Archive of Our Own ^beta

With a tilt of his head Gabriel swung the bookcases shut, giving him and Crowley, chained with a collar to a chair in a devil’s trap and looking far too at ease with the situation, some semblance of privacy in the bunker’s dungeon. He moved in, head held high and trying not to be unnerved by the demon’s cool stare.

“You know, it’s interesting they should send you in to deal with me,” Crowley said as he gave his fingernails a disinterested once-over. “I imagine Sam or Castiel would want to do this personally.”

Gabriel stopped just shy of the table at the center of the room and flared out his wings a bit. The King of Hell remained unflustered, and oh that got under his skin. “You know, for someone potentially facing down death, you’re pretty damn calm, Crowley. I’ll give you that.”

The demon leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “’Potentially’?”

“See if it were up to Gigantor and Colombo out there, you’d be dead already. And they wouldn’t be wrong.” Gabriel gave him a look, at which Crowley shrugged in a way that without question said “demon”. “The problem with that plan is we kind of need you, whether we like it or not.”

A corner of Crowley’s lip quirked into what could almost be called a smirk, if it weren’t devoid of amusement otherwise. “Can’t have the newly-minted Knight running the kingdom.”

With some reluctance Gabriel nodded. Did the bastard always have to be right? “But that opens a whole other can of worms, doesn’t it, because then you would be running around free.”

Crowley’s smirk turned a little more genuine, and Gabriel felt a calculated strain of pride roll off the demon. Now he understood how Crowley could have risen from lowly Crossroads demon to King, and he wondered just how many underestimated his cunning. “Quite the dilemma you have, angel.”

“Mm. Of course, there’s always Option C.” Gabriel reached into his jacket, pulled out two objects, a knife and a syringe, and laid them on the table.

The demon’s eyes narrowed at the syringe and returned to Gabriel, his understanding clear. “You’re joking.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to smirk. “For once, I’m not. At this point you’ve got two choices. Get offed or get your fix.”

Crowley scoffed. “You think turning me into a junkie will get me to do what you want? How amateur of you. Just ask Sam.”

“Yeah, he warned me about that,” Gabriel said. He tapped the syringe. “I’m an archangel, remember? Give me some credit.”

For a long moment Crowley stared at the implements on the table, his expression blank. Finally he looked up, and his eyes had lost that spark of cockiness that, now that it was gone, Gabriel considered rather attractive. “Fine, but I want something out of this deal.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “Your emotional high— low— thing isn’t enough?”

“It’s not just a high. There are… complications.” A grimace flashed across Crowley’s face before he forced it back into a neutral state. “These would need to be provided for.”

“Meaning?”

“You.”

It took a moment for the realization to dawn on Gabriel as to what Crowley was driving at. “So you want me to hold your hand while you shoot up?”

Crowley’s smirk returned, genuine this time, his eyes giving Gabriel a blatant once-over. “Amongst other things.”

His voice dropped even lower, rasping around the edges, and a shiver went down Gabriel’s spine. It had been a long time since he’d done anything carnal with something other than one of his illusions. Dying hadn’t helped, as getting laid didn’t rank high on the Purgatory list of priorities. Common sense butted in to his brain, reminding him that getting entangled with the King of Hell was a bad, bad idea, even if it was for the greater good.

The demon must’ve sensed his hesitation, because he added, “Strictly business, the lot of it. Sober I would expect nothing. Unless you offered, of course.”

“Business, hmm?” Business made sense; business he could do. After a second’s more of thought, Gabriel jumped into the fog. Resting his palms flat on the table, he leaned into Crowley’s personal space and said, “You’ve got yourself a deal. Seal it your way?”

“Is there any other?” Crowley grabbed a fistful of Gabriel’s jacket and shirt and pulled him down to his level. Their lips crashed together, all awkward and off-center, but it was enough. Old magic, magic even Gabriel wouldn’t fool with, rippled in the air, and there was no backing out. Not that the thought crossed the archangel’s mind.

Crowley broke the kiss first but didn’t pull away, hand still fisted in Gabriel’s clothes. “If you don’t mind, darling?”

“Right.” Gabriel handed him the syringe and seated himself on the edge of the table. His gut twisted as Crowley rolled back his sleeve and stuck the needle in his arm, eyes closing with a shuddered sigh as he pushed the plunger down.

For a moment they were both still, silent, and Gabriel felt the shift before Crowley opened his eyes. All the walls and calculations fell away from the demon, leaving him exposed and swimming in a metric fuck-ton of emotions, and Gabriel had to wonder why the hell anyone would want that.

“Are you—” he started to ask, but Crowley cut him off.

“I’m fine.” Even his voice was changed. Gone was the steady baritone, replaced by a higher, wavering tone. “Just… give me a moment.”

The demon took a deep breath, and gradually the emotions sorted themselves into boxes that Crowley open later and torment himself with, until he was left with one pressing need that couldn’t, wouldn’t be shoved away. He looked up at Gabriel then, palming at the tent in his pants with a whining, “Please.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not yet. You help me, and then I’ll help you. That’s the deal.”

“Fine. But if this is about Dean, you should just give up,” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

He was glad he hadn’t gone into this blind, otherwise he might’ve been surprised by the faculties Crowley retained while not-sober. “Why?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Because he’s not Dean any more. It’s not like his soul went to Hell and got twisted round. He died, but the Mark and the Blade—”

“They held on. Turned what was left into something else. That’s what I was afraid of.” Gabriel scrubbed his face. “Fucking Winchesters. They never look before they leap.”

“Defining trait of humanity, I’m afraid.” The demon shifted in his seat, impatience starting to bubble up around his arousal. “Though that’s not to say he can’t be cured. He’s still a demon, after all. I’m not sure what you’ll gain by doing it, but…”

“It’s something. Thank you,” Gabriel said. He sighed and shoved it all to the back of his mind to be discussed with Sam and Castiel later. At the moment he was distracted by the hunger in Crowley’s eyes, and maybe he wasn’t the only one who wanted this.

Gabriel crossed to the other side of the table, and as soon as he was within reach Crowley had his hands on his hips and was pulling him close. Blood rushed to the archangel’s groin at the mere touch; it really had been far too long. “This what you want?”

“Mm. Want to take you,” Crowley said. One hand slid back to grab at Gabriel’s ass, while the other worked open his zipper and fly. “Never been inside an angel proper before.”

That statement should not have made him harder, shouldn’t have made him want this more. Castiel had told Gabriel the story of Gadreel, and the battle for Sam’s mind, but all Gabriel could reply with was, “This way is so much more fun, promise.”

And then Crowley’s hand was down his boxers and around his cock, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, and Gabriel couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat. “I certainly hope so.” He started to work down Gabriel’s pants, but the archangel stopped him, snapping away both of their clothes. Crowley chuckled. “Now who’s the impatient one?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Complaining?”

The demon smiled and leaned back, widening his legs to put his cock on display, the head glistening with precome. “Of course not, darling.”

It was an invitation Gabriel was glad to accept. He blinked his way into Crowley’s lap, his legs hooked over the arms of the chair. Crowley wormed a hand between them to wrap around both their cocks, and Gabriel eased the way with a touch of magic and lube.

Crowley rested his forehead against Gabriel’s chest, eyes focused downwards. “Please, Gabriel. I need you.”

And though he knew it was the blood talking, the archangel couldn’t help but acquiesce to the plea. Gabriel leaned forward and used Crowley’s shoulders to lower himself onto the demon’s cock.

A shared groan of, “Oh fuck,” left their mouths when Gabriel bottomed out, and if they were human they might’ve both come then and there. Instead Crowley rolled his hips up into the archangel, and Gabriel ground himself downwards to match, setting a languid pace that just wasn’t enough.

“More,” Crowley gasped against his skin, fingers digging into the flesh of Gabriel’s ass.

Gabriel made a noise in his throat, agreeing, but they needed more leverage, and his vessel wasn’t that flexible. A flick of his wrist, and the table was pressing into his back, and the archangel rested his elbows against the surface to give Crowley more room to work.

The demon didn’t need any further hint, switching to thrusting in a rhythm that to any lesser being could qualify as brutal. Gabriel took it all, back arching when Crowley hit just the right spot inside him. Neither of them would last long like this, and the archangel let down his walls, let Crowley’s pleasure drive his own even further, until they were both crying out their climaxes in wordless moans.

It took a surprising amount of time to come down, for coherency to return to them. Gabriel left his defenses alone; he didn’t have the energy, and Crowley was in no position to do him any harm. The orgasm hadn’t rid the demon of the effects of the human blood. In fact, it probably made everything worse, harder to handle, and the guilt of that gnawed a hole at the pit of Gabriel’s stomach.

“You okay?”

Crowley wrapped his arms around the archangel’s waist and pulled their bodies flush together again. “Hmm, though now I’m starving.”

“Not a problem.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a large pepperoni pizza appeared on the table. He made to snap again, to remove himself from Crowley’s lap, but the demon pulled his hand down and interlaced their fingers, the message clear.

Perhaps he should’ve argued, but he did get Crowley into this mess. It would be cowardly of him to back out now, and he’d done enough of that for several lifetimes. So Gabriel made himself comfortable, shifting so that his legs were kicked out to the side of the chair, and Crowley used his thighs as a tray table.

“Thank you,” the demon said, sincere despite his mouthful of pizza.

“You’re welcome.” The words were automatic, thoughtless. Any hunger Gabriel might’ve had himself dissipated, and he leaned against Crowley, resting his head against his shoulder and closing his eyes. Quieter, more to himself than the demon, Gabriel said, “I’m sorry,” and this he meant.