goesdown | s9 future thing

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s9 future thing

Crowley hates the bunker. It's stuffy and full of things that can kill him, including Sam and Dean and now Castiel. Sure, he's not chained to a chair anymore, but the way they're all watching him isn't much different.

They know they've got him by the short and curlies with Abaddon out there and now that he's helped them, he's at least got them convinced that he's useful. It's the best he can get right now, but his situation will improve with time. At least now he can relax in nicer chairs.

Getting along with Castiel is actually a little rougher than the boys. Maybe it's because he still feels so angry when he looks at the angel. He doesn't feel any real animosity towards them, at least not anything so personal that he can't let it go to save his own hide.

Castiel is another story, but he's honestly trying, because this is the safest place he can be and he doesn't want them kicking him out until they've dealt with Abaddon.

He does miss Kevin, though. Kevin was simple--not in the stupid way, but in the way where Crowley could predict what he would do. Castiel isn't like that at all. Obviously.

Even with all the guilt swirling around, he feels no regrets for hurting Castiel. That's probably a bit odd, isn't it?

Now, he's holed up in the kitchen the sad stack of books that they've deemed safe for him to read. The bastards won't even let him in the library.

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He narrows his eyes. On the one hand, he feels as if his suspicions might be accurate, and he wants to find out if they are, because then that would be exciting in its own way. Except for the fact that he's having this moment with Crowley, of all people, and no, he isn't sure he wants to be friendly with him at all. That is the nature of their arrangement at present, but there's far too much between them to make anything that clear.

"This seems like more than friendly," he says finally, hesitating a little. The irritation is gone, so only his confusion and uncertainty show through. He hasn't moved, either, so he's still lingering near Crowley, near enough that they could easily touch again, and Castiel finds himself thinking about that.

"Well maybe I like being more than friendly with my friends." Not that Crowley is exactly rolling in friends. He barely even seems to have allies right now.

This time when he touches Castiel, he hooks a finger under Castiel's chin, leaning in just a little so that they can easily maintain eye contact.

"You and I have a bit of a history. It's mixed, but it's history."

Castiel is vaguely aware that something is happening that he's unprepared for and probably shouldn't be doing, but that vague feeling is always that -- vague, and never enough to stop him. Actually, the more he feels it, the more he tends to stubbornly persist. He doesn't flinch when Crowley touches him this time, and instead, he can feel his vessel responding, his heart beating a little faster.

"That is... accurate." But factual accuracy isn't as comforting when it's combined with something that doesn't make sense, i.e. Crowley touching him.

"I thought you regretted most of it."

Crowley leans in as if he's about to kiss Castiel. He moves slowly, careful to build the anticipation as his fingers shift to the side on Castiel's face.

He stops only inches away.

"Not all of it."

And then he straightens and moves away to refill his glass.

His lips part and he finds himself holding his breath, even as he's confused about why this is happening; he can tell what is happening, apparently, which is that Crowley is going to kiss him. Should Castiel back away? Should he not want this? Honestly, his mind is a blank; he's too surprised by what's going on, and too warmed, in other ways. It's hard to look back on their time together as partners because he'd been so focused on the goal, but he and Crowley did have their good moments together. When he felt isolated from his family and the Winchesters, Crowley was a good companion, though he could hardly appreciate it then.

And then Crowley doesn't kiss him, and he leaves Castiel stock still and staring after him, his lips still parted.

"Why are you behaving like this?" he murmurs, quiet and a little helpless. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm not trying to do anything, Darling." Not trying, because he knows that he's succeeding here.

He's toying with Castiel, yes, but there's also something about this that's more about him and his stupid attraction than anything. He's wanted to press Castiel into the nearest flat surface and fuck the words out of him since they met and his betrayal may have effected just how hard he'd like to fuck Castiel, but it didn't wipe the attraction away.

No, he'd very much like to fuck Castiel until he's begging.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Oh, Castiel is getting frustrated now. He heaves a little sigh and when he talks, he's sputtering, but he's almost not paying attention to that anymore.

"You're -- this -- flirtation." Does an almost-kiss count as flirtation? He'll count it, anyway. Crowley moved away from him to get his drink, and Castiel takes a step closer to him now, not wanting to let him escape this strange game he's playing.

Castiel has no idea what his own personal endgame is, but he's going to pursue this into... some kind of ending, anyway.

"You talk like this to everyone, but this is different." He almost said seems different, but he wants to sound sure of himself.

"What do you hope to accomplish?"

"Oh, was I flirting?" He takes a drink and give Castiel a thoughtful look. "That's just how I talk."

Castiel gets an appraising look then. Crowley can tell that he's certainly affected by this and he puts his drink down, moving closer again. Maybe it's the stress and the lowered tolerance he's got now, but there's something so oddly charming about how dim Castiel can be.

"What makes you think you're so special?"

Yes, that is how he talks, but he's sure now that Crowley is being deliberately obtuse. There's something different happening here, and Castiel can feel it. Historically, he isn't good at these hunches, but he's determined that he's sure about this one. Crowley playing innocent is only irritating him further.

"I don't think I'm -- " This is so not the point. He stops and closes his mouth, almost glaring at Crowley for a second.

"You're trying to rile me up. It won't work."

Except it already has, not that he'd admit to it.

"Won't it?"

Of course he doesn't deny that he's doing it, though. Neither of them are quite that stupid.

He slips right back into Castiel's space as if he belongs there--as if it's his right to be there, really--and there's a calm smile on his face.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but you're a little easy." His hand comes up again, this time moving towards Castiel's hip. "To rile, I mean."

His eyes are still narrowed, and he's not backing down from Crowley either; if anything, he may move a little closer, using his height to stand over him. He's not even sure what they're arguing about anymore, but that doesn't seem to matter. Whatever it is, it's important, and Castiel is going to get him to -- something.

"You're doing it on purpose." He still wants to know why. He isn't trying to attack Castiel; he isn't trying to hurt him. He's trying to flirt with him, and that's very confusing.

"I'm not so naive about this anymore."

"You kiss a lousy demon or two and suddenly you're not naive?"

His hand finally settles on Castiel's hip, oddly possessive and unafraid of Castiel's height. Oh, yes, he knows about the kisses the angel has shared with Meg, but he was here first. Castiel was supposed to be his angel, not hers.

"You're just as naive as you've ever been."

No, there was a reaper in there too, but Castiel isn't looking to get into particulars because he can feel the possessiveness in Crowley's touch. Coupled with his mentioning Meg -- Meg, who he killed -- only spurs Castiel into making a decision.

He isn't too picky about whether or not it's the right decision. It feels right in the moment, anyway. Crowley is being strange and smug and pushing Castiel's buttons like he knows how to play him, but he doesn't.

Castiel doesn't give Crowley much warning. He cups the back of his head and backs him against the counter, so Castiel can lean in and kiss him, hard and aggressive, just the way he'd learned years ago. He learned other things recently, but this kiss seems the most appropriate because he wants to show that he can rile Crowley up too.

Of all the things Crowley is expecting, this isn't it. The hand on his head has a momentary look of panic flashing over his face and then he doesn't have much time to process what's happening or to resist being pushed backwards.

This is it, he thinks. He's pushed too far.

And then Castiel's kissing him and his hand is going slack on Castiel's hip.

Oh.

It takes a moment for Crowley to get with the picture and then his grip tightens again as he starts to kiss back, pushy and demanding. There's something so oddly perfect about this kiss, both long-yearned-for and desperately wanted and unlike anything he could have expected from the angel.

Maybe Castiel isn't so naive after all.

Somewhere in the middle of kissing Crowley, he realizes that he's kissing Crowley, but he doesn't dislike it; he doesn't dislike it at all, actually, and the pushy nature of the kiss is actually... very cathartic.

He feels Crowley's surprise, and it feels like a little victory; when he starts kissing back, that's almost like another victory, though he's not quite sure why, something about how he might be pleased that Crowley seems to want him, or at least he's enjoying the kiss.

Ha. Now who's easily riled, or so Castiel thinks to himself. He tugs on Crowley's hair and grips his hip tightly, pulling their bodies closer together as he takes the kiss deeper. Though Crowley's trying to be pushy, Castiel isn't letting him take over the kiss.

Both of them are easily riled, it would seem, but Crowley's never denied that about himself. He's got explosive anger, but that's not the only part of him that's volatile.

The pull at his hair and the possessive grip on his own hip has him moaning softly.

He can't help a little struggle for dominance, though, as he fights to take control of the kiss and pushes back against Castiel's body.

He likes the struggle for dominance because while he wants to tell himself that he can win over Crowley, he isn't quite as skilled as all that. The result is... pleasurable, actually, fun in its own way. And the moan he pulls out of him is satisfying in so many ways, and he thinks it manages to prove his point -- whatever his point actually is.

He lets the kiss go on a little longer, but just when things seem primed to escalate is when he pulls back. Neither of them is particularly needy when it comes to breathing, so the evidence of their kissing is in his lips, swollen and wet. He stares down at Crowley for a moment, and then smirks, all too proud of himself.

He turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen without a word.

By the time Castiel pulls back, Crowley is about an inch away from groping him and tearing at his clothes. The angel is downright shameless the way he's carrying on and Crowley likes it more than he'd really like to admit.

Then it's all over and Crowley is left with his back pressed against the counter and a half-hard dick.

He just barely stops himself from going after Castiel or even calling after him. That would be admitting to a bit more defeat than he can handle right now.

Bastard.

There'll be no constructive reading now, but he's learned one thing. He knows where Castiel's buttons are now.

Castiel ought to have put the incident with Crowley right out of his head. He resolved the matter, hadn't he? And it's his assumption that Crowley won't be trying to get a rise out of him again. His thoughts keep drifting back to the kiss, though, to the way Crowley moved against him and the way he moaned.

It's probably because he's only recently learning about the good things that can come from sexual activity, that's all. He knows what kind of experiences he's missing out on right now.

Not with Crowley, though. Generally speaking.

He's reading in one of the smaller libraries, trying to find something in the Men of Letters' lore about how he can take on his brothers, but he keeps needing to reread the page.

Crowley has most certainly been thinking about that kiss and the promise behind it. It's not so distracting that he can't do what needs to be done, though, and the last few days have been full of reading, preparing and kissing an uncomfortable Winchester. All in a day's work, really.

He's finally convinced the Winchesters--on his own, thanks--that he should be allowed to read whatever he likes, since they can't figure out what half these books are and their vetting system is more likely to obscure anything helpful than keep him in line. That's how he finds himself carrying a stack of books into the room Castiel is in.

A least that's what he tells himself.

"Doing some light reading there?"

He rests his own stack on a side table and starts to file them away.

He hasn't been going out of his way to avoid Crowley -- why should he? -- but they haven't had much alone time, or at least not enough for Castiel not to be a little unsure of what to do when Crowley comes in. But Castiel won that last round, didn't he?

Not that he's implying there ought to be a second round.

"Yes," he says simply, carefully looking away from Crowley and back at his book. "Do you need the room?"

"Don't get up on my account. I'm just switching out for new books."

He can't resist the urge to lean over Castiel, though, when he notices that one of his books just happens to go above his head. Old habits die hard and even in the face of mounting piles of reading.

"I have a good idea of how to take care of Abaddon, but there's a puzzle piece missing." He pauses. "And I'll need your feathers."

When Crowley leans over him, Castiel manages to look annoyed. That isn't necessary at all, and this game is supposed to be finished now.

Or maybe Crowley is genuinely asking for his help. He hesitates, then nods and looks back at his own book.

"Very well. What do you need me to do?"

He takes his sweet time pulling away from Castiel and moving onto the next book.

"I just need your feathers for now. I've got half the ritual, but the other half is in another book. The Men of Letters were a paranoid bunch." Not that Crowley can blame them. If he had all this, he would split things up and put them in code, too. Otherwise a power hungry demon might come along and read all of it.

Oh, look another book that has to go right over Castiel's head!

He leans over him again. He'll put these books back where they really belong later.

He'd thought when he first asked for his feathers, he was using a euphemism; naturally, he wasn't, the one time Castiel doesn't immediately go to the literal. He gives a short sigh when Crowley leans over him again, but his eyes move slowly as they look up his body.

"And have you run this ritual by Sam and Dean?"

Castiel isn't about to go contributing to any more spells without other people thinking it's a good idea.

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