Fic: Boundaries and Lack Thereof (Supernatural, Crowley/Castiel/Dean)
Title: Boundaries and Lack Thereof
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Crowley/Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for sex and bad language.
Word count: 1839
Summary: The end of the world had its perks for Crowley; the months after it had even more.
Author's Notes: Written for kaylbunny's prompt "Laddered stockings and smeared lipstick", betaed by my lovely avashida.
When Crowley was in his thirties - his first thirties, the only ones that really counted - he made a promise to himself he had held to both for that life and the one that came after; no regrets.
Admittedly it was difficult to feel quite so cheerful with Death on the prowl. Death might have been taking an ironically inactive role in the apocalypse thus far, but his very presence proved the clock was ticking.
At least he had good company to the end of days. With half of Heaven and all of Hell determined to see him punished for assisting the Winchesters, it made a pleasant change to have their angelic companion take an interest in him that didn't involve murder.
It took under five minutes of conversation to realise that while Castiel might share the Winchesters' interests, he was far from their pet. It took under ten minutes of conversation to realise where Castiel's queries were heading.
Too much time away from Heaven had left Castiel in a human body with near-human desires, and a curious streak Dean had barely touched. Castiel chose not to push Dean for more because he was too close to collapsing already without adding extra weight, and he did not turn to Sam because an emotional attachment to Lucifer's vessel would be unwise.
Crowley had several hundred years of experience under his belt and debauchery was his speciality - Castiel's choosing him as a teacher was logical and Crowley had no objections to logic, especially when it meant getting to work with an aeons-old virgin who had seen everything but practised little.
It started with a kiss, with soft lips and a surprisingly clever tongue, and the thrill of knowing neither of them would necessarily be wearing the same bodies forever. By the time Lucifer stood ready to ride Sam and Sam ready to let him, Crowley knew the very fact of Castiel's being an angel made for some interesting quirks both in bed and out of it. Crowley had started disregarding gender well over a century ago, when he first realised any escape from Hell - be it in a sixteen year old girl or seventy year old man - was a welcome one; even so, Castiel's complete disinterest in gender and gender politics was a surprise with benefits he could not have anticipated.
Castiel had no qualms about letting Crowley do whatever he wished so long as his virginity remained, and courtesy of old ideas and modern teachings it was a limitation that could be stretched a good distance.
He didn't know everything about Castiel and had barely covered a hundredth of the ideas he wanted to try when he said his goodbyes to the suicidally brave creature, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. If he were feeling generous, he might even say he expected to miss the angel.
After the end of the world that wasn't, Crowley was pleasantly surprised to find that Castiel's interest in him had not waned. Hell and Heaven were riddled with squabbles over power, anarchic without the majority of their archangels and archdemons, the disastrous state of both rendering most existing alliances null and void.
Castiel had paid little heed to shoulds and shouldn'ts for some time now, and his curious streak demanded further satisfaction.
Crowley had enough motivation already without the extra excitement and threat of Castiel's strength being restored to full.
Three months later Crowley gripped Castiel's left leg by the ankle as he shaved it, tongue itching to follow the path of the razor but knowing patience was a virtue. If he waited until after their bath, after rinsing away the shaving foam, Castiel's skin would taste like skin - not like soap.
The beauty of it was getting to enjoy his own arousal in peace; Castiel didn't find the act inherently erotic, just curious, save when Crowley allowed his fingers to stray across the delicate skin at the back of his knee or his inner thigh. It was all preparation to him, a prelude to something more, and he enjoyed the touches as if they had no real intent.
Crowley had picked out stockings already, though Castiel refused to wear heels, protesting that they were impractical and uncomfortable. Crowley didn't push him - that the angel consented to stockings and suspenders was more than enough, slim hips holding the belt in place just barely.
Crowley had yet to tire of having the angel's stocking-clad thighs draped across his shoulders as he sucked him dry, prayed with no small amount of irony that he never would.
While Castiel refused to be separated from his damned trenchcoat for any significant length of time, despite occasionally abandoning his body altogether to offer support to the more hopeful of Heaven's attempts at self-governance, it was gratifying to see he allowed the outfit beneath the trenchcoat to change.
Crowley would have sold his soul a second time to have on record the moment Dean first saw Castiel in a sensible black skirt and white blouse. He managed to let out a "Cas, what the -", but his lips refused to form anything further and it didn't escape Crowley's notice that Dean's expression had disregarded amusement or disgust in favour of confusion and arousal. Jealousy, too, once he made the logical link between Castiel's lipstick and the smear on Crowley's jaw.
Crowley left them to have whatever conversation they wished to have, uninterested in the tragic romance they had brewing and even less interested in whatever protests Dean had to make with regards to his heterosexuality.
Forty-five minutes later he was a little alarmed to find himself dragged roughly through the twist of fabric beneath reality back into the same room as a decidedly less dressed Dean and Castiel.
"Those stockings didn't come cheap," he pointed out, Castiel looking puzzled and Dean looking all too smug at the ladder running down Castiel's left thigh.
"I want you to watch," Castiel said, glaring at Dean when the hunter rolled his eyes. It was tempting; he'd always had a taste for voyeurism, and had meant to introduce Castiel to the joys of cameras at some point. "And take your turn, after Dean."
Crowley grinned despite himself and held out his hand - Castiel didn't need to be an excellent salesman when pitching an idea like that. "Deal."
Of course, watching was a tactile process for Crowley, one of his hands occupied with Castiel's cock and the other stroking teasing patterns down the angel's side and thigh, creating goosebumps and following their trail. He could have been painfully jealous of Dean for getting to take Castiel's virginity, but being free to move around as he wished, to feel Castiel's uneven exhale as Dean slid in - it took the sting away.
Especially when he knew he could do a better job.
Dean loved Castiel, that much was boringly obvious, but the problem with love was anticipation; holding out and holding out for fear of fucking things up almost guaranteed that those fears would be justified. It wasn't any real shock that Dean came too quickly, not when Castiel had intended to ride him slowly but instead wound up jack-hammering against his hips, over-eager and over-excited.
Good intentions paved a certain path, and Crowley had stood at the end of that path for some time now.
Dean might have objected initially when Crowley nudged Castiel forward onto hands and knees as it meant having his spent cock slip out of the angel, but he quickly shut up at the noise Castiel made when Crowley pushed in.
Crowley had no complaints about second place when it allowed him to finally see how the tight heat he'd toyed with on fingers and tongue for months beforehand felt around his cock, and no complaints when it meant he could demonstrate up close to Dean that while he might not have Castiel's love, he did have control of his vocal chords.
Castiel's cock had already been leaking in his hand, but Crowley knew the angel well enough to know when close meant close, let go of his erection and slapped Dean's hand away when it went to assist.
"Hey, he -"
"It's his first time," Crowley said, speeding his movements up and allowing himself to relax into it. "I think he could come just from being fucked, don't you?" He licked across one of the bumps of Castiel's spine, smirked. "Want to start a good habit."
"Please," Castiel groaned, and Crowley looked up to see Dean's hands close around Castiel's wrists, keeping the angel's arms braced against the pillows and away from his cock. "Dean?"
Dean couldn't seem to find an answer but Castiel shut his eyes and nodded anyway, started matching Crowley's thrusts with increasing desperation and a choked gasp of "I can't -"
It didn't take long for him to demonstrate that he apparently could, his eyes wide and mouth falling open to let out a chorus of shuddering gasps and moans as he came, Dean looking outright spellbound by the view.
If Crowley hadn't been caught up in his own orgasm he might have been enraptured too.
Only one of them needed sleep, and courtesy of Castiel's more useful abilities none of them needed to clean up, making for a rather peculiar afterglow. Dean was out for the count, Castiel stretched out at his side while Crowley sat at the bottom of the bed with his legs crossed, uninterested in cuddling.
Castiel didn't run his fingers through Dean's hair like a normal person, moved them more as if he was searching for something or analysing the texture rather than stroking just for the pleasure of it. The sight was a touch incongruous with the now-torn stockings still attached to Castiel's suspender belt, but Crowley allowed it to pass without comment.
"Was it worth the wait?" Crowley asked instead, quiet more because Dean's whining would be tiring than out of sympathy with the human's need for sleep.
"Yes," Castiel replied, the faintest hint of a smile warming his lips. "But I wasn't waiting."
"You knew he'd give in eventually."
"No," Castiel said, stroking down Dean's arm with the same curious but not quite tender motions he'd used on Dean's hair. "I thought I knew he wouldn't."
It was Crowley's turn to roll his eyes. "What happens when he dies?" he asked, fighting down the bitter twinge in his chest before it could grow into something more.
"He'll be Heaven's," Castiel said, hands finally stilling, expression almost wistful for a moment. "I'll visit you."
Crowley considered protesting but found the smile on his lips felt more real than he'd intended. "I'd like that."
He'd stayed long enough, had no interest in staying further while Castiel watched Dean sleep, and dressed at his own pace before leaving them to their own business. A good Scotch beckoned, and the night was still so beautifully young.
No regrets, before and after the end of days. It was a record worth keeping up.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Crowley/Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for sex and bad language.
Word count: 1839
Summary: The end of the world had its perks for Crowley; the months after it had even more.
Author's Notes: Written for kaylbunny's prompt "Laddered stockings and smeared lipstick", betaed by my lovely avashida.
When Crowley was in his thirties - his first thirties, the only ones that really counted - he made a promise to himself he had held to both for that life and the one that came after; no regrets.
Admittedly it was difficult to feel quite so cheerful with Death on the prowl. Death might have been taking an ironically inactive role in the apocalypse thus far, but his very presence proved the clock was ticking.
At least he had good company to the end of days. With half of Heaven and all of Hell determined to see him punished for assisting the Winchesters, it made a pleasant change to have their angelic companion take an interest in him that didn't involve murder.
It took under five minutes of conversation to realise that while Castiel might share the Winchesters' interests, he was far from their pet. It took under ten minutes of conversation to realise where Castiel's queries were heading.
Too much time away from Heaven had left Castiel in a human body with near-human desires, and a curious streak Dean had barely touched. Castiel chose not to push Dean for more because he was too close to collapsing already without adding extra weight, and he did not turn to Sam because an emotional attachment to Lucifer's vessel would be unwise.
Crowley had several hundred years of experience under his belt and debauchery was his speciality - Castiel's choosing him as a teacher was logical and Crowley had no objections to logic, especially when it meant getting to work with an aeons-old virgin who had seen everything but practised little.
It started with a kiss, with soft lips and a surprisingly clever tongue, and the thrill of knowing neither of them would necessarily be wearing the same bodies forever. By the time Lucifer stood ready to ride Sam and Sam ready to let him, Crowley knew the very fact of Castiel's being an angel made for some interesting quirks both in bed and out of it. Crowley had started disregarding gender well over a century ago, when he first realised any escape from Hell - be it in a sixteen year old girl or seventy year old man - was a welcome one; even so, Castiel's complete disinterest in gender and gender politics was a surprise with benefits he could not have anticipated.
Castiel had no qualms about letting Crowley do whatever he wished so long as his virginity remained, and courtesy of old ideas and modern teachings it was a limitation that could be stretched a good distance.
He didn't know everything about Castiel and had barely covered a hundredth of the ideas he wanted to try when he said his goodbyes to the suicidally brave creature, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. If he were feeling generous, he might even say he expected to miss the angel.
After the end of the world that wasn't, Crowley was pleasantly surprised to find that Castiel's interest in him had not waned. Hell and Heaven were riddled with squabbles over power, anarchic without the majority of their archangels and archdemons, the disastrous state of both rendering most existing alliances null and void.
Castiel had paid little heed to shoulds and shouldn'ts for some time now, and his curious streak demanded further satisfaction.
Crowley had enough motivation already without the extra excitement and threat of Castiel's strength being restored to full.
Three months later Crowley gripped Castiel's left leg by the ankle as he shaved it, tongue itching to follow the path of the razor but knowing patience was a virtue. If he waited until after their bath, after rinsing away the shaving foam, Castiel's skin would taste like skin - not like soap.
The beauty of it was getting to enjoy his own arousal in peace; Castiel didn't find the act inherently erotic, just curious, save when Crowley allowed his fingers to stray across the delicate skin at the back of his knee or his inner thigh. It was all preparation to him, a prelude to something more, and he enjoyed the touches as if they had no real intent.
Crowley had picked out stockings already, though Castiel refused to wear heels, protesting that they were impractical and uncomfortable. Crowley didn't push him - that the angel consented to stockings and suspenders was more than enough, slim hips holding the belt in place just barely.
Crowley had yet to tire of having the angel's stocking-clad thighs draped across his shoulders as he sucked him dry, prayed with no small amount of irony that he never would.
While Castiel refused to be separated from his damned trenchcoat for any significant length of time, despite occasionally abandoning his body altogether to offer support to the more hopeful of Heaven's attempts at self-governance, it was gratifying to see he allowed the outfit beneath the trenchcoat to change.
Crowley would have sold his soul a second time to have on record the moment Dean first saw Castiel in a sensible black skirt and white blouse. He managed to let out a "Cas, what the -", but his lips refused to form anything further and it didn't escape Crowley's notice that Dean's expression had disregarded amusement or disgust in favour of confusion and arousal. Jealousy, too, once he made the logical link between Castiel's lipstick and the smear on Crowley's jaw.
Crowley left them to have whatever conversation they wished to have, uninterested in the tragic romance they had brewing and even less interested in whatever protests Dean had to make with regards to his heterosexuality.
Forty-five minutes later he was a little alarmed to find himself dragged roughly through the twist of fabric beneath reality back into the same room as a decidedly less dressed Dean and Castiel.
"Those stockings didn't come cheap," he pointed out, Castiel looking puzzled and Dean looking all too smug at the ladder running down Castiel's left thigh.
"I want you to watch," Castiel said, glaring at Dean when the hunter rolled his eyes. It was tempting; he'd always had a taste for voyeurism, and had meant to introduce Castiel to the joys of cameras at some point. "And take your turn, after Dean."
Crowley grinned despite himself and held out his hand - Castiel didn't need to be an excellent salesman when pitching an idea like that. "Deal."
Of course, watching was a tactile process for Crowley, one of his hands occupied with Castiel's cock and the other stroking teasing patterns down the angel's side and thigh, creating goosebumps and following their trail. He could have been painfully jealous of Dean for getting to take Castiel's virginity, but being free to move around as he wished, to feel Castiel's uneven exhale as Dean slid in - it took the sting away.
Especially when he knew he could do a better job.
Dean loved Castiel, that much was boringly obvious, but the problem with love was anticipation; holding out and holding out for fear of fucking things up almost guaranteed that those fears would be justified. It wasn't any real shock that Dean came too quickly, not when Castiel had intended to ride him slowly but instead wound up jack-hammering against his hips, over-eager and over-excited.
Good intentions paved a certain path, and Crowley had stood at the end of that path for some time now.
Dean might have objected initially when Crowley nudged Castiel forward onto hands and knees as it meant having his spent cock slip out of the angel, but he quickly shut up at the noise Castiel made when Crowley pushed in.
Crowley had no complaints about second place when it allowed him to finally see how the tight heat he'd toyed with on fingers and tongue for months beforehand felt around his cock, and no complaints when it meant he could demonstrate up close to Dean that while he might not have Castiel's love, he did have control of his vocal chords.
Castiel's cock had already been leaking in his hand, but Crowley knew the angel well enough to know when close meant close, let go of his erection and slapped Dean's hand away when it went to assist.
"Hey, he -"
"It's his first time," Crowley said, speeding his movements up and allowing himself to relax into it. "I think he could come just from being fucked, don't you?" He licked across one of the bumps of Castiel's spine, smirked. "Want to start a good habit."
"Please," Castiel groaned, and Crowley looked up to see Dean's hands close around Castiel's wrists, keeping the angel's arms braced against the pillows and away from his cock. "Dean?"
Dean couldn't seem to find an answer but Castiel shut his eyes and nodded anyway, started matching Crowley's thrusts with increasing desperation and a choked gasp of "I can't -"
It didn't take long for him to demonstrate that he apparently could, his eyes wide and mouth falling open to let out a chorus of shuddering gasps and moans as he came, Dean looking outright spellbound by the view.
If Crowley hadn't been caught up in his own orgasm he might have been enraptured too.
Only one of them needed sleep, and courtesy of Castiel's more useful abilities none of them needed to clean up, making for a rather peculiar afterglow. Dean was out for the count, Castiel stretched out at his side while Crowley sat at the bottom of the bed with his legs crossed, uninterested in cuddling.
Castiel didn't run his fingers through Dean's hair like a normal person, moved them more as if he was searching for something or analysing the texture rather than stroking just for the pleasure of it. The sight was a touch incongruous with the now-torn stockings still attached to Castiel's suspender belt, but Crowley allowed it to pass without comment.
"Was it worth the wait?" Crowley asked instead, quiet more because Dean's whining would be tiring than out of sympathy with the human's need for sleep.
"Yes," Castiel replied, the faintest hint of a smile warming his lips. "But I wasn't waiting."
"You knew he'd give in eventually."
"No," Castiel said, stroking down Dean's arm with the same curious but not quite tender motions he'd used on Dean's hair. "I thought I knew he wouldn't."
It was Crowley's turn to roll his eyes. "What happens when he dies?" he asked, fighting down the bitter twinge in his chest before it could grow into something more.
"He'll be Heaven's," Castiel said, hands finally stilling, expression almost wistful for a moment. "I'll visit you."
Crowley considered protesting but found the smile on his lips felt more real than he'd intended. "I'd like that."
He'd stayed long enough, had no interest in staying further while Castiel watched Dean sleep, and dressed at his own pace before leaving them to their own business. A good Scotch beckoned, and the night was still so beautifully young.
No regrets, before and after the end of days. It was a record worth keeping up.
The End