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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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.

Crowley slips off of the desk and moves across the stark room towards Cas, closing the distance between them in a few steps. He reaches his hand up towards Cas' face and murmurs, "I'll show you."

In the seconds before his fingertips touch Cas' face, there's something about the expression Crowley wears. Something sentimental, maybe a little hurt that Cas doesn't just know why, but also an understanding that with all he's been through, it makes sense he needs to see it all again.

Fingertips make contact and he exhales his breath and shares all of the reasons he did this… all of the times they came head to head, the times Cas came at him, proverbial guns blazing and hadn't taken him down, when they were on the same side and how he'd enjoyed that, how he'd felt it had been something more than just a partnership…

He knew Cas had betrayed him, but in the wake of it all, the only regret he had about it was how the leviathans had shredded through Cas. If they'd stuck to the plan, it wouldn't have happened like that, Cas wouldn't have had to go through what he'd been through. He didn't believe in fate, didn't buy into the idea that unless Cas had experienced what he had that they wouldn't be here today. Crowley believed in manipulation, that if not here, then somewhere else, he'd have twisted the threads until they were standing face to face, touching, having some variation of this conversation, Crowley telling Cas, either with his mind or his words or his lips that he felt something when they were together. It didn't matter if they were on the same side or were at war, he never felt more alive than when Cas was in the picture.

[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.

Even more than he'd allowed himself to recall, they'd been on the same side; the little things they did for one another. It was harder to let himself try and pretend, try and convince himself that he didn't have woefully inappropriate feelings for the King of Hell. He looked at Crowley when they parted, when the demon's fingers fell away from his brow, and left them standing alone in the sterile white room of some Heavenly tower. Crowley hadn't betrayed him, and Cas had always merely chalked that up to a mix of self-interest and that Castiel had betrayed him first. Really, he should have known better: when was anything that easy?

He doesn't know what to say, lacks the vocabulary to express himself, and so he touches trembling, uncertain fingertips to Crowley's jaw, as if there might be words in touch, too. His head tilted to the side, filled full of so many emotions, now that Crowley has shattered that ignorance, that denial. He isn't sure if he wants to hurt him or hold onto him, but it's always about Crowley, and it's always seething and intense. He just doesn't know how to process his vessel's pounding heart, the way the temperature seems to shift, though he is certain that is not the case. He doesn't know how to feel these things, let alone for a demon.

Were angels ever really meant to fall in love? He doesn't know. What he does know is that somehow pinning Crowley to the wall seems like the best course of action. It's not angry; it's confused, conflicted, his blue eyes searching Crowley's face as if he's looking for answers as he presses too close, pinning him in his hands with angelic strength, his fingers faintly flexing against the expensive fabric of his suit. Somehow, physical superiority with Crowley just never actually equals out to being in control. He still feels just as lost, and that's frustrating.

"I don't understand this," he murmurs like a confidence, voice low between them as he presses hands hard enough to bruise, maybe break if Crowley was human.

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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.

Cas is reaching back, and for a moment, Crowley stands still, waiting to see what he'll do, if he's going to touch him or slap him. His hand is shaking, and Crowley wants to grab hold of him and kiss him hard, but he's being as good as he's capable of, giving him a moment to sort through his thoughts. Cas looks upset, he looks uncertain, and then it all focuses down to Cas' hands on his body.

Crowley looks down at those long fingers as they curl in the fabric of his suit and push him back against the desk. They're close enough that he's pinned, and Cas is pressing up against him in a way that his body just can't ignore and soon, Cas won't be able to ignore Crowley's reaction to it. The solid reaction pressing to his thigh, but also the way his breath quickens, the occasional soft little hum of sound on the exhale that says he's not just enjoying this but relishing the moment like he does drinking a fine scotch or slipping into his absurdly expensive sheets. Cas may have him pinned, but he's playing into Crowley's hand.

Crowley's hand finds the back of Cas' neck and he's leaning in to kiss him. There's not far to lean, it's not hard to bridge the distance between them. Cas' hands are holding on bruisingly tight and Crowley wants more. Fingernails bite at the skin on the back of Cas' neck and teeth nip his lower lip; he wants Cas closer.

Now.

[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.

Crowley's fingers curl at the back of his neck, and then their mouths are pressing together, and Cas leans into it, untrained, but with skill born of being a fast learner, of lives that weren't really his. It's filled with unsure affection; there's passion too, but it's mostly full of troubled emotion. However, Crowley might notice that it's slight, but there's definitely still some reaction from the vicinity of Castiel's slacks. He almost forgets about pinning the demon down when nails scrape at his skin, teeth nipping at his lips, and one hand shifts slightly to pull Crowley in closer against him, his interest shifting into contact, somehow.

His hands are still rough, too hard, blues lost like he still doesn't quite understand -- but he does understand this. Oh, he shouldn't, of course, espeially not for Crowley, but he does. He knows what pleasure is, now, and that makes it a terrible, enticing thing. It makes him almost human. He pulls away a little, trying to catch his breath, but he can't find any protests to fill the quiet.

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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.

He feels Castiel's interest. It's not much yet, certainly not as much as the obscene press of flesh against Cas' thigh, but it betrays him all the same. Then Cas pulls him in and Crowley lets out a low groan and shifts how he holds the angel, an arm going around him to keep him close.

When he pulls away to catch his breath, Crowley doesn't let him get far. He's still close, rough hands everywhere. Crowley hasn't flipped their positions yet because for the moment, he prefers this, likes how Cas doing the pinning says how much he wants to be right here. When it suits him, he'll turn them around, or push Cas to the floor, or better yet, bend him down over the desk, but for now this is it. It's what he wants, what he's been fighting to have.

Just Cas, free to fight with him or against him (especially against him), grappling with something less mundane than his heavenly duties and moral dilemmas. Free to meet him on the battlefield they've been dancing around for so long.

He doesn't let Cas catch his breath, doesn't give him time to rest in the frenzy. He kisses him again, as demanding in this as he is in everything else, and it's like he wants to devour the angel whole, like he wants to crawl inside his skin if it's the only way to get close enough.

[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.

There's that way that he holds him close, even when Cas breaks the kiss, not letting him get far, as if the demon thinks he might try and escape. And he should. But he can't pull his hands away, can't keep from pinning Crowley right here with him. His fingers find his hips, shoving him back a little so he's flush to the edge of the desk, chest and shoulders pushing Crowley back a little, like he wants the demon as physically off-balance as Castiel feels.

This is still a battlefield, still a fight, and there's a thrill to it; the angel biting at the demon's lips as their mouths meet. He refuses to give Crowley his surrender, even if agreeing to fight is the same thing. His passion betrays him, reveals all that tightly-wound want that he never wanted to have to admit to. He wonders, if in the end, that wasn't part of why he betrayed him, as much as any delusions of grandeur or necessity -- because then it would have been too easy, this feeling.

With the way their bodies are pressed close, the faint friction from how they shift and move, he can't help the way his body reacts. Blaming it on his vessel would be easy, but also blatantly untrue.

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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.

Crowley pulls from the kiss, just to dislodge Cas, so that in the moment of recovery he can come back in and bite at his lips, take the aggressive role. But it's not going to be that easy, Cas won't let it be, and that's a thrill Crowley has rarely had. A fight to the end, not topping because the other wants to bottom, but instead only because he'd just barely managed to keep the upper hand long enough to take advantage.

He knows Cas wants this. The angel is still trying to tell himself he doesn't, that's why he's pushing back, why he's trying to show that he's in control of this, because he's not. He wants this, not just his body, but all of him, and Crowley grins as he pulls away again, a warm hum of pleasure. He's not taking over just yet, but he murmurs, "I'm going to bend you over this desk and fuck you like that little wife of yours couldn't…"

There's maybe an implication there, that he knows Cas wants more than he's had, that sex before has been good, it's gotten him off, but something's been missing.

[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.

Crowley pulls away, just to come back aggressive- biting at Cas' lips, but the angel doesn't give him the time to get too much of an upper hand, his own lips and teeth tugging at Crowley's lips, He refuses to let him gain the upper hand just yet because fighting Crowley like this is easier than admitting to himself that he wants this, wants him, that there are moments even when they've stood against one another that Castiel has been glad the Winchesters, and even he, always failed in killing him. He's not in control of himself, and he knows that means he'll lose, but he won't make it easy. He likes fighting against him, and he likes the idea that they're fighting for the same thing, really.

At that declaration, Cas growls, presses his hand to the center of Crowley's chest and presses, moving to push him down flat on the desk beneath him, looking into the demon's eyes, his blue gaze cool and even. "You can try," he comments, dead of inflection as always, but it's either a challenge or an invitation, and either way it's the first surrender.