Angels were supposed to hate demons.

Demons were supposed to hate angels.

That's how it was supposed to work, how it had worked, ever since the serpent tempted Eve, and Eve was like "Well, what could go wrong?" and God was like "GTFO MY GARDEN YOU HEATHENS".

So maybe what they had wasn't love.

Maybe what they had was hate, because they were both a little too broken, a little too twisted, a little too lost, for love, so hate was what they had to work with.

Crowley smirked at the writhing angel beneath him. "What do you think your pet hunter would say if he could see you now, darling?" he mused, trailing a finger in the empty space he knew the angel's wings would be, if he could see them.

"Shut up, demon, before I make you." Castiel ordered, but the words were breathy and unsure.

"What's bets that he'd just look at you, all betrayed like? Poor, poor Winchester, nothing but daddy issues and broken bits, how could you do something like this to him, playing with his delicate feelings like you did, angel?"

"Shut. Up." Castiel ground out, and this time, there was power behind the words, and, suddenly, it wasn't Crowley on top anymore.

"He doesn't…he doesn't understand, I'm doing this for him…for us. I…he needs-"

The angel's voice was desperate, and there's nothing a demon relishes more than desperation.

"Uh-uh, angel, darling." Crowley reprimanded in a low purr. "No talking about the Winchester boys when we're in bed."

"I was merely-"

"'Merely' nothing. Right here, right now…I own you, angel. Vessel, and souls, and all. Come on now, let's have a kiss, shall we?"

So maybe it wasn't love.

Maybe it was hate.

So maybe Crowley was a demon and Castiel was an angel and love could never be in their cards.

They sealed the deal with a kiss, all teeth and lust and hate.