Chapter Twenty
The sky had darkened to a moody blue. The first weak rays of moonlight streamed through the gauzy curtains, casting a pallid silver glow over the bed where Crowley still lay. Murron, heart thundering in her chest, stood at the threshold, the reality of what she was about to do washing over her. Then, with a sigh that seemed to release all of that self-doubt into the ether, she went to the bed.
Crowley looked up when she approached, his expression beginning to show annoyance, but the light in her eyes seemed to give him pause. Murron gazed down at him, her entire body radiating with the heat Kali had granted her. Gently, she reached out to brush his hair from his forehead, smoothing the wild tempest his restless fingers had produced. For a long moment, they held each other's gaze. Crowley shifted into a sitting position, Murron's soothing caress still on his skin. He stared at her curiously as she knelt between his knees and cupped his face between her palms. With slow deliberation, she angled her face towards his, dropping delicate kisses against his parted lips. Before he could return the kiss, she'd moved to brush her lips against his jawline up to behind his ear. She smiled against his skin when he drew up from the contact.
"Murron," he breathed, surprise in his voice. "What are you doing?"
"What I should've done a long time ago," Murron replied, drawing up and pressing her body against his. "I'm taking you up on your offer of making things...interesting."
"Oh."
Satisfied with that, Crowley encircled Murron's body with his arms, pulling her closer to him. The kiss started soft, then increased in urgency. Soon, Crowley had pulled Murron onto the bed and was now above her. Murron stroked his face with the backs of her hands, letting the glow of her love for him shine in her eyes. In the semi-darkness, his expression was difficult to read, but she didn't need to analyse his part anymore. She let her own love guide her, her own passion to direct her caresses. This was her moment, her time. No longer would she deny herself the feel of him against her, to savor the curve of his lips when he kissed her. His voice in her ear, that deep husky sound that had weakened her knees more times than she could count, the feel of his tongue sliding across the expanse of her exposed throat. She clung to him, but gone was the desperation that had for so long fueled her desire. He was willing to please her, and she was prepared to do the same for him. The heat between them was mutual.
Crowley drew his hands down her sides, his thumbs just brushing the rise of her breasts and making her arch into his touch. Murron lifted her arms above her head, her breath coming in sharp gasps whenever his fingers grazed her naked skin. Soon, those warm, questing hands were beneath her blouse, fingers creeping below the cups of her bra to tease the quivering flesh there. He bent his lips to the hollow of her throat, kissing a path down her skin as his hands shifted her blouse to further expose her to his touch. He drew it over her head and along her raised arms, smiling when she flung it aside. In another moment, her bra was gone as well, tossed over the edge of the bed to join her blouse.
Murron inhaled deeply when Crowley's warm lips brushed across her right nipple, his fingers kneading the left with remarkable tenderness. She slid her fingers through his soft hair luxuriously, finally satisfying a months' long urge to do so. There were no words for the happiness welling inside her, so she contented herself to simply feel. To feel him, the heat of his kiss on her skin, the slick softness of his tongue as he it drew across her breasts. While she also wanted to please him, she allowed herself to be selfish. She'd more than earned it.
Murron coaxed Crowley to look up at her. Mutely, she telegraphed her desire to feel him, skin to skin. He smiled, a secretive curling of his parted lips. They sat up together, Murron's fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt as he tugged his tie free. Murron leaned forward and kissed his collarbone, her hands exploring every inch of his now bare chest. She loved the feel of his body, how soft he was and how real he was. As she lavished his skin with her lips and tongue, he unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. Murron pushed at the waist of his trousers, exposing the shallow dip between his hip and his thigh. In turn, Crowley pulled at her skirt, hands creeping beneath the waistband of her panties and sliding them off her as well.
Now completely naked, Crowley pulled Murron into his lap. She curled her legs around his hips, drawing in a sharp gasp to feel him press against her insistently. He smothered her cry with his mouth, kissing her with more passion than ever. He shifted her against him, grunting into the kiss when he slipped inside her. Murron gripped him tightly with her thighs, pulling him deeper into her. The moved gingerly at first, Murron still adjusting to him, then they began to rock together in a steady rhythm. Murron rolled her hips against him, pressing her breasts to his chest eagerly. He held her to him, suckling her neck between heated kisses.
Their movements grew harder, each thrust of Crowley's hips steadily jarring Murron's body against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly as wave after wave of intense pleasure rocked through her. She felt his teeth bite into her shoulder, causing her to cry out in a mixture of arousal and surprised pain. His arms gripped her about the waist beneath her arms, one hand tangled in her copper hair possessively. As he moved upward into her, he gave her hair a sharp tug that forced her head back. Lost in the sensation of him inside her, Murron leaned back in his grasp, clinging to his shoulders for support.
In an eyeblink, he had her on her back and was above her, continuing to thrust deeply into her. It was almost to much to bear and soon, Murron felt her body tighten around him. She opened her mouth on a silent scream of pleasure, shuddering as her orgasm moved through her. Crowley stilled himself inside her, holding her to him tightly, and bit into her skin once again. Even as her pleasure subsided, his was just beginning. He resumed his steady rhythm, rolling his hips to plunge deeper and deeper inside her. Then, when Murron felt him pulsate inside her, Crowley threw his head back, his eyes flashing their crossroads red glare as his pleasure mounted and emptied into her. For a moment, the sight of those demonic eyes frightened her, only to be quickly replaced by a second orgasm.
Their bodies hot and slick with sweat, Crowley moved out of and off Murron, slumping beside her. Murron took a few moments to catch her breath, the sensation of his filling her still throbbing between her thighs. Her hair stuck to her cheeks like seaweed; she brushed it away with a shaking hand and turned onto her side to face him just as he rolled onto his back. His arm extended beneath her shoulders and she shifted closer to him, pressing a kiss to his chest. They lay together in silence, their labored breathing slowly calming.
After a second, less exhausting silence, Crowley asked in a thick voice, "What the hell did you do downstairs?"
Murron laughed, the sound dying into a sheepish groan. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"I had a visit. From Kali. She...well, she opened my eyes, let's just put it that way. Don't badger me for information right now; I want to enjoy this."
"Fair enough."
Murron closed her eyes contentedly, smiling when Crowley's fingers began to absently stroke her uppper arm. She stretched an arm over him, the other tucked between them comfortably, and nestled her head into the hollow where his shoulder and chest met. Idly, she ran her hand over him, enjoying the rise of his middle and mentally likening it to a small hill. "I like that you're not stick-thin," she remarked suddenly. Crowley shifted his head against hers; she could feel the puzzled frown appear on his face.
"Did you just call me fat?"
"No, I said I'm glad you're not stick-thin. Completely different thing."
"You called me fat."
"I did not." Murron gave his belly a gentle pat. "Besides," she added casually, "you're more chubby than fat."
"Thanks," Crowley replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Murron grinned. The comfortable silence fell between them again. Crowley's fingertips continued to run their lazy trails up and down her arm, the gentle action lulling her to sleep beside him. The warmth of him, pressed so close to her naked skin, the way his leg lay casually entangled with her own, all of these things soothed her. She tried not to think about how amazing it could have been if she'd gone through with this sooner. Part of her also believed it wouldn't have been nearly as fulfilling. The feelings she'd had for him in the beginning had been idealistic. As the truer emotions replaced those girlish fantasies, she knew it wouldn't have been enough then. No, it happened at precisely the right time.
Murron gave Crowley a gentle squeeze. When he made a surprised noise, she chuckled quietly. She didn't care how undignified it was to cuddle the King of Hell: it was her moment, her time, and she would do whatever she damn well pleased with him. It came as no surprise that, by being beside him in such an exposed, vulnerable state, she felt herself becoming aroused again. She slid her bare leg up his suggestively as her wandering hand dipped beneath the covers and brushed across him. Crowley started up at the bold move, then turned fully towards her with a devilish smile on his handsome face. Murron managed a small titter before his kiss silenced her. In another tangle of limbs and hushed words, the unlikely lovers joined again and again as the night wore on, slowing only when the first pink blush of dawn lightened the bedroom windows.
It was late afternoon when Murron lifted her heavy head from the pillows. Her entire body felt deliciously sore and only a little abused. She smiled dreamily and hugged the pillow to her face with a pleasant little sigh. She was conscious of being alone, which would have bothered her if they hadn't spent the whole night wrapped up in each other.
She stayed in bed for a bit longer, then rolled out from under the tangle of sheets. She groaned when the muscles in her legs refused to support her, forcing her to guide herself along the wall to the bathroom. Shower first, then business. There really wasn't time to enjoy the afterglow; those witches were still out there and she hadn't spent the night in carnal bliss just to forget about it come morning. The strength she felt now would aid her considerably, and easily lead to a victory. These thoughts followed her into the shower, the hot water granting her further determination as stability returned to her legs.
Murron found Crowley in the cellar, poring over the grimoire with a studious expression. The angel sword hung from his belt, the blade peeking out from beneath his suit jacket. She moved to stand behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder comfortably. He reached around and gave her a small pat. "What're you looking for?" Murron asked, peering at the illuminated pages.
"Seals. Notably binding seals. Or anything that could trap an angel. Ah-ha! I knew I'd written something about holy oil down before!" Crowley stabbed at the page with a triumphant finger. Murron stood on tiptoes to get a better look at the holy oil he was referring to.
"Do you have any of that?" she asked.
"Used to. I can get more easily. This is me we're talking about, after all," he replied confidently. Murron smiled. It was good to hear him speak so surely again. She was worried Baal had beaten - literally - it out of him. She should have known better.
"Where can you get more?"
"Jerusalem. Won't take me but a moment."
Murron stumbled forward, the support of his back no longer under her. She gripped the lip of the lecturn, steadying her footing just as he reappeared bearing a small corked clay urn. It was roughly the size of a peanut butter jar and looked to be thousands of years old. Crowley shook the earthen jar experimentally, grimacing to discover how little there truly was.
"I have maybe one shot at this," he murmured. "I'd better make it a good one."
"You know how to use it, right?"
"Of course. It's similar to Devil's Traps. You just have to trick them into the ring of holy oil, then set it on fire. Easy-peasy. Baal's an idiot and will fall for any trick I can throw at him. Once I have him trapped, I can stab him with this," he touched the blade at his hip, "and it'll be over. Like I said, easy-peasy."
"What made you think of the oil now? What changed?" Murron asked. Crowley smiled at her mysteriously, but said nothing. "I share my body with you all night and you're still going to shut me out?" Her tone was light. Crowley shrugged.
"Sometimes a good shag is all it takes to clear the cobwebs," he replied sagely, pocketing the oil inside his jacket. "Also, you might be interested to know Kali left you something. It's over there." He gestured to the scrying table. Something glinted silver in the faint candlelight; Murron squinted curiously at it as she neared the table. Another angel blade sat beside the scrying crystal, complete with a handwritten note in elegant script. Murron lifted it and read it, smiling softly:
I do not give this to you lightly. This is Gabriel's archangel blade; use it to kill Puriel. I hope you followed my advice.
- Kali
Murron carefully folded the note and slipped it into her skirt pocket. Intense gratitude for the Hindu goddess welled inside her heart and she turned back to Crowley with it bright in her eyes. He gave her a little knowing smile as he touched the sigil on his chest. She'd secured Crowley's safety already. Now it was time to do the same for herself.