A/N: This takes place during season 9 episode 16 "Blade Runners", but don't worry about spoilers. It's PWP, not much else.
I don't own any of the characters.
"Crowley, would you please. Shut. The hell. Up," Sam growled from the front seat of the Impala. He glared up at the King, jaw set and eyes burning with a fire that
had been kindled days ago and had steadily flared brighter every time Crowley opened his mouth. The demon never stopped talking, never quit with the wise-ass remarks, never relented on the flirtatious comments that were secretly driving Sam mad. Even with the knowledge that the demon spoke to everyone the same way, Sam still found that his nerves responded to the demon's every dirty remark as if it were directed solely towards him. His pride wouldn't let him admit to anyone just how much Crowley turned him on, and so, for what felt like ages, he'd had to make do, jerking off in the shower when no one was around, frustration never quite satisfied. Sam felt he had become increasingly obvious over the past week, sneaking glances, eyes traveling the length of Crowley's black-coated form, inhaling his scent whenever he was near, ears constantly pricked for the sultry tone of his voice. The suspicion had been growing that the King knew, and was subtly playing Sam, and now, with their gazes locked, just the two of them alone in that chill autumn forest, Sam knew without a doubt. The smug look on Crowley's face broadcast his thoughts better than telepathy; he was enjoying making Sam squirm.
The younger Winchester coughed lightly to clear his suddenly dry throat, and the knuckles gripping his cardboard box of files stretched thin and white.
"You look a little tense, Moose," Crowley said delicately, parting his lips just a hair's breadth. His brown eyes narrowed, calculating, and he stepped closer to lean against the car. In comparison to his dark garb and accentuated by the metallic black of the Impala's shell, Crowley's pale skin appeared ivory. His rough hands, linked together by the chain and cuffs, were smoothed, and his unshaved face was cast in a sharp relief, as if the light bent itself to fit around him. A timely breeze brought the man's smell to Sam's heightened senses; he smelled earthy, with traces of sulfur and whiskey. Sam forced himself to drag his eyes away, to look at the ground, the open car door, anything other than the wet dream standing before him. At the same time, he fought the urge to cross his legs, hoping to retain some semblance of dignity. Instead, he took a long, slow breath through his teeth, casting out a vague prayer that he wouldn't get a raging hard-on in front of the King of Hell.
Sam could practically feel Crowley's expression, could picture his cheeky grin without needing to see it. "Why so shy, Samantha?" came the teasing jab, sparking an automatic response in Sam's nerves, like an electric current. The nicknames, always the nicknames… Sam often dreamed of Crowley moaning them aloud as their hot, slick bodies moved together… But those thoughts weren't helping. Sam shifted the box towards his lap, berating himself for lack of control, tossing aside his false hope that Crowley wouldn't notice.
Chuckling, low and sultry, the demon closed the space between them, enough so that the front of his coat brushed Sam's knee. "Winchester…" he breathed, but Sam interrupted, pissed that the situation was spiraling out of his control.
"Crowley, we have work to do," he gritted his teeth, hating the way his voice shook. There wasn't much he could do to steady it, considering his heart was beating in his throat. He tried to focus on what needed to be done; the First Blade, Magnus, rescuing Dean, but he couldn't keep hold of anything unrelated to Crowley. It wasn't just a fleeting desire he felt towards the man, it was months, maybe years, of pent-up sexual frustration.
Sam had consciously realized he lusted after the King that night in the church. As he gave up doses of his own blood in an attempt to close the gates of hell, he had started to lose sight of his goal. Crowley became weaker, more deliciously human, stirring up the lust that Sam had been suppressing for ages, and he began to wonder if his task even mattered, whether heaven or hell were more important than the man bound to the chair in the center of that room.
All those unsatisfied urges came crashing to the present, years of foreplay adding up to a moment charged with thoughts that didn't need to be verbalized. Crowley knelt in front of Sam, holding out his chained hands as if asking for penitence. "Dean will be fine for now, Sam," he whispered, tongue flicking out to wet his lips in anticipation.
Shoving the box under the dash and slipping the key out of his pocket, Sam gripped the cuffs around Crowley's wrists and unlocked them, shaking hands making it difficult to fit the key. The moment they hit the ground, Sam shoved himself deeper into the car, dragging Crowley onto the front bench with him. He threw his arm around the the demon's shoulders and brought their mouths forcefully together, shoving his tongue against Crowley's in a heated wrestle for control of the kiss. Sam gripped the back of Crowley's neck; wide, strong hand squeezing lightly, the other at the small of his back, trying to pull him in closer, as close as they could get with their clothes on, and Crowley became pliant beneath his hands, letting him dominate. Sam turned his head to deepen the kiss and worked the other man's mouth with his own, barely breaking apart to allow himself a breath of air. His lips were glued to Crowley's, surprisingly soft and warm. The demon tasted like fine, old whiskey, and kissing him was better than drinking it straight, and Sam never wanted to stop.
It was Crowley who pulled back finally, and Sam took the opportunity to drink him in with his gaze. The King's pupils were blown, just a ring of dark hazel visible, his face flushed, and breath coming in a hot pant. Sam thumbed his jawline, enjoying the prickly feel of his facial hair, and he had to grin at the poetry of that scene. A gentle hand lovingly stroking the King of Hell's cheek… How domestic. How deliciously erotic.
Crowley exhaled against Sam's lips, black eyes managing to mock him as well as plead for more. He trailed a finger down Sam's thigh, murmuring as he dug his thumb into his kneecap, "If you don't move these stilts of yours, baby…"
"What'll you do, hmm?" Sam teased, curling his lip. Though his knees had never been a sensitive place, Crowley's pinch-hold sent a new thrill up his spine.
"Let's just say I won't play nice anymore," and the demon blinked the vivid, inky red membrane across his eyes. In response, Sam pressed his lips swiftly to Crowley's before he laid back against the seat, draping one leg off the edge so the other man had room to fully stretch out along his body. Their mouths met in another hot kiss, and this time Crowley hovered over Sam, pressing their groins together. Sam groaned at the feeling of the King's hardness rubbing on his own; it was electrifying, the heat, the solid weight of the other man, his earthy scent, already corrupted by the rank, sweaty stench of sex, the wet flavor of his mouth, it was so damn good. Sam grasped his hips, hauling them ever tighter as he bucked upward, drawing breathy, almost surprised moans from both men. Sam could feel himself approaching the edge already, getting nearer with every thrust, every wanton sound that tore from the demon's throat, but he wanted it to last longer, much longer.
"Crowley, wait," he gulped, pushing the other man back by the shoulders. "Not too fast."
Flushed, but smirking, Crowley sat back between Sam's legs, tracing circles on his inner thigh. "Not much stamina, eh, Moose?"
Sam sat up as well, reaching for Crowley's hand and placing flat on his thigh. "Shut up; just give me a moment."
Closing his eyes, Sam let his head fall back on the seat as he breathed deeply, fighting to control his raging libido. A smile graced his lips at the feeling of Crowley's fingers stroking the soft, exposed skin of his throat. His touch was warm, suggestive, and Sam's skin crackled almost painfully under the simply, light contact. Sam brushed his hair behind his ears, regaining enough self-control so they could continue. He opened his eyes to see Crowley's brown gaze, normally so hard and unforgiving, studying him intently, first alighting on his lips and then examining the rest of his face like it was a fine dessert.
"Have you ever done this with a man before?" he asked, tugging gently at Sam's belt.
Sam nodded. "In college."
"Good," Crowley said. "Virgins are no fun." With a wink, he shrugged back his shoulders, slipping off his overcoat in one fluid movement, and then began to loosen his tie. His eyes fluttered shut as he fingered the dark violet silk, as if the material was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt. Sam's fingertips itched in response to Crowley's show; he wanted to touch it too, and compare it to the texture of Crowley's skin, he wanted to take his sweet time undoing the buttons of his shirt and then run his fingers through the hair on his chest, moving down, lower, until he could make the King squirm under his hands…
Sam gently took hold of Crowley's wrists and pinned them behind his back, bringing them face to face. He bit the demon's lower lip and then bent his head to pull the tie the rest of the way off with his teeth. Crowley shuddered against Sam's body at the feel of the cool silk sliding over his skin.
"So how's this going down, Sammy?" Crowley breathed his hot breath into Sam's ear, causing him to growl in response.
"Patience, baby. Mmm… the things I'm gonna do to you…" he said, cupping the bulge behind the black material of his suit pants. "These need to come off."
He pushed Crowley back so he lay prone on the soft bench and went to work on his pants, yanking them, along with his shoes, off with little ceremony.
"Goddamn, Crowley, do you own any color besides black?" Sam leered at the sight of the demon's shadow-hued boxers. He trapped Crowley's knees between his own and stroked the other man's erection through the fabric, drawing an involuntary gasp, a raw, untamed noise.
Crowley unbuttoned Sam's flannel and pushed it over his wide shoulders, revealing his smooth, broad chest and arms toned through constant training and fighting. He dragged his palms flat against the Winchester's skin, feeling the strength contained in the taut muscles of his abs and sides, taking pleasure in the animal heat that rose from the blood pumping through his veins. The King could hear his heartbeat, could taste it when he laved his tongue over his jugular, the taste of life and sex and chaos, and the control it took to prevent himself from biting into Sam's soft flesh, from tearing skin and veins and sinews with his bare teeth just to see what would happen served to add another layer to the eros, a darker passion that increased the strength of their pleasure. Sam cried out, a keening whine, clutching Crowley to him, almost begging him to bite, to take him in an even more primal sense of the word.
With a satisfied chuckle, the King released his mouth from Sam's collarbone, where bruises would surely form later, and whispered in his ear, blowing a soft, heated breath into the outer curve. "Get on with the doing, Moose," he uttered, carding his fingers through the man's long hair and putting a suggestive pressure on the back of his neck.
Sam smashed their lips together in a quick, messy kiss before slipping his body between Crowley's legs. His boxers rapidly found themselves sailing towards the back of the car, and with little more prelude, Sam bent down and swallowed as much of the demon's cock as he could, causing his partner to moan at the wet, wet heat of his mouth. He licked down Crowley's length, stopping to gulp a mouthful of spit and pre-come, convulsing his throat around the sensitive head. Crowley moaned again, fighting his instinct to press the man's head down harder. "Ohhhh, Samantha…" he cried, twisting Sam's hair around his fingers, the strands so soft and smooth, so very feminine… His hair didn't fit with the rest of him, his body so hard from his manly trials, and yet his hair remained silky, wonderfully erotic to feel wrapped around his fingers, to tug and pull, and brushing lightly across his thighs with every bob of Sam's head. It felt so good, so good… The King knew much longer would unravel him, so he pulled the Winchester off with two light fingers hooked behind his jaw, leaving sloppy strings of spit connecting to Sam's mouth. Sam looked up at him with desperately blown pupils, palming himself through his pants, needing some sort of release.
"Come here," Crowley ordered, and Sam climbed gratefully into his lap, bringing their chests together in a crushing embrace and again slipping his tongue deep into his mouth. Crowley could taste himself in the other man's spit, salty, with a unique coppery flavor that resulted from the demonic power coursing through his body. "Sammy, tell me what you need," he muttered against the man's lips, panting, taking in the same air that he exhaled.
Sam growled back, vocals rumbling in imitation of a cat's purr. "Lay back, Crowley, let me fuck you, so hard… Oh, I need…"
They parted for an instant, Crowley procuring a bottle of lube, whether from somewhere in his coat or from thin air Sam didn't give a damn, as Sam finally tugged his own pants off and threw them half out the open window. He snatched the bottle from the demon's grasp and slicked himself up, watching Crowley sink into a comfortable position with one leg crooked against the seat and the other hanging off the edge, somehow managing to make it look intelligent and controlled despite his rock-hard erection and unfocused, lustful red eyes.
"Don't bother with prep, Moose, I don't need it," the King said, already panting in anticipation.
Hoisting Crowley's hips up to a better angle, Sam pushed in past the deliciously tight ring of muscle, and both men let out wanton groans at the pleasure shooting through their bodies.
"All the way, Sam!" Crowley dug his fingers into Sam's ass, bringing him in so their flesh smacked together. Sam started thrusting evenly, eyes screwed shut as he took what he needed from the King of Hell. Crowley adjusted so every thrust brushed past his prostate, and the small organ quickly tightened up, providing bursts of intense, electric pleasure, so good it almost hurt.
Urgent grunts and moans mingled with the sound of skin slapping skin, and the cold breeze that blew into the open car contrasted deliciously with the heat generated between their bodies. The dry, dead leaves littering the forest surrounding them effectively muffled their strangled screeches as they called out each other's names, and it was as if they existed separately from the rest of the world as months of tension were released in a climatic explosion of intimacy.
A few final, wild, unconstrained thrusts and Sam came inside of Crowley, with the King following shortly after. Sam collapsed on top of him and stayed there, both shuddering from their shared orgasm, unable to convince their quivering muscles to work.
Their sweat began to cool on their bodies, and Sam carefully withdrew, replacing the loss of that sensation with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that included as much tooth contact as tongue. Sam took his time, enjoying every last sensation of the King's hot skin, the intoxicating smell rising from his body, Crowley's natural scent plus the added odor of sex and leather from the car seat, the sweet flavor of his mouth, the glowing achievement born from ages of unfulfilled desire.
Fishing for the nearest article of clothing, lips still pressed to Crowley's jawline, Sam whispered, "There will be not a single mention of this, to anyone. Got it?"
Crowley hauled himself up, exhaling into Sam's ear. "Oh, Moosey... Only if you promise we can do it again."
And they sealed their deal with a kiss.