A/N: This is the product of a fic trade with the lovely Arizo. I recommend that you go read her stories. Do it…doooo it…Also a big thanks to my friend Amanda for the general outline. This is my first M rated fic so chew me out if you have suggestions on how to better this type of writing.. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine…which is ever so unfortunate
Meg knew she was dead the minute she saw the burned matches.
"You what?!" she choked out, an unfamiliar emotion closing around her throat and restricting her breath; fear.
"Don't worry, he never showed," Dean answered hurriedly.
"What do you mean he never…"
"Do you see him anywhere? He stood us up," the hunter snapped, becoming annoyed.
Fool. "Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm outie. He could still-"
"Show up at any time." The easy Scottish drawl stopped the heart of Meg's meatsuit. Not like that was going to matter for the girl in the long run. "Hello boys. Sorry I'm late." Crowley's dark eyes fixed on the other demon's chocolate brown ones. They conveyed a silent message; I've got you now.
As she drove the Impala through the glass Sucrocorp sign, she thought she might just be off the hook…if she was lucky.
She stepped out of the car and onto unnaturally green grass and shattered glass, two jugs of Borax gripped in her hands.
Two silenced shots. She felt the bullets tears through the skin of her chest, one cracking a rib ad throwing her momentarily off balance. She had never been one to believe in luck.
The Borax steamed and corroded the skin off the faces of two unfortunate Leviathans. A hot tide of pleasure rose in her gut at their agonizing screams. Now, she mused, making a run for the front doors, would be a damn good time to start believing in it.
"OOF!" She landed on her back in the flowerbeds with a sharp gasp, not expecting the sudden change in position.
"The King of Hell will see you now," a demon spoke in a cruel monotone, flashing his cold black eyes. Meg drew in a deep breath, likely the last one she would ever take. So much for luck. As the weak underlings dragged her to the Pit, she couldn't help but demean them just a little; it had taken two of them to thrown her down.
The reverberating clang of steel jolted Meg from her reverie. She craned her neck to see who it was, though she already knew.
"You should really shower more often," she said with a smirk. "You reek of booze and cheap sex." The King of Hell regarded her emotionlessly.
"Good news," he said as smoothly as ever, pulling an apron over his head. "The Winchesters succeeded." He tied the straps and strode over to stand beside the metal chair Meg was tied to. "But Dean has…unfortunately…taken an extended vacation to Purgatory." The demon leaned down so his lips were millimeters from Meg's. "So you're mine now, sweetheart."
Meg swallowed thickly, fear once again clogging her throat.
"How erotic."
Crowley smiled haplessly and straightened.
"And how dull you really are, Meggy dear." He picked up what looked to be some sort of a pig poker; one of Alastair's old tool undoubtedly. If she had had a pulse, it would've been beating out of her chest. Her mind raced, desperately trying to come up with an escape plan. Crowley positioned the poker over her navel.
"You know I'm a masochist, right?" Crowley paused, cocking an eyebrow at the weaker demon. Meg blinked. Where in this horrid place did that come from? "So if you're looking to hurt me…" Her mouth seemed to move of its own accord. "You'll get nowhere using that."
Crowley stared for a long moment at the demon before him, making her squirm slightly, before lowering the tool. For a split second, Meg irrationally thought it had worked. She was off the hook.
The King of Hell turned his gaze t the rod in his hand, sensually running his fingers up and down it.
"Good," he said softly. "Then you'll thoroughly enjoy this." He raised the torture device again.
"But really!" gasped Meg desperately. "If your motive is to cause me pain-" She was silenced when Crowley pressed his finger against her lips.
"It seems as though I'm causing you a good amount of distress…right now." The female demon attempted a retort, but her words failed her as Crowley's finger began to drift downward from her lips, along her throat, between her breasts and lower still. Crowley lifted his eyes to meet Meg's. "And you know that women aren't really my forte, right?"
Meg took a shaky breath.
"Naturally. Everyone down here, up there and everywhere knows that."
"I'm sure they do. The rest of this meatsuit, however…" His finger traced her hipbone. "Seems to be ignorant of that fact." The demon shifted his thumb to caress her inner thigh, Meg's sharp breaths beginning to sound like pants.
"Dick's death put me in a good mood…" the demon went on, but Meg barely heard him. His fingers were so achingly close to her…
Crowley suddenly gripped her thigh in a vice grip and leaned down so his lips were once again millimeters from Meg's own.
"So I'll indulge you."
Bright red blood trickled down Meg's chin and stained her teeth as she continued to bite down on her lower lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy. Three of Crowley's fingers thrust in and out of her with a brutal force, each sending a bolt of pleasure up her spine. For a gay man he's sure good at this.
The King of Hell's eyes were trained on Meg's face, a light smirk on his lips as though he considered this to be a form of torture in and of itself. Had Meg been in her right mind she would've seen that that was exactly what this was and would've noticed that the demon reclining nonchalantly against her chair had been continuously twirling that pig poker in his free hand the whole time.
Any remaining shred of a rational thought fled Meg's mind as Crowley gave a cruel twist of his wrist, crooking his fingers. Meg's back arched, pushing down on his hand and she couldn't stop the moan from escaping her lips. From somewhere far away she heard Crowley chuckle, but didn't really register it as the other demon had picked up the pace.
"Crowley…" she groaned.
"What's that love?" he asked as though they were chatting over drinks at a bar.
"I…please..." The other demon smirked.
"You always did beg so nicely." He added a fourth finger and thrust so hard Meg could feel herself bruising. Somewhere in the still sane part of her mind she wondered if she really had been lying about being a masochist.
She was unbearably close, Crowley could tell, so he stopped. He didn't, however, have any intention of leaving her hanging. Come, now even he isn't that mean. Withdrawing his fingers, he tightened his grip on the pig poker and stabbed her, the pointy end easily puncturing the soft flesh of her stomach.
Meg hadn't even had time to comprehend the loss of stimulation before she was sent flailing over the edge by something she didn't quite register. The shock of her orgasm combined with a sharp pain in her side became a raging wildfire burning through her system, whiting out her mind and drawing stars before her vision.
Crowley wiped his fingers on his trousers and surveyed the blood on his poker, Meg's spent panting in the background like music to his ears. Upon feeling the female's gaze on him, he shifted his to meet hers.
"Was that good for you, darling?" Still incapable of forming coherent words let alone sentences, Meg said nothing. "Good," Crowley murmured, averting his gaze. "Savor it." With that, he dropped the rod back on the tray and sauntered out, the steel door slamming sut behind him.
El Fin