Rated: M
Living with an archangel/Trickster/whatever-the-fuck-Gabriel is isn't easy.
(Even if it's only kind-of sort-of living, because Gabe just pops in whenever he wants, for however long he wants, and goes wherever he damn well pleases. It's like kind-of sort-of living with a cat, actually.)
It really isn't easy.
Like that time that Crowley opened the cabinets, expecting to see his Craig, and, instead, was almost flattened under an avalanche of Jolly Ranchers.
Or the other time, when Gabriel decided he wanted to celebrate Crowley's birthday, except Crowley's been a demon so long, he can't remember when he was born, exactly, so they ended up 'celebrating' for two whole months.
(Crowley still can't hear 'Happy Birthday' without wanting to sic one of his hounds on something. And we're not even going to touch on his feelings about birthday cake.)
It's not easy.
But the sex makes it completely worth it.
Like, right now, Crowley's sitting in a confessional that Gabe snapped up, and he's listening to the breathless voice from behind the screen.
(He can't see Gabriel, of course, but he's the King of Hell, darling, and he didn't get that far by not having at least a little imagination.)
"Bless me, Father, fo-for I ha-have sin-"
(Gabriel's voice breaks off into a throaty, porn-star moan, and it's all Crowley can do to sit there and listen, as Gabriel undoes himself.)
Crowley reaches up to loosen the clerical collar he's wearing (and isn't that ironic).
"Go on, darling." he drawls out. "Tell me everything."
