For helosthisshoe
"Really. You hunters get so bent out of shape over one little soul."
All of a sudden there was a demon leaning against the wall of Sam's motel room, an arched eyebrow and a quirk of his lips; the words were almost teasing. Dean, however, seemed to have considered this a battle won, and was traipsing off to sample the alcohol- and no doubt, the ( Read more... )
All of a sudden there was a demon leaning against the wall of Sam's motel room, an arched eyebrow and a quirk of his lips; the words were almost teasing. Dean, however, seemed to have considered this a battle won, and was traipsing off to sample the alcohol- and no doubt, the ( Read more... )
It wasn't quite that he was being watched. It was that souls were currency and when you handed one back, people tended to notice. Making Bobby and the boys scrape and scramble and threaten for it was at least good press. And really, the Winchesters might be good at a very wide array of things, but Crowley didn't trust their talent as thespians.
And then after a moment, Sam was looking at his hands, and they weren't having to quibble over Crowley's methods, which was just fine as far as the demon was concerned. He could feel Sam's gaze, feel the way that he leaned into it, and it made Crowley's lips quirk. He nodded, murmured softly in agreement. He was trying to keep the moose so he was functional; there was just one not-quite-small complication.
Crowley liked it too.
He liked the way that the knife cut through his skin, the way that the warmth Sam's lips trailed after it. It made it hard not to offer sometimes, when it shuddered in his blood as much as it did in the hunter's. They both had their addictions here.
And so instead he settled for leaning in, lips almost ghosting against the base of the man's throat. Would it kill him to shrink a few bloody inches, here?
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And really, he could only trust Crowley with this. He had enough control to not let himself go seek out other demons... mostly because he knew how that ended the other times. He didn't want to be detoxed, he didn't want to see Dean's disapproval.
If he could keep it at a functional, less dire level... then it could work. He thought it could anyway. But then again, it wasn't the first time he'd tricked himself into believing that.
He sighed at the brush of lips against his skin. That was all he needed to lean in closer, tip his head in to let his own lips graze the demon's jaw, his hands going to rest at his waist.
"Dean won't be back tonight," he murmured lowly, mouth against the other's ear.
He knew his brother was looking to get laid, which meant he wouldn't be back until morning. They'd have plenty of time to do this and not have to worry about any interruptions.
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Crowley was just as interested in keeping Sam at a functional level, because he knew that this would be all his fault. And sure, maybe it was. But, that night he hadn't been able to leave Sam there. Focused on that craving and with only the hope that Dean would kill the witch before it got to be too much; it had been about dawn before the elder Winchester had finished her off.
He didn't want him drunk on it, swooning for the power, for moremoremore, needing it almost daily. But, he'd admit that he enjoyed this. The blade at his skin, Sam's hands on his skin and lips skirting clean cuts. Not that any of the hunters were foolish enough to believe it, but Crowley really was interested in keeping them alive. What, with the news that there were angels interested in cracking open the Cage and getting the Apocalypse show back on the road.
The demon murmured, a slow curl of his lips as Sam leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Crowley's jaw, and whispering words at his ear. It tasted like invitation, and he wasn't the sort of creature to refuse. He liked Sam. His own hands slid to Sam's hips, and he tugged the taller figure in close.
"Oh? Then I suppose I can stay for a while."
He said it as if that hadn't been his intention all along.
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Sam needed the strength the blood provided, needed it in case they had to fight all out again. he hoped they didn't... God, did he hope they didn't. He was worn out still after the last battle, it had taken nearly everything they had. He was lucky to still be alive, even. He'd been deadset on sacrificing himself, throwing himself into the Cage right along with Lucifer... it had been his mess to clean up after all.
He'd only narrowly escaped that fate and he didn't want to think about what he might have to do if Lucifer was ever freed again.
He'd better be prepared though, strong as he ever could be... Or maybe he was just fooling himself again. Either way, it wasn't at the front of his thoughts. He was focused on the way Crowley's hands grabbed at his hips and Sam followed their tug.
"Mm, good," he murmured, lips quirking against his skin. He hadn't ever been really certain he'd appreciate the demon's company, honestly, but he couldn't deny a little part of him was fond. He didn't trust Crowley, wasn't sure if he wouldn't take the first opportunity to screw them over if it benefited him, but... Crowley was honest about what he was, who he was.
That was refreshing for a demon. No pretense, really. Not that he was like other demons, at least not a lot of the demons he'd met.
Sam's lips grazed his skin and his hands smoothed up the demon's back until they were high enough to start pushing at his jacket - carefully. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Crowley complain about ruined or wrinkled suits.
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The truth, of course, was that it came down to having to choose between their merry little band of individuals with no self-preservation instincts, and Crowley's own existence, he'd screw them as hard as it took to stay alive. Baring that, however, they were both entertaining and useful. And Sam, well.. Sam was even more interesting than the rest of them.
On the upside, he never pretended that he'd do anything less.
He grinned as Sam very carefully started pushing the jacket off his shoulders. Well, apparently you could train Winchesters; a lot like training hellhounds, really. Seems that no one else had bothered to put in the effort.
He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall back on the bed, his hands then moving to slide over Sam's chest, a low murmur on his lips. Sam was definitely an attractive creature. Crowley preferred bodies that were mostly average; a few interesting features to keep from being impossibly plain. He liked this one's shoulders, the line of his jaw, the hue of his eyes.
Nothing exceptional, but things he could work with -- half of the sell was personal charm, after all.
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Well, he had.
It wasn't like Crowley was unattractive anyway and neither was he inexperienced. Then there was his blood... fuck, it made him crave it more, just thinking about it, remembering the taste of it flooding his mouth.
That was what had him working on the rest of Crowley's clothes, getting his tie and shirt open as he leaned in to let his lips graze at the other's neck and down, biting at him lightly. Just a tease for now
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