fic: Lovers in League Against Satan [SPN, Gabriel/Crowley]
Because apparently I'm writing a coda a week now...
Title: Lovers in League Against Satan
Author: littlehollyleaf
Pairing: Gabriel/Crowley
Spoilers: up to and including 5.20
Category: episode-related, angst (I guess).
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~3,950
Summary: Set during Hammer of the Gods.
After his talk with Dean in the Impala, Gabriel visits an old friend for one last fling.
Author's Note: Did I mention I love Crowley? Good god do I love that guy! And yes, the name of the hellhound is what you think it is. No offense to British angels intended :p
Lovers in League Against Satan
Crowley sat back in the one functioning chair his crumbling new hideout had to offer with a sigh. It creaked. He muttered a curse under his breath and reached for the tumbler on the overturned crate beside him - it took him a couple of tries to find it in the dark. Cheap vodka in cheap plastic, what a joke, he thought as his palm curled around the side, followed by a mental note to steal some wood for the fireplace.
He already missed his TV and state of the art sound system, but he'd grown so used to electricity over the last century he hadn't even considered how intolerable it would be going without basic lamps and lightbulbs again. God, it was like being back in the Dark Ages, and he'd had quite enough of those the first time round thank you. Fuck, did he need to figure a way out of this hole soon.
He cast his eyes over the bloody and ash-coated sigils he'd just finished on the walls, tracing each one slowly and carefully through the vague and patchy flecks of moonlight seeping through the net curtains. Couldn't afford any mistakes. His life, quite literally, depended on those scratches.
Satisfied with the work, he raised the cup to his lips and took a long swig of the liquid inside.
And immediately spat it out again.
"Fucking hell!"
He shot the cup and the bottle of offending alcohol still on the crate a glare so intense it was something of a surprise the two items didn't melt into oblivion on the spot. When they didn't, Crowley satisfied himself with slamming the cup back on the crate - hard - instead. Some of the liquid dripped over the side and onto the rotting wooden floor and the splash was followed by a soft whining sound from outside.
"It's alright, Aziraphale," he called. "It's just me..."
He continued under his breath.
"Just me and vodka so piss poor it should be illegal, and they call us barbaric..."
The whining turned to a short bark, then a yelp. Then silence.
Crowley stood up quickly. There were very few things capable of subduing a hellhound, none of which, Crowley was sure, he very much wanted to meet.
"Aziraphale?" he called, taking a tentative step towards the front door. "Azzy?"
"I gave him a bowl of Rocky Road, he'll be fine," a smug and all too familiar voice quipped behind him.
Crowley spun round to find a short man with over-long, unruly hair leaning against the fireplace. He was wearing a washed out green jacket over a maroon shirt and black slacks - in other words, a fashion disaster - and was munching on a Tootsie Roll.
Crowley rolled his eyes.
"Oh, that's just bloody fantastic," he muttered. "As if things weren't bad enough."
The guy swallowed down the last of his chocolate, stuffed the wrapper in his pocket and grinned.
"What? Not pleased to see me?"
"Pleased to see you? Pleased to see you?" Crowley repeated, voice rising. "I'm living in a pigsty which doesn't even have the space for a walk in closet, forget a well stocked bar! I've got every possible supernatural nasty on my tail and probably a few more besides, I've been wearing the same suit for the last two months -" He gripped the lapels of his dark, sweaty, and slightly torn round the edges jacket for emphasis. "- and you swan in here, like everything's coming up roses, like you're the Maha-fucking-rajah, and ask if I'm pleased to see you?!"
The man just shrugged and raised his eyebrows, apparently unaffected by the demon's rage.
"That's a 'no' then?"
Crowley threw up his hands and walked back inside. He let out a long breath as he brought his arms down and fixed the intruder with the same glare he'd given the vodka earlier. Unlike the alcohol, this guy had the gall to not only be unaffected, but to also shoot a cocky smile back in response.
"Fact is mate, you're almost too fucking tempting."
"Crowley," the guy faux-demurred. "And I've still got my clothes on."
Crowley snorted.
"Don't flatter yourself," he responded. "Do you know how many brownie points I'd get if I called my side up and told them I could give them the Archangel Gabriel?"
Gabriel kept smiling, unphased.
"Not enough," he said.
Crowley held his glare for a few more seconds, then gave it up, shoulders dropping.
"No," he muttered, turning to lean his back against the other half of the fireplace himself. "Not enough... How'd you find me anyway?"
"Because I'm a genius," Gabriel smirked back, shifting to face the demon. "And because you screwed up a couple of sigils on the roof. Used a squiggle when you should have used a line."
Crowley started forward, a flare of panic exploding in his chest. But Gabriel slapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
"Relax," he drawled. "I fixed it for you. You're safe as houses." He swung round, other arm stretching over Crowley's right shoulder so he could flatten his palm against the wall above the mantelpiece.
You couldn't tell he was an angel, not by looking. And not by looking either. If there was one thing Gabriel did well it was hiding, oh, he kept his power under wraps alright. Which meant there was no doubt in Crowley's mind that this pathetic excuse for a house had just become the safest place of Earth. He knew it. Gabriel knew it. And Gabriel knew he knew. Which was why he had that little superior sparkle in his eyes that implied that, even though Crowley was several inches taller, the angel was looking down on him. Smug bastard.
"Aren't you happy to see me now?" Gabriel muttered, leaning forward so their breath mingled. Well, borrowed breath anyway. And part of Crowley's borrowed body started heating up.
He might not be able to sense the angel in the guy, but he knew Gabriel was one, one of the fucking brightest, and Crowley couldn't deny the thrill of having something like that so close - knowing that, unlike most demons, he was immune to harm from this particular celestial being, but always, always, aware of the constant danger, the potential for their arrangement to change at any moment.
A quick mental image of the moth-eaten mattress upstairs, though, reminded Crowley he had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.
"What do you want, Gabe?" he asked. "Because I've been a little busy of late. You know? Staying alive. Not had much of a chance to scope out any possible victims for you, and frankly even if I did have some tips, you couldn't afford me right now. Unless you know a way of ganking big brother and getting the rest of the demon population off my arse, it's no deal."
Something uncertain flashed across Gabriel's face for a second - smile dropping, eyes turning unfocused and lost. It made Crowley frown, especially when the angel's gaze didn't match the grin when it returned. Because Gabriel never dropped character. He'd been a Trickster for centuries and clearly relished it, enough that he'd ripped Crowley up in a whole variety of wonderful and exciting ways when he'd first stumbled on to the guy's true identity and starting using 'Gabe' instead of 'Loki.' It had taken the angel at least a couple of decades to realise Crowley had no intention of spilling the beans and was using the name deliberately and only in Gabriel's presence, just to see what punishment he'd think up next. Bless him.
That look in his eyes though - that wasn't the look of a Trickster. That was all angel. The Gabriel Crowley had never known. And Crowley thought maybe that scared him more than the guy's powers ever had.
"I'm not here on business," Gabriel said, lifting his hand from Crowley's shoulder and stroking it under the demon's jaw. "Feeling restless, thought I'd drop by..."
His lips quirked to the side and - ah! - Crowley knew that look at least. Oh yes, that one he was intimately familiar with.
"Really?" he smirked back. "You're feeling horny and your first stop was me?"
Gabriel lifted a shoulder.
"My other choices are... currently unobtainable."
Crowley hummed out a laugh.
"And who said romance was dead?"
Gabriel leaned in, lips ghosting lips, and trailed his hand down Crowley's neck. He touched a finger to the knot in the demon's tie and the fabric uncurled itself and dropped to the ground with a quiet swish. Then Gabriel twisted his fingers under Crowley's shirt collar. He gripped tight for a second, then ripped down, tearing the whole thing open and exposing Crowley's chest to the moonlight.
"Hey!" Crowley protested. "That's the only suit I've got left!"
"I'll fix it later..." Gabriel muttered, sliding his hand slowly - so bloody hot and slow - down the demon's chest and into his pants. He bent his stretched arm a little to lean in further, the breath on Crowley's neck making the demon close his eyes with a groan. "So you gonna fuck me or what?"
Crowley snapped his eyes open and jerked back, surprise making him forget the mantelpiece behind him, which he promptly bumped into with an audible smack. He ignored the throbbing in the back of his head though and just stared at the other's face, the set line of the angel's lips, the focus in his eyes.
"You're serious?" he breathed. "But you've never -"
"Thought it was about time I tried," Gabriel cut in. Crowley could feel his eyes widening, knew he looked like an idiot, but he felt having an archangel offering himself up to a demon for a bit of buggering made it justifiable this once. "No tricks," Gabriel added in the face of Crowley's disbelief, voice stripped of its jovial undertones and left bare and deadly serious.
That spike of fear Crowley had felt before started pricking at him again, but it was overshadowed somewhat by the raging hard on the thought of getting to defile an angel had sprung into being.
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow and Crowley used both hands to grip round the angel's slacks in response. He tugged - an experiment - and the angel came willingly, body slamming flush against him. He let Crowley crush their lips together, let him suck and bite and scratch his shirt up so Crowley could pinch the smooth flesh of the angel's sides. The angel's - fucking hell, finally, finally, it was an angel Crowley had in his arms.
"God..." he moaned into Gabriel's skin.
"Not quite," Gabriel muttered back, for the first time not berating Crowley for the blasphemy, for the first time acknowledging his connection to the deity in question and holy shit this was wrong, this was so so wrong, something extra bad had to be happening if it had come to this.
But Crowley was too hard by then to care.
The Loki roleplay was fun, of course, and wow the uses the guy could think up for candy, but Crowley had been dreaming of playing up their angel/demon dynamic for centuries. To finally have the chance - Jesus fuck - no way was he passing that up!
He slid a hand up and gripped Gabriel's hair, yanking him back. Felt his cock shudder and jump when Gabriel let him.
"Oh, on your knees, angel," Crowley hissed. "And I'll show you heaven all right."
***
When they were done, the best twenty minutes of Crowley's life - and death - finally over, he crawled across the veritable swimming pool of cushions Gabriel had kindly clicked into being across the dank and unappealing floor and grabbed one of the larger, fluffier ones by the roaring fireplace. He gripped it to his chest and flopped onto his stomach.
"Jesus Christ I needed that," he gasped.
"Hmmm," Gabriel smiled, rolling up beside him. "He'd have taken it too, you know. What do you think he meant by turning the other cheek?"
He reached a bare arm across Crowley's back and slapped his bum. Not hard, just playful, and Crowley made a growling noise of appreciation in the back of his throat. His spent cock even made a valiant attempt to perk itself up again against the silk and satin beneath them. But in the end it was not to be.
"He never," Crowley argued, turning his head to meet Gabriel's wide - and if he did say so himself, particularly satisfied - grin.
Gabriel just wriggled his eyebrows and Crowley shook his head.
They let the heat of the flames wash over them for a bit and Crowley was surprised how comforting the fire felt with the other man's arm wrapped around him. Usually flames reminded him too much of Hell to ever leave him fully at ease, but he was more relaxed under the glow of this one than he had been for weeks.
Then Gabe gripped his arse tighter, raised his other hand, and let a strip of fabric dangle from his fingers. Crowley's tie. Who'd have thought such a thin piece of cotton could be so erotic? Just the memory of it circling the angel's wrists would be enough to fuel Crowley's fantasies for years.
"Suppose you'll be wanting this back," Gabriel said.
Crowley looked from the tie back to Gabriel.
"The rest of the suit would be nice, too," he tried.
Gabriel smiled, pulled back a little to take the tie in both hands and used it to lasso Crowley round the neck and into a kiss. It was incredibly slow, and much longer than Crowley was expecting, Gabriel's tongue caressing his mouth with a care the angel had never shown before, not once in their hundred-year acquaintance. Slow and soft and almost tender.
"Thanks," the angel breathed as he pulled away.
Then, before Crowley could even start to take that in, there was a snap and he was fully clothed on a luxury leather couch, a small table in front of him, suit pressed and clean as a daisy. The table held a crystal glass and decanter, both full of rich amber liquid. Crowley licked his lips, grabbed the glass and downed its contents in one.
He lay his head on the back of the couch with a sigh.
"Exquisite..." he murmured.
There was a laugh opposite him.
"You make the alcohol sound better than the sex."
"Says the guy scoffing chocolate like there's no tomorrow," Crowley answered, dropping his head to find a newly clothed Gabriel on a matching sofa the other side of the table. He was, as predicted, already half way through a Hershey bar, the silver wrapping, pulled back over his fingers, glinting as he raised it in and out the patch of light from the window behind.
Gabriel flattened his smile as Crowley watched.
"Maybe there won't be..." he answered, eyes flicking away.
Crowley leant forward and poured himself another generous helping of scotch, because god knew when he'd get another taste. He'd searched for years for a malt that matched it, but Gabriel's otherworldly creation had so far proved unsurpassable.
"So what is it?" he asked, leaning back again to take a sip and stretch an arm out behind him along the sofa's edge.
"What?" Gabriel asked, voice thick with chocolate.
"The colossally stupid thing you're planning to do that's got you trying out all things new before it's too late," Crowley elaborated.
The angel met his eyes for a moment. Then swallowed hard and dropped his head, dissolving the candy without finishing it. His face looked drawn suddenly, eyes dark and shadowed. Tired, but also resolved.
"Oh shit," Crowley started. He'd seen expressions like those before - it was the look of someone there was no point bargaining with, the look of someone who couldn't be tempted because they'd found their path and were sticking to it. "It's worse than that, isn't it? You're gonna do something sickeningly noble."
Gabriel gave a soft smile.
"Me, noble?" he joked, looking back. "Nah. Nothing so Christian. I'm just..." He shrugged. "I'm just gonna have a little talk with my brother, that's all..."
Crowley stared, previous derision sticking in his throat. He tried to swallow the growing fear back again but it seemed this time it was here to stay.
"The voyeuristic, nerdy one you mean?" he asked eventually, voice strained and vaguely desperate. "Who can't shadow a guy for shit?"
Gabriel's eyebrows locked together for a moment, then cleared into a hum of laughter.
"Castiel? No. No, he's MIA right now..." His brow creased again for a moment in what Crowley thought would have looked remarkably like concern on anyone else. But not this guy... right? "We both know which brother I mean," the angel continued, that cloud of sobriety passing over his face again. "Don't worry, I'll leave your name out of it."
Crowley dropped his eyes to the half empty glass in his hand and swirled the amber inside. He suddenly had no taste for it.
"So this is it then," he sighed, placing the glass on the table. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled back. "Aren't you meant to blow a horn or something?"
One corner of Gabriel's lips flicked up.
"I think you did admirably," he replied. "Though if you want to go again, I've got some more flavoured condoms in my pocket."
"Why don't you just not?" Crowley blurted out before Gabriel was even finished, making the angel blink in surprise. "Screw your brother, stick it out here, and don't do it."
Gabriel held his gaze for a very long time after that, enough to make Crowley hold his breath, enough to make the heart that wasn't even his skip a few beats. And oh, for the love of all that was unholy, when exactly had he become so pathetic? When exactly had an angel become the one thing in this rich, bountiful world he felt any sort of connection to and, more to the point, why did that even matter?
"I have to," Gabriel breathed into the silence.
At least he sounded apologetic, that was nice.
Crowley nodded, pursing his lips.
"Well then," he said. "It'll be a miserable old world without you."
"Hey, you never know. I might make it back," Gabriel grinned.
Crowley grinned too. Because he could fake it like the best of them when he had to.
"Yeah," he muttered. "So, what's next on your pre-emptive goodbye tour?"
"Just you," Gabriel confessed. "No time for anything else. In fact, I've probably missed my cue already, and it's gonna be a bitch spinning the clock back with Lucy running interference I can tell you. But I need your help with something first."
Crowley rolled his eyes, almost sappy feelings quickly washing away.
"I bloody knew it! I knew there'd be a price. Knew you couldn't just give away a good time without roping me into something, you sodding little -"
"Chill out, would you," Gabriel interrupted from behind him.
When Crowley turned he had to rub both his eyes with his fists to make sure he was seeing right.
No, his eyesight was fine. Gabriel really was decked out in a waiter's outfit, shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel, hair slicked back, with a thick, golden chain hanging down his chest.
What the -?
"I just need you to hold the camera," the angel continued, picking a digital one from the chest of drawers beside the door and - hang on. Since when had this place had such an elaborate chest of drawers? Come to that, what was a doorway doing there, and such a clean one too?
Gabriel held the camera out and Crowley walked over to take it, bemused.
"Excellent," Gabriel grinned once he had, clapping his hands. "Now let's get this show on the road..."
He walked into the centre of the room and as Crowley turned to watch he found the whole place transmogrified. It now looked like some kind of hotel room - bright colours against white furnishings. And the centre piece? A wide, king-sized bed with crimson sheets and a tasty looking blonde in chunky, transparent heels and little else. She was stretched out on her stomach across the covers, legs crossed above the pillows, breasts pressed tight together over a glossy magazine. Gabriel curled a hand under her chin and she looked up at him with a smile. He looked her over critically for a moment, pulled some of her hair down over her shoulders, stood back to look again, then nodded.
There was a sparkle in his eyes as he turned back to Crowley, the kind most put down to Trickster glee. But ever since learning the truth, Crowley had come to see it more as a type of childish excitement - that disbelieving wonder of a kid in a candy store, freed of the usual boundaries and able, in the absence of their parents, to try out everything once forbidden with no fear of repercussions.
"What do you think?" Gabriel grinned, waving a hand at the surroundings.
Crowley shook his head, incapable of stopping the grin tugging his own lips. The guy's enthusiasm was contagious, damn it, it was impossible not to be drawn in.
"I think you're fucking nuts," he answered. "What is this?"
"My legacy," Gabriel answered, smile somehow growing stronger and sadder at the same time. "Now just hold that thing straight would you? And don't try and pretend you haven't done this before."
Another raised eyebrow and Crowley bit back a chuckle. Fair enough. He was a businessman at heart and, well, it would have been stupid not to get in on this kind of action somehow. All those girls, like that blonde on the bed, desperate to stay fresh just a little longer, young and impressionable, ripe and ready for the taking - it'd been too easy, really.
"All right," he shrugged, lifting the camera to his shoulder and looking through the viewer. "So you got your busty babe here, ravish ready. What are you supposed to be?"
Gabriel pulled a fake moustache from his costume's front pocket with a flourish and fixed it across his upper lip.
"Polish room service, of course," he replied in an absurdly theatrical European accent.
Crowley glanced at him over the lens.
"Don't you mean Hung-garian?"
Gabriel laughed out loud.
"I knew there was a reason I liked you."
***
He let Crowley keep the set when he left, and my, Little Miss Pornstar was very obliging.
For the next ten minutes anyway. After that the whole shebang vanished without warning, dropping Crowley back into the dark, grimy shack he'd started with. Fortunately, he was mostly done with the girl by then anyway.
He might have thought he'd imagined the whole thing, even, if it wasn't for the condom still in the fireplace, chocolate thoroughly removed.
It seemed a fitting epitaph as any for an archangel with a sweet tooth and pagan tendencies.
Aziraphale started scratching at the door about then and Crowley opened it and let him in, figuring he could use the company. He sat back in the rickety chair and patted the hound's head, pulled the magic coin from his collar and listened to the Winchesters replay Gabriel's message. Bloody morons, both of them, but also the most acclaimed hunters in the US, if not the world. All of which made them the last people on Earth Crowley wanted to cross paths with, particularly after the cock up with the Colt he'd been instrumental in arranging.
He looked back to the fireplace.
Then again, if needs must...
~fin~
Title: Lovers in League Against Satan
Author: littlehollyleaf
Pairing: Gabriel/Crowley
Spoilers: up to and including 5.20
Category: episode-related, angst (I guess).
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~3,950
Summary: Set during Hammer of the Gods.
After his talk with Dean in the Impala, Gabriel visits an old friend for one last fling.
Author's Note: Did I mention I love Crowley? Good god do I love that guy! And yes, the name of the hellhound is what you think it is. No offense to British angels intended :p
Lovers in League Against Satan
Crowley sat back in the one functioning chair his crumbling new hideout had to offer with a sigh. It creaked. He muttered a curse under his breath and reached for the tumbler on the overturned crate beside him - it took him a couple of tries to find it in the dark. Cheap vodka in cheap plastic, what a joke, he thought as his palm curled around the side, followed by a mental note to steal some wood for the fireplace.
He already missed his TV and state of the art sound system, but he'd grown so used to electricity over the last century he hadn't even considered how intolerable it would be going without basic lamps and lightbulbs again. God, it was like being back in the Dark Ages, and he'd had quite enough of those the first time round thank you. Fuck, did he need to figure a way out of this hole soon.
He cast his eyes over the bloody and ash-coated sigils he'd just finished on the walls, tracing each one slowly and carefully through the vague and patchy flecks of moonlight seeping through the net curtains. Couldn't afford any mistakes. His life, quite literally, depended on those scratches.
Satisfied with the work, he raised the cup to his lips and took a long swig of the liquid inside.
And immediately spat it out again.
"Fucking hell!"
He shot the cup and the bottle of offending alcohol still on the crate a glare so intense it was something of a surprise the two items didn't melt into oblivion on the spot. When they didn't, Crowley satisfied himself with slamming the cup back on the crate - hard - instead. Some of the liquid dripped over the side and onto the rotting wooden floor and the splash was followed by a soft whining sound from outside.
"It's alright, Aziraphale," he called. "It's just me..."
He continued under his breath.
"Just me and vodka so piss poor it should be illegal, and they call us barbaric..."
The whining turned to a short bark, then a yelp. Then silence.
Crowley stood up quickly. There were very few things capable of subduing a hellhound, none of which, Crowley was sure, he very much wanted to meet.
"Aziraphale?" he called, taking a tentative step towards the front door. "Azzy?"
"I gave him a bowl of Rocky Road, he'll be fine," a smug and all too familiar voice quipped behind him.
Crowley spun round to find a short man with over-long, unruly hair leaning against the fireplace. He was wearing a washed out green jacket over a maroon shirt and black slacks - in other words, a fashion disaster - and was munching on a Tootsie Roll.
Crowley rolled his eyes.
"Oh, that's just bloody fantastic," he muttered. "As if things weren't bad enough."
The guy swallowed down the last of his chocolate, stuffed the wrapper in his pocket and grinned.
"What? Not pleased to see me?"
"Pleased to see you? Pleased to see you?" Crowley repeated, voice rising. "I'm living in a pigsty which doesn't even have the space for a walk in closet, forget a well stocked bar! I've got every possible supernatural nasty on my tail and probably a few more besides, I've been wearing the same suit for the last two months -" He gripped the lapels of his dark, sweaty, and slightly torn round the edges jacket for emphasis. "- and you swan in here, like everything's coming up roses, like you're the Maha-fucking-rajah, and ask if I'm pleased to see you?!"
The man just shrugged and raised his eyebrows, apparently unaffected by the demon's rage.
"That's a 'no' then?"
Crowley threw up his hands and walked back inside. He let out a long breath as he brought his arms down and fixed the intruder with the same glare he'd given the vodka earlier. Unlike the alcohol, this guy had the gall to not only be unaffected, but to also shoot a cocky smile back in response.
"Fact is mate, you're almost too fucking tempting."
"Crowley," the guy faux-demurred. "And I've still got my clothes on."
Crowley snorted.
"Don't flatter yourself," he responded. "Do you know how many brownie points I'd get if I called my side up and told them I could give them the Archangel Gabriel?"
Gabriel kept smiling, unphased.
"Not enough," he said.
Crowley held his glare for a few more seconds, then gave it up, shoulders dropping.
"No," he muttered, turning to lean his back against the other half of the fireplace himself. "Not enough... How'd you find me anyway?"
"Because I'm a genius," Gabriel smirked back, shifting to face the demon. "And because you screwed up a couple of sigils on the roof. Used a squiggle when you should have used a line."
Crowley started forward, a flare of panic exploding in his chest. But Gabriel slapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
"Relax," he drawled. "I fixed it for you. You're safe as houses." He swung round, other arm stretching over Crowley's right shoulder so he could flatten his palm against the wall above the mantelpiece.
You couldn't tell he was an angel, not by looking. And not by looking either. If there was one thing Gabriel did well it was hiding, oh, he kept his power under wraps alright. Which meant there was no doubt in Crowley's mind that this pathetic excuse for a house had just become the safest place of Earth. He knew it. Gabriel knew it. And Gabriel knew he knew. Which was why he had that little superior sparkle in his eyes that implied that, even though Crowley was several inches taller, the angel was looking down on him. Smug bastard.
"Aren't you happy to see me now?" Gabriel muttered, leaning forward so their breath mingled. Well, borrowed breath anyway. And part of Crowley's borrowed body started heating up.
He might not be able to sense the angel in the guy, but he knew Gabriel was one, one of the fucking brightest, and Crowley couldn't deny the thrill of having something like that so close - knowing that, unlike most demons, he was immune to harm from this particular celestial being, but always, always, aware of the constant danger, the potential for their arrangement to change at any moment.
A quick mental image of the moth-eaten mattress upstairs, though, reminded Crowley he had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.
"What do you want, Gabe?" he asked. "Because I've been a little busy of late. You know? Staying alive. Not had much of a chance to scope out any possible victims for you, and frankly even if I did have some tips, you couldn't afford me right now. Unless you know a way of ganking big brother and getting the rest of the demon population off my arse, it's no deal."
Something uncertain flashed across Gabriel's face for a second - smile dropping, eyes turning unfocused and lost. It made Crowley frown, especially when the angel's gaze didn't match the grin when it returned. Because Gabriel never dropped character. He'd been a Trickster for centuries and clearly relished it, enough that he'd ripped Crowley up in a whole variety of wonderful and exciting ways when he'd first stumbled on to the guy's true identity and starting using 'Gabe' instead of 'Loki.' It had taken the angel at least a couple of decades to realise Crowley had no intention of spilling the beans and was using the name deliberately and only in Gabriel's presence, just to see what punishment he'd think up next. Bless him.
That look in his eyes though - that wasn't the look of a Trickster. That was all angel. The Gabriel Crowley had never known. And Crowley thought maybe that scared him more than the guy's powers ever had.
"I'm not here on business," Gabriel said, lifting his hand from Crowley's shoulder and stroking it under the demon's jaw. "Feeling restless, thought I'd drop by..."
His lips quirked to the side and - ah! - Crowley knew that look at least. Oh yes, that one he was intimately familiar with.
"Really?" he smirked back. "You're feeling horny and your first stop was me?"
Gabriel lifted a shoulder.
"My other choices are... currently unobtainable."
Crowley hummed out a laugh.
"And who said romance was dead?"
Gabriel leaned in, lips ghosting lips, and trailed his hand down Crowley's neck. He touched a finger to the knot in the demon's tie and the fabric uncurled itself and dropped to the ground with a quiet swish. Then Gabriel twisted his fingers under Crowley's shirt collar. He gripped tight for a second, then ripped down, tearing the whole thing open and exposing Crowley's chest to the moonlight.
"Hey!" Crowley protested. "That's the only suit I've got left!"
"I'll fix it later..." Gabriel muttered, sliding his hand slowly - so bloody hot and slow - down the demon's chest and into his pants. He bent his stretched arm a little to lean in further, the breath on Crowley's neck making the demon close his eyes with a groan. "So you gonna fuck me or what?"
Crowley snapped his eyes open and jerked back, surprise making him forget the mantelpiece behind him, which he promptly bumped into with an audible smack. He ignored the throbbing in the back of his head though and just stared at the other's face, the set line of the angel's lips, the focus in his eyes.
"You're serious?" he breathed. "But you've never -"
"Thought it was about time I tried," Gabriel cut in. Crowley could feel his eyes widening, knew he looked like an idiot, but he felt having an archangel offering himself up to a demon for a bit of buggering made it justifiable this once. "No tricks," Gabriel added in the face of Crowley's disbelief, voice stripped of its jovial undertones and left bare and deadly serious.
That spike of fear Crowley had felt before started pricking at him again, but it was overshadowed somewhat by the raging hard on the thought of getting to defile an angel had sprung into being.
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow and Crowley used both hands to grip round the angel's slacks in response. He tugged - an experiment - and the angel came willingly, body slamming flush against him. He let Crowley crush their lips together, let him suck and bite and scratch his shirt up so Crowley could pinch the smooth flesh of the angel's sides. The angel's - fucking hell, finally, finally, it was an angel Crowley had in his arms.
"God..." he moaned into Gabriel's skin.
"Not quite," Gabriel muttered back, for the first time not berating Crowley for the blasphemy, for the first time acknowledging his connection to the deity in question and holy shit this was wrong, this was so so wrong, something extra bad had to be happening if it had come to this.
But Crowley was too hard by then to care.
The Loki roleplay was fun, of course, and wow the uses the guy could think up for candy, but Crowley had been dreaming of playing up their angel/demon dynamic for centuries. To finally have the chance - Jesus fuck - no way was he passing that up!
He slid a hand up and gripped Gabriel's hair, yanking him back. Felt his cock shudder and jump when Gabriel let him.
"Oh, on your knees, angel," Crowley hissed. "And I'll show you heaven all right."
***
When they were done, the best twenty minutes of Crowley's life - and death - finally over, he crawled across the veritable swimming pool of cushions Gabriel had kindly clicked into being across the dank and unappealing floor and grabbed one of the larger, fluffier ones by the roaring fireplace. He gripped it to his chest and flopped onto his stomach.
"Jesus Christ I needed that," he gasped.
"Hmmm," Gabriel smiled, rolling up beside him. "He'd have taken it too, you know. What do you think he meant by turning the other cheek?"
He reached a bare arm across Crowley's back and slapped his bum. Not hard, just playful, and Crowley made a growling noise of appreciation in the back of his throat. His spent cock even made a valiant attempt to perk itself up again against the silk and satin beneath them. But in the end it was not to be.
"He never," Crowley argued, turning his head to meet Gabriel's wide - and if he did say so himself, particularly satisfied - grin.
Gabriel just wriggled his eyebrows and Crowley shook his head.
They let the heat of the flames wash over them for a bit and Crowley was surprised how comforting the fire felt with the other man's arm wrapped around him. Usually flames reminded him too much of Hell to ever leave him fully at ease, but he was more relaxed under the glow of this one than he had been for weeks.
Then Gabe gripped his arse tighter, raised his other hand, and let a strip of fabric dangle from his fingers. Crowley's tie. Who'd have thought such a thin piece of cotton could be so erotic? Just the memory of it circling the angel's wrists would be enough to fuel Crowley's fantasies for years.
"Suppose you'll be wanting this back," Gabriel said.
Crowley looked from the tie back to Gabriel.
"The rest of the suit would be nice, too," he tried.
Gabriel smiled, pulled back a little to take the tie in both hands and used it to lasso Crowley round the neck and into a kiss. It was incredibly slow, and much longer than Crowley was expecting, Gabriel's tongue caressing his mouth with a care the angel had never shown before, not once in their hundred-year acquaintance. Slow and soft and almost tender.
"Thanks," the angel breathed as he pulled away.
Then, before Crowley could even start to take that in, there was a snap and he was fully clothed on a luxury leather couch, a small table in front of him, suit pressed and clean as a daisy. The table held a crystal glass and decanter, both full of rich amber liquid. Crowley licked his lips, grabbed the glass and downed its contents in one.
He lay his head on the back of the couch with a sigh.
"Exquisite..." he murmured.
There was a laugh opposite him.
"You make the alcohol sound better than the sex."
"Says the guy scoffing chocolate like there's no tomorrow," Crowley answered, dropping his head to find a newly clothed Gabriel on a matching sofa the other side of the table. He was, as predicted, already half way through a Hershey bar, the silver wrapping, pulled back over his fingers, glinting as he raised it in and out the patch of light from the window behind.
Gabriel flattened his smile as Crowley watched.
"Maybe there won't be..." he answered, eyes flicking away.
Crowley leant forward and poured himself another generous helping of scotch, because god knew when he'd get another taste. He'd searched for years for a malt that matched it, but Gabriel's otherworldly creation had so far proved unsurpassable.
"So what is it?" he asked, leaning back again to take a sip and stretch an arm out behind him along the sofa's edge.
"What?" Gabriel asked, voice thick with chocolate.
"The colossally stupid thing you're planning to do that's got you trying out all things new before it's too late," Crowley elaborated.
The angel met his eyes for a moment. Then swallowed hard and dropped his head, dissolving the candy without finishing it. His face looked drawn suddenly, eyes dark and shadowed. Tired, but also resolved.
"Oh shit," Crowley started. He'd seen expressions like those before - it was the look of someone there was no point bargaining with, the look of someone who couldn't be tempted because they'd found their path and were sticking to it. "It's worse than that, isn't it? You're gonna do something sickeningly noble."
Gabriel gave a soft smile.
"Me, noble?" he joked, looking back. "Nah. Nothing so Christian. I'm just..." He shrugged. "I'm just gonna have a little talk with my brother, that's all..."
Crowley stared, previous derision sticking in his throat. He tried to swallow the growing fear back again but it seemed this time it was here to stay.
"The voyeuristic, nerdy one you mean?" he asked eventually, voice strained and vaguely desperate. "Who can't shadow a guy for shit?"
Gabriel's eyebrows locked together for a moment, then cleared into a hum of laughter.
"Castiel? No. No, he's MIA right now..." His brow creased again for a moment in what Crowley thought would have looked remarkably like concern on anyone else. But not this guy... right? "We both know which brother I mean," the angel continued, that cloud of sobriety passing over his face again. "Don't worry, I'll leave your name out of it."
Crowley dropped his eyes to the half empty glass in his hand and swirled the amber inside. He suddenly had no taste for it.
"So this is it then," he sighed, placing the glass on the table. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled back. "Aren't you meant to blow a horn or something?"
One corner of Gabriel's lips flicked up.
"I think you did admirably," he replied. "Though if you want to go again, I've got some more flavoured condoms in my pocket."
"Why don't you just not?" Crowley blurted out before Gabriel was even finished, making the angel blink in surprise. "Screw your brother, stick it out here, and don't do it."
Gabriel held his gaze for a very long time after that, enough to make Crowley hold his breath, enough to make the heart that wasn't even his skip a few beats. And oh, for the love of all that was unholy, when exactly had he become so pathetic? When exactly had an angel become the one thing in this rich, bountiful world he felt any sort of connection to and, more to the point, why did that even matter?
"I have to," Gabriel breathed into the silence.
At least he sounded apologetic, that was nice.
Crowley nodded, pursing his lips.
"Well then," he said. "It'll be a miserable old world without you."
"Hey, you never know. I might make it back," Gabriel grinned.
Crowley grinned too. Because he could fake it like the best of them when he had to.
"Yeah," he muttered. "So, what's next on your pre-emptive goodbye tour?"
"Just you," Gabriel confessed. "No time for anything else. In fact, I've probably missed my cue already, and it's gonna be a bitch spinning the clock back with Lucy running interference I can tell you. But I need your help with something first."
Crowley rolled his eyes, almost sappy feelings quickly washing away.
"I bloody knew it! I knew there'd be a price. Knew you couldn't just give away a good time without roping me into something, you sodding little -"
"Chill out, would you," Gabriel interrupted from behind him.
When Crowley turned he had to rub both his eyes with his fists to make sure he was seeing right.
No, his eyesight was fine. Gabriel really was decked out in a waiter's outfit, shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel, hair slicked back, with a thick, golden chain hanging down his chest.
What the -?
"I just need you to hold the camera," the angel continued, picking a digital one from the chest of drawers beside the door and - hang on. Since when had this place had such an elaborate chest of drawers? Come to that, what was a doorway doing there, and such a clean one too?
Gabriel held the camera out and Crowley walked over to take it, bemused.
"Excellent," Gabriel grinned once he had, clapping his hands. "Now let's get this show on the road..."
He walked into the centre of the room and as Crowley turned to watch he found the whole place transmogrified. It now looked like some kind of hotel room - bright colours against white furnishings. And the centre piece? A wide, king-sized bed with crimson sheets and a tasty looking blonde in chunky, transparent heels and little else. She was stretched out on her stomach across the covers, legs crossed above the pillows, breasts pressed tight together over a glossy magazine. Gabriel curled a hand under her chin and she looked up at him with a smile. He looked her over critically for a moment, pulled some of her hair down over her shoulders, stood back to look again, then nodded.
There was a sparkle in his eyes as he turned back to Crowley, the kind most put down to Trickster glee. But ever since learning the truth, Crowley had come to see it more as a type of childish excitement - that disbelieving wonder of a kid in a candy store, freed of the usual boundaries and able, in the absence of their parents, to try out everything once forbidden with no fear of repercussions.
"What do you think?" Gabriel grinned, waving a hand at the surroundings.
Crowley shook his head, incapable of stopping the grin tugging his own lips. The guy's enthusiasm was contagious, damn it, it was impossible not to be drawn in.
"I think you're fucking nuts," he answered. "What is this?"
"My legacy," Gabriel answered, smile somehow growing stronger and sadder at the same time. "Now just hold that thing straight would you? And don't try and pretend you haven't done this before."
Another raised eyebrow and Crowley bit back a chuckle. Fair enough. He was a businessman at heart and, well, it would have been stupid not to get in on this kind of action somehow. All those girls, like that blonde on the bed, desperate to stay fresh just a little longer, young and impressionable, ripe and ready for the taking - it'd been too easy, really.
"All right," he shrugged, lifting the camera to his shoulder and looking through the viewer. "So you got your busty babe here, ravish ready. What are you supposed to be?"
Gabriel pulled a fake moustache from his costume's front pocket with a flourish and fixed it across his upper lip.
"Polish room service, of course," he replied in an absurdly theatrical European accent.
Crowley glanced at him over the lens.
"Don't you mean Hung-garian?"
Gabriel laughed out loud.
"I knew there was a reason I liked you."
***
He let Crowley keep the set when he left, and my, Little Miss Pornstar was very obliging.
For the next ten minutes anyway. After that the whole shebang vanished without warning, dropping Crowley back into the dark, grimy shack he'd started with. Fortunately, he was mostly done with the girl by then anyway.
He might have thought he'd imagined the whole thing, even, if it wasn't for the condom still in the fireplace, chocolate thoroughly removed.
It seemed a fitting epitaph as any for an archangel with a sweet tooth and pagan tendencies.
Aziraphale started scratching at the door about then and Crowley opened it and let him in, figuring he could use the company. He sat back in the rickety chair and patted the hound's head, pulled the magic coin from his collar and listened to the Winchesters replay Gabriel's message. Bloody morons, both of them, but also the most acclaimed hunters in the US, if not the world. All of which made them the last people on Earth Crowley wanted to cross paths with, particularly after the cock up with the Colt he'd been instrumental in arranging.
He looked back to the fireplace.
Then again, if needs must...
~fin~