Set sometime after 6x10. Pick a point.
Erm, I hesitate in posting this, but oh well. Here it is. How the hell do you label this? What genres does it fit into?
Enjoy~
Hey wait. This has got some slash in it, kay?
It started with a kiss.
It started with a kiss because handshakes and signing yellowed scraps of parchment just weren't flashy enough. Besides, lemons were yellow. The sky was blue. The Rolling Stones were never going to die and demons sealed deals with kisses. Facts of life.
Neither knew of the repercussions it would have, forging a deal.
It started with a kiss, but it turned into something different. Something better? Something worse?
It was just a taste. Just a little taste of each other triggered something. Something different.
At first, neither Castiel nor Crowley could understand the niggling sensation in the back of their beings. It was itching and clawing, but it was the same for both of them. As time passed, it only became worse. The itching turned to burning and the clawing turned to shredding.
For one that was used to this, being in hell and all, it didn't matter much. The was just another passing thing. It wasn't until the angel appeared, looking haggard and downright needy, that the King of Hell realized that the feeling wasn't something to be taken lightly because as soon as he saw the widened eyes and the dilated pupils-the Grace inside flaring and squirming-his own blackened soul nearly exploded with energy. It was different and foreign. It was an energy fierce and powerful, unlike any other. Like a void, it sucked everything away and only left pure adulterated want.
Just a touch, it said, crawling up his senses. Just one touch of that thrumming celestial Grace and all would be well.
One more drop, it whispered through the heavenly mind. One more drop of impurity and power corrupted and it will be okay. Everything would be okay. Everything would be well. Nothing could go wrong.
Before he could pounce though, the damned angel-well that's not really correct, Crowley though absently, the angel being well, a connected creature of heaven and as such, not damned at all-held up a hand and restrained him against the chair he was sitting in.
"Kinky son of a bitch, aren't you, love?" He ground out through clenched teeth. It might have been a little hotter if the alpha Rugaru wasn't strung up along the wall clanking his chains together in a useless attempt to get away. It was battered and beaten and bleeding all sorts of disgusting things all over his nice, clean floor. Crowley scowled, "What do you want?"
"What have you done? What is this feeling I have?" The fury behind the angel's eyes grew, like a torrential rainstorm. His Grace flashed like lightning.
"How should I know?"
"You have done something to me. I wish to know what it is so that I can end it." All the while, through this short conversation, Castiel was slowly coming closer. Crowley didn't know if he knew he was doing such a thing, but it didn't much matter, because after a minute, they were practically nose to nose.
Crowley heard the voice in the back of his head this time, loud and clear. Take it.
So he did.
He crushed his lips to the angel's own. Immediately, there was relief. A surge of power so pure rushed through him. It stung and produced an ache so precise, he had to keep going. He felt his own power, his black soul, cry out and consume.
Crowley also felt Castiel's Grace writhe and try to get away from his blackened, filthy soul. It accepted him anyway.
They continued to kiss, if it could be called that. There was biting and scratching, sucking and hands nearly everywhere they could go. Castiel's holds on Crowley had fallen away minutes ago, as soon as their beings connected again.
Blood rushed. Power flowed. Bodies pressed together.
It was tainting them both, he realized. They were ruining each other, but it felt so right. The power of things so completely opposite clashed and wove together at the same time. It wasn't right, but it wasn't wrong. It couldn't be wrong.
As the two attacked each other with licks, nibbles, bites, kisses, scratches, and hair pulls, Crowley felt the beginnings of arousal bloom in his gut. He was not sure if it was because the angel's vessel was just extremely cute-and hey, they were practically snogging there-or if because the clashing powers between them, inside them were only reacting in a way so primal.
There was a moment of silent stillness where only the lights flickered and buzzed a bit. Crowley realized then that Castiel had stopped and was now staring at him with those eyes.
They were so blue, but they were wide and his pupils were dilated to the point where the only blue that could be seen was a faint rim around the deep black. For just a second, both sets of eyes flashed. One with the burning intensity of a Grace corrupted. The other with a dark so redredredredred.
(Usually, Crowley's soul was cold. So cold. Cold because he was dead. He was dead, a demon, and demons were supposed to hurt. The cold most definitely hurt. It was sharp and jagged.)
With Castiel's Grace making an appearance, it thrummed with life, but not-life all the same. The cold consumed the warmth, all the heat, from the absorbed Grace. His soul cried out, wanted more. It wanted to destroy more of the light. Feed me. Feed me. Feed me. Feed me. Feed me. Feed me again!
It shouted. That was the niggle from before. That was the beginning. That kiss.
"Well," Crowley said, gripping Castiel's chin and practically demanding the other continue to look at him. He cannot stand inattention. "Are you quite finished ravishing me yet?" He said smugly, as if he was not the one who began whatever it was they were doing.
The other being growled, jerked his head out of the King of Hell's grasp and said slowly, "Shut up," as if he owned the place. As if he owned the man he was straddling.
They kissed again, fierce and demanding. All sharp teeth and slick tongue. Castiel ran his hands down Crowley's body. One continued down further than his stomach and into his black trousers. He gripped and pulled, stroked and pulled again.
Crowley managed to pull himself out of the hazy cloud of ecstasy and power long enough to rumble out a swift 'not this way, darling' and stand them both up. The angel-tainted now as he was ha ha ha-wrapped his slender legs, around his waist and bit none too gently at his neck, drawing blood and lapping it up.
He carried them both to the examination table across the room. It was dirty and covered in blood and sharp things, but that was half the fun.
As soon as bare skin hit the metal table, a strong, cold hand pressed itself to Crowley's throat, and squeezed hard. His Grace surged and Crowley knew that this time, Castiel was rather lucid. His Grace was meant to destroy and kill, eradicate completely.
Crowley's mind shot back to when he realized that they were destroying each other anyway by even touching. They were linked together now. A strong iron chain binding them together. They'd never be able to be apart much now.
Castiel must have had revelation of the exact thing also because not moments after, he withdrew. A surge of wind and the sound of fluttering wings took him away, leaving only his blue tie behind along with a few buttons popped from his shirt. He must have grabbed the rest of his clothes before he left. "Pity, no souvenirs," Crowley said over to the Rugaru. It squirmed and rattled its chains.
He probably realized it was wrong, but it couldn't be. Together, they were too alluring to stop. They couldn't possibly just forget this happened. It would happen again. They both knew it.
Crowley sat back in his chair, zipped up his pants and drew a finger through a bleeding bite mark on his chest. He brought it to his lips. It tasted like iron and power. Power not his own. It tasted sweet, like Grace, but sour like something wrong and impossible and forbidden.
He smiled to himself, realizing that he'd have to find a way to turn this addiction into something he could use for himself, to get the upper hand. He silently buttoned his shirt up again, and glancing over to his left, mourned his tattered waist coat that was left in mere shreds on the floor of his workshop.
They're both addicted to each other. It's not apparent, really.
He'd be back. They were both damned now.
Thank you for reading.