

There was a hint of comfort in Crowley's response. While the demon could be lying, of course- and really, was there ever any reason for him not to be?- there was something familiar in the flippancy with which he spoke about them that quietly reassured Castiel that the two brothers were safe. But, there's clearly a game here, because Crowley is enjoying himself far too much for anything else. He's expecting a grand story about how he found the missing tablet; the Tablet of Angels, of conquest and of how he, and not Castiel, now gets to play at being God.

Maybe that's why he's here. Maybe this is one of those "poetic justice" things (although Castiel has rarely found justice to occur in the correct meter to be considered properly "poetic"). Maybe, after how he betrayed the demon when they'd taken the souls from Purgatory, maybe he wanted Castiel here to watch him sit upon his self-made throne. All of his thoughts run along those lines, so when the big reveal does come, the first emotion that blankets his face is shock

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Crowley watches as whatever passes for realization with the angel dawns over his face, and there's a beat where he normally would rush in with exasperated expressions but is now trying very hard to give Castiel the space to follow along. If he's truthful, there's plenty of reason for disbelief. What was there between them was never explicit, never spoken, and it was never easy.

Crowley grips the edge of that stark white desk and stares into the angel's face, watching as he looks aside, as if he's looking back through his own memories, working his way through what happened to begin to entertain the why. But he can't go there, he can't get past himself, perhaps. Crowley can see the guilt on his face, like he thinks he doesn't deserve to have been saved

[sitsherequietly]

Cas watches Crowley as he slips off of the desk, infuriatingly graceful, almost threatening as he closes the distance inbetween them, and that murmur of low voice makes his shoulders tense. He's not sure that he wants to see it all over again, that he can stand to remember everything that he's felt, everything that's happened and gone between them to leave them standing here. He sees the look on the demon's face, warm and sentimental, and it's that more than anything else that keeps him from fighting, that allows Crowley to turn those moments bright and honest in his memory. He'd always considered the memories of angels to be infallible; there was a brief loss of pride in knowing that he was just as prone as Dean to remembering things the way that he needed to

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There's a moment when he sees that Cas is beginning to feel it, recognize it if not understand it. His eyes are dilating, pulse racing, a flush coming to his cheeks, and Crowley doesn't want to think about the possibility that the reaction is just the vessel and nothing to do with Cas. It's possible, but he remembered how Cas had said that these days, he wasn't Jimmy, he was alone in there. The reactions of Cas' body resulted from how he felt, the same as the reactions of Crowley's resulted from how he felt. The separation between the two was moot at this point

[sitsherequietly]

This wasn't where Castiel meant for this to go when he pinned the demon up against the desk, but he's not sure precisely what he had intended, either. Crowley is enjoying this; from the soft sounds he makes on the exhale of breath, to the solid press of flesh that's indiscretely nudging against the angel's thigh. That, more than anything else, makes it clear how pinning the demon has little effect on the dynamic between them. He feels strange, hot, reminded of that motel room with Dean, watching as the pizzaman spanked the babysitter, but different, better

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Cas seems to go along with it easily, but then, his body knows what this is, even if he wants to hang on to the lie that he's innocent. The quick way he moves against him, eager and right there, in his space, against his body, it all goes right to his groin. It doesn't matter that Cas practically reeks of too much conflicting emotion, that he's over thinking this so much Crowley can almost hear his thoughts. All that matters is the passion and how he leans in, unsure and yet not pulling away

[sitsherequietly]

He wants to be revolted, he wants his Grace to shake, ache, burn in protest of the demon's lips against his own. It's not that easy; when is anything ever that easy? He tastes like the smoky fine scotch the demon drinks to arguable excess; not sulfur and brimstone, he tastes like decadence undercut with the same blood that stains Castiel's fingers. Being married ruined him, even if it wasn't really him, if he didn't even know who he was at the time, there's sense memory of touch and affection and pleasure. There's that desire to be touched by someone that wants him, and oh, but Crowley seems to be exactly that

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If this was what revolted Cas, then he was a hypocrite. They usually were on opposite sides, but there had been a time, not so long ago, when they were on the same one. This is worse, this is more than just metaphorically getting into bed with your enemy, and Crowley is loving the victory with every breath he steals between their mouths, every inch he pushes him back against the desk. Crowley has to hold on now, just so he doesn't fall. He's gripping Cas' shoulders to keep his balance, and there's no question: he's hard in his suit slacks and it's pressing obviously against Cas' body

[sitsherequietly]

Honestly, they hadn't been on opposite sides as much as Castiel almost wanted. That would make it easier, he imagined, if Crowley hadn't been instrumental in defeating Lucifer, if he hadn't been the only person on his side, the only person that really understood the magnitude of stopping Raphael, if he hadn't broken a rather lucrative deal to take down the Leviathans, if he hadn't- from the appearance of things- been fighting against them to save Cas. If he was as black as demons, as the King of Hell was supposed to be, maybe things wouldn't be like this, their mouths wouldn't be locked together, Crowley's erection pressing hard into his thigh, his own half-hard flesh grinding low against his stomach