Author's Note: Inspired by a Tumblr post regarding Mark Sheppard's tattoos. There might be some inaccuracies here, because I only didn't do a whole lot of research, but given that there's magic involved I'm not sure it really matters. Yes, if you're wondering the titles are all from Jordin Spark's "Tattoo". It took me five years, but I finally found an application for this song. This first chapter is pre-series. Cross-posted to AO3.
Warnings: Slash (is this really a warning in the SPN fandom any more?), mild smut (nothing explicit), strong language.
Tattoo
by Judanim
Chapter One: "You're on My Heart"
To say that Crowley had an interest in magic was an understatement. It was something passed on to him by what little he could remember of his human life as Fergus McLeod, son of a witch and bastard extraordinaire. Normally demons only used magic at absolute need, using binding or summoning spells when there was no other way to deal with the situation. Some said it was because witches were too easily angered to be dealt with on a regular basis, but Crowley figured they just didn't have the people skills. He, on the other hand, was something of an adept, keeping track of his contracts with enchanted coins and keeping his enemies in check with hex bags. It made life much more interesting. Simpler too.
So when he heard in the mid-nineteenth century of a mystic in Tibet who had a very special way with ink, Crowley's curiosity was piqued. The instant he arrived in the woman's abode, he was not disappointed. She was the real deal, and she also knew precisely what he was.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, flashing his friendliest (which was a stretch of the term admittedly) smile. "I'm surprised, with a reputation like yours you'd think they'd be flocking to your doors. Perhaps it's for the best. Nothing ruins a good thing like everyone having it."
The mystic actually laughed, smirking in understanding. "What can I do for you?"
"Honestly? I just want to learn, though a little taste of your talents wouldn't hurt," Crowley said, sitting down cross-legged across from her.
"A demon making a deal. That's original." The mystic leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. This was a shrewd business woman, and the Crossroads King wouldn't have it any other way. "What would you like?"
"Cockney thugs are the best. So easy to get 'em going," Gabriel said when he and Crowley landed back in the demon's home in upstate New York.
Six months since his visit to the mystic, and today was the first time he'd seen the trickster since. All through their day of riling up London street gangs and watching the ensuing mayhem, Crowley was thinking about the art he'd been practicing, and how he wanted to practice it on Gabriel. Attempting to push the thoughts aside with a quiet clearing of his throat, he said, "One might even say too easy. It's been a long time since you've done something that simple."
Gabriel shrugged and popped himself over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of Craig and one of fruit brandy and two tumblers. "Bit rusty I guess. People are so conservative these days, sometimes it's hard to find work. So sue me."
The demon raised an eyebrow and accepted the glass of Craig Gabriel slid over to him. "Usually the more conservative the public gets, the crazier the private antics are. We both know that." He took a sip, then drank the whole bloody thing. Determination filled him, and he got into the angel's personal space. "What is it? Trouble at home with the goddess? I warned you about courting a being of destruction, didn't I?"
"Kali's not the problem. She's actually pretty relaxed, though I have a feeling we're both taking advantage of this open relationship thing." Gabriel finished off his own glass, then refilled both tumblers wtih a snap of his fingers. "Truth be told, I missed you. You need to stop working so hard, so I can spend months ravishing you, like the old days."
Crowley laughed, remembering how they'd spent a good quarter of the eighteenth century. The memories made him sigh, just a little. Good years the lot of them. Revolutions abounded, and deals were being made left and right. Most of them involving him, which is how he got his position. "That's the problem with being King. Can't philander around like I used to. Sorry love."
"Sorry doesn't quite cut it," Gabriel said, his hands snaking around Crowley's waist. "You've got to make it up to me."
He tried not to leap at the opportunity. "I'm sure I can think of something."
They went slow, for them anyway. Usually it was a pair of echoing snaps and away they went, all teeth and laughter and unbridled lust. This time Crowley took his time, peeling each article of clothing off the archangel, kissing and licking his way over every bit of exposed skin. In his way he had missed Gabriel too, not that he would ever admit it. Crowley had enough trouble with the fact that he and the angel were, in fact, lovers. Demons didn't have lovers. They fucked to slake their desires and went about their way. And just as Gabriel was a terrible angel, Crowley was sometimes as equally bad a demon.
"Don't tease me Crowles," Gabriel said, and he was actually whining, delicious sounds coming from his throat around his words. So Crowley eased up and let him have control of the situation, something that always ended well for both of them.
Gabriel returned the agonizing pace in kind, taking his time with removing the demon's clothing and pausing only when he pulled off Crowley's shirt. "What is this?" he asked, tracing the art etched into the demon's skin, a blue dragon wreathed in angry red flames adorning both shoulders and stretching down his left arm and pectoral.
"The gift of a Tibetan mystic. Did it for a lark really," Crowley said. He bit his lip, trying again to fight back his anticipation, and blew a lick of flame into Gabriel's face. "Of course being able to breathe fire can always come in handy."
The archangel didn't flinch at the flames. Instead he met Crowley's eyes, smiling mischievously. "It suits you. I take it you stole her technique?"
"Naturally."
A little moan escaped Gabriel's lips, and Crowley could see all the possibilities flash through those golden orbs of his. He leaned down and left a trail of bites and kisses along the tattoo before dropping to his knees in front of the demon. Crowley had to grip the bar for support, as Gabriel swallowed him whole. The demon thrust into his angel's wonderful mouth, only now letting himself think about how he wanted to test his newfound magic skills.
Before he could climax, Crowley pulled Gabriel off him and popped them into the bedroom, where he had his set of inks and needles set up (not that he'd been expecting or waiting for the trickster; never!). The archangel looked at the instruments, fingertips brushing the edge of the table where they sat, before turning back to the demon.
"You got something in mind, cupcake?" Gabriel asked, his voice low and honey-coated.
It took a surprising amount of effort for Crowley to answer, "I want to mark you." And then he almost cursed, because that was not exactly what he'd meant to say, but the words were out, and he couldn't take them back. Mostly because he actually meant them.
Gabriel wasn't surprised or offended or anything an angel should have been when a demon suggested putting a claiming mark on him. Instead he moved in close, pressing their (almost) naked bodies flush, chest to chest. "Mmm. As long as I get to return the favor."
Those were the last words Crowley had expected to hear, and they caused his non-beating heart to flutter. Fucking angels. "Of course," he said all the same. "Kali might be disappointed."
"She's already getting over it," Gabriel said, shrugging.
Even better, the angel actually sounded like he didn't care. Crowley suppressed the thrill of excitement that threatened to turn him into a giggling schoolgirl. He focused on the physical, on the nearness of Gabriel, running his hands down the archangel's back and kissing him slow and deep.
"Do you trust me?" Crowley asked when they broke for air.
"Said the demon to the archangel," Gabriel said, chuckling. He rested his forehead against Crowley's. "You know I do, cupcake."
Crowley kissed him again and guided him to sit down at the low table. With Gabriel's back exposed to him like a canvas, the demon knew what kind of mark he wanted to leave there. From his inks he selected only two colors, red and black, and mixed in the appropriate esoteric ingredients. He picked up his knife and slid the edge against his forearm, a trickle of blood springing forth. Crowley held the cut over the bowl of red ink, changing the shade to something dark and almost sinister. Belatedly the demon thought he should be wearing a smock for this, but every so often he didn't mind a mess (and as usual the angel was involved).
"Going to need you to tamp down your Grace, love, otherwise this isn't going to work," Crowley said while wiping off the knife.
Gabriel nodded, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. "Ooh, kinky. We haven't done that one in a while. When was that? Napoleon?"
"During his disastrous return to Paris, yes." Crowley smooth a hand down Gabriel's spine, feeling the Grace recede almost entirely, though a trace of its signature warmth and light still hummed quietly under the angel's skin. "This will probably hurt."
"Bring it on."
Never one to step down from a challenge, Crowley went about his work. He'd managed to figure out the mystic's process, something made much easier with a touch or two of demonic powers. The big lines came first, making thin, shallow cuts into the skin, followed by the ink, and then healing it all to seal the ink and keep the lines clean. To make it easier Crowley healed the cuts as he went, as soon as the ink went in, to minimize the pain for Gabriel.
Crowley was no artist, but he'd been practicing this one. Even so he was a little disappointed when the black outline was done.
"I'm sure it's awesome, Crowles, and you're not even done yet, right?" Gabriel said, reading his mind.
In the past Crowley would've argued that, not to mention been angry at the angel's presence inside his head, but today he was grateful. "Certainly not. This part will hurt worse though. You still all right?"
Gabriel twisted his head and nodded. "Don't worry about me. Just get on with it."
The demon noticed the way Gabriel had a white-knuckled grip on the carpet, knees bouncing ever so slightly. The angel was anxious, excited even, and that was an encouraging thought. So with more confidence he continued in his work.
Technology hadn't quite caught up to the supernatural abilities yet, so Crowley put the knife aside for the next part. To fill in the outline he would make small abrasions with one thumb, push the red ink into the wound with the other, and then go back to the first thumb to quickly heal it and set the ink. It was a methodical and time-consuming process, but what was time to them? The rhythm was steady, and soon Gabriel was leaning into his touch, fighting not to arch his back.
Crowley wondered how long it would take the archangel to pick up on the demon blood. Under normal circumstances the effects would have been immediate, but now it was diluted with the ink and being spread out over his skin instead of directly imbibed. He was less than halfway through when Gabriel finally sensed it.
The archangel's head shot up with a little groan as it hit him. "Crowles, you sneak," he said, breathless.
"Thought you might like that." Crowley paused his marking, laying a hand flat on Gabriel's back, feeling the two forces at war in his veins, Grace trying to eradicate the demon blood and failing.
Gabriel sighed and relaxed. "You know that it's never going away, right? It's a permanent part of my vessel."
The demon leaned forward and kissed the archangel's shoulder. "I was counting on it."
"Nngh. Please, Crowles, finish it."
He did as asked, his pace a little more hurried now, occasionally making mistakes and having to grab up the black again and fix them. Gabriel didn't miss it when he did, laughing just quietly enough to keep his shoulders from shaking.
Finally it was done, the dark ink gleaming in the candlelight. "Do you want to see it, love?" Crowley asked.
The archangel summoned the requisite mirrors himself. It took a bit of twisting and "Left. No your other left."-type comments, but it was worth it all when Gabriel actually saw the tattoo. His eyebrows shot up, taking in the red and black demonic wing that looked like something straight out of a Classical depiction of the Devil, and then he grinned. "You know turnabout's fair play."
Crowley couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement at that statement, though he tried not to let it show. "Inks are already mixed with the proper ingredients. Let your imagination run wild."
Normally giving the trickster that much free reign was a bad idea, but then again he was the only being other than himself that Crowley trusted. They traded places at the table, Gabriel snapping the mirrors away into the ether whence they came.
"No peeking," the angel said and nudged Crowley's chin, forcing him to face forward.
It was a bit agonizing, not being able to see what Gabriel was doing. How the archangel had withstood it, Crowley didn't know. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Gabriel was drawing, though the brief flashes of pain blurred the vision. The lines were smaller, strokes shorter and with a deeper curve than Crowley's had been. And then Gabriel switched long, sweeping movements, coloring in his lines no doubt. His Grace made it easier for him to heal, so he could do it with a fair bit more efficiency that Crowley could ever hope to. Not that he did.
Somewhere during the coloring, Crowley felt something different. It was like a cold burn under his skin, one that was slowly building and inescapable. The demon hissed as he recognized the sensation, having felt it before. Grace, except now it was woven into his meatsuit, like Crowley's blood was in Gabriel's vessel. It didn't fade either, constantly thrumming just beneath the surface no matter which way he twisted or turned, and to Crowley's mild surprise it felt good. Not just the conflict itself, because that always amused him, but also the fact that it was a part of Gabriel that would always be inside him, always with him. And it was even better knowing that the reverse was true.
"Fuck," Crowley found himself saying, neatly summing up his feelings on the matter.
Gabriel chuckled. "I think that's the most eloquent you've ever been, cupcake."
It took all of Crowley's self-control (what little of it that wasn't in tatters right now) not to turn around and maul the angel with his lips. He didn't have to wait long to get the opportunity though, because soon Gabriel was summoning the mirrors again and hauling Crowley to his feet.
"What do you think?"
It was beautiful, if a demon was in any position to call anything that wasn't violent or deadly beautiful, though Crowley supposed a representation of an archangel's wing probably qualified as at least one of those things too. A golden, multi-layered (six layers, if he was counting correctly) wing was spread across his back, mirroring Gabriel's demonic tattoo, so that if they stood side by side the two pieces would fit together almost seamlessly. Rather like the creatures that bore them.
"It gets better," Gabriel said, even though Crowley hadn't said a word. "Think about me."
Crowley smirked. "Trust me, angel, I'm thinking about you."
"No, actually think about me. Like, be concerned for my well-being or something."
The thought was surprisingly easy to conjure, which would've terrified a normal demon. Not Crowley. He was the King of the fucking Crossroads for a reason. As the question went through his mind—Is Gabriel all right? Alive? Still wearing pants?—the outline of the wing on his back glowed an unearthly gold, the angel's Grace rushing through his system and lighting him up from the inside.
"Fuck," Crowley repeated, because the term was apt again. He chanced a glance at Gabriel. "Think it works both ways?" This was definitely not an aspect of the spell he'd thought through.
Gabriel shrugged and quirked an eyebrow, no doubt thinking something similar to Crowley. And then he grunted as his wing did the same, only his went a deep, angry red, matching the true color of demon blood. "Well that's interesting. I think the tattoo's trying to tell me you're horny."
"It took all that for you to figure that out?"
"Just making an observation."
Crowley growled and shut up the angel with a kiss.