Fic
Just a short little ficlet. Nothing to see here. Move along.
...
Loev Neo.
He was tired. Bone tired. If there could be anything deeper than bone tired, Abel Nightroad was pretty sure he was it. It was the end of a long day, which had come at the end of a long series of days, most of them spent traveling. In fact, the past week was a blur, punctuated by several violent incidents he'd rather not dwell on overmuch. He was home, and he was glad to be home. His garden had gone untended the whole time he was absent, and he didn't want to think about the watering and weeding, and his poor flowers. Abel turned the corner down a narrow road, lined with cramped-but-cozy houses, cringing as he came upon his own modest abode, preparing himself for the sight of his decrepit little garden, thirsty and brown and...
Abel's steps slowed to a stop in front of his house and blinked once. Then twice. The garden was lush and green, blooms spreading their petals up towards the setting sun. He took a few steps closer and leaned in, scrutinizing the garden. The satiny petals glistened with drops of water, and the rich scent of soil and greenery filled his senses.
"I'd started to wonder when you were going to show up."
The voice came from behind him, startling Abel, snatching him out of his thoughts, and he let out an undignified yelp as he straightened and turned.
"...Crowley?" He couldn't quite believe the demon was standing behind him, arms crossed, an amused smile tilting lazily at his lips.
"In the flesh," he replied, the smile widening to show a flash of teeth.
"But how-- wait-- what-- HOW?"
Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "A few creative calculations and a couple of very good guesses. I figured you probably got back a little under a month ago. Imagine my surprise when I got here and found a cavalcade of weeds, but no priest. I was going to get a hotel room, but..." here, he shrugged, "your place looked pretty pathetic."
"It's not pathetic! It's... homey. It's--"
"Pathetic. The garden was brown, Abel."
"Well! Now it's not."
"You're welcome."
Abel sighed. "Thank you. I'd invite you in, but I have a feeling you've already been."
"Two weeks."
"Do I want to know what you've done to my house in two weeks?"
"Are you casting aspersions on my taste?"
"I'm--"
"Your pantry's full, by the way."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" the priest replied, pushing past Crowley into the house. "Where's the grub?" Inside, the furnishings were sleek and expensive; thick carpets covered his floors and the couch looked as if it would swallow you whole. On the coffee table, there was a pot of tea, and two cups. He blinked at them, then looked over his shoulder at Crowley, arching one eyebrow at the demon.
"Tea?"
"What can I say? It's been a while."
"What about the finest single-malt scotch in the house?"
"That's for later."
"Later?"
And then he found himself against the wall, the demon's body pressed firmly against his. Almost automatically, his hands slid up the line of Crowley's back, pulling him closer. Crowley's mouth was slick and hot against his, his kiss impatient. Teeth clicked hard against teeth, nipping lips and tongues as demanding hands pulled at clothing, tugging it -- and in some cases, tearing it -- free.
"Later," Crowley growled against Abel's neck, before nipping the flesh sharply. "After."
...
Loev Neo.
He was tired. Bone tired. If there could be anything deeper than bone tired, Abel Nightroad was pretty sure he was it. It was the end of a long day, which had come at the end of a long series of days, most of them spent traveling. In fact, the past week was a blur, punctuated by several violent incidents he'd rather not dwell on overmuch. He was home, and he was glad to be home. His garden had gone untended the whole time he was absent, and he didn't want to think about the watering and weeding, and his poor flowers. Abel turned the corner down a narrow road, lined with cramped-but-cozy houses, cringing as he came upon his own modest abode, preparing himself for the sight of his decrepit little garden, thirsty and brown and...
Abel's steps slowed to a stop in front of his house and blinked once. Then twice. The garden was lush and green, blooms spreading their petals up towards the setting sun. He took a few steps closer and leaned in, scrutinizing the garden. The satiny petals glistened with drops of water, and the rich scent of soil and greenery filled his senses.
"I'd started to wonder when you were going to show up."
The voice came from behind him, startling Abel, snatching him out of his thoughts, and he let out an undignified yelp as he straightened and turned.
"...Crowley?" He couldn't quite believe the demon was standing behind him, arms crossed, an amused smile tilting lazily at his lips.
"In the flesh," he replied, the smile widening to show a flash of teeth.
"But how-- wait-- what-- HOW?"
Crowley shrugged one shoulder. "A few creative calculations and a couple of very good guesses. I figured you probably got back a little under a month ago. Imagine my surprise when I got here and found a cavalcade of weeds, but no priest. I was going to get a hotel room, but..." here, he shrugged, "your place looked pretty pathetic."
"It's not pathetic! It's... homey. It's--"
"Pathetic. The garden was brown, Abel."
"Well! Now it's not."
"You're welcome."
Abel sighed. "Thank you. I'd invite you in, but I have a feeling you've already been."
"Two weeks."
"Do I want to know what you've done to my house in two weeks?"
"Are you casting aspersions on my taste?"
"I'm--"
"Your pantry's full, by the way."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" the priest replied, pushing past Crowley into the house. "Where's the grub?" Inside, the furnishings were sleek and expensive; thick carpets covered his floors and the couch looked as if it would swallow you whole. On the coffee table, there was a pot of tea, and two cups. He blinked at them, then looked over his shoulder at Crowley, arching one eyebrow at the demon.
"Tea?"
"What can I say? It's been a while."
"What about the finest single-malt scotch in the house?"
"That's for later."
"Later?"
And then he found himself against the wall, the demon's body pressed firmly against his. Almost automatically, his hands slid up the line of Crowley's back, pulling him closer. Crowley's mouth was slick and hot against his, his kiss impatient. Teeth clicked hard against teeth, nipping lips and tongues as demanding hands pulled at clothing, tugging it -- and in some cases, tearing it -- free.
"Later," Crowley growled against Abel's neck, before nipping the flesh sharply. "After."