Surprisingly, dating Crowley is easy, almost like breathing.
Crowley is patient. He doesn't get annoyed when Castiel stutters or babbles on nervously. He just smiles and lets Castiel gather his bearings. And for a while it's absolutely perfect.
That first Friday night they spend the night completely ignoring the movie as they sat on the couch, kissing and groping, exploring each other's bodies. It's sweet, loving, the kind of moment pure of any worry or apprehension.
Crowley has an apartment in town, and it's almost refreshing—Castiel has grown so used to subsisting on ramen and whatever the college cafeteria was serving. He had almost forgotten what a kitchen looked like.
"It's nothing much," Crowley says with a shrug, "But it's home." And Castiel has to agree. Though sparsely furnished with an old couch, a table and chairs—and of course the bed—Crowley makes up for it with dozens of pictures of family and friends.
"This is my brother, Sammy…though don't tell him I called him that, he likes to go by Sam now." Crowley's pride is evident as he shows Castiel a picture of a tall, shaggy brown hair young man who was well on his way to dwarfing his very tall older brother.
Castiel gives him a small smile. He greatly admires Crowley's loyalty to his family, and mentally adds it to his list of things he likes about him.
And he likes a lot of things about Crowley: his green eyes, the freckles on his nose, how he can fix any car when he set his mind to it. The list is almost impossibly long. It almost leads Castiel to believe that Crowley , must be in fact, a hallucination. A mad, wonderful, perfect hallucination.
But Castiel is loving it.
The first time they have sex it's awkward but mostly sweet. They search out the planes of their bodies, discovering and fumble eagerly to unclasp jeans and pull off tee-shirts.
Castiel needs the contact, desires it so much so that he barely takes his mouth away from Crowley's. He has to remember to breathe, to pull away for air, and the dizziness he feels only makes him want Crowley all the more.
Castiel is naked now, eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown. His lips are swollen and pink, shining from their kisses. His cock is rock hard, begging for attention, but he doesn't touch it—imagines instead that since Crowley has not given him permission and he is not allowed such freedom. The thought sends a jolt of a pleasure through him, white hot and disorientating.
"Crowley—" He begs, although he doesn't know what for.
"I've got you, Cas." Crowley mutters, and actually pushes Castiel back onto the bed.
Oh God, Oh God. How can Crowley not be a Dom?
Castiel falls back onto the bed, the sheets and pillows cushioning his fall. He stares up at Crowley, eyes wide and transfixed, his whole attention held by Crowley, as if by gravity. Unconsciously he spreads his legs wide, an invitation, and the look Crowley gives him after he does that is completely worth it.
"Fuck." Crowley hurries with the rest of his clothing, until all Castiel can see are miles and miles of smooth, unblemished skin and muscle. Crowley seems so powerful, and even in the dim light of his apartment he looks amazing. Castiel suddenly feels incredibly vulnerable—and not because he's naked.
But still, Castiel cannot help but be fascinated. He watches, almost frozen as Crowley crawls forward until he hovers above Castiel, eyes almost predatory.
He sucks one of Castiel's nipples, playing with them both until they're pink and wet, swollen and sensitive. Castiel arches into the touch, hands desperately coming up to cup Crowley's face and silently asking for more. Please, please, please!
"Turn over."
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Castiel wants to believe that was an order. Was that an order? Oh God.
Immediately Castiel rolls over, lifting his ass up—the subtle curve and whiteness visible even in the darkness. He can hear the bottle of lube Crowley bought being snapped open, and the feel Crowley pulling his cheeks apart, exposing the firm ring of muscle to the cool air. Crowley breathes on it, and the feeling of hotness on the most intimate of places has Castiel tensing, and wailing.
"Fuck, you're perfect." Crowley whispers, and the next thing Castiel knows, a finger is teasing his entrance, wet and firm, trying to gain access inside. He whimpers, but raises his ass higher in obligation, desperate to work through any and all pain—if only for Crowley.
The finger works its way inside, bringing with it a slow burn. Castiel hasn't done this to himself in a while, fingering himself open with raw need, so it's difficult, hurts almost when another finger works its way in alongside the first—but worth it when Crowley finds that special place inside him that sends a wash of delirious pleasure through him.
The fingers never let up, scissoring and stretching that tight ring of muscle, slicking the rim of his hole and making it wet and pink, coloring from the girth and width of them. A third one finally pushes in, filling Castiel to a near breaking point. He bites his lip to keep from calling out, worried that Crowley will stop if he thinks Castiel is in too much pain.
"That's it." Crowley soothes, working his fingers in and out of Castiel's hole, stretching him open wide and deep, hitting his prostate with every jab. He pulls out suddenly, and the sound of a condom being ripped open follows.
Castiel's heart beats loudly. This is really happening. Crowley is going to fuck him.
"You ready?" the voice behind him asks, and Castiel hurries to gasp out a yes, he pulls his cheeks apart with both hands, welcoming the awaited thickness of Crowley.
The tip nudges Cas's rim tentatively, catching on it and finally spearing in slowly, spreading him open even more. Crowley bottoms out carefully, not wanting to hurt or tear Cas, and for that Castiel is partially grateful. Rationally he knows it's for the best--but another part of him wants Crowley to whisper things that would make him blush in his ear. He wants Crowley to force himself in with one dragging thrust.
Crowley pistons in and out, setting a consistent pace that hits Castiel's prostate with every strike. Castiel meets his every thrust, his breath coming in ragged breathes as Crowley reaches around to curl his hand around Cas's neglected cock. He can feel the oncoming wave of release, the room is dark and he's dizzy trying to hold back from coming, waiting for Crowley's approval, the allowance to come.
But then Castiel realizes that Crowley has never asked that of him, that there are no such rules and structure in place—that Crowley doesn't expect that of him. Castiel can come whenever he wants.
It doesn't make sense, but that thought suddenly makes the world seem huge, scary almost—as if there were a million and one decisions to be made and Castiel has no idea how to even begin to handle them. He wants the simplicity of an order, the salvation of a direction.
He comes despite the onslaught of anxiety that floods his system, and clamps down around Crowley, creating a tight vise of muscle that milks Crowley for all he's worth. Crowley swears loudly at that and comes almost directly after, thrusts becoming uneven until he collapses with a weary smile.
He's gorgeous, grinning at Castiel like that—sweaty and satisfied, even pleased at what they've just done. Castiel manages to find some happiness in knowing he has made Crowley happy…
But all the same, he can't help but long to serve in another way.
They're sitting together one night, working side by side in silence. It's a quiet Monday night, one of the many Castiel has grown accustomed to—where Crowley sits on the couch working on his math homework, and Cas playfully throws his legs across Crowley's lap while he reads.
It's almost even domestic, as domestic as two college guys can get that is, but Cas enjoys it all the same.
Crowley chuckles, eyes bright as he stares down at his papers, and Castiel smiles at the sound, odd though it is. Crowley almost never laughs at his math homework—math something never to be laughed at in Crowley's opinion. Math was a villain, the opponent—the enemy that often defeated Crowley more than Crowley defeated it.
"What's so funny?" Castiel asks, and reaches out for the paper with curious, wanting hands.
"Nothing." Crowley answers, "Just my math test."
"Since when is your math test funny? I thought you hated that class."
"Well we can't all be a boy wonder math genius can we, Cas?" Crowley replies, amusement tinting his warm voice. He punches Castiel playfully in the shoulder, and for a brief moment Castiel images the blow to be reigning down on bare flesh, his ass perhaps.
He can't help it, he shivers. His pupils must be blown, dark—and clearly giving away his train of thought. On reflex he ducks his head to avoid Crowley's line of sight.
Crowley continues on without noticing, and Castiel can't help but let out a little sigh of relief.
"Okay, okay I'll tell you what's so funny—my professor has this teaching assistant who grades the tests. I haven't seen him, so I just call him Mr. Green Pen. I think he believes he's going to give him an inferiority complex every time he gives me a failing grade so he compensates by drawing little cartoons in the margins to cheer me up. It's actually kinda sweet. You better step up your game Cas. You might have competition…"
"Give me that!" Castiel cries, leaning forward like an eager child. Crowley holds the paper just out of his grasp though, and with an exasperated glance Castiel rolled his eyes.
"You jealous Cas?" Crowley teases, "Maybe it's time I get some special treatment around here? What are you willing to do Cas?" Crowley waggles his eyebrows suggestively and—Jesus Christ is he even aware of how dominant that sounds?
"I can't be jealous of myself, idiot." Castiel retorts, "You never told me you were in calculus."
"Wait…you're Mr. Green Pen? You're the teaching assistant in Professor Singer's class?" Crowley looks a bit shocked, and it's understandable, after all, he's just discovered his young, eighteen year old boyfriend has been grading his papers…and doling out his not quite successful grades in consequence.
Castiel shrugs, "Maybe I can tutor you?"
"Damn you're amazing…" Crowley simply says, and pulls him into a kiss, fierce and demanding , a sign that Castiel should cancel his plans for the next few hours—because Crowley definitely has other ideas.
