Chapter Text
I also have this posted on LiveJournal if you prefer that format.
TWISTED PATHS
I have no beta so all errors are my own.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This story is about YOU, written under the assumption that you have female anatomy. If you do not identify with female anatomy then I'm sure you can find a way to adjust your mind to imagine I'm talking about someone else.
Trust me, it's fun either way.
PREFACE
Disjointed. That seems like a good word for how you’ve been feeling lately. It’s been almost a month since Sam and Dean showed up at your door with those sexy grins and a shy hello, and even longer since that world rending night in the alley that threw you down the rabbit hole into Winchester wonderland. Whenever you stop and try to image life before all that, you can’t quite remember exactly how it felt; almost like it was a former life or a picket fence dream you once had. At this point normal is sort of a dirty word, but in all honesty, you don’t mind; not one damn bit. Sam and Dean have changed your life in some pretty profound ways, and they aren’t the only ones, there’s also the cute little angel on one shoulder and the wicked tease of a demon on the other. Four men. That’s one hell of a playlist you’ve got there, and you’re kinda proud of it.
Sam was your first; deceptively quiet and gentle. He is such a delicious tease who knows how to be both caring and commanding at the same time. You can’t help but smile when you think of him, and you find it hard not to call or text him when he crosses your mind because he is so easy to talk to. Despite his gentleness and fluff, you also find yourself attracted to the darkness in him too. You know it’s there, a deep painful storm mixed with danger and mad skills; and it keeps you curious, along with reminding you of his older brother Dean. Ah Dean. He was the first to kiss you, admittedly one of your favorite moments in life to relive within your mind, and that man knows how to keep you guessing. Dean is truly an enigma wrapped in one hell of a beautiful package; sinfully pretty, rough and lovely at the same time, and his bluster is nothing short of adorable. His sharp tongue and zero F’s given attitude are all a big show though, all to hide his soft side. He defaults to either a mask of snarky humor or angry gruffness, but when you do get to see his heart, that tender part of him that cares almost to deeply, it is something to marvel at. Both brothers are so different, yet so much alike, and Dean is just as scarred and broken as “little Sammy”, but for completely different reasons. You know that you’ll never fix either one of them; never be able to heal the gaping wounds that the past has laid bare, and you really don’t want to anyways. As twisted as it sounds, their pain defines who they are and you don’t want to change them. All you want is for them to be happy, which is probably something they have never truly experienced. Everyone has baggage right? It just makes you hug them a lot more often when you’re together, and with the line of work they are in, it makes you cherish every moment you get with them even more.
These two men have you so enraptured; and they are both equally smitten with you, which is pretty impressive and definitely amazing. When you add in the fact that there is an angel who loves you, and a demon who lusted deeply after you for a brief moment, all of it is really kinda mind blowing. Castiel was so gentle and kind and you’ve never experienced anything, before or since, quite like that moment in the warehouse. He’s popped in for a visit twice now since then, and both times were somewhat awkward and borderline comical. He didn’t stay long and both ended with him giving you an unpolished kiss on the cheek. You can’t help but think that Cas showed up in hopes that you would help him figure something out. He looked so confused, like he was trying to put a puzzle together without all the pieces, but he’s an angel and you really can’t begin to guess his reasons at all. That doesn't mean you don't wonder what's going on inside that head of his. He's so strange, and it’s incredibly cute and endearing. Perhaps you will muster up the courage to ask him what he’s thinking some time.
All of them are such lovely creatures to distract you, and a smile spreads across your face just thinking about them. Then there is Crowley. Your smile turns turbulent as you ponder the final link in this crazy chain. Crowley is your dirty little secret. You spilled the beans about the whole cupid’s grace thing to the boys, and they were so awesome when you did. Sam just smiled knowingly and Dean postured a little bit before settling into acceptance, leaving the whole situation pretty drama free. Sam openly noted your link with Castiel, probably to make sure Dean didn’t miss that little fact, and they were ok with that too; but you never once mentioned Crowley. You couldn’t. Somehow the thought of admitting out loud that you were craving the touch of a demon seemed shameful, and the ideas that you continue to have about him are absolutely and truly shameful to the point where you blush at the thought. The Cupid's grace is powerful stuff apparently and ever since that single compelling kiss in the warehouse, you’ve craved him, ached for him, even considered begging the powers that be for him to come to you. You’d think that with the other men that desire you, you wouldn’t think twice about a demon you’ve never said a word to, but he is slowly consuming every part of you; and as time marches on, your lust deepens. You wonder how long it will be before your craving for the King of Hell torments you into madness.
TWISTED PATHS PART ONE
IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING
CHAPTER ONE
The room smells of fire, metal, and aged leather. You can’t see; the soft cloth covering your eyes robs you of that very important sense, yet, you find it enhances all the others as you strain against your bonds. Padded leather cuffs circle your wrists and ankles and you feel the support of yet another scraping against the skin just under your breasts. You imagine you’re in a dungeon with unknown implements, crafted just for you, resting on pristine tables nearby. Gravity is your tell, painting the mental picture of the cushioned slab you’re lashed to as it tilts you back into a gentle lean, the bonds holding you open and exposed. This should be frightening; you should be rigid with terror, self-conscious at your nakedness; instead you’re whole body is pleasantly pliable and arousal pools heavy in your core. Everything is sharpened with concentrated hypersensitivity, your body responding to the slightest changes as you shift. You feel the smooth leather as it rubs against your skin, the soft threads of the cloth covering your eyes, and you breathe out a wanton sigh as you feel a warm breeze ghost across your already hot flesh. Someone is there, standing next to you.
You don’t need to see; you recognize the feel of him, his very presence radiating assured ownership of all that he desires. “Hello darling.” His thick accent and tone are undeniably provocative and you suck in a breath and shiver; your bodies’ uncontrollable response to all the salacious undertones those two simple words imply. Without warning, a single digit runs across your lips, making you whimper. You lick them once it’s gone, your need to taste him evident. When treated to the remembered taste of hot cinnamon, you moan with heated lust. Mmmmm that flavor, hot cinnamon. Not the fake kind that you find in candies. No, this is like real cinnamon; fresh and delicious, mixed with savory spices and served hot against your tender lips.
That same finger burns a smoldering trail as it slides down your cheek and neck, stirring desires that lay long dormant until now. You begin to quake as it travels down between your breasts to the strap that holds you; then it circles back up and to the side. Swirling gently across your left breast, he slowly works inward until you gasp at the shock of two fingertips lightly pulling at your nipple. Then it’s back to a single digit as he glides it across to your other breast, repeating the same pattern; your groan no less fevered when he tugs at your tender nipple, making a matching pair. Suddenly his touch is gone and you ache for its return, your sensitive skin craving his caress. You hear a wicked chuckle deep in the monsters throat as you strain against the straps, silently begging for more as your breasts, your sex, your lips, your whole body yearns for more.
“The lovely peach begs to be devoured I see.” His voice is laced with power and lust is dripping from every syllable, stirring your molten core; and your body jolts when a stubbled cheek brushes one breast. You swear you can feel every single hair as he rubs across your skin and then there is warmth, hot wet softness enveloping your nipple, causing waves of salacious bliss to shiver through your body. The monster’s mouth moves to engulf your other breast and that single teasing digit is back, running another burning trail down your flesh as it heads south. His skilled tongue, and the titillating path of his finger slowly meandering down your body, solicits shameless moans from your lips as the sensations assault you. The anticipation is killing you; desire eating at your sanity while you silently beg for relief and you feel the monster smile. You can’t see it, but you feel the wickedness of his expression as he closes the space between you; his lips hovering just above yours as you quietly pant. You want it; oh how you want so badly to taste the terror of this depraved king, and you yearn to feel his power; your body quaking from the need.
Your quivering turns to a reeling rigid delirium as the devil’s tongue dips between your eager lips and his finger slides down across the lips of your sex and then curls deep inside. His palm is teasing your clit as he moves in and out, never breaking rhythm as another finger is added to the invasion. Burning heat is roiling deep in your core with each inward thrust, and jolts of ecstasy shudder through every nerve as the monster’s persistent mouth claims you hard and commanding. You savor the taste of his tongue and your passion matches his as you lean into his salacious kisses, your hips bucking against the straps below to his skilled fingers and your neck craning above. You feel it; you’re on the edge, and at any moment you will tumble over into mind-numbing euphoria. So close, you’re so close. Thrust, tease, lick, moan, rub….. nnnnnngh almost…
<<< >>>
You wake with a start, the bump in the road destroying the dream that now sticks to your mind like a cobweb. Holy shit! You lay your head back down on the seat and take a deep breath, trying to steady your mind so you can remember where you are. The dream still has you reeling, and for a time you don’t care where you’re at, as you relive the sensations that felt all too real. Crowley. You dreamt of Crowley again; and it was so fucking delicious, again. It’s been a recurring thing, these dreams; the first one was when you were home, only days after you left the Winchesters. The next one was several days after that, and now that you think on it, they have slowly increased in frequency to the point where you’ve been having one almost every night. It’s torture. Complete salacious, hot as fuck torment, and you feel so worked up and so dirty when you wake up. You want him so badly, and you know it’s wrong; but those damn dreams… those dreams leave you craving his wicked attention, and you fear they will eventually drive you mad.
You rub your eyes and sit up, trying hard to shake the thoughts of Crowley while attempting to bottle up the heavy heat that’s pooled deep in your nethers. Where are you anyways? Oh yeah, the limo. Your own personal limo to be precise, and you can’t help but smile. You had an eventful morning full of travel, and then shopping, and a tasty lunch in the little town of Asheville, North Carolina; and now it’s another long drive out into the middle of nowhere. You shouldn’t even be here but you couldn’t pass up a free trip. You vaguely remember the cashier who talked you into putting your name into a random drawing; you did it so she would shut up, not once thinking you would ever win. You couldn’t believe it when you actually did, and you won pretty big. Not Mega Millions Lottery kind of big; but it’s an all expenses paid 3 day, 2 night relaxing spa weekend at the Chateau Gehenna, which is nestled deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. All travel costs, all resort fees, all dining and alcohol; even the taxes are paid! You aren’t handing over one penny for any of this, and it’s been pretty damn spectacular so far.
You were even assigned your own personal travel assistant; her name is Betty and she’s been stupendous. She was the one who arranged everything, handling all the details so this could truly be a stress free treat. Remembering back, you giggle at your own shameful squeal of delight when you saw the limo, and you look around one more time as you cruise down the road, still not believing that this is all real. The icing on the cake was the envelope on the seat when you got in. There was a note from Betty explaining that the black sleek looking credit card was yours to command and that you could buy whatever you wanted while in Asheville; no limit and no guilt, her words not yours. You certainly did just that, your spoils of the morning scattered across the seat across from you as a reminder of the limitless guilt free fun. You also had a guilt free lunch after asking the driver to recommend a nice high-end restaurant where you could buy fancy food. Cliff is really nice, and you treated him to lunch, asking him if it would be ok to count it as his tip for being such a patient guy while you shopped. He was more than happy to join you because a man’s gotta eat, and no one likes sitting in a restaurant alone. He was such great company and so far your mind has been blown by this whole trip and you aren’t even at the spa yet. You feel like frickin’ royalty with how all of this has been handled, and it’s beyond amazing.
As the limo coasts along the highway, you find your mind replaying your dream without permission. Good God those dreams are a delicious hell. You and Sam play at bondage, most of it barely qualifying, but it’s so incredibly hot. Sam is amazing, his worship of you a heady drug, making you feel wrapped in his warmth and affection while he blows your mind. But Crowley… your dreams of Crowley are different, very different. Strangely enough, you feel just as safe in your dreams as when you're with Sam, despite the more extreme levels of bondage involved. The main difference is there are no warm fuzzy feelings with the demon and his brand of play. It’s raw lust and naked desire that flares hot and palpable and there is a layer of unspoken frustration that flavors every dream with him. You can’t help but crave him during the waking hours just as deeply as you crave him in your sleep. You sometimes catch yourself wondering if he is affected by the connection like you are. You assume he would be, but then again, he has yet to show up at your door, so maybe not. He seems the type, being the King of Hell and all, to get what he wants when he wants it. He hasn’t taken you yet, so you can only assume that he doesn’t want you. It would be really nice to know though; because then, maybe, he wouldn’t consume all your free thoughts like he is right now while you pass the time reliving the all to real sensations of the dream you’ve just had.
<<< >>>
Eventually the limo pulls to a stop and Cliff gets out and opens the door for you. There is breathtaking scenery from every angle; even the Chateau itself is picture perfect as it sits atop a peak overlooking the rest of the world below. It should be called a mansion or a castle more than a Chateau because it’s huge and solid, heavy stonework skillfully crafted in a renaissance style layout. It’s very impressive; but strangely not intimidating, despite its stout bones. The air is crisp and clean, and the only sounds are the wind, and the gentle trickle of water from a lovely little fountain nestled amidst a well-tended garden. You don’t see any other cars as you gaze around in quiet awe and the crunch of gravel beneath Cliff’s shiny dress shoes sounds loud and amplified amongst the peaceful silence of this place. Your eyes follow him as he pulls your bag from the trunk, gathers your shopping bags, and then heads towards the entrance. You catch up and thank him for his efforts, taking several of the shopping bags so he doesn’t have to carry everything as you walk through the heavy wooden doors. A beautiful woman is waiting in the foyer and Cliff quickly deposits your bags on an elegant little rolling cart and you do the same with the ones you’re holding. He gives you a smile and a wink, making sure to say, “It was a pleasure to spend the morning with you.” Before heading back out the door, leaving you alone with this new stranger.
The woman gives you a warm smile as she introduces herself. “Hi. I’m Betty. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” Oh, so this is your personal travel assistant. It actually is pretty cool to meet her in person instead of being a faceless voice on the phone; you’re also relieved that she’s here, because this unknown place full of unknown people feels a little daunting as you look around. After you return the hello, she pulls on the little cart carrying the bags and beckons you to follow her. The place looks empty as you head through the maze of earth toned hallways and she passes the cart off to an attendee before leading you up a wide staircase that opens up to a spacious lobby where a large table and vase decorate it’s center. The area is circular and there are five doors at geometrically perfect intervals, each with a roman numeral burned into the dark wood surface. Number three is directly across from the stairs and that’s where she leads you. There aren’t silly little plastic cards that slide into locks like at a hotel, instead it’s an intricate cast iron handle with a latch and she swings the door open on its silent hinges.
Betty has been talking to you during the entire walk from the lobby and you really haven’t been paying any attention at all. She’s been saying times and mentioning wraps and massages and all things spa related, and you wonder if you should ask her to repeat it; which would be really embarrassing. “Here you go. Get settled in and you’re right on time, so your mani-pedi will be coming up soon. Don’t worry; we’ll all take really good care of you this weekend, I promise. Don’t stress about remembering the schedule I just told you because someone will be by to collect you when it’s time for each spa treatment. So just relax and enjoy yourself. A list of all the amenities is in the pamphlet that’s on the table along with your personal itinerary. Cheers.” Betty gives you another warm smile as she walks over and opens the door with a number one carved into it. You stop her, asking if she’s part of the staff. “Oh no honey. One of the perks of my job is that I get pampered just like you. It’s a pretty good gig.” You watch her with raised eyebrows as she gently shuts the door behind her, and then you turn your attention to room number three.
It’s enormous, like one of those fancy penthouses at a ritzy hotel and everything feels wonderfully fresh and clean. You don’t have that usual twitch of wondering who used this room last and if everything was really cleaned like it was supposed to be. You can’t quite place how it feels other to liken it to someone’s well-kept apartment, comfortable and friendly, rather than a hotel room. You figure that’s a close enough description as you take in the gorgeous view, soaking up the picturesque landscape while opening up every single curtain to let the natural light flood the room. A storm is slowly rolling in and you’re standing there savoring the beauty of it all when you’re cell rings, making you jump; shattering the serenity of the moment. Your face brightens when you see its Dean. “Hey girl. Just callin’ to see how things are going.” He can hear you smile as you tell him things couldn’t be better, “Good to hear. Hey, we’ll be in the area, so do you mind if we stop by for a visit?” Dean’s voice takes on that suggestive tone and your body immediately heats up. Darn it. You almost wish you were home right now because a visit from the Winchesters is always amazing, but you turn to the view outside and you don’t regret it as much as you should. There’s always next weekend, right? Sigh. Damn. You stop yourself before saying that out loud because you’re already here and you can’t change that, so you remain happy with the decision to take advantage of this “me” weekend.
There’s still regret laced throughout your voice when you tell Dean that you’re not home. “Damn.” He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment and you giggle silently because his reaction was the same as yours. “Gone huh. All weekend?” You roll your eyes because Dean is so transparent. It’s adorable, and it’s cute that he’s trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably at it. You smile again and explain about your lucky prize winning and all the awesome things you’ve done so far. “Uh huh. Yeah. Cool.” Dean tries not to sound bored and disappointed at the same time as you talk, and he fails again, making you realize that you’ve been rambling and gushing. Thank god he can’t see you blush as you stop talking. Diverting his attention, you ask how they’ve been doing. “What? Me and Sam? Yeah we’re fine. Just came off a case in Idaho, nothing major, small potatoes.” You chuckle at his pun, wondering if he’s truly that adorkable without even trying. You chat for a little longer and then the conversation gets really interesting. Dean gets naughty by asking what you’re wearing, down to the color of your panties. He follows that up by describing how he wants to strip each item off you in deliciously elaborate ways. Dean is such a terrible tease because he isn’t here to follow through and it’s frustrating and fun for both of you. You’re interrupted by a knock at the door, reminding you that it must be time for your mani-pedi; regrettably you tell Dean you have to go. “Damn. Ok. You better believe that we’ll continue this very important conversation later.” You grin as you hang up, knowing that Dean will be true to his word. You answer the door to find a lovely woman with a cheery disposition. She waits patiently while you change into the complementary bathrobe that smells of lavender. Your body is still humming with the desire Dean has stirred up, mixing tortuously with the memories of your dream, as the attendant leads you downstairs to the spa where you proceed to get pampered.
<<< >>>
After a wonderfully relaxing manicure and pedicure, with a facial thrown into the mix, you’re told that you’re free to roam the grounds or go back to your room and that you’ll be notified when dinner is ready. The storm that you saw is lightly sprinkling rain outside the windows, so your room sounds like the better option. There are signs directing you, making it easy to find your way back to your suite where there is a surprise waiting. Your bags are nicely arranged on the table by the window and there’s something else; a black box adorned with an elaborate burgundy ribbon, which you’ve never seen before, sits on the end of your bed with a small note attached. It’s a little hand written message, in a beautiful script, requesting your presence for dinner at seven sharp. It also asks you to wear what’s provided. You’re betting this is some sort of weekend initiation dinner where all the people staying at the spa have a big hello dinner so you can make friends and all that jazz. It’s a little strange, because you haven’t seen a single guest this whole time and considering the size of this place, there should easily be a dozen people roaming around. You gently remove the ribbon and open the box; you gasp at what’s inside. It’s a beautiful black dress, and it looks really expensive. You’re a little shocked by that and kind of freaked out that it’s exactly your style preference. There is matching lingerie with it, black and lacy and lovely, and it only ads to the freak out factor.
Betty, yeah it must be Betty who did this. She just wants you to look nice for the other guests. You take off your robe and proceed to try everything on. You walk into the bathroom so you can see yourself in the full-length mirror and it’s amazing how good you look. The dress fits you perfectly; emphasizing all the right parts in all the right ways, like it was tailor made just for your body. You stare at yourself for a time, mesmerized by how a dress could look that good on a person, and then you finally peel your eyes from the mirror to look around. That freak out factor comes back full force when you see that every product and utensil you like and/or need is in there. It’s all brand spanking new, seals and peels untouched, but it’s all the same brand names and all the same items that you would find shoved into drawers and nooks and crannies at your own home. Everything from shampoo to makeup and it must be coincidence; yeah, it’s just a freaky coincidence, that’s all. It takes a little effort, but you manage to brush away the unease by freshening up and putting some effort into looking good before dinner.
You get done early and decide to call Dean, snapping a flattering selfie to send him before you dial him up. He still asks for pictures of your naughty bits when the mood strikes him and you figure it will be a nice tease. You sprawl across the settee in your new black dress with your hair looking lovely, and you feel sexy as fuck when Dean answers the phone with a wolf whistle. “Damn woman. I thought you were at a spa, not the Oscars.” A huge smile splits your face as you tell Dean not to be a dope, but you make sure to thank him for the compliment, reveling in his reaction. “Heh. You know, I remember exactly where we left off and I like that black dress. I’ve got even better ideas running through my head with that tease of a picture you sent.” Dean is so cruel, and he tortures you with dirty words and descriptions of those “new ideas” you’ve caused while you stare absently out the window; your sights turned inward to visions of Dean. By the time there is a knock on your door, you’re hot and bothered and regretting that he isn’t in the same room, or even the same state right now.
You kick Dean off the phone, but not before he tells you exactly what he’s about to do while you’re on his mind; you practically melt into a puddle right there. Damn that sexy wicked tease of a man! Now you will be hopelessly distracted imagining how Dean will look while stroking himself to climax, and you wish, badly, that you had time to do the same thing while thinking of him. You’re sexually frustrated and it suddenly reminds you of the dream with Crowley, of being teased and tormented to the point of climax but not allowed to tip over the edge into bliss. You try to suppress the salacious shivers all of these thoughts are giving you while following the attendant down to the dining area. The torment makes you a little slow to notice that you’re still alone in this big place, but when it finally sinks in, those thoughts are quickly pushed down and replaced by apprehension. You don’t see anyone else in the hallway to the dining room, and that unsettled feeling creeps back up when the attendant gestures for you to enter the dining hall without leading the way. There’s a wall blocking your view into the room and you hesitate. The attendee just smiles and waits patiently for you to go in so she can close the door behind you. Timidly, you enter the room, unconsciously holding your breath. Unexplainable nervousness churns your stomach and you’re on edge as the door closes behind you; shutting out the world with a quiet click of its latch. You straighten your spine and try to look confident as you walk around the partition and into the main dining room.
The paint is dark and warm, the curtains are large and overbearing, and the floors are a deep blackened wood that makes this room feel like a setting straight out of the movies, sultry and romantic. There are several tables with burgundy linens draped seamlessly over their round surfaces, each with a bouquet of red and black roses nestled into an intricately decorated vase at their center. Soft classical music is playing from hidden speakers and the room is empty except for one table that has been set for two. One chair is already occupied and the breath you’ve been holding is suddenly sucked deep into your lungs, and your eyes go wide in shock and disbelief. Sitting at a slight angle, looking nonchalant and smug while he twirls a red rose in his fingers is the King of Hell himself. Crowley.
<<< >>>
Crowley. You don’t move, your mind and body simultaneously screeching to a halt at this unexpected meeting. Immediately the remembered taste of hot fresh cinnamon and Crowley’s commanding tongue overtake you, like that surprising kiss back in the warehouse just happened. You aren’t sure whether it’s terror or arousal that warms your body when his attention pulls away from the rose in his hand so his gaze can lock onto you. Those shrewd eyes slide down your body and then back up again before a smirk tugs at his lips, “Hello darling.” His voice is just as you remember it, just as you dreamt it, the deep roughness of it adding to that suggestive accent. “Fancy some dinner? Renaldo is preparing an exquisite cut of kobe beef, bathed in a vintage white wine sauce and seared to perfection.” You still don’t move despite Crowley’s offer, your limbs silently shivering with conflicted emotions that hold you in place. “He’s an excellent chef you know, one of the best in the world, and a sucker for a good deal. Trust me, his soul is absolutely worth that level of talent.” After another minute of staring silently at him like an idiot, your mind struggling so hard to process, Crowley’s eyes go flat and annoyance teases his features. “No need to be shy peach, you look lovely.” He points the rose at you and then flicks his wrist; you see the glint of satisfaction in his expression as you slide across the floor towards him. You aren’t moving, but yet you are, some strange unseen power whisking you forward without permission. It’s frightening and amazing. It’s as if invisible hands are pulling you to him, and you make an unflattering meeping sound when that invisible power gently curls you into the waiting chair.
Crowley laughs with genuine mirth, not spiteful or condescending, at your reaction; and you relax ever so slightly, despite the fact that you’ve never seen or felt anything like that before. Your body is currently tingling pleasantly from that little display of power as Crowley smiles, “You know love, I don’t bite.” His voice is a salacious purr as he leans in, “unless that’s what you’re into.” Your eyes have lost their saucer-like status but your features are still etched with tension and you can’t find the capacity to respond to any of this. You aren’t sure whether you should run away screaming or crawl across the table and nip at his wicked grin. You’ve wanted him so badly for so long and now here he is. You know who and what he is which terrifies you, but the memory of that kiss has you humming as the King of Hell sits across the table from you… and you swear he’s flirting. With you! What the hell is a girl supposed to do? Nothing. Nothing sounds good. Nothing sounds safe and non-stupid, so that’s exactly what you do. Nothing. Crowley gives you a deliberate smile, his acknowledgment of your inner turmoil. “I bet you’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you pet? Well to be perfectly candid, you intrigue me.” Tingles shoot through your body. He’s been thinking about you? Holy shit!
He sits back in his seat, still fiddling with the rose in his hand and you watch his fingers, wondering just how skilled those digits really are. “Back in that warehouse, when I came in to save the day during that little fiasco; I expected to find the Winchesters, those bastards always stick their fingers in everyone’s pie.” He makes a face at that. “I even expected to find their pet angel Castiel, whom you know intimately I do believe.” Crowley gives you a knowing look and you flush hot with embarrassment, suddenly wondering exactly what you looked like during that particular part, and if he maybe liked what he saw. “But…” He pauses and looks you over thoroughly for a moment, like his eyes are removing the little black dress you’re wearing. He leans forward, “I wasn’t expecting you.” The way he says that. It’s so titillating, and your breath catches; desire stirring deep in your core at the implication behind those words.
Crowley goes silent, letting that statement hang, and thank god a server suddenly appears with a rolling cart. The King continues to eye you as the man sets down a salad in front of each of you, followed by pouring two healthy glasses of a dark sweet smelling wine. You suddenly come alive, snatching the glass off the table and taking a gulp. Crowley dismisses the server with a passive flick of his hand, and once the bottle has been embedded in a silver ice bucket and set on the table, the server quietly bows before heading towards the door. Before the man has even made it out the room you’ve downed the wine, noting that it tastes pretty good, and hoping that there’s magical courage somewhere in it’s aftertaste. The King of Hell chuckles as he leans in and pours you another glass. He’s smooth and gentile which makes you relax just a little bit more; just enough that you say out loud that you weren’t expecting him either. He looks up at you with his brows raised, those piercing eyes locking with yours as his hand mindlessly deposits the bottle back into the ice. “Ah. So she does speak. A beautiful voice to match a beautiful visage I must say. I can see why your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” Flattery will get you everywhere; so will humor, and you can’t help but smile at Crowley.
“Unexpected is my favorite way to be pet, and I assume that statement is meant to encompass both the past and the present; as far as the past, it doesn’t surprise me that the Hardy Boys never mentioned that they’re besties with the King of Hell.” It’s your turn to raise surprised eyebrows, because no, they never mentioned it, not even after the warehouse incident. “Don’t look so shocked love. Sam, Dean and I go way back, we’re practically family.” Your face must be betraying the inner turmoil he’s suddenly stirred up because you’re sure he’s exaggerating their relationship, but why didn’t they ever say anything. “Don’t be to hurt darling, unless those two louts have had a personality transplant, neither one is much on sharing; and I personally guarantee, that in all actuality, you know very little about the Winchesters.”
Quickly, you mentally skim over your history with them and you know a good bit about them, or at least you think you do. Maybe. Maybe not. They’ve told you so many stories, but when you really think about it, they haven’t told you any deep dark secrets or anything; you don’t even know who’s died in Dean’s past to make him so protective and angsty. You realize a frown is creasing your face when Crowley points it out, “Your look says it all peach. They’ve been happy to save your life because that’s what they do, and they’ve been more than willing to bend you over to play hide the sausage,” You blush dark again, “But don’t fool yourself. The Winchesters are a breed all their own, and while you may be allowed to play, you will never truly belong.” Those words hurt and embarrass you, and suddenly you’re really pissed off, which gives you a spike of bravery, allowing you to snap back a retort before you think better of it. You point out that he doesn’t know anything about your relationship with the boys and that what he said was a real douche-bag move; then you end by announcing that you would never trust the words of a demon. When you get to that last word, you almost bite it off, making it sound like an insult.
“Oh. So there is a little fire and spice in there. Hmm.” Crowley is so smug and it’s apparent that he really enjoyed your little outburst, a lot. He smiles as he sits back in his chair, arms raised in feigned submission. “Fair enough. I won’t say another word about them, and you don’t have to trust me at all love; in fact, I suggest you don’t.” He flashes you a charming smile. “Just do yourself a favor. Web search a gentleman by the name of Carver Edlund when you have some free time, it’ll be a real eye opener.” You immediately sear that name into your mind, even though you’re sure it’s some sort of trick. By this point your apprehension has dissipated, but the roiling pool of desire is still churning despite that little dick move on his part; your lust a continual maddening distraction in the background as you attempt to stare coldly at the King of Hell. With a touch of terse spite, you stab at your salad and ask if he’s here because he wants something. You manage to sound pretty put out, like he’s ruining your entire evening, when in reality he’s winding you up tighter.
His tone is condescending, “My dearest peach, we all want something.” He leans forward, his eyes capturing yours; piercing deep into your soul, exposing the dark desires you’re trying so hard to fight as his voice lowers to a quiet purr, “Even you… want something.” Good god, electric tingles shoot straight to your sex and your heart suddenly hammers in your chest. You’re afraid of the desire, the yearning, the lust, so you try to veer off this salacious path with another question; this time asking Crowley how he knew you were here. You wonder if your voice sounds as breathless as it seems and his gaze is still locked on you when his lips curl into a wicked smile, “Well I do own this humble little abode.” Then his eyes release you as they skirt across the expanse of the room, and you suddenly feel freed from an invisible chokehold. You take in a deep breath as he leans back, his demeanor changing to something more relaxed, and you try to remember when exactly he had become so intense. “I’ve even made sure you were treated like royalty, and you haven’t even offered up a thank you." He suddenly hands you the rose he's been holding and his tone turns wistful, almost playful, "I’m almost insulted by that; then again, so few truly appreciate my talents and my perks.” Your mind flashes hot with images of Crowley’s possible talents as you gingerly hold the rose he's given; and you become acutely aware that every feeling you have is slowly being replaced by wanton desire, consumed and conquered by your yearning to experience the King of Hell.
As your lust curls up hot and undeniable those last words spoken by Crowley suddenly spark revelation. Crowley did this! This was all an elaborate setup! Crowley made all of this happen, probably right down to that annoying woman who made you enter your name in the contest to “win” this trip, and you can’t help but be impressed, and deeply flattered, that he went to all this trouble for you. Holy shit! Crowley really has treated you like royalty so far; you even used those words yourself, and you have to give him kudos for knowing how to spoil a girl. More than likely that little epiphany is written all over your face when Crowley asks, “Has Betty been taking good care of you love?” You immediately realize Betty is a demon; hell, everyone in this building is probably a demon, and you would bet that there isn’t a single other guest in this whole damn place, because Crowley owns everything and he does what he wants. There is a glint of power behind those brown eyes as he continues, "I only ask because sometimes she can get a little out of hand when she tries to please me." Good god this is crazy! Sexy and crazy and Crowley is certainly both of those as he sits across from you. Your mind hiccups at the thought of crazy sexy Crowley with that level of control over someone and you can't help but wonder exactly what he wants to do with you, which sparks a hot shiver down your spine. A coy smile crosses your face as you tell him Betty’s been great and you follow up with a sincere thank you for the gift.
“You’re welcome… and I’m glad to hear it, because I’d hate to kill her; she’s actually very useful.” That statement is like a confusing punch to the stomach. It was so nonchalantly violent and horrible, but yet his complete confidence in his own power is alluring. You’re instantly reminded of your dream where he had total dominance and you were begging for more; aching for it like it was air you needed to breathe. As if he didn’t just threaten someone’s life, Crowley looks around, taking in the quiet ambience of the room before he states, “I should come here more often; it really is quite relaxing." He pauses, "Or perhaps it’s the company.” His gaze comes back to you. “You set me at ease love, which is a true rarity considering my line of work.” His silver tongue is back to flattery again and you can’t help but savor the compliment regardless of what he really means by it.
He’s a demon and the King of Hell and you wonder exactly what he’s thinking while locked onto those deep chocolate orbs that are equally studying you back. You decide it’s time to test the connection between the two of you. You find it to be faint and almost fragile. You gently pluck at it, curious to see if it’s just like the other three you have. Big mistake. Big fucking mistake, because just like plucking at a guitar string, it begins to hum in your mind, amplifying every single dirty wicked thought you’ve been trying to suppress and deny yourself. Little bits of emotion play across the line and feed into you straight from the demon’s mind and you are overwhelmed. Crowley’s lust is palpable and heady; it’s just a small taste across the fragile thread, but it’s powerful and breathtaking as it heats up your entire body and you stifle a gasp.
You blush and break eye contact because you’re instantly hooked on the feel of it and you're sure you've never wanted something so badly in all your life. You take another gulp of wine, trying your best not to drown in the delicious idea of Crowley seducing you, claiming you, dominating you. “Ah. There it is, the elephant in the room.” Shit! He felt you testing the connection and now he knows for certain that you’re aware of its existence, and you aren’t sure that’s a good thing for him to know. A salaciously wicked smile curls his lips and you see it gleaming in his eyes as they bore into you; but the moment is shattered as the server suddenly flits into the room holding two steaming plates of food. Crowley’s smile melts to a look of annoyance as he glares at the man like he’s planning his long slow torture because of this interruption. You revel in the fear suddenly etched across the servers face when he realizes he’s displeased the King. Wait? What? When did you become such a sadist? You should feel sorry for that guy, or demon, or whatever; instead you are hot and wet and craving a display of the King’s power. To your inappropriate disappointment Crowley doesn’t do anything; he just gives the server a severe stare until he’s left the room, and then his features soften as he turns his attention back to you and the steaming dish of food.
Crowley appears to be back into a relaxed state as he cuts into the steak that’s artfully displayed on his plate and he looks at you expectantly before he takes a bite. Like a silent command, you obey him by mimicking his actions. It’s decadent and your mouth is pleasured with the flavor and texture of what this man, no, this King has provided. He smiles when you moan shamelessly in appreciation, savoring the flavor; and when you’ve swallowed, you quietly thank him. “Two thank you’s in so little time, I must say, I’m all a flutter.” You can’t help it, you pluck at the thread again as you chew on another tender bite of steak and you’re flooded with overpowering lust which only wrecks you further; you barely remember to swallow as it washes over you. “We should have a toast, don’t you think?” You’re pulled back towards reality enough to breathlessly ask what you’re toasting. “A toast of things to come love.” The subtext in that statement has every nerve vibrating, and your sex is quivering as Crowley gently clinks his glass against yours, “Most definitely for things to come.”
<<< >>>
Good god this creature sitting across the table is reducing you to a pliable puddle; how can this monsters words and his mere presence have this much effect on you? You know it’s the connection, but the Winchesters have never even come close to this level of torment with theirs. He’s a demon. You absolutely have to remember that Crowley is a demon, and you have no idea what that means. You know next to nothing about what kind of power or skills or tricks come along with that title and you find yourself wondering what it would feel like to be claimed by a monster. Every demon you’ve met was terrifying and violent, but Crowley… he’s a different kind of evil. You know he’s stained with blood and violence, and if you asked, he would gladly tell you of horrors that would send you howling to the loony bin; But his power, mmmmm his power. That assured mastery of his domain and his quiet subtle dominance is so fucking hot; and you get lost in the thought, pondering what would happen if this devil claimed you, opened you up, and took you to the core.
You’re pulled from those speculations, realizing too late that you were lost in thought, when cinnamon and spice suddenly overwhelms everything. Somehow you're standing in Crowley’s arms and his tongue is aggressively dipping between your lips. Holy fuck! What the hell? How? You don’t care how. It’s delicious; your desires finally fulfilled, and it feels better than you ever imagined. You delight in the flavor of Hell and melt into him, kissing him back with hunger. As your fervor matches his aggression, the fragile connection between you suddenly blasts wide open, like a dam bursting, and the full wave of Crowley’s ravenous lust washes over you. Holy mother of fuck! What was overwhelming before is unimaginable now as Crowley's thoughts, his desires, his aggravated lust lights up every nerve and brain cell while his tongue dances with yours. You helplessly shudder through an orgasm, his mind and body overtaking you. His hands are holding your head, commanding its movements as he steals your shuddering whimpers, and that invisible force is pressing you against him so that you feel his solid erection against your thigh. You’re drowning, and you have no desire to be saved, as you’re lost in the feel of it all; riding the wave of decedent euphoria.
“Jesus peach.” Crowley pulls his lips from you; his expression laced with craving, and you can see he’s surprised, but appreciative of your response to just a mere kiss. “I had such lovely plans.” He comes back in, pulling another kiss from you, “of torment.” Another lick of his skilled tongue in your gasping mouth, “Of making you wait till bursting.” He tips your head to the side, claiming your mouth hard, “But I see…” Another kiss, “No… I feel…” He growls that last word, Your need,” Crowley grinds you against him with unseen hands and he steals your gasp with hunger, “And I’m inclined to admit my needs are similar.” His accent adds thick layers of seduction to his gravely purr against your lips, “and I want you. ” Your whole body is shivering from his touch, and his attention, and his words course hot lust through your limbs. Your nails claw at his jacketed back while your tongue explores him with desperation. You suddenly feel a strange displacement of air that forces you to look past the exquisite creature you’re tasting. This is somewhere else, where? Your own room? Yes, there are the shopping bags in the corner and you recognize the view for the brief moment you allow yourself to look, and you moan at the power this delicious monster has. “Like that peach?” Crowley smiles against your lips and then he pulls away. His thumb is firmly caressing your cheek as his eyes slide up and down your body, and you ache for his lips to return.
Crowley’s hand roughly slides up into your hair, jerking your head back so he can lap at the soft skin of your neck, his scruff scraping pleasantly as he hums against your skin. You are completely pliable, whimpering quietly as he pulls your head back further so he can bury his face in your cleavage with a growl. His free hand roughly gropes for your nipple, causing your body to quake when he finds it. He’s being sloppy, and you both know it, but neither of you cares because just touching is causing fireworks, and you gasp out his name as you feel Crowley’s voracious appetite continue to flow through the connection. His beard scrapes up your skin, sending shivers in its wake; then his tongue thrusts back inside your mouth and you attack it, sparring with it, your breath messy and loud as you gracelessly pull his jacket free so it can fall to the floor.
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re mildly surprised to feel the firm muscles of Crowley’s back when you slide your arms around him. He groans against your lips as he pulls you in tight, his hand firmly gripping your ass. His tie and crisp dress shirt are still keeping you from feeling his hot flesh and your orgasm is waning, but you’re still worked up, craving so much more than just his tongue invading your lips. You know Crowley heard those thoughts when he whispers, “Wanting it all, are we pet?” His voice vibrating against your mouth feels delicious and you gasp out a yes against his. Crowley chuckles as he licks his way down your neck, and you let go of him when you feel the straps of your dress being pushed off your shoulders. The little black dress, which you're now certain Crowley bought just for you, drops to the floor. You suddenly feel exposed and it’s so tantalizing. His hands glide across the matching lingerie that still covers your most intimate parts; your nerves tingle at his touch. His fingers caress the lace that complements your breasts while he purrs, “Be careful what you ask for from a demon darling.”
Crowley’s words, intermingled with his roaming hand, cause shivers. You melt into his touch, letting out little moans of appreciation as he explores. You want to play too, so you reach out your hand to cup his erection. Your eyes fly open and your body stiffens as your fingers stroke the fabric of his suit pants. Holy shit! Does the King of Hell have a canon in there or is he just happy to see you? With his fingers still laced in your hair, Crowley pulls your head away from him so you can see the impish smile that crosses his face. You move in to claim his lips; your hand still stroking what feels like something very impressive, as your tongue spars with his once more. He revels in your attention and reciprocates by running his hand up your inner thigh and brushing his fingers against the lace that’s covering your tormented heat. You gasp into his mouth as your hand claws at his back, and the other grips his crotch tighter. Crowley’s thoughts continue to flow through the highway of your connection, supplementing the delicious feel of his teasing touch with intense supernatural lust.
You want to please him, so badly you ache to topple over the edge into bliss with him, so your hands slide up his body and your fingers search for the buttons under his tie. “Ah. Ah. Not yet.” Crowley pulls away to see that you’re confused, and his smile turns wickedly salacious. He takes a step back and you realize how naked you are compared to his almost fully clothed state. The only thing you’ve removed is his jacket, leaving his shirt, tie, pants, and even his shoes are still on. You stand there unsure of what he wants until he gives you a little nod and says, “Zipper only love.” Now you understand and you can’t help but obey; without hesitation you drop to your knees at his feet. Crowley is looking down at you, and you take a moment to savor the anticipation, running your hands up and down his clothed body before gently tugging on his zipper. It takes very little effort to free his shaft from his pants and your eyes go wide again as you take in the full splendor of the King of Hell.
You aren’t about to whip out a ruler and start measuring, but he is noticeably larger than either Sam or Dean, and you’re impressed and a little frightened at Crowley’s size. You look up into the demon’s eyes as you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft and you see his smug satisfaction at your compliance twinkling beneath those auburn orbs. You run your tongue up the length of his cock and then wrap your lips around the tip before looking back up at him. You’ve wiped that expression off his face and replaced it something else, something far sexier, and you want to see more of it. Your lips slide down so that Crowley is buried deep inside your mouth and you hear a quiet moan from the King. Deep throat or not, he is way too much to handle so you stroke his shaft with your hand while continuing to lube him up with your eager mouth.
Crowley likes what you’re doing because you can sense his pleasure through the thread and feel his knees bend into it, his muscles tightening as you stroke and suck and repeat. You catch glimpses of his face when you can, as you find a nice rhythm with your hand and your lips, and you shudder, relishing in the knowledge that he’s struggling to keep his eyes on you. He wants to get lost in the feel of it, to unravel and melt away, but you feel his iron will and dominance coursing through the thread and he maintains composure. He sees you watching, and Crowley grips your hair, tilting his pelvis into your downstroke, forcing you to focus on the task at hand while he lets out another lustful groan. Your lacy panties are wet from your ever-building desire, and with each tilt of his hips you wish his cock was filling up a different part of you. The thought of him driving his thick shaft deep into your sex fuels you on harder and the feel of Crowley slowly coming apart at the seams by your handiwork, despite his efforts, is like a drug. He can’t hide it from you, his appreciation is palpable; his breath now short huffs, and his moans are more frequent and appreciative as you work him with fervor.
It’s suddenly a challenge, to see if you have the skills to wreck the King of Hell, and your mouth comes alive against his throbbing cock. One of your hands grips his shapely ass, pushing him into you, as your other hand strokes harder and faster. You hum a gluttonous moan against his shaft and the vibration makes Crowley hiss with pleasure and his fingers tug on your hair; but you don’t stop, your only focus being to please the monster in your mouth. Crowley breaths out a surprised, “Fuck me.” As you overload his senses and his grip tightens. You feel his muscles tensing with tremors of bliss; you’re almost there, so you kick into overdrive. You suck, thrust your tongue, stroke, moan, gasp, and repeat until Crowley grips your hair in both of his fists. You feel his head snap back so that he can growl at the ceiling while bursting hot and hard behind your stroking lips. You squeeze your eyes shut as you struggle to endure his powerful release, the intensity of it sending you to the brink but not over. Mission accomplished, he is wrecked, but your core is churning with overwhelming need as you hover at the edge of the precipice, aching for your own release.
Your pliant when Crowley pulls you from his spent cock and you look up at him while on your knees, both of you panting and bleary. Your lips are slick and swollen, your hand aches from stroking and your body is on fire with pent up lust as you lock eyes with him. Crowley’s face is red and you can barely see the color in his eyes from the dilation as he stares down at you with a breathy smile, “I must say…” He tugs on your hair and you quickly stand up, complying with the unspoken command. “I underestimated you.” You manage a sly smile as you straighten your spine and steady your breathing. His fist is still tucked into your hair and he pulls you close, his lips a millimeter from yours. “Here’s a little something to think about peach.” He pulls a kiss from you and it’s rough and passionate. “You underestimated me too.” You don’t like the sound of that and you search his eyes, testing the connection between you.
Oh. Oh no. Damn it no! What a big fucking cock tease! No! You feel his intentions, dripping with the urge to torment you. Why? Why would he do that? Crowley shoves his tongue between your lips again and you kiss him back, your mouth attacking his with desperation, a silent plea for him to change his mind. He chuckles against your spit slick lips and then that unseen force pulls you backwards onto the comforter. Crowley stands at the end of the bed; his cock now tucked away, and he smooths his dress shirt while he stares down at you. “Don’t be angry love, I’m only returning the favor.” You look at him confused while he smirks and straightens his tie, which puts Crowley back to looking crisp and aloof again. “I will see you tomorrow.” It’s an order, not a request. “Dinner. Seven o’clock, and this time we’ll get room service.” His grin is less than innocent as his eyes rake over your mostly naked body. “I like the view from here.” His gaze breaks away from you and his demeanor turns casual. He stares out the windows into the darkness as he says, “This has been lovely fun pet." He turns back to you with an amused gleam in his eyes, "Ta.” Then Crowley is gone with a snap of his fingers, leaving you alone and so fucking sexually frustrated.