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seljepw · 5 years

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Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds. Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting. This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you. Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement. Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was. What is going on, here? Just great sex? Just business? Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT. Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words. I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you. Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit. You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower. You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion. By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam. In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C. Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers. Every kind, every color possible. On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note. “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.” When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.

You did keep your favorite bloom, though. Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next. Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use. When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas. Those you wore. But not out of your room. Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter. On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed. A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”. It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.

And then there were the dreams.

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you. Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming. Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall. Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley. Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.

“Assignation”? Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.

October came again. You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months. No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle. You tried not to think anything of it. So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on. Fine. Good riddance. You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life. It wasn’t like he owed you anything. This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman. Nothing personal, right? In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean. You definitely did not miss him. Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt. Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere. Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window. Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out. Dean singing and drumming on the wheel. Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow. Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing. Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive. The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”. Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle. Dean was in heaven. Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face. You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.

“You good?” his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left. “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours. In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over. Not bad. Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way. No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny. And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers. He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.

“Buy me a drink.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”

A beer and a half later, things were right on track. His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response. This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.” You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom. As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.

You actively didn’t think about Crowley. You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag. You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet. You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands. Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love. He’s cute. You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its. Good to know. Then the rage hit. How dare he pull something like this? Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there. Fuck. That. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom. Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you. The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar. He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact. Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see. But they knew you. They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone. The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley. Damn him. You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker. It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.

~~~

You almost didn’t open it. The box on your bed. Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon. You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled. Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper. You held it up for inspection, and stared. Simple. No frills, no lace. Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor. Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted. You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy. Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance. Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you. The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either. The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience. And that feeling had colored everything that came after. Added to the confusion. Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup. You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly. It fit you well. More than that, it suited you. You could move easily in the lightweight fabric. It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms. The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too. The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched. Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump. You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously? You berated yourself. ‘Where have you been?’ Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am. Fuck, get your fists off your hips. You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down. Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable. You weren’t unsettled. Ever. You couldn’t be, in your line of work. You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes. “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching? Well, thank you. That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away. His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced. You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?” You’d asked. “What is this? I mean, I barely know you. Half the time, I don’t trust you... What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours. The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.

You took a small step forward. His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared. It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game. Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed. Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?” You’d closed the distance, now. If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again. There was no guile. No half-smile in the words. Just fear and perhaps a little shame. “All right? There it is. I need your help.”

You were stunned. “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom. Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule. ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle. I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven? Of witches?! Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t. “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents. If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.” Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips. He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes. “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school. They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes. Pomp and circumstance. They may not like dealing with me alone. I need backup, Love.” He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his. “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen. You mean… me? Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure. Get a grip, woman!

He smiled at you. A real smile. You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before. It was gorgeous. His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle. You wanted to swim in it. Drown in it.

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere. His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair. You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours. The feel of his suit coat under your fingers. It went on forever. It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold. It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N. Will you help me? Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes. Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change. You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip. That’s when you met his gaze. With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless. “I’ll be your Queen for the night. And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation. About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already. The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s. Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you. Like a goldfish in a school of sharks. That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon. Or shoes. ...Or underwear. That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you. You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.” You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual. So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder. A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again. You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass. You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that. It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours! It’s been a while, you know.”

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama. You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger. “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.” Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear. “We can-and will- play later. Now, it’s time to work.”

He stepped back and let you turn to face him. At some point, he had donned his costume. It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face. Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago. A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver. The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library. God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction. His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him. “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you. It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like. The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask. You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart. A White Hart.” When you looked askance at him, he continued, “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world. An emissary of sorts. And the bestower of blessings upon Kings. I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman. Have you seen yourself? It’s both.”

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture. “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now. Come on, Pet. Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in. The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed. You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate. If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen. A deal’s a deal, after all.

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball. As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you. Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed. A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor. Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you. Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor. A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable. And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly. As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor. You fought a gasp and smirked at him. The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh? I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party. This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds. You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out. Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N? I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with. I’m going to eat you alive.” His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure. But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away. Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants. The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.

“Oh, there she is. Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?” The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit. You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet. Crowley kept going. “This is the version of you I like best, Love. All flustered and pliable and dripping.” The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside. You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck. He continued, “That’s it, Love. Let your King take care of you. You like when I play with you, don’t you? My squirming, soaking wet little toy. I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse. He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion. The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well. But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else. Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own. Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests. Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter. The blonde one was young. In her early 20’s, if you had to guess. She wore a white mask over her eyes. On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40. Her mask was red. The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge. She was old. Middle 80’s maybe? You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that. Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us. Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room. That was where Crowley led you. He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more. You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead. You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side. You must have made an imposing sight. Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests. Queen. You are a fucking Queen. Get yourself under control. Head up, shoulders back. It’s showtime. Think Queen, damnit. You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance. Isn't that right, ladies?”

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome. Let’s talk business, shall we?” From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll. The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman’s feet. She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive. Protection of Hell? Tithes? What would this mean for you and the boys and your work? What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale? You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley. She doesn’t speak?” Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady. You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.

Everyone turned to you. Fuck. Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell. They expect you to talk, now? For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you. But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck. Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago. That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.” Where did that come from? Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer. Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest. You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you. In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly. The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath. The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic. When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear. Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract. A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate? You thought. It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you? The changes are acceptable. We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind. Signed in blood.

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.” Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed. The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask. At least, you hoped that was a mask.

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really? I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that. I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect! Fuck, that was perfect!” And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed. A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy. When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie. One on her neck and the other… Oh. Definitely not on her neck. The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love. We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile. Damn, you could get used to that smile. It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year. Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight. “What do you say, Pet? Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?” He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle. You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her. She reached down to undo his pants.

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more. He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple. He licked his lips once again. His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face. You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized. You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you. An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you. It was like being immersed in porn. Fuck, it was hot. You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently. Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress. Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away. The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts. The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals. You stared.

The heat between your legs was throbbing. Your face was flushed. This was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd. You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction. Hell was watching.

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip. You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie. The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air. You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched. Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom. From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point. Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds. It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you. You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor. The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music. You felt drunk. Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”

He chuckled. “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds. Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again. Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you. Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked. Mewling and panting like you’re in heat. My little toy. You think you’re ready for me?” He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus. You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation. He didn’t move at all.

“Can you hear them, down there? All those screams and wet slaps?” You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.” Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center. It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place. The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence. You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan. You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love! That’s my Queen! So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes! I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours! Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor. Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail. The festivities hadn’t died down. In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam. A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom. Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room. Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again. His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs. He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom. The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time. Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed. But not tonight. Tonight, you weren’t you. Tonight, you were the White Hart. The Queen of Hell. And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged. Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet. Look at all the fun they’re having down there. But they all wish they were here with you, you know. They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky? Fuck, I love this pussy! You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good. The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off. Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly. In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you. Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear. But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center. You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried. So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet. You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you. Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did. You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over. All his words were gone, now. His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you. The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.

You forgot where you were. Forgot who you were. The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you. Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck! Yes! Fuck! Yes!” over and over. Was it you? Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down. Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp. Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders. Not speaking. Not needing to. The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free. You were exhausted. You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath. Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation. You said.”

“Next time, Love. I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry. You sleep, now. My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

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#sleeping with the enemy #spn fanfic #crowley smut #crowley fanfic #crowley x reader #spn smut

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