Fic:Taste your sins
Title:Taste your sins
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Crowley/Samandriel
Wordcount:700-ish
Warnings:none
Spoiler:none
Summary:The rift where purity came to meet corruption ,trapped between two stolen faces, between two sides of the same coin.
The dim light from above him barely touched his surroundings, but Samandriel was able to see enough around him to recognize Crowley’s touch on the room. Crowley, the one who could keep angels trapped without holy oil, the one who could escape Castiel’s anger every time they met, the one who was torturing him until he was begging. The walls were incredibly clean, white and fear painted all over them and the only furniture was beside him, serving it’s purpose : a table full of knifes, and a chair with a white apron and a pinwheel.
Unlike the last torture chamber, this one didn’t smell like sulfur or blood. It smelled of danger and pain, of threat and power. Samandriel tried to call his garrison ,anyone really, to come and get him out, but the sigils on the floor and roof disagreed with his wish. He suddenly realized is was cold and it unnerved him ,even if that wasn’t his biggest enemy at the moment. He let out a breath and watched as it twisted and turned, fading away before his eyes, disappearing in hot twirls of someone else’s life.
Voices from behind the door stalled his contemplations. He recognized the particular British accent and he straightened up against the chair, as if that automatically made him stronger and safer. He shook his head at himself as the door flung wide open and The King himself strode in.
-Samandriel, I see you made yourself comfortable.
There wasn’t an answer.
-Why aren’t you speaking? Did I cut your tongue already?
-…no.
-Ah, see. Not so hard.
Crowley moved for the chair and pulled it opposite Samandriel. He threw the apron and the pinwheel away. The contrast between them was startling, just like the room’s temperature. Or maybe Crowley learnt to play Pavlov with him. God knows what Hell keeps behind it’s doors.
The demon’s eyes locked with his as he sat down and Samandriel had to look away, feeling suddenly very small. The being before him smirked and lighted up with something close to content ,but very far from that, too, then sat back up. The angel braced himself for whatever was to come.
Crowley crouched over him, invading his personal space.
-You and I, Samandriel, we’re going to have quite some fun.
The space between them was filled with cold determination. The rift where purity came to meet corruption ,trapped between two stolen faces, between two sides of the same coin. Samandriel barely breathed, his lips parted and moist, almost curious of what’s to come and Crowley decided it was time for answers. He reached down with his own lips, gently touching his forehead to Samandriel before claiming the lower lip, tasting Grace. The angel didn’t dare to move before responding the same, biting and licking as well as he could. Their kiss was fast and rough ,with no bother for limits of concerns.
Samandriel reached tentatively with his tongue and the demon let him in as their tongues collided and danced, fighting both for some kind of superiority. Crowley laced his hand in the brown hair and pulled it closer, anything to get the angel to submit. He growled and Samandriel was glad he was sitting down, because his knees were giving up on him. The smell of expensive scotch filled his nostrils like a curse and he tried to get as much as he could from it. It fitted perfectly with what the demon stood for and what the demon was, but still it was sweet and fresh, like a cruel prayer.
Crowley bit one more time on the angel’s lips and pulled away when the voices outside the room returned, too soon to please the both of them. Samandriel recovered his breath and felt filthy , yet heavenly and it made him shiver. Crowley was long gone when he finally took everything in and calmed down, but a sentence still lingered in the room.
-Glad I didn’t cut your tongue, angel.
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Crowley/Samandriel
Wordcount:700-ish
Warnings:none
Spoiler:none
Summary:The rift where purity came to meet corruption ,trapped between two stolen faces, between two sides of the same coin.
The dim light from above him barely touched his surroundings, but Samandriel was able to see enough around him to recognize Crowley’s touch on the room. Crowley, the one who could keep angels trapped without holy oil, the one who could escape Castiel’s anger every time they met, the one who was torturing him until he was begging. The walls were incredibly clean, white and fear painted all over them and the only furniture was beside him, serving it’s purpose : a table full of knifes, and a chair with a white apron and a pinwheel.
Unlike the last torture chamber, this one didn’t smell like sulfur or blood. It smelled of danger and pain, of threat and power. Samandriel tried to call his garrison ,anyone really, to come and get him out, but the sigils on the floor and roof disagreed with his wish. He suddenly realized is was cold and it unnerved him ,even if that wasn’t his biggest enemy at the moment. He let out a breath and watched as it twisted and turned, fading away before his eyes, disappearing in hot twirls of someone else’s life.
Voices from behind the door stalled his contemplations. He recognized the particular British accent and he straightened up against the chair, as if that automatically made him stronger and safer. He shook his head at himself as the door flung wide open and The King himself strode in.
-Samandriel, I see you made yourself comfortable.
There wasn’t an answer.
-Why aren’t you speaking? Did I cut your tongue already?
-…no.
-Ah, see. Not so hard.
Crowley moved for the chair and pulled it opposite Samandriel. He threw the apron and the pinwheel away. The contrast between them was startling, just like the room’s temperature. Or maybe Crowley learnt to play Pavlov with him. God knows what Hell keeps behind it’s doors.
The demon’s eyes locked with his as he sat down and Samandriel had to look away, feeling suddenly very small. The being before him smirked and lighted up with something close to content ,but very far from that, too, then sat back up. The angel braced himself for whatever was to come.
Crowley crouched over him, invading his personal space.
-You and I, Samandriel, we’re going to have quite some fun.
The space between them was filled with cold determination. The rift where purity came to meet corruption ,trapped between two stolen faces, between two sides of the same coin. Samandriel barely breathed, his lips parted and moist, almost curious of what’s to come and Crowley decided it was time for answers. He reached down with his own lips, gently touching his forehead to Samandriel before claiming the lower lip, tasting Grace. The angel didn’t dare to move before responding the same, biting and licking as well as he could. Their kiss was fast and rough ,with no bother for limits of concerns.
Samandriel reached tentatively with his tongue and the demon let him in as their tongues collided and danced, fighting both for some kind of superiority. Crowley laced his hand in the brown hair and pulled it closer, anything to get the angel to submit. He growled and Samandriel was glad he was sitting down, because his knees were giving up on him. The smell of expensive scotch filled his nostrils like a curse and he tried to get as much as he could from it. It fitted perfectly with what the demon stood for and what the demon was, but still it was sweet and fresh, like a cruel prayer.
Crowley bit one more time on the angel’s lips and pulled away when the voices outside the room returned, too soon to please the both of them. Samandriel recovered his breath and felt filthy , yet heavenly and it made him shiver. Crowley was long gone when he finally took everything in and calmed down, but a sentence still lingered in the room.
-Glad I didn’t cut your tongue, angel.